My curiosity trumped my vanity. I pulled a dirty shirt over my un-shaven, un-brushed, gel-fright-frozen slept-on hair and then added further to my aromatic impact by pulling on yesterday’s gym shorts and socks. The source of that commotion had to be ascertained. Afraid that the revelers might be gone by the time I got there; I even took the stairs. Do you realize how dizzy one gets running down four flights of narrow-radius stairs? Although it probably aired out the distinct fragrance of the old vinyl, covering the equipment at Palestra Ricciardi that transferred to my gym clothes. Having been sat on for a few decades, vinyl and leather always has such a distinctive “herd” scent.
The acoustics of my building, vicolo and street always seem to channel the sounds to my apartment ahead of the festivities so that I arrive “on scene” just as they are turning onto Via Vacchereccia.
My disheveled appearance fit the scene.
In front of my building was a clunky wood-slat-sided old truck plastered with posters. The sides of the truck were draped with dirty white sheets, which appeared to have been attacked by a three-inch wide paintbrush. They were coursing with angry wide drippy-red paint lettering about the “Criminalization of Diversity” and “Fascist Regurgitation” (in Italian). The driver was non-descript but ridding gunshot was a diminutive old middle-eastern woman in very colorful middle-eastern garb. She held her hands up indicating she didn’t want to have her picture taken. Give me a royal bloody break! She is sitting in the General’s seat of this division of panzer protestors entering Piazza Photo-central and she doesn’t want the thousand cameras to click her way. Please!
Behind marched a throng of college-age twenty-something-year-olds. They carried red flags with clenched fist emblems and ushered in the shimmering royal-blue banner with stiff house paint three-inch brushwork-lettering in yellow. FIRENZE VIVE LIBERA (Florence Live Free). Alternating between walking and kneeling were eight young men in handcuffs that were lashed together with rope. They each carried a heavily lettered hand-scrawled sheet of paper.
All this was accompanied by blaring music from two large speakers, on the truck-bed, that played a re-worded version of a common Italian restaurant song everyone recognizes.
Colorful, yes. But I was going back upstairs.
I finished my breakfast, rambled through the Times, slipped out of the vintage vinyl pheromone gym shorts and danced through the shower dodging the bursts of hot and cold. Then it was time to dry off with my newly bleached towels. Remember, the ones that turned green? Well, it seems that the accidental green, when subjected to bleach, turns buttercup yellow. It looks like there is a trip to IKEA in my future, for replacements of the Nächen towels from Bangladesh.
I grabbed a sweet-cake at a local confection pusher and headed in the direction of Palazzo Strozzi. I was expecting something much different but had an informative afternoon. The palazzo is imposing and masculine. It was constructed by a family that hoped to outshine the Palazzo Medici. This 15th century building is nice but now it mostly houses traveling art shows. Currently showing is the Passport to China concentrating on the Tang Dynasty. This was an interesting period, when Western culture, clothing and art permeated China. It was during this period that China had it’s only Empress. I found it informative and a nice break from the Renaissance.
On my way back home (after stopping at the CONAD market) I entered the Signoria as a troupe of Hari Krishna’s came chanting in. Everyone has seen the Krishna’s but in Florence there is a difference. Usually they have percussion instruments, drums, cymbals and other tingly-sounding things to supplement their chanting. Well, here the leader has an accordion. It adds a rather peculiar tone to the chant.
My favorite fungi tortellini for dinner and off to get tickets for the opera. There were no decent seats so I just took a walk. I ended up in Santa Croce and decided to hangout. While there I saw a stream of people going into the former cloistered area of the cathedral. I checked it out and there was a free evening concert of Gregorian Chants (Canto Gregoriano). Why not? The performance was in one of the smaller spaces of the complex yet the space is still cavernous. There is a high unpainted wood beamed ceiling and below the oldest frescos in the cathedral. The images are very worn and understated. The chorus had four men, four women and the male conductor (if that is what you call him). They started the chant in another building and slowly proceeded into our area from behind us. This was a suitably dramatic effect. First a mix of male and female voices, then just women and then the men with an encore of both. The concert was very enjoyable and only an hour long.
After leaving I headed home to find a guitarist and his female back-up singer doing “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkle in the Signoria. This is a new group for me. The day had cooled a bit making it a very pleasant evening to stay out. The crowd was the biggest I have seen since I arrived. They were also the most attentive I have seen. They were quiet for each song and duly appreciative with their applause. When they took their break I headed home.
Your pictures are: my favorite on-the-run confection (mentioned earlier), Strozzi courtyard (mentioned earlier), one of the different-every-day chalk-drawings on the street, a boat by the Arno and a pizza used to attract customers…attracting some non-paying customers.
