A BASKET BALL IN THE BACK OF A PICKUP

I forget. Where was I?

As I recall, I abandoned the apartment and the computer and took a trip. But what about the time from the last blog (June 2nd) until I left for the trip early Friday morning. Ah yes, I remember. I hung out, took pictures, went to the gym a couple of times, walked and watched.

Of course; I ate, snacked and ate more, what else does a Florentine do?

Ok, I did go to Casa Buonarotti.

Michelangelo never lived there. It was given to his nephew and then the family turned it into this homage to the artist. There are some impressive very early teenage works and a façade model for the San Lorenzo church. However, I was most impressed by the upper floors. Here the later 18th century whitewash on the walls was removed to reveal the original frescos. This was not the grand residence of a wealthy family but more the home of a well-to-do shopkeeper. Some of the ceiling details try to emulate grander palazzos. The spaces are smaller and intimate. For the most part, the artwork displayed is not phenomenal but representational of what the family considered treasures at that time. There were only two other people there; it was a casual and welcome walk through a different economic stratum of that historic period.

Ah yes. I also remember.

I got a massage. It was on Thursday sometime after a very large pan pescatore. Everywhere I have ever traveled I have usually gotten one (a massage, not a pescatore). India where you pay by the type of oil used, Bangkok where the masseuse is more interested in your marital status than the massage, snapping thumbs in Australia to blind Cambodian Mo, who is my favorite Shiatsu masseur in Los Angeles. It is amazing how different they can be. I must admit that never have I had a massage where the masseur/masseuse has worked so hard at a massage as here. This was no relaxing make-nice-to-the-sore-muscles Swedish massage. This was interactive. I was bounced around on that table more than a basketball in the back of a pickup barreling down an unpaved country road. I wasn’t aware that arms and legs could be twisted in those positions and still work. But he never caused me pain and I was able to walk away from the encounter feeling the better for it.

I had to be up very early the next morning (Friday at 5:00 am) to go to the statzione and catch the 7:51 am train to La Spezia Centrale, then the treno ordinario to Vernazza. I had picked up the tickets the day before to make it easier (i.e., not to wake up even earlier to consider “standing in line” time). I opted for first class ($19.00 euro) on the way there and (second class) treno ordinario ($9.00 euro) on the return. A taste of both worlds.

The tour guide and the Internet both warned me that the rentals in the Cinque Terre often required hundreds of stairs so I opted to take just a very small backpack. That morning I only packed a few clothes, no computer, no printer, no address book, and no hard-copy calendar. There was room for a large bottle of water, snacks and hair gel. To quote Fodor’s, I was on my way to Vernazza “arguably the most charming of the five towns” of the Cinque Terre (Five Lands). I didn’t want it to be spoiled by playing porter to a large suitcase. And I must admit that I had forgotten how liberating it is to reduce all necessities to a small backpack.

No pictures tonight. I’ll get caught up on pictures and e-mails tomorrow.