Contemplating Barcelona from a small city in Florida

Artist's rendering - La Sagrada Familia (The Holy Family)
Maybe it will look like this some day ....

With just over a week before we leave for Barcelona, I'm surrounded by and drowning in lists.

I have a TO DO list, a TO TAKE list, a TO BUY list. I have a list of lists. With all of these reminders, I'm beginning to think I have things under control, that we will actually get up on the morning of June 1 and be completely ready to pack, methodically, not missing a thing, and that each suitcase will miraculously weigh just under 50 pounds. Or less.

SO - I'm giving myself permission to sit with my guidebooks and the marvelous novel, "The Shadow of the Wind," by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and plunge into learning about the city.

The novel is spellbinding. Though it's set in the years from just after World War II until the 1960s, it's evocative of Victor Hugo or even Charles Dickens. Dark and brooding, the story twists through the wintry streets and squares of the city as it mesmerizes the reader with mystery, romance, and even a bit of farce. It makes fascinating treadmill fare - the most boring hour of exercise melts away as I turn the pages. Here's my favorite phrase so far - and it was tough to pick one out - as the author describes Barcelona: " . . . a very faraway city, trapped between a moon of mountains and a sea of light, a city filled with buildings that could exist only in dreams." And this for La Sagrada: " . . . a large hair comb made of melting chocolate." This is my second favorite.

Thanks to the wonderful OLLI at FSU Maymester classes on Spanish art (with a generous helping of art history), we feel as though we might be able to refine our list (a list, again) of what not to miss into a manageable plan. I suspect we could stay for far more than two weeks and still not have scratched the surface of what-to-see and what-to-do. But we have discovered this about ourselves: We want to take our time. We want to bring our sensibilities to the experience. We want to sit and have a glass of cava, or perhaps dip a sweet bun into a warm chocolate pudding and let the city get into our heads. 

I can't wait to find out if what we're anticipating will indeed be the reality - or if it's even better than we are imagining. 

If it's May, it must be time for travel! Yes, Mike and Nancy are about to embark on yet another adventure. This time we're traveling for OLLI Study Abroad in Barcelona - departing in early June. (And again, marauders beware - the homefront will be guarded by a brave knight and his fearless dog companion.)

I'm composing this on my ancient Netbook, now five years old and, miraculously, still working like a charm. I love this little machine and its wonderful keyboard. And although I could be using my regular computer, I decided to post using this small one, just to make sure it still works. The older I get, the less I trust a lot of things, and computers are high on that list.

Currently, Mike and I are whetting our appetites for Barcelona in a wonderful OLLI Maymester class, "Art. Spain. Ole!" This class is taught by Dr. Arleen Pabon, who will be our instructor in Barcelona. Arleen is a native of Puerto Rico and an expert in architecture and a true lover of Spain's second city. Mike and I came to this experience knowing almost nothing about Barcelona, but a combination of class, computer research, guidebook reading, and talking to others (our dermatologist proclaims Barcelona to be her favorite city) has piqued our curiosity and raised our excitement level by a factor of at least 10.

So now I'm pulling out last year's Florence trip lists, searching madly for electricity converters, finally remembering to buy some decent earbuds for the plane (that flight is exactly four movies in length), and trying not to think about what in the world we're going to pack. And when. And how we're getting to the airport. And home from the airport. And on and on.

I still have my list of recommended over-the-counter meds (which were a lifesaver). I wrote a note to myself to remember a washcloth (thank you, Susan, for having an extra last year in Florence). The question arises: why do Europeans eschew washcloths?

I'll also take soap. Otherwise, we're good to go. Rick Steves' "Barcelona" in hand, we can't go wrong!

I'll keep writing once we get there, and try to chronicle our adventures. These musings are a great help when we get home and are trying to remember exactly which church was in which city. Most of all, they evoke such precious memories.

SO - more to come!

                                   A SMALL TRIBUTE

I read one of those year-end wrap-up kinds of columns in the newspaper today – you know, the ones that talk about New Year’s resolutions, either the failed ones from last year or the hopeful ones for the coming year – and this author’s version of that annual exercise was intriguing.

                She contended that one should stop to be grateful for the quotidian, the mundane. She begins her recitation of gratitude with praise for her washer and dryer. I was hooked.

                As a young wife way back in the early ‘70s, I did laundry as my fellow Navy wives did: at the laundromat. We moved around so much, six months here, three months there, six weeks elsewhere, and we lived in furnished apartments and once, memorably, in a single-wide trailer parked at the side of a country road. My husband was training to be a pilot and we began in Pensacola, transferred to Corpus Christi, had a brief time in Newport, RI, and finally landed for what was to be four years in Jacksonville. Through all of that first 18 months of marriage, I hung out in apartment complex laundry rooms or in commercial laundry joints, where the machines were huge and pretty much mangled everything.

                In Jacksonville, we bought our first house. It was modest, located in a rural area, tiny, immaculate. It had a laundry room. No garbage disposal, but definitely a laundry room. We agreed that we could buy a washer and dryer on time. My husband, who grew up in a Navy family, had pretty rigid ideas about things like appliances. Sears was the first and only store we visited.

                Since I had gone straight from living in a college dorm (where, you guessed it, we had a laundry room) to living the nomadic life of a pilot trainee’s wife, I hadn’t used an actual laundry appliance that was located in an actual home in years. An important part of my day involved building my collection of quarters. I had been known to make several stops for small purchases simply for the joy of the 25-cent pieces I would receive in change. Quarters were the living embodiment of ease at the laundromat. And the lack of quarters – alas! Torture.

                So as we wandered through the appliance area of our local Sears store, I marveled at machines that had no coin slots attached. I lifted lids and read directions. I twirled knobs and peered into tubs. I read brochures. I compared Kenmore to Whirlpool and, Cadillac of washers, Maytag.

                My husband, who never shopped without having read Consumer Reports, interrupted me in mid-caress of a particularly attractive model in the trendiest Harvest Gold: “We are buying only Kenmore. And no color. White. It’s ten dollars cheaper.” I had faith; he had not let me down, ever, in matters of money. “Okay,” said I. I didn’t care – I was about to have an Actual Washing Machine in my Actual Laundry Room.

                And so it happened. A few days later, the Sears delivery truck pulled off our dirt road and into our driveway, and lickety-split, the laundry room was occupied as its creator had intended. Gleaming white, shiny, quietly efficient, there stood our very own Washer and Dryer. I was daydreamed about starring in a TV commercial where two women are discussing the joys of fabric softener.

                This happened 42 years ago. That Kenmore dryer dried my laundry for over 30 years, and I replaced it with another Kenmore. I have owned a few more washers than dryers, and my current one is a modest Maytag. (My butt-crack appliance guy told me, “Git the bottom Maytag. Same washer, not so many electronic things to break down, does a great job. Don’t let them salesmen talk you into anything fancy.” Mr. Butt-Crack has always steered me right.)

                The following is no exaggeration:  When I do laundry, I experience a little thrill, truly a twinge of pleasure. Every. Single. Time.  I have my own appliances. No coin slots. No scrounging for quarters (“Don’t give her the correct change, are you out of your mind? I need those quarters”). I’ve experimented with detergents, fabric softener sheets, Woolite for the Washing Machine, even those dry cleaning things (which don’t work). I’ve thrown the kids’ shirts in the dryer to “de-wrinkle.” I’ve washed baby spit-up, baby poop, dog spit-up, dog poop, and, on one particularly awful weekend, lots of vomit. And, miraculously, all those awful, gross, disgusting, smelly things have disappeared, leaving clean sheets, towels, blue jeans, sweatshirts, and ugly Christmas sweaters sparkling clean.

                The word “miraculous” is perfect. And I will never, until the day I do my last load of laundry, stop feeling grateful. 

Our last day in Florence

This morning we caught a commuter train to Arezzo, which was an interesting experience in itself. Though it's been decades since I traveled by train in Europe, I remember it as being quite a pleasant way to move from place to place. This train didn't disappoint. Though it stopped many times between the two cities, it was comfortable, cool, and very smooth - a marvel of electricity and automation.

What had been planned as an all-day excursion had to be shortened because our group has been invited to a little celebration of our visit put on by the proprietors and staff of our most excellent hotel. It was decided that we would spend only a couple of hours in Arezzo so as to have most of the afternoon in Florence to do a few last-minute errands, complete our packing, and enjoy our party.

Arezzo is a lovely town. We had an opportunity to visit the Chapel of St. Francis and view the wonderful frescoes depicting the Legend of the True Cross. We also visited Il Gelato, which is one of the Top 10 shops listed in our guidebook. The gelato is homemade and features some unusual flavors. Mike and I had some of the pine nut flavor. Delicioso indeed! Bill suggested that I point out the reference to his little shop in our guidebook to the proprietor, and when I did, he smiled and said he already knew that. Guess we weren't the first Americans to seek him out . . . .

Upon our return to Florence, we came back to our hotel and got as much packing done as we could before we finish up tonight. As our flight leaves at 6:30 a.m., we'll be up in the middle of the night, catching a cab. Needless to say, the less we have to do at 4:00 a.m., the better.

Mike and I decided we would take one last leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. After a very successful visit to a leather shop (a new PURPLE bag), we wandered the streets in a section that is frequented by the many college students who are doing study abroad here in the summertime. We found a little bar, sat on the street and had a coffee and a beer, and just indulged in a little people-watching. What a treat! We're trying to inhale the ambiance of Florence and keep these images fresh until we can get home and look at our photos and match them up with our recollection. Even though we had thought two weeks would be enough, that we could then move on to travel to other cities and countries, we now admit that the idea of a return visit is extremely attractive. After all, we have discovered a perfect hotel and know this city like the back of our hands! Well, maybe not so much - but we are certainly comfortable wandering on our own. The presence of the Duomo, visible from almost anywhere in the central city, gives us a landmark by which to find our way back to our very comfortable "home." We love it here.

So now I sit and record these thoughts in the hotel bar. Today is very hot, so the window is closed and the air conditioning is turned on in the bar for the first time since we arrived. We listen to Pierpaolo as he deals with new arrivals and answers the phone, shifting easily from Italian to English and back to Italian. The large flat-screen TV in the now-deserted breakfast area chatters away, featuring a sort of Italian soap opera (we think). It's just another late afternoon in Florence, at Hotel Casci, Via Cavour 13. How we will miss all of this!

The Pitti Palace and LOTS of shopping

This morning everyone slept in a bit, then a few of us gathered and set out for the Pitti Palace. As we were in no hurry, we went by the mercato nuovo to let one of our group put a coin in the boar's mouth. It slipped from the boar's bronze tongue right down into the grate - which means that Fran will return to this citta bellissima.

Onward to the Pitti Palace, once the home of the Medicis, then later remodeled and refurbished by Lorraine-Hapsburgs. What an amazing place! We wandered the Palatine Gallery and the royal apartments and most thoroughly enjoyed our peek into Napoleon's bathroom (which Rick Steves assures us he never used, and we have found our boy Rick to be completely authoritative!)

After a quick walk through a portion of the Boboli Gardens and a peek inside the Grotto, we moved across the street and had a bit of lunch and some acqua naturale (and used the W.C.) Then we started our serious shopping. On our initial trip we had spotted a jewelry store that was more reasonable than the gold markets along the Ponte Vecchio, so on our trip back, we stopped and browsed the earrings. We looked at fabulous mosaic work, wonderful leather gloves lined with cashmere, and T-shirts. I really wanted one that said "Ciao, Bella" in rhinestones, but they were definitely sized for young women who weigh 85 pounds - not for those of us with more matronly figures. But I may go back tomorrow . . . .

Now we're back at the hotel, finishing up little dribs and drabs of bottles of wine, some cheese, some crackers, some pesto. I sit in my favorite spot near the open window, writing these words and chatting with friends, sipping the wine. We are waiting for the six of our group who journeyed to Rome this weekend, and plan to have dinner with them and hear all about their adventures. We have become a close-knit group, thoroughly enjoying each other, laughing at our misadventures and marveling at the serendipitous happenings we've encountered. For instance, at last count Mike and I have seen four bridal parties, one of which had groomsmen clothed in kilts! This was in Cortona, and was surprising, to say the least.

We have chatted with vendors and gracious salespeople from all over the world. Some speak English, some speak a tiny bit of English, and some speak no English at all. All of them have been smiling and friendly, and with our cobbled-together Italian, we have done just fine. We startled one sandwich-maker with a request for bruschetta with tomatoes AND cheese, but for the most part, folks just smile and give us that "crazy Americans" look and wish us buongiorno or buona sera - or perhaps even give us a "ciao" as we leave a shop. We are old hands. If we had just one more week . . . .

Today, a time to stroll, explore, tie up some loose ends - and eat!

It's almost 10:30 p.m. here in Florence, and I'm stuffed.

Today we ventured out around 11:00 a.m. and walked over to Santa Maria Novella to visit the Officina Farmacia, where wonderful cosmetics and natural remedies are compounded in the same manner and using the same materials that were developed by the monks and have been used for centuries. It's a beautiful small shop that smells absolutely divine. How many such places are worthy of photographs? We took some, smelled a few things, and bought a little.

After returning to the hotel to drop off our purchases, we decided to make our final trip to the Uffizi. Bill has advised us from the beginning of our pilgrimage that the Uffizi is most satisfying when taken in small sips rather than big gulps. We chose three artists, Raphael, Titian, and Caravaggio. What a pleasure to really study the paintings, trying to "read" them as Bill has shown us. We loved the Titians most of all.

Looking for just a little snack for lunch, we popped into the Da Vinci museum. This exhibit contains models built from Da Vinci's drawings, and they are truly amazing. For a mere eight euro, we got a slice of pizza, a drink and an admission ticket. We spent a lovely half hour browsing the machines, marveling at the genius of Leonardo. I'm thinking he was an alien among us. In addition to writing up his ideas in script that read from left to right, he dreamt of things that he couldn't possibly have anticipated: helicopters, tanks, automobile differential systems, and some truly wicked weapons of war.

At 3:30, we met our group back at the hotel, ordered two taxis, and set off to the lovely mountain village of Fiesole. High atop the city, Fiesole is very, very old. It contains some truly fascinating Etruscan and Roman ruins. We browsed the archaeological museum and marveled at the ancient finds preserved there. I cannot imagine the reaction of the scientists who found the first of these tombs. There are actually small drinking glasses that are intact, some of them buried with their owners 2,000 years ago. The excitement must have been overwhelming!

After a small break for caffee latte in the tiny shaded bar, we ventured up a very, very steep hilly street that wound around into another very, very steep hilly street and found our restaurant. Our reservation was for 7:00 p.m., and we were seated right on the dot. Since we are in Italy, we were the first patrons to arrive. We old Americans dine very early in the evening by Italian standards. (By the time we left around 9:00 p.m., the place was full!) We had a very beautiful and delicious meal, probably the most elaborate one yet, complete with aperitivo and bruschetta offered at no charge by the house, followed by antipasto and our main courses. Some of the braver among us had dessert. Then we had to get ourselves back down that hilly street and into our cabs to return to our hotel.Probably a good thing - we certainly needed a little exercise after all of that lovely food.

As I sit in the small bar here at the Hotel Casci, I can hear the sounds of the street outside the open windows. A light breeze is blowing, and there are large groups of young people walking below. It's Saturday night. World Cup Soccer is on the TV, and all eyes are on the screen. I'm tired - and stuffed! To bed. Tomorrow, the Pitti Palace, the Boboli Gardens, and the Palazzo Vecchio.

We're are so comfortable here, and . . . .

This morning Bill delivered his last lecture to us. He spoke of sculpture and the color green. We were to visit the Bargello this afternoon, and it's been his practice all week to prepare us for what we will see in our wanderings.

Class was cut a bit short in order to give us time to visit places we haven't made it to quite yet. Mike and I feasted on salami, cheese, bread, and chips in our room, then set out for the San Marco monastery. It is fascinating. Each monk's cell has its own fresco. The cell reserved for Cosimo Medici (who certainly wasn't a monk, but often came to San Marco for a retreat) is, by the standards of monks, quite elaborate. He had his own chapel!

This beautifully preserved building is home to a display that outlnes the procedure used by the monks to create illuminated manuscripts. Also on display are examples of the books they created. But most compelling is the cell of Savaronola. It contains a painting, a bust, and several of the vestments of the monk. Famous for creating the Bonfire of the Vanities before the people turned against him, Savaronola was burned in the Piazza della Signoria, his remains gathered and burned again, then gathered and burned a third time. The ashes were thrown into the Arno. Needless to say, there is no relic available should anyone wish to commemorate Savaronola!

We walked from the Piazza di San Marco down to the Piazza della Signoria to meet Bill and the group at the Loggia del Lanzi. This vaulted space is home to beautiful Roman sculptures and others that are very familiar: Perseus with the (bloody, severed) head of Medusa; the Rape of the Sabine Women; Hercules slaying the Centaur. Then we went a few blocks down the street to the Bargello, which is Florence's primary sculpture museum. Home to works by Michelangelo, Donatello, and many others, it is simply overwhelming. One could spend days in this beautiful building. Perfectly curated and loaded with information (in English - yay!), this museum is an absolute don't-miss. My favorite is the young Michelangelo's statute of the young David, who looks like a triumphant teenager, ready to brag to his friends!

At this point in the day, I needed a little pick-me-up; in fact, I needed someone to pick me up and carry me! So a small group of us went to a local department store which features a rooftop cafe with a most glorious view. I had a caffee latte, which delivered the necessary jolt, then we journeyed on.

We strolled to the mercato nuovo and shopped for a bit, then wandered back to the Piazza di Repubblica, where a young woman was singing and the carousel was full of children. Making our way to the Duomo, we passed a procession of Hare Krishnas, and followed a bride and groom to the front steps of the church.

Mike, Carolyn and I simply stood there and soaked it in. The sun on the Campanile and the dome of the church, the blue sky, the cool breeze, the throngs of tourists, the street vendors, the pigeons - how can we bear to leave this magical place?

We are so comfortable here now, after having been here over a week - and we have so few days remaining. We are heading out to dinner tonight to one of our favorite spots, then to bed! Tomorrow will be another beautiful day in Firenze.