Milan

After much Skyping we were not really up for an early start but the fast train to Milan would not wait. Lyn beat me at cards on the way. It went downhill from there.

Milan Centrale is hugely impressive.  

It is also supposed to have a tourist information centre. After 40 minutes of confusion there proved to be no such place. Eventually I bought the day public transport passes at a tabacchi. Milan is too big for walking.  (And I have a sore toe.)

In the absence of tram or bus route maps Lyn had to use the underground Metro all day. This is, as people who know Lyn are aware,  a crowded and highly efficient system especially designed to entomb her in a tin box in a dark tunnel. I owe her big time for allowing this to happen. She behaved magnificently.

We went to Milan's wickedly pointy cathedral and admired the scale of it and the stained glass. 

Then we headed for Da Vinci's  'Last Supper' and grabbed a quick lunch on the way. It turned out to be a solemnly impressive ghost of a painting. We had to see this as part of a guided tour. The guide then tooķ us to Castle Sforza but we didn't care about her stories, we just wanted to sit in the shade. 

Finally we were restored by a drink and returned to the Duomu piazza.  Everything seemed to be heavily guarded by the military. We strolled through the grand shopping mall and then I climbed to the roof of the cathedral. I saw all the marble frippery up close and took my second selfie.

After our 4th Metro trip of the day we are now heading back to Bologna. Thinking about the amazing architecture of Milan, it seems to me to sum up the three things Italy does extraordinarily well: railways, shopping and churches.

Tomorrow - Rome.

Ravenna

Part of the logic of staying 5 nights in Bologna is that, interesting as it is, it is also a rail hub. Yesterday we went to Ravenna. This blog is late because Lyn was supposed to write it but never got around to it.

The day began in triumph because Lyn finally bought me a belt. This was a triumph for her, not me. The added bonus was that it was an expensive belt. This is a phenomenon familiar to most married men. Lyn was feeling guilty about earrings, scarves etc and so assuaged her guilt by buying me something. If she buys much more I can look forward to at least one more gift.

We loved Ravenna. The historic centre is mostly pedestrians and bicycles. The place rejoices in its beautiful mosaics and early Christian churches. Even the street signs are mosaics.

Lyn is outside the tomb of Galla Placidia

There was some amazing other stuff. Lyn particularly liked the carved altar screen and an extraordinary bishop's throne.

Lyn's second coup was to choose a brilliant little restaurant for lunch. 

For me it was all a trip back to year 10 art classes at Sevo High. Back then, as a 15 year old, I looked bewildered at black and white reproductions of Byzantine mosaics and dutifully recorded what I was taught, that they were stilted and hierarchical. Now I know that that they shimmer and float in a golden heaven. (Photographs never do these things justice.)

© José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro / CC BY-SA 4.0

Lyn found a duck, or is it a goose?

When we got home we yarned for ages with Maria, our charming landlady. 

Red, fat and learned

While Rome is 'the Eternal City' and Venice is 'La Serenissima', the serene one, Bologna is "the red" or "the fat" or "the learned". So today we explored Bologna some more. 

The Red
This is a reference to the politics of Bologna and its distinctive red brick architecture.

Our first stop was Salaborsa. As we approached it we saw a sign in memory of the resistance to fascism and Germany in WWII. Below it was a gut wrenching memorial. There were hundreds of photos of those who died in the struggle. There were whole families. Below is a small part of it. 

Inside it is a medieval building with art nouveau ceilings housing a huge public multimedia centre. In the centre is a perspex floor revealing the Roman ruins beneath. Next to that was a display about the city's competition for designing a Holocaust memorial. Impressed. 

To get a sense of the distinctive streetscape of Bologna, you need to see the arcades - kilometres of them! This is is a photo from the Piazza Santo Stefano of a typical scene. 

On the way here Lyn found yet another door knocker and insisted I photograph it.

The Fat

At lunch today we found Bologna's Mercato Centrale. Everywhere there are fresh food stores. It is a wonder they can all make a living. We shared a plate of meats and cheeses and an excellent local red at a communal table. An old gent called Umberto introduced himself. He was up for a chat with tourists from Australia. He was 74 years old and holidays in the Canary Islands every year. His English was limited and my Italian extremely poor. Which ensured that Lyn spoke more than anybody else ...

On the way home from our adventures I bought another fruit tart. Raspberry this time - bliss. Lyn wants me to buy a belt but If I stay much longer in Bologna my jeans will fit perfectly.

The Learned

Bologna has the oldest university in Europe. Today we visited the anatomy theatre, with slab and sculptures of skinless bodies, and a lecture theatre which smelled of the old books lining its walls. As always, the ceilings and walls were pretty flash.

In the Basilica of San Petronius a local astronomer created a meridian line - sort of a sundial for the days of the year.

CEphoto, Uwe Aranas

Chiesa San Giovanni in Monte

We looked for the entrance to another cathedral but got lost - but we did find a display of Italy's current favourite clothing - the puffy jacket. (In Venice we saw a small dog in a pink puffy jacket.)

However, my favourite place today was the Sanctuary of Santa Maria Della Vita. It is a small church with a set of 15th century terracotta sculptures by Niccolo dell'Arca called 'Lamentation over the dead Christ'. I have never seen anything so powerful. The scene was probably inspired by the artist's observations of real life and death in the nearby hospice. The hospice has been supported for centuries by pilgrims looking at this artwork. Upstairs was the Oratorio with more art and a stunning modern photographic portrait gallery. 

Signing off for today: still red, slightly more learned for the experience, and a little fatter too.

P.S. To all those who expressed sympathy and concern (no-one), my toe is a little better.

My sore toe

Sometime yesterday or the day before I sprained my right big toe. It is really sore. I know that looking back at this blog and remembering this trip I'll want to remember the things we saw and did - but this is a reminder to me of the prosaic fact that my big toe was really sore. When you travel, if you are lucky, you shed some cares and open your mind to new experiences. However, it isn't an out of body experience. My toe hurts.

We slept in yesterday (Monday) which was a good thing. Then we explored the food shops in the Quadrilateral of Bologna. This place is famous for tortellini and torteloni and food generally. Lyn enjoyed herself shopping for the next few meals and tried to pick up some Italian. 

Lyn decided the strawberry tart needed to be sampled.

The photograph is in front of Bologna's San Petronio basilica. The church looks unfinished because it was unfinished and then the Bologna(ns?)/Bolog(nese?) decided that it was finished. For a time this massive brick structure was the biggest church on the planet. They began a faux gothic facade, which would have made it look like a lot of churches in places like Florence, and then sort of ran out of enthusiasm. Then they decided they liked the fact it was different and have left it that way ever since.

We took our surviving purchases back to the apartment and headed off for an adventure. We had decided to walk to the hilltop church of San Luca. The entire way is covered by arcades - 3.8 kilometres!  It also, as we discovered, gets steeper and steeper. It became an ordeal. (DId I mention my toe hurts?) 

About 1.45 we reached the summit. The impressive Neo-classical church looks out over the the (smoggy) city and the surrounding hills. We also discovered it is closed every day from 12.30 to 14.30. We also discovered the next bus down wasn't till 2.20. We were hungry. I explored and found a nearby restaurant. After much debate Lyn made the excellent decision to eat at the restaurant and drink 2 glasses of Sangiovese each. Toe slightly numbed, I looked at the church interior, nice. Lyn refused to climb the 30 or so steps to look inside. She gets bloody-minded when exhausted. I was reminded of the great Pompeii strike of 2013. ("I'm staying right here. You go ahead and look. I'm not moving.") I could have suggested that this was her opportunity to light the 579th candle of the trip so far but sometimes relationships are built on the things you choose not to say.

Sangiovese had ensured that we missed the bus but we knew the tourist 'train' arrived at 3.17. We waited with a perplexed Franciscan called Jerome from the Phillipines who had come to San Luca after some months at Ognissanti in Florence. He was unclear about how he would get down the hill but knew he needed to be on the real train to his new appointment in Rome at 6.00. We discussed the beauties of Ognissanti and assured him we would get him to the station if his lift didn't arrive. It did arrive. Eventually, so did the San Luca Express. I have to say that under normal circumstances I wouldn't be seen dead in the San Luca Express ... but you see - my toe...

We got home, had a sleep, and then needed to go to the supermarket. Lyn insisted that she was capable of navigating the journey alone with the map. After 2 seconds of giving this serious thought I went with her. 

The last two evenings have been spent watching TV. The flat has a smart TV? I can program it to search YouTube. This means programs in English. Yeh! Sometimes you take refuge in familiarity - especially when your toe hurts.

Baloney

Americans call their version of mortadella "baloney" because it is from Bologna. In Italy Bologna is known as "Bologna the Fat" because of its foody reputation. They also invented the ragu we call 'bolognese'.

This morning it was raining lightly when we left Venice. The fast train took us to Bologna. Lyn made friends with a pleasant American woman called Kim and they talked solidly through the 90 minute journey. 

Our apartment is beautiful and very modern. We bought some groceries and then headed into the city square where the whole population was gathering to party. It turns out that October 4 is the Feast Day of the city's patron, Saint Petronius.

We quickly identified two of the city's landmarks as the evening closed in: the statue of Neptune known as "the Giant" and Bologna's pair of medieval towers. The latter were designed with the same lack of interest in the perpendicular as Torcello.

Tonight, in the epicentre of Italian cooking, we made ourselves a chicken curry. I mention this because we needed a break from Italian food and ingredients. You don't realise the variety we have in Australia, and how influenced we are by Asian cuisine, until you come to a place like Italy. In our entire time in Italy so far we have seen two Chinese restaurants and one Indian takeaway.

Byzantine

Byzantine

bɪˈzantʌɪn,bʌɪ-/

adjective

1.

relating to Byzantium, the Byzantine Empire, or the Eastern Orthodox Church.

2.

(of a system or situation) excessively complicated, and typically involving a great deal of administrative detail.

Lyn wanted to reduce our luggage by posting home some clothes and shoes. This involved grappling with the Italian bureaucracy. Forms were filled, stickers pasted, two trips to the counter, weighing, stamping and, most painful of all, 67 € contributed to Italian state revenue. 

I confess to being entertained by everything except the 67 €. That wiped the smile off my face. 

We spent the rest of the day in the islands of the northern Laguna. At Murano, famous for glass, Lyn bought glass stuff. At Murano they really take their glass seriously. She found a "nice man" who adjusted a necklace for her.

From Murano we sailed to Torcello. This is a very rural place now but it was once the centre of a thriving Byzantine city. It was in many ways the beginning of Venice because it was here that the Romanised Venetii fled the barbarians and began their city in a lagoon. The Basilica of Santa Maria Assunta now towers over a population of about 40, but once there were thousands. Malaria ravaged the population and most of the survivors moved a few kilometres. Now Torcello is a peaceful place but two mozzies have survived because they got Lyn. We had a great guided tour of the basilica and its extraordinary mosaics.

Where is Lyn's hat?

Yep, she'd left it somewhere. She retraced her steps but we think she left it on Murano. Never mind - there is now room in the bag for another...

The next island was Burano. Even without its reputation for lace-making, Burano would be famous for its byzantine building code which appears to insist that no householder should paint their house the same colour as a neighbour and that nothing be even close to vertical. Particularly disconcerting is a bell tower which would give its Pisan cousin a run for its money. If it falls down the Burani would probably rebuild it leaning in another direction and paint it pink.

If you are wondering why all this isn't 'tagged', this poster we saw on the vaporetto might give you an indication.

On the way back to the main island we chatted to 3 nice English ladies. In the Laguna we passed two of the massive cruise ships which dump thousands of people in Venice every day. The city was beautiful at sunset. Tomorrow we leave for Bologna, where there may be hats and there will certainly be space in our bags.

Highway to Hell

I am finally suffering from chapel fatigue.

Today we caught the train to Padua. This journey was enlivened by an explosive Italian argument between a small man and two ticket inspectors. I didn't understand any of the words except "national railways" and "whore".  

We were booked in to see the Scrovegni Chapel. This is Giotto's early masterpiece. The man who hired him was Enrico Scrovegni whose family were money-lenders on a huge scale. As such the Scrovegni's were financing the Renaissance. Without capital there was no art, no architecture, no basilicas, no city walls, no galleys, no books, no universities. On the other hand, as usurers, the Scrovegnis were on a highway to Hell. Dante put a Scrovegni there. 

On the end wall of the chapel the painting is of the Last Judgement. On God's left are the damned. On his right are the blessed. Among the latter is Enrico holding out his chapel as an offering. Deal or no deal?

wga.hu

Lyn, meanwhile, was in purgatory. To enter the chapel 25 people firstly enter a sealed room to adjust the microclimate. Then they enter the sealed chapel. The key word here to a claustrophobe like Lyn is "sealed". While the rest of of us happily watched the video in a pleasant glass walled room, Lyn was being poked into a vat of boiling oil by goggle eyed demons.

Released from the chapel we went to another. The church of the Eremetani was liberated to pieces by American bombers in WW2. The restoration work on Mantegna's frescoes there was fascinating.

We explored Padua's beautiful piazzas and excellent food and Lyn bought a scarf. Then we discovered the Palazzo Della Ragione. This was sort of Padua's early town hall. It was covered in frescoes, had a giant wooden horse and a stone stool for bankrupts. The latter were punished by being sat on the stone in public in their undies, then they publicly renounced their remaining possessions and were sent into exile. (I am not making this up.) Padua took money really seriously.

We went to the Baptistry of the cathedral, which was awesome. Then we caught the tram to see the Basilica of St Anthony. That was just gobsmacking. Lyn braved the religious souvenir shop there but fled in horror at the dreadful tat within.

Then came the moment. We went to the adjoining Chapel of St George. We entered ... and were asked to pay 5€ each to look at the paintings. I said, "No" and left. Chapel fatigue?

Our final stop in Padua was the Cafe Pedrocchi. This is an historic site in itself. It was a famed haunt of students, philosophers, radicals, artists and revolutionaries. In the year of revolutions, 1848, Padua's  revolt began right here. I now know why. Intrigued, I bought a plate of the legendary cakes and two 'Caffe Pedrocchi'. This drink was a concoction of mint cream, sugar and coffee. It was so sweet it made you shake. Lyn refused to drink hers and bought a tea instead. So I drank half of her coffee, as well as mine, and felt a strange urge to overthrow monarchies, break free of the chains of the church and insist on representative government. My new theory on the Year of Revolutions is that it was caused by a continent wide sugar rush.

P.S. Sorry no pictures of Lyn. The one of Lyn in her new scarf did not come out well and, if I made it public, I'd suffer far worse than public humiliation in my undies. 

The Fallen Woman

Violetta took 35 minutes to die but we appreciated the effort.

The morning began with a longish walk to the Jewish Ghetto. The map failed us again but not the smartphone. There was a plan to shop but not much interested Lyn. In the ghetto we just caught the tour but wished we hadn't. The guide was an unpleasant woman who ticked us off for losing her at one point, responded passively-aggressively to questions from members of the group and generally made everyone uncomfortable. The synagogues were ancient and tiny. Ghetto meant 'foundry' in Veneziano and nobody locked in Venice's prosperous Jewish population except at night. Restricted in where they could live the Jews added storeys to the buildings. Released from our nasty guide we headed back toward home. Lyn's only purchases were stockings and another Donna Leon crime thriller. (These are set in Venice. We keep recognising places mentioned in the novels.)

The Ark

After prosecco and an afternoon nap we headed for the opera. La Fenice means 'The Phoenix' which is ironic since it burned down and had to be rebuilt. It is gorgeous. Our seats were four floors up in the loggia. We could see and hear fine but if we looked straight ahead we were at the same height as the chandeliers. 

As the show began, La Traviata, the two seats next to us were occupied by two young Italian men. 6-7 minutes later an usher and a Korean couple appeared. These were their seats. The usher walked away leaving the four of them to sort it. Miss Korea took direct action. She stood in front of the poachers blocking their view, and the view of everybody behind them. Outrage ensued. After a minute of this stand-off the Italians left. But at the first interval one returned to berate the couple on the subject of theatre etiquette. Meanwhile Lyn, fascinated by the off stage rather than the on stage drama, interrogated an usher and discovered that the latecomers should not have been allowed to take their seats until interval.

Then it was back to the troubles of poor Violetta who just couldn't make things work with her boyfriend's dad. She'd been happy as a tart but then fell in love and got religion. It didn't look good for anybody so we cheered up with more prosecco at the long interval.

 Act Three, and Violetta began her 35 minutes of dying. She was a trooper though and kept singing. Finally she passed away. The young soprano was the undoubted star, ably supported by her impressive cleavage. We all bravoed and then headed home. But wait! I'd left my puffy jacket in the loggia. Up I ran. By the time I'd run the course I think I felt a bit like Violetta - at about the 34 minute mark.

Ms Dotto as Violetta in a happier moment

Back home we finished the evening with food - and prosecco.