Getting There: 12 Hours in London

The last couple of days have been fairly sedate as classes are getting more serious and I'm concentrating a little more on just settling into the city after a fabulous weekend day trip to Cinque Terre. My excursions have been limited to scoping out the various open-air markets around the city; a useful task, but not narly as exciting. Therefore, I will take this opportunity to catch up on some of the experiences I skipped over since this trip began.

First, started this trip with almost no sleep. The night before my flight, I had the chance to spend some time with friends I haven't seen in over a decade- in Boston. It ended up being a late night. My fellow student, Alycia, had offered to have me stay in her parent's guest bedroom and have her mother drive us down to the plane together, as we had an early flight. I got to her house after 2, and we left at about 5:30 AM.

Once on the plane in Logan, I was able to doze for a couple of hours. We landed at Heathrow Airport in London, before I felt like more than a couple of hours had passed. We sorted out the tube and made our way to King's Cross

and the hostel where we were to stay for a few hours before getting up early (again) and jetting off to Gatwick to catch our flight to Florence.

78 Clink is an interesting building; once a courthouse that Dickens worked in (that apparently inspired some of his works), the courtroom is now a cybercafe!

I had to take the opportunity to sit in the judge's chair to go online.

The accommodations were minimal, but at least there were beds, and the bar was still open. We "nipped off for a pint" before bed, then sacked out for 4 hours or so; up at 5 for a shower (inasmuch as we slept at all; our room slept 14), then back on the tube.

We took the tube to Victoria station, changed to the National rail to Gatwick, then took a completely unnecessary ride to the wrong terminal. This is what happens when airlines consistently use "Partners" and you don't read the fine print on your ticket. The British airways clerk didn't help by being extra snooty.

"I have a flight to Florence and your kiosk says I can't check in."
"Oh, we don't fly to Florence. You must need another airline." With a sneering smile, and no motion to take my ticket or continue the conversation.
"Well, you sold me a ticket to Florence!" Forcefully, and with no intent to leave her desk until she took the ticket from my outstreched hand and dealt with my problem.
Taking the ticket, "Oh, I see. You're flying Meridiana. South Terminal. You can take the shuttle over there."

So we run to the other terminal and get in line. Meridiana apparently enforces their (checked and carryon) baggage restrictions with a heavy hand; Alycia was charged an ungodly sum for her overage.

In security, my bag was pulled from the x-ray machine. After sorting out that my coat hanger were not, in fact, some large arcane metal object, we finally boarded the plane! We touched down in Florence a couple of hours later, were met by friendly and helpful staff from the Institute, and herded onto taxis to our apartments.

Gelato Festival

Photo Copyright:Claire Weaver

Friday, was the first day of the gelato festival. I slept in a bit (it was a late night the previous night), then went to my professor’s to pick up his keys; I was feeding his cat over the weekend as he and his wife go to Rome to meet up with family. Then I went back home and cooked up the lovely porcini mushrooms I bought at the market yesterday. These majestic, large fungi have to date resisted efforts at cultivation, so they are a relatively rare local delicacy. I’d purchased a huge bag (cheap at €10), only to discover that none of my roommates like mushrooms! So, I’m stuck eating them all myself. Tragic.

I cooked them with mint, fresh basil, garlic, oil, and salt, then sprinkled a little parmegian cheese on top. Molto bene! After a lunch of grilled mushroom steaks and bread, I went with a group to enjoy some gelato in the historic city center. There were bustling crowds flocked all around the pavilions set up in the piazzas. Lectures on how gelato is made were offered throughout the day, and open kitchens were set up as well. We each purchased a book of tickets (five tastes for €4, a great deal), and started tasting! There were many flavors offered; one of my favorite was ACE (orange, carrot, and lemon); I have not yet found the flower flavors I enjoyed in Cassis back in 2007. It is my quest to find lilac and lavender once again. Now we are enjoying a quiet afternoon at home, and will later pick up some pizza to have at the apartment.

My plans are finally firming up; Rome at the end of June, with day trips most weekends. I will stay in Florence this weekend to take care of Mr. Parker (the cat), but mostly because I want to get to know the city better. Fiesole is a possibility.

Thursday night a group of us met up and took the bus to the piazzole Michelangelo to sit on he steps and watch the sunset. Afterward we walked down, stopped by the ladies’ apartment so they could freshen up, stopped by our place to drop off our bags, and then went out for a glass of wine at a club that wasn’t completely swamped with Americans.

edit: checked my grades for last semester today: 4.0 again!

Firenze

So, I find myself in Florence, Italy and with some time and luxury to blog again. I will make an interlude from my series of near-death experiences to share some of what is going on in my life right now. My semester is complete (with some success), I am freed from my home responsibilities for the time being, and in a wonderful environment. You may ask, how did I get here?

I am studying abroad at the Institute at the Palazzo Rucellai in Florence through a program at the University of New Hampshire at Manchester. I will be here for a total of six weeks, until July 3rd. So far I have not really left the city, but have had a number of good experiences here. I will try to catch up on relating those as I continue, but first I will start with the most recent.This is the view from our apartment!

Today our Food and Culture of Italy class took a field trip to Il Marcato Centrale, the Central Market. On the way the professor had us try tripe (trippa).

Afterwards, we toured the market. They have giant wheels of cheese, exotic meats (rabbit, horse, guinea hen, etc.), and lots of cuts and parts that are not common in American supermarkets; tripe, lung, brain, and pig penis. I draw the line at tripe...

After touring the market we headed back to the piazza Della Republica to split up for the end of class. On the way there, we were going down a small side street en masse, when a a little delivery truck almost ran over the professor! I missed the beginning of the exchange, but when our professor said something to the driver, it turned into a shouting match with a distinct cross-cultural context; I heard the driver say "Tedesco" several times; our professor is German, and it seems that the gist of the driver's abuse was that our professor was another damn German that thinks he can come to Florence and do whatever he wants, etc. etc., hearkening back to the Nazi occupation of Northern Italy.

Out professor gave a cursory explanation but pretty much shrugged it off.

Afterward, I went back to the market with one of my fellow students, and picked up fresh porcini mushrooms! These only grow wild and are really fresh right now. Yum!

I have so much to relate; I will try to post as much as I can!

I Should Have Died! #2: The Birds

This story is set in the city of Florence, at the Piazza del Duomo. My mother was completing her Teacher Training course as an instructor of Transcendental Meditation on the island of Majorca, Spain and at Fiuggi, Italy. She was taking a break with some friends, and they toured Florence and several hill towns in the vicinity.

I was about a year and a half old at the time, so we went almost everywhere together. It was a bright sunny day, and we were taking a moment from our tour of Florence before the famous doors of the Duomo to rest.

She had bought me some parched corn to feed the ubiquitous pigeons. I was very excited by the process of feeding the birds. I held the paper bag in my fist with one hand, and scattered the dry kernels before them with the other, bobbing and dancing with glee. I squirmed in the stroller, wanting to be free, to get closer to the few birds that pecked hungrily before me.

The corn was gone, and the pigeons started to wander, so I pulled out another handful and hurled it at the pigeons. The responded as expected, crowding in to compete for the food. A few more birds moved in to take advantage of the bounty. I threw another handful, drawing them closer, tensing and chortling with excitement. More pigeons came, now pecking fearlessly between the wheels of the stroller, almost close enough to touch. At this point my mother became a little alarmed, knowing my propensity for going overboard.

It was too late. I took the plunge. With a wild shriek, a preverbal paean to Pan, I upended the entire bag at my feet, spilling the corn right under me and between the wheels of the stroller, and into my lap. I disappeared from my mother's view, beneath a frothing, churning mass of wings and snapping beaks.

With the horror of my tender little face torn to bits flashing through her mind, she reacted instantly, pulling back the stroller, and shouting at the flock as she slapped them away. My scream of glee became a wail of stymied disappointment, fear, and frustration. When the flock cleared, I was untouched but upset, wailing unconsolably. Of course, my mother did not get to see the Duomo that day.

Epilogue:

I barely remember this experience, and only as a impressionistic montage sequence, so I piece this narrative together mostly from my mother's telling (and retelling) of the story over the years. For some time, I had been relating this story to friends as set in Vatican Square. When I discovered that I would be able to study in Florence this summer, she told me "Oh, Tim, you'll have to go back to the Duomo where you were mobbed by pigeons!" Apparently we never went to The Vatican; in hindsight, I have to agree that if I had such a "spirited" child, I would not take them to The Vatican either.

So, it is now my plan that when I return to Florence, some 38 years later, I shall purchase a bag of corn, stand before the great doors on the Piazza del Duomo, and ritually re-enact my experience by dumping the corn at my feet and invoking a mob of pigeons upon myself. Hopefully, they will not pluck out my eyes and tear my face to bits as punishment for my impertinent perversity.

Photos by permission.