Venice and Michelle Lovric

Wherever I travel, I always bring along works of fiction that either take place in the destination I'm going to or in some way relate to it -- I refer to these as companion reading.  I've never understood people who, usually at the last minute, look around for 'any old books' they say they need for the airplane or train or bus.  Part of immersing oneself in a destination is insuring that even when you're in transit you're enveloped in the place at which you'll soon be arriving (I suppose there may be some places on earth for which there is no companion reading, though I feel certain I could come up something that is somehow related).

However, even though I find and enjoy lots of fiction related to the places I'm going, it's rare to find an author who is as completely smitten with the place as I am, someone who has delved into a place's history and current affairs and makes it his or her business to really make readers feel they are right there.

 

 Michelle Lovric is one of these authors, and Venice is her specialty.  Not that finding companion reading for Venice is difficult, but if you have not yet read The Undrowned Child or its sequel The Mourning Emporium and you're en route to Venice soon make absolutely sure these are in your carry-on bag!  But even if you're not literally off to Venice, if you are a fan of page-turning historical fiction or adventure stories you will love these books.

If you've been to Venice in the fall or winter (and I hope you have, but more on this shortly) you will recognize well this description, which is the opening paragraph in The Undrowned Child:

"The fog that fell upon Venice that evening was like a bandage wrapped round the town.  First the spires of the churches disappeared.  Then the palaces on the Grand Canal were pulled into the soft web of white.  Soon it was impossible to see anything at all.  People held their hands out in front of them and fumbled their way over bridges like blind men.  Every sound was muffled, including the sighs of the steam ferries nosing through the black waters.  It would be an exceedingly bad night to fall in the water, for no one would hear a cry for help."   

Terrific, right?  Both of these novels are officially classified as young adult, but trust me, they make for very good reading for full-grown adults.  As A. N. Wilson, author of C. S. Lewis: A Biography noted of The Undrowned Child, "this is the sort of book that is labeled 'for children' but that will be passed round the eager family...Crammed with history, fantasy and beautiful comedy, this book gets a five-star rating." I put Lovric's fictional writing about Venice in the same category as Alan Furst's writing about Paris, Sarah Dunant's writing about Renaissance Florence, Lawrence Durrell's writing about Alexandria, and Laurie Albanese and Laura Morowitz writing about Fra Filippo Lippi in their book The Miracles of Prato.

Now, back to my comment about Venice in the fall or winter: a number of my friends and colleagues will only visit Venice in fall or winter, and I concur that Venice in these seasons is an absolutely, completely different city than it is in spring or summer.  In an essay in my book on Venice, the Veneto, and Friuli-Venezia Giulia, author and all-around Italian authority Fred Plotkin notes in "Venice in Winter" that "Winter is the only time of year when La Serenissima is, indeed, serene... and it is only now that you will find restaurants, cafes, and wine bars filled with Venetians.  The rest of the year, they retreat into their homes, taking refuge from the tourist stampede, so the fair-weather visitor misses a crucial element of life in Venice.  To be in Venice without Venetians is to know the city's stones but not its soul."  I'm not sure I would never go to Venice in the spring -- though I always advise avoiding Venice like the plague in the summer -- and if you have plans to be in Venice sometime between now and early June I think you will have a wonderful time. 

I also think if you can find a copy of my book -- it's out of print, but I do see copies online, notably at www.abebooks.com -- you'll find it to be a valuable compendium.  And even better, I was able to meet Michelle Lovric via e-mail, and she's kindly shared lots and lots of wonderful stuff and personal recommendations about Venice in the Q and A interview below.  BUT BEFORE YOU GET THERE I must tell you about her newest project: saving the bookshops of Venice.  An alarming number of Venice's venerable bookstores are closed or are on the verge of closing, and over 100 Venetian writers and writers about Venice, as well as illustrators, are part of an unprecedented class action by Alessandro Marzo Magno, author of The Dawn of Books: When Venice Made the World Read.  Read Lovric's eloquent and passionate essay she contributed to The History Girls for the full story (click on Lovric's name under the list of labels on the right side); but as she notes in this piece, these bookstore losses have become untenable, and that "in Venice, the cradle of Italian printing, the loss of the bookshops is less bearable than elsewhere."  And did you know that Venice was the first city to print the Koran in Arabic, where the first books were produced in Armenian, and where the very first best-sellers appeared?  Lovric is perhaps uniquely qualified to be a part of this manifesto: her second novel, The Floating Book (which is fascinating, by the way) is about the dawn of printing in Venice, and she spent a lot of time doing research for the book in the Marciana library, which holds one of the greatest classical collections in the world -- including two manuscripts of The Iliad from the 5th and 6th centuries -- as well as the first book ever printed in Venice, and where Lovric held a first edition of Catullus.  Venice is, indeed, the last place that bookshops ought to die, and this campaign is urgent and important to mankind and it deserves our support. Spread the word!        

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Q: By your own admission you have “always lived a waterbound life,” in Australia, in Devon, England, and in Venice.  It’s clear you have a passion for watery locales, but it could have been the reverse for you – what is it exactly that you love about living by bodies of water? 

A: Water creates a particular dancing light that I find irresistible. In Venice, it plays under bridges. In London, the Thames washes a rheumy light into my home, making it easier to concentrate than in playful Venice. Where there is water, there is always human transit too, and every journey is a story of sorts. All writers are voyeurs. Waterborne people are more interesting to spy on than those in cars. Their voyages always seem more exciting and romantic.

Q: When did you first visit Venice, and what made you decide to move there? 

A: I first saw Venice when I was eighteen. I was traveling on my own. I stood on the vaporetto going up the Grand Canal and something clicked inside me that said ‘contract’. I had contracted a kind of marriage to Venice. I knew that I would have business with her, be part of her. That night I was walking around Venice pursued by a random Italian who had unilaterally decided that I needed a guide. He was standing on a bridge beside me when a man in a gondola threw me a red rose (yes, these things happen in Venice). My self-appointed guide was so infuriated that he sank his teeth into my shoulder. I can’t remember how I got rid of him, but I do remember that the rose seemed to consecrate what I was already feeling, about Venice reaching out to me, extending a tangible invitation.

The feeling of ‘contract’ meant that after that I spent part of every year in Venice, sometimes a short holiday, sometimes for a month, or two months or three. I started to learn Italian. Then one of my anthologies became a New York Times bestseller, and I suddenly knew that my life could change as I wished it to change. So the first thing I did was book a month in an apartment in Venice and that’s when I wrote my first novel, Carnevale.

It may sound frightfully grand but I do feel now a part of Venice’s cultural history. I have written nine novels set there, and taken a leading part in the campaign to restore the Column of Infamy of Baiamonte Tiepolo, giving lectures in Italian to explain the importance of this monument to the Venetians themselves. I have tried to bring Italian history to life for young people, and in my books I try to express my feeling that the city is more than a place. She is a character in all my books: in truth, the leading character.

Q: Did you speak Italian before you arrived in Venice, and did it take long to understand the Venetian dialect?

A: I started learning Italian about fifteen years ago, I guess. I made an appointment with Ornella Tarantola, of the Italian bookshop in London. But after six weeks I had enough Italian that we began to talk about clothes and men and food, and became close, close friends, a friendship that brings me joy still. She introduced me to members of the huge Italian community in London, and I began to socialise in Italian. I did a couple of short courses on my long stays in Venice, but most of my Italian comes from being an inveterate chatterer and not being shy about making mistakes so long as I can communicate. Italian friends are amazed by my vocabulary – I love words and collect them like stamps. Italian grammar is really quite simple, and the pronunciation is mostly logical. It is a language that loves the tongue, and the memory, and cleaves to them both.

I don’t speak Venetian dialect, though I understand a bit and I use some of the words because they are more appropriate. For example, the Venetian word for ‘rat’ is ‘pantegana’. Given that there have been a lot of rats in my Venetian life, I use the local word with the town rat catcher, my neighbours and the palazzo cat, who is doing her mighty best against them.

Otherwise, I feel strongly that the Venetian dialect is not for outsiders. Venetians have no privacy: the 59,000 inhabitants are besieged by 21 million tourists a year. Their language is their only refuge, a place where they can be themselves, so I want them to have it.

Q: You have written about love, poetry, literature, cats, language, humor, food, marriage, museums, travel, and architecture, among a number of other subjects.  But all of this was aimed at an adult audience.  Where did your interest in writing for young adults come from, and when did you start working on The Undrowned Child?  

A: It was a lovely German editor friend of mine who said that I should write for young adults. I said, ‘No, I write about sex, and drugs and minuets (by which I mean, love, the history of medicine and cultural history). How would I write for children? No, don’t make me!’  She said, ‘I am going out for two hours. Just give it two hours and write.’  So I did, and I was hooked. I loved the demands of pace, clarity and morality that children’s writing creates. I love writing humorous characters, like Turtledove the Faginesque dog in The Mourning Emporium or Sofonisba the sardonic cat in the same book.

My adult non-fiction research has definitely nourished my children’s writing. The scatologically-inclined mermaids in The Undrowned Child and The Mourning Emporium were created from research I had done into sailor and pirate language for an earlier non-fiction book.  And the women’s quack cures that weaken the London mermaids came from a book I’d written on the subject ten years before.  I have been lucky to have superb editors, who have taught me so much as I went along. I would say in fact that writing for children has improved my writing for adults, which is becoming more disciplined.  I am now thinking about my fifth novel for children, interested in freshwater mermaids and even more bad language.  

Q: I love great opening lines in novels, and surely the opener to The Mourning Emporium is a good one: “The fog that fell upon Venice that evening was like a bandage wrapped round the town.”  Where do the words ‘mourning emporium’ in the title come from?

A: There was a famous shop in Victorian London’s Regent Street called Jay’s, which traded in all the paraphernalia for mourning: clothes, stationery, hats, muffs, handkerchiefs, camisoles. Jay’s styled itself a mourning warehouse. Part of the novel is set in an establishment very much based on Jay’s. But I liked the sonorous quality of ‘Emporium’ better than ‘Warehouse’, and especially the internal rhyme with ‘Mourning’.

  

Q: To take nothing away from the stories in both books, which are highly engrossing and entertaining and well written, I admit I am so impressed that you included ‘Places and Things in The Undrowned Child That You Can Still See in Venice’ and ‘What is True, and What’s Made up?’ in The Mourning Emporium – these are my favorite parts! (They are very similar to the section in my Venice book called ‘A to Z Informazioni Pratiche,’ which has become an A to Z Miscellany in my more recent books.)  Clearly you have a desire to share some of the wonderful and historic treasures of Venice with visitors to the city.  What are 10 sites you would recommend for both first-time visitors and those who’ve been before?     

A:  My publishers were very supportive about the idea of including the Places and Things – and I am so glad. People very often comment on how useful it has been for them and I receive lovely fan letters from people who have used the book to do Undrowned Child tours of Venice. One of my fans came to Venice last year and I gave her the tour myself, from Signor Rioba to the Butcher Biasio. It was just as much fun for me as it was for her.

My top ten (in fact 15) things to do in Venice:

1. walk from the beginning of the Zattere near San Basilio to the Punta della Dogana and look at the view of the bacino, preferably eating a huge gelato. Try to make it last till the church of Salute.

2.  The Basilica of San Marco but don’t queue up to go right inside. Instead, take a steep little flight of steps to the right of the entrance. This takes you up to a gallery where you have the most gorgeous view of the interior. Also, cover up. No shorts, bare arms or decolletée.

3. Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni (Carpaccio paintings) the most beautiful chapel in Venice. A little jewel box. Never crowded and well worth finding. Take some kind of reference material with you, preferably Ruskin (St Mark’s Rest), so you can ‘read’ the paintings.

4. San Giorgio Maggiore, the island facing the Piazzetta, has a tall bell-tower from which you get a stupendous view of the city and not the queues for the Campanile in San Marco. Sitting on the stones outside this church, on the edge of the water, is one of the nicest views of Venice. Turner and Canaletto thought so too. Take a picnic. The Fondazione Cini owns this island and has an institute here that sometimes hosts exhibitions. The wonderful cloisters are sometimes open to the public for guided tours.

5. Doge’s Palace this is a must. If you can, book to see the Secret Itinerary which also includes entrance to the rest of the palace. The itinerary will take you to Casanova’s cell in the leads and other places inaccessible with a normal ticket. A bit of climbing is involved. After the itinerario (which you can book in English, with an English-speaking guide) you are free to wander around the palace’s public parts. VERY nice cafe down by the water gate on the ground floor, though the coffee is heart-stopping. You need a whole day at the Doge’s Palace really. You need to book the secret itinerary a few days in advance, in general. Better still, book before you come to Venice, to make sure.

6. Caffè Florian for the beautiful art on the walls or to sit on the benches in the covered passageway. Try Florian’s famous hot chocolate piled with whipped cream. It’s thick, dark and amazing. In the past, Venetians loved chocolate so much that they would sell a slave for ten cocoa beans.  The nobility had hot chocolate in the mornings, in bed, instead of tea or coffee. There’s a funny poem by Antonio Sforza (eighteenth century) about his obsession with hot chocolate, in which he declares that when he dies he wishes to have his bones ground up and made into bone-china cups for more hot chocolate.

7. Biennale art festival takes place June onwards, every second year, 2007, 2009, at the Giardini. Each country has a pavilion. It takes a day and is alternately disgusting, exhilarating, amusing. There is a separate part at the Arsenale, the old naval shipyards. If that is open, go at all costs because the architecture inside is stupendous, gives you a full sense of Venice’s former might. You really need a day each at the sites. Sadly, pretentious and stretched-out repetitive video installations are overtaking painting and sculpture, but there is always something interesting to see. The Biennale also spreads into town: some private palazzi are used as temporary exhibition sites, and it is always worth getting inside even if the art is terrible. Your ticket to the main exhibition should get you into the ‘in town’ exhibits too. Some of those are free entrance, anyway.

8. You really should take a gondola ride, if possible. By far the best time to do this is at night. The water is calmer; the city retreats into her past. And you should ask the gondolier to take you into the quiet smaller canals. A night-ride in one of the beautiful black boats is not ‘just for the tourists’. I do it as often as possible, even though I live in Venice.  If the gondola is a bit expensive, there is a way you can have a short ride in one for 50 cents: take the traghetto. These are real gondolas that work as ferries, taking up to fourteen people at a time across the Grand Canal. Two gondoliers pole them, one at each end. There are various places to take them, including Rialto, Santa Maria del Giglio and San Tomà. In The Undrowned Child, Teo meets the ghost of Pedro-the-Crimp on the traghetto between San Samuele and Ca’ Rezzonico – because that is the one I usually get to do my shopping. But it is currently under threat of being axed because of lack of funds.  It is traditional to stand up in the traghetto. But if some people sit down on the ledges at the sides of the boat, then it is OK – but you must watch out and make sure that the weight is balanced.

9. Church of Miracoli, the prettiest back end of a church in Venice and nice square where you can enjoy the church and good cappuccino under big white parasols. Service can be surly, and the prices are blatant brigandage, but just look at that church. In this area, every few months, is a good flea market. It is always worth asking your hotel if it is the weekend for the Miracoli flea market. Most of it is junk, but it’s VENETIAN junk, so worth a look.

10. Ca’ d’Oro is the oldest gothic palazzo and still the most beautiful on the Grand Canal. Now it’s an art gallery. Remember to go into the courtyard – it’s the best part.

11. Grand Canal at night. One of the best things to do is to take a vaporetto late in the evening. Go to the open bit at the back or the front (if on an old-style vap – the new technovaps don’t have seats at the front). From there you can see all the palazzi with their lamps lit, illuminating painted ceilings and other treasures. Take a round trip from Zattere back to Academia or San Marco.

12. The Natural History Museum in Venice is surprisingly fantastic. Housed in the old Turkish Foundation building, it has a stunning modern collection and also a charming, frightening, old collection of hunting trophies including a gorilla whose belly is now bare from being stroked by too many Venetian schoolchildren. The animals in this museum feature in my forthcoming novel, The Fate-in-the-Box. Santa Croce 1730 - 30135 Venezia - 041/2750206.

13. Say hello to the statue of Signor Rioba, one of the heroes of The Undrowned Child, may be

found, with those of his brothers, in the Campo dei Mori, near the church of Madonna

del Orto. When you see his strong, cross face, you will understand why I made him

speak so coarsely in the book! Also nearby is the Palazzo Mastelli, which has a relief

of a camel.

14. Visit the old lady who stopped a revolution. Just behind the clock tower in San Marco, look up and left. You will see a sculpture of an old lady throwing a mortar and pestle out of her window. This is a tribute to the lady who killed the standard-bearer of Baiamonte Tiepolo just before his

revolutionary forces arrived in San Marco, on their way to kill the Doge and take over

the city. When the standard-bearer died, everyone lost heart for fighting and the

revolution was soon put down. And the anger of Baiamonte Tiepolo’s ghost is the evil that fuels

the dangerous storylines of both The Mourning Emporium and The Undrowned Child.

15. Contarini del Bovolo. This building was created for a man who had grown rich by selling sausages. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for you, but I will tell you this much: you will immediately see why the name Bovolo or Snail-shell  is very appropriate. Corte dei Risi o del Bovolo, San Marco 4299

Q:  I have to ask you about the Syrian cats (I am a big cat person, and I am proud to say that my cat Seymour, who was a very fat Siamese, lived to be 23) – you mention the charity DINGO in The Undrowned Child and that this organization has cleared the streets of Venice of its once numerous wild cats.  Why did this happen?  And, since you offered, what are some Venice shops that still have their own resident cats? 

A:  I am a huge cat person two. In London, I now have two tabbies called Mu and Caramella, who has caramel-coloured eyes.  It is quite true about the Syrian cats (apart from the wings with which I endow them in my books).  Venice has always needed cats. Other cities faced invading armies, and built defensive walls. But Venice only had walls of water, and hence invasions of water rats and of mice. The navy and merchant ships from the east brought an involuntary passenger... the black rat, who brought the plague that  exterminated a third of Venetians in the 17^th century. So Venetians imported some particularly ferocious Syrian, or tabby cats, and crossed them with the native lagoon cats, to make hunters.  Cats were soon ‘serving’ on Venetian ships, to keep the mice out of the food stores. It is noted that sometimes three or four cats were recruited for the ships. They were also thought to bring good fortune to the sailors.  The word for tabby in Italian is ‘Soriano’, obviously relating to the Syrian background of these beasts.

In 1964 there came to Venice an Englishwoman named Helena Sanders (1911–97) who set up a charity eventually known as DINGO. Claiming that there were 50,000 starving and sick cats, she

initiated a cull, to the astonishment and horror of many Venetians. These days the charity DINGO does not kill cats except in extremis but houses them in a gattile at Malamocco. They also provide little houses and food for colonies of wild cats in various parts of Venice. You do not see as many cats as you used to in Venice, sadly. But if you want to have some sightings, there are about a dozen who hang out near the deconsecrated church of Cosma e Damiano on the Giudecca. A few can be seen in the Campo dei Mori quite often. And quite a few shops have resident cats. I did a series of interviews with these cats for my website. There’s the lovely grey Perla at Rigattieri in Santo Stefano, Matilde at Can e Gato (Venetian for ‘Cat and Dog’), on the Fondamenta del Soccorso, marmalade Van Gogh at Shanti Daan near San Barnaba, emerald-eyed Minou at Martin Pescatore near Santi Giovanni e Paolo.

Q: What are some of the places you regularly frequent in your sestiere and beyond?

A:  Best coffee – da Gino in San Vio, also for the amazing smile of the barista Emilio, and the way he says ‘Ciao Michelle!’

Best food shopping – Rialto market, not just for the food but for the ‘cries’ of the traders touting their vegetables and the sheer beauty of the setting, on the edge of the Grand Canal.  

Best garden – Sant’Elena, where the tall trees make for shade and you almost never see a tourist. The park was recently devastated by a tornado, and some trees lost, but it is still beautiful and peaceful.

Best shops – for clothes I love the exotic Federica’s boutique near San Toma’. It’s called Zazu (San Polo 2750) and also, though it is pricey, Hibiscus, near Rialto.

Best library – the Marciana, once you get past the arcane ordering system and know at which archway to present yourself for books of different centuries.

Best restaurants – Beccafico – Sicilian cuisine in Venice, rich and powerful flavours - Campo Santo Stefano, San Marco 2801, 041 527 4879. For lovely meat dishes and interesting pastas, Pan e Vino San Daniele, Campo dell’Angelo Raffaele - Dorsoduro 1722, 30123 Venezia, 041 5237456. Also Osteria alla Zucca for its buttery pumpkin mousse topped by pumpkin seeds and chalky taleggio in a slick of dark green olive oil. San Stae, Ramo del Megio 1762 - 041 5241570. Nearby is one of the nicest local squares, San Giacomo dell’ Orio, where quite often you will often find interesting things happening in the evenings, such as moonlit ballroom dancing competitions, tango classes, Mexican festivals and dog shows. And not far away is All’Anfora, very good for children or people on a budget. I don’t like pizza but I would eat pizza every day if I could have it here. This is a little pizzeria-trattoria near the San Biasio vaporetto stop. (The Butcher Biasio, who made stew out of children, is one of the villains in The Undrowned Child). But he’s long gone so it’s perfectly safe for kids now.  The pizzas at the Anfora have a lovely light slender crust and good toppings. Calle dei Bari, Santa Croce 1223 - 041 524 0325

Q: What books about Venice– for both children and adults – are among your favorites?

A:  My all-time favourite book about Venice has never been translated into English, which is a serious shame. It is called Curiosita’ Veneziane and it is by Giuseppe Tassini, who is actually a character in my novel, Talina in the Tower. Curiosita’ is a kind of historical gazetteer of the whole city, explain the names and happenings in each street. I have a pocket edition that lives in my handbag. Who knows when you might pass down ‘The Little Street of the Big Eye’ and need to know why it has that name?

In terms of novels about Venice, I love (for young readers) Mary Hoffman’s Stravaganza: City of Masks.  For adult readers, I admire very much Juan Manuel de Prada's The Tempest,

Tiziano Scarpa's Venice is a Fish and Stabat Mater, and Jeanette Winterson's The Passion.  And of course I enjoy Donna Leon’s Commissario Brunetti series as well.

Q:  What do you read when you’re not reading about Venice?  

A:  I read a lot of YA and adult fiction, always absorbent, interested, learning from other writers. Books that have made me very happy and stimulated recently are State of Wonder by Anne Patchett and The Land of Decoration by Grace McCleen.

Q:  What is your favorite time of year that you recommend people visit Venice?

A:  The quietest time is early December and January before the tourists come for Carnevale. The weather is very cold, and there is frequently aqua alta, which makes the city both tricky and fascinating to negotiate. There are also beautiful mists and even snow. This year the lagoon even froze over for a few days, a glorious sight. I would recommend those times, for their atmosphere, and for the pleasure of getting in out of the cold to drink hot chocolate.  If you are there on January 6^th you can watch gondoliers dressed in drag racing down to Rialto as part of the Befana celebrations. You’ll be given free hot chocolate and galani biscuits too.

Q:  Where else do you travel in Italy?

A:  I have plans to visit Matera in Southern Italy as soon as I can. I love Rome. But nothing can quite compare with Venice. The one time I took a driving holiday in Italy, I came home early to Venice because I was homesick.

Q:  What projects are you working on now?

A: I have just finished my fourth book for young readers, The Fate-in-the-Box, a story about an 18^th-century Venice full of ticking, jumping, walking automata and haunted by a Primaeval Crocodile. And I am working on my fifth novel for adults. The fourth one, The Book of Human Skin, dealt with all aspects of the largest organ of our body, with the story spread from Venice to Peru in the early nineteenth century. This new one is about hair, which turns out to be of enormous cultural significance. Harnessing the research into a readable novel is quite a challenge but I’m loving it. 

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Even more about Venice can be found on Lovric's website, www.michellelovric.com -- I especially love the selection of Venetian proverbs that Lovric originally featured at the beginning of each chapter in her first novel, Carnevale (Virago PRess, 2002) -- as well in her excellent anthology, Venice: Tales of the City (Little, Brown, 2005).  Lovric can also be found online at the Scattered Authors' Society website (An Awfully Big Blog Adventure) and at English Writers in Italy.

For the next few weeks, I'll be posting some additional entries in the Turkish Miscellany for various letters of the alphabet. For today, here are entries for the letters D and F, both having to do with Aya Sofya (known in Greek as Haghia Sophia):

D
Enrico Dandolo
The legacy of Venetian Doge Enrico Dandolo (1107-1205) is that of being the wickedest doge, according to J. G. Links in his exceptional book Venice for Pleasure. Dandolo was doge from 1192 until his death, and is chiefly remembered for his directing role in the Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople, which Links describes as "unparalleled in history. The city had been the capital of Christian civilization for nine centuries and was filled with works of art of which, perhaps, only the Venetians knew the true value. When the murder, rape, and looting were done with, the booty was divided up according to the agreement. A quarter was left for the new Emperor enthroned by the invaders, the rest was divided half and half between the Crusaders and the Venetians whose share included the bronze horses on St. Mark's and much else that we still see in Venice. There never was a greater crime against humanity than this 'Crusade against Christians' and it had disastrous consequences for the whole Western world."

Dandolo's involvement with the Crusade started when the Knights of teh Fourth Crusade were stranded in Venice in 1202 because they were unable to pay for the ships they'd commissioned due to fewer men showing up than expected. Dandolo concocted a plan whereby he would suspend the debt to the knights if they assisted the Venetians in restoring Venetian control over Zara, an Adriatic city claimed by both Venice and the Kingdom of Hungary. He "took the cross" -- committed himself personally to the Crusade -- in a ceremony in San Marco, and Venice became the major financial backer of the Fourth Crusade, supplied the ships, and lent money to the Crusaders. When the Crusaders sailed away from Venice, they thought they were going to Egypt, but Dandolo convinced them to stop at Zara and attack the city. Shortly afterward, Alexius Angelus, son of the deposed Byzantine emperor Isaac II, arrived in Zara. Dandolo agreed to the Crusade leaders' plan of putting Angelus on the throne in return for Byzantine support of the Crusade. Old and almost completely blind, he directed and was present at the sack of Constantinople.

The Catholic Crusaders took control of Constantinople and established the Latin Empire, and Venice received title to three-eighths of the (former) Byzantine Empire, which would never again be as powerful as it was before the Fourth Crusade. As for Dandolo, he was buried in Aya Sofya, probably in the upper eastern gallery. There is a grave marker with his name on it that still exists, but there are conflicting stories as to whether it was the Greeks, in 1261, or the Turks, in 1453, who opened the grave and threw his bones to the dogs.

F
Fossati Brothers
Gaspare and Giuseppe Fossati were Italian Swiss architects who lived in Moscow for some years as official architects of Czar Nicholas I. When the czar sent them to Istanbul to build his new embassy in Pera, they stayed for twenty years. They built not only the Russian embassy in 1837 but also the Dutch embassy and the Church of Saints Peter and Paul in Galata, and they restored the Sulemaniye mosque after a fire in 1660 in the service of the sultan. However, they are most noted for their work on Aya Sofya in 1848-1849. The mosaics in Aya Sofya had been covered with whitewash and plaster for 400 years, since the fall of Constantinople. In the 19th century, the Fossatis temporarily uncovered them, but Sultan Abdulmecid reportedly commented on the mosaics of Jesus and Mary, "They are all very beautiful, but for the time it is not appropriate to leave them visible. Clean them and cover them over again carefully, so that they may survive until they are revealed to view in the future." The Fossati brothers set to work completing structural repairs to the building and then covering the mosaics with fresh plaster, and on this Gaspare painted some hubrid Ottoman-Byzantine motifs.

In 1934, Ataturk decreed that Aya Sofya would become a museum and that the mosaics should be revealed. This job was assigned to Thomas Whittemore and the Byzantine Institute of America. According to a work by Natalia Teteriatnikov for Dumbarton Oaks, Mosaics of Haghia Sophia, Istanbul: The Fossati Restoration and the Work of the Byzantine Institute, "The restoration by the Fossatis in the nineteenth century and the consolidation and cleaning by the Byzantine Institute in the twentieth century have been invaluable to the preservation of the mosaics and to the dissemination of information about them." For his part, Thomas Whittemore wrote to his former teacher, Henri Matisse, "My Dear Master, the fourth year of my work uncovering and cleaning the mosaics in Haghia Sophia in Istanbul is now over. Peerless examples of Byzantine art have been preserved in this great church for a thousand years." The Fossatis prepared drawings and watercolors of the interior of Aya Sofya and its mosaics and gave them to the czar, hoping he would publish them. He didn't, and the illustrations wouldn't be published for more than a century later; but Gaspare published an album of lithographs made from his watercolors and dedicated it to the sultan in 1852.

The Mosaics book by Natalia Teteriatnikov is available through the Dumbarton Oaks website, http://www.doaks.org/, as an electronic text with images and I highly recommend it. It's also available as a paperback book for $15. If you live in the Washington, D.C. area I also highly recommend visiting Dumbarton Oaks -- its Byzantine art collection is one of the finest in the world and its gardens are beautiful (see the site for the garden's seasonal hours and admission). The Museum is open daily except Monday from 2 to 5.

Cornucopia: The Magazine for Connoisseurs of Turkey (http://www.cornucopia.net/) -- which is one of the most beautifully produced and interesting magazines on earth -- published a feature on the Fossati brothers entitled 'The Miracle of Santa Sophia' and reproduced a fold-out panorama of their drawings and watercolors, which are truly beautiful. The feature was written by Anthony Bryer and it appeared in the very first issue of the magazine, in 1992, and is now very rare and in limited supply; but check the Cornucopia website for more details on purchasing this back issue.

And this fall, Istanbul's Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, in the former palace of Suleyman the Magnificent's grand vezir, Ibrahim Pasha (and across the streets from one of my most favorite hotels in Istanbul, the Ibrahim Pasha, http://www.ibrahimpasha.com/), is hosting a special exhibit on Gaspare Fossati's plan for the renovation of Haghia Sophia. The Museum, which is little visited and very much deserves to be better known, is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 to 5.

And, still continuing with the rest of my presentation:

*Sempre Diritto! is a phrase you may hear in Venice, especially as a reply when you ask for directions. The back story, as adapted from Jan Morris: the first assault on Venice was made by Pepin, son of Charlemagne, in 809. The legend of his rebuff symbolizes the Venetians’ canny sense of self-defense. The original capital of Venice was the island of Malamocco, now vanished, half a mile off the Lido. The Venetian government at this time was more afraid of enemies from the mainland, not from the Adriatic, so Malamocco was perfect because it was as deep in the sea as possible. Pepin wanted to humble the Venetians, and he attacked the settlements from the seaward side and then finally faced the island of Malamocco. The government abandoned its then exposed headquarters and withdrew across the mud flats, through intricate shallow channels that only the Venetians understood, to a group of islands in the very center of the lagoon, called Rivo Alto – Rialto. Pepin took Malamocco and prepared to cross the lagoon in pursuit, but one old woman – so the story goes – stayed behind in Malamocco, determined to do or die, and when she was asked, “Which is the way to Rivo Alto?” she answered, knowing how dangerous the mud flats were and how turbulent the tide was, “Sempre Diritto!” – and Pepin’s fleet instantly ran aground and was ambushed by the Venetians and utterly humiliated. As Morris has noted, "no enemy has ever succeeded in taking Venice by storm." Indeed.


*The Ca'Rezzonico is to me the most splendid palace on the Grand Canal. A tablet records that Robert Browning died there, which is true, and according to J. G. Links in his incomparable book Venice for Pleasure, every gondolier and most guidebooks will tell you that Browning also owned the palazzo but he didn’t – it was bought in 1887 by his son, Pen, who restored it and redecorated it with such success that Henry James wrote, “what he has done here with the splendid Palazzo Rezzonico transcends description for beauty.” When you walk up the stone staircase you enter a huge ballroom that is completely frescoed in beautiful pastel shades with a grand Tiepolo ceiling of a god driving a chariot with galloping horses. What few visitors there are here probably don't know that all of this was restored by the America-Italy Society of Philadelphia in 1974. Other rooms contain a series of small paintings by Francesco Guardi. Together they represent one of the most valuable records we have of 18th century Venetian life -- there are ladies taking their moring cups of hot chocolate, others at their toilette, a family receiving visitors, and maked revelers at Carnevale, which then lasted six months. But perhaps the very best reason to come to the Ca'Rezzonico is that you can poke your head out the open windows and take in the view, and feel, just for a few minutes, what it might be like to live there.


*John Ruskin thought the Scuola di San Rocco was one of the three most precious buildings in the world, with the Sistine Chapel and the Campo Santo of Pisa. It is a treasure, and its history is interesting: the Archbrotherhood of Saint Roch was the wealthiest of the six scuole grandi, which were unique to Venice in that they were both repositories of art treasures and social institutions and obeyed the State rather than the church. But the real reason to come here is to see the magnificent paintings of Tintoretto, which literally cover the ceilings and walls of the ground floor hall and great upper hall. And a very thoughtful touch is the mirrors found in the corners of each room, allowing one to see the paintings on the ceiling without having to crane your neck or lie on the floor.


*The last “undiscovered” aspect of Venice I’m going to mention is that of its longstanding, historical relationship with the nations of the Levant -- the Eastern Mediterranean – and the Muslim lands further east. Wordsworth noted of Venice in the 18th century, “Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee,’ and John Ruskin, in The Stones of Venice, originally published in 1851, recognized that Venetian medieval architecture was profoundly influenced by the Orient, and Deborah Howard notes in her excellent and more recent book, Venice & The East (Yale University Press, 2000), evidence of trade between Venice and the Islamic world dates back at least to the ninth century, and there were for many, many years about 200,000 Venetians living in Constantinople. Jan Morris, in her wonderful book The World of Venice, reminds us that “For more than a thousand years Venice was something unique among the nations, half eastern, half western, half land, half sea, poised between Rome and Byzantium, between Christianity and Islam, one foot in Europe, the other paddling in the pearls of Asia.” She continues by noting that “In Venice the Orient began. Marco Polo was a Venetian, and Venetian merchants, searching for new and profitable lines of commerce, traveled widely throughout central Asia. Decked in Oriental fineries, Venice became the most flamboyant of all cities… She was a treasure-box. Venice was ruined, in the long run, by the Muslim capture of Constantinople in 1453, which ended her supremacy in the Levant; and by da Gama’s voyage to India in 1498, which broke her monopoly of the Oriental trade: but for another three centuries she retained her panache and her pageantry, and she keeps her gilded reputation still.”

Though scholars have long recognized the seminal roles of Spain and Sicily in studies of east-west contacts in the Middle Ages, their roles are a little different as they were both subject to direct Muslim domination. Venice wasn’t the only Italian city engaged in eastern trade: Amalfi, Otranto, and especially Pisa and Genoa were all heavily involved at times, but the Crusaders all departed from Venice as it was then the eastern shore of Europe; Venetian merchants were active in places like Cairo, Alexandria, Istanbul, Bursa, Acre, Damascus, Aleppo, Trebizond, and Tabriz; and according to Philippe de Montebello, director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art and writing in the foreword to Venice and the Islamic World, 828-1797, also the name of an exhibit, “No other city in Western Europe cultivated as assiduously and successfully a Levantine trade and diplomatic network as Venice, and, as the Byzantine Empire gradually gave way to Islamic sultanates in the region, Venetians came increasingly into contact with Muslims and their ideas, culture, and way of life. Venice’s prosperity depended almost entirely on her role as Europe’s gateway to the richer civilizations in the East.” Montebello also notes that many works of Islamic art now in major Western museums passed through Venice and were acquired there in the 18th and 19th centuries.

Trade was the number one reason for Venice’s Eastern look and feel. Trade not only offered Venetian merchants the experience of visiting and living in the East but also created the wealth to sustain the building activity. In the year 1343, during negotiations to revive the Alexandria galley route – which had been interrupted for twenty years due to a papal ban on Moslem trade – the Venetian Senate made a formal declaration that was echoed in its official documents over the centuries:

“Since by the Grace of God our city has grown and increased by the labors of merchants creating traffic and profits for us in diverse parts of the world by land and sea and this is our lie and that of our sons, because we cannot live otherwise and know not how except by trade, therefore we must be vigilant in all our thoughts and endeavors, as our predecessors were, to make provision in every way lest so much wealth and treasure should disappear.”

As Deborah Howard also notes, “Trade was part of the creation myth of Venice, and its successful continuation into the future an article of faith: as a 15th century diarist Marin Sanudo observed, ‘It is worthy of note that, just as they have been merchants from the beginning, so the Venetians continue to be from year to year.’

I was stunned when I learned that a very large number of people – I no longer remember the number, but it’s huge – come to Venice and never leave piazza San Marco. That’s a shame of course, as much as I too think San Marco is an extraordinary piazza, but I wonder how many of those visitors know that the piazza is very similar to the courtyard of the Great Umayyad Mosque in Damascus – the succession of double arches over every single arch was adopted as the basic theme for piazza San Marco. And the profusion of mosaics on the outside of San Marco, lifts the building right out of its Byzantine heritage into Islamic tradition. In Byzantium, even its most splendid church, Hagia Sophia known as Aya Sofya today, had a plain exterior; but by bringing color into the open arena of the piazza, the façade of San Marco extends the realm of the sacred into the forecourt just as the Great Umayyad Mosque or the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem project a sacred aura of glittering color. The East displayed a kaleidoscopic brilliance to the European visitor, and merely by importing marbles, textiles, and spices, Venice could transport the rainbow palette of the Orient on to her own soil. Not by chance has the love of color become a commonplace in studies of Venetian art and architecture. And in fact Venetian color is the subject of another great resource for looking more closely at some familiar sites, Venetian Colour: Marble, Mosaic, Painting and Glass 1250-1550 by Paul Hills (Yale University Press, 1999). Hills notes that in San Marco, “Saracenic, oriental, and Western sources are interwoven in a visual bricolage.” The very first time I visited Venice and stood inside San Marco I immediately felt that it was different in a way I couldn’t put my finger on, and I wasn’t even sure I was still in Italy. Four months later I was in Istanbul, and it was then, when I was inside Aya Sofya, that I was reminded of San Marco and I knew that what I couldn’t put my finger on was that San Marco felt Eastern. (And by the way, my most favorite feature of San Marco is the floor, with its beautiful stone mosaics. I was happy to discover that J. G. Links wrote, “Of all the postcards sold in Venice, my own favorites are those of the floor of St. Mark’s. This marvelous fllor is of unfailing interest without turning it into a game, but a piquancy can be added by setting out to find the piece represented. The cards may be bought from the staff at the entrance and, if absolutely necessary, the stall-keeper may be prepared to tell you where to look for the original if he has had a good lunch.”)

There are likely not two other cities in the world more entwined together than Venice and Istanbul. I think it doesn’t take long to realize that you can’t absorb one city without also absorbing the other. In Eye of the Beholder: Masterpieces from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, writer Alan Chong notes that “Mrs. Gardner understood that Islamic art was intimately connected with Venice. One expects to find Islamic objects in Mrs. Gardner’s museum, as one might have in a Venetian palazzo.” And in Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red, the underlying theme is the court-appointed artists’ struggle with true representation versus the Islamic-mandated ban on realistic likeness. “Believe me, none of the Venetian masters have your poetic sensibility, your conviction, your sensitivity, the purity and brightness of your colors, yet their paintings are more compelling because they more closely resemble life itself. They don’t paint the world as seen from the balcony of a minaret, ignoring what they call perspective; they depict what’s seen at street level, or from the inside of a prince’s room, taking in his bed, quilt, desk, mirror, his tiger, his daughter and his coins. They include it all, as you know. I’m not persuaded by everything they do. Attempting to imitate the world directly through painting seems dishonorable to me. I resent it. But there’s an undeniable allure to the paintings they make by those new methods. They depict what the eye sees just as the eye sees it. Indeed, they paint what they see, whereas we paint what we look at…One day everyone will paint as they do. When ‘painting’ is mentioned, the world will think of their work! Even a poor foolish tailor who understands nothing of illustrating will want such a portrait so he might be convinced, upon seeing the unique curve of his nose, that he’s not an ordinary simpleton, but an extraordinary man.”

Rosamond Mack, author of still another fascinating work, Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300-1600 (University of California Press, 2002) note that “the Ottomans permitted the Venetians to establish consulates in Cairo and Aleppo, the first the principal market for spices, the second for cotton and silk arriving by caravan.”

La Serenissima was touched in seemingly endless ways by Islamic culture, and visitors to Venice today can still see them – they’re detailed and illustrated in the first article in the handout, which you can read later – it’s not only useful to take with you on a trip to Venice but is interesting to read as an armchair traveler. (By the way, the article is from a magazine I only learned about a few years ago called Saudi Aramco World. It, too, is fairly undiscovered and may be of interest to you – though I was at first skeptical about the magazine’s mission, connected as it is to a fabulously wealthy oil company, the articles are extremely well written and a subscription is complimentary.)

If I’ve spent a lot of time on this one aspect, it’s because I feel it’s not only fascinating but important. As Philippe de Montebello also noted, “the exhibition encourages us all to view art across cultures and without bias.” And I leave this aspect with some wonderful words from Jan Morris:

“For if you shut your eyes very hard, and forget the price of coffee, you may see a vision of another Venice. She became great as a market city, poised between East and West, between Crusader and Saracen, between white and brown: and if you try very hard, allowing a glimmer of gold from the Basilica to seep beneath your eyelids, and a fragrance of cream to enter your nostrils, and the distant melody of a café pianist to orchestrate your thoughts – if you really try, you can imagine her a noble market-place again. In these incomparable palaces, East and West might meet once more, to fuse their philosophies at last, and settle their squalid bickerings. In these mighty halls the senate of the world might deliberate, and in the cavernous recesses of the Basilica, glimmering and aromatic, all the divinities might sit in reconciliation. Venice is made for greatness, a God-built city, and her obvious destiny is mediation. She only awaits a summons. But if you are not the visionary kind – well, pay the man, don’t argue, take a gondola into the lagoon and watch her magical silhouette sink into the sunset: still, after a thousand years, one of the supreme sights of civilization.”

Florence

*Accademia della Crusca – or simply, La Crusca – was founded in Florence in 1582 and is Europe’s oldest language academy, older even than the better known Academie Française. Its founders were a group of five, fun-loving Florentine intellectuals who mocked the excessive seriousness of the Accademia Fiorentina, founded in 1541 and no longer in existence. Leonardo Salviati, a man of letters and a grammarian, joined in 1583, and the group’s aim became the preservation of the purity of the Italian language as exemplified by the 14th century writers Boccaccio, Petrarca, and Dante. La Crusca also sought to raise the Tuscan dialect to the status of official language. Tuscan has been dominant since the 13th century and was endorsed as the official language of Italy after the country’s unification. (Dante especially is credited with standardizing the Italian language.) Salviati interpreted in a new sense the name of crusca (bran), as if to say that the Academy should separate good language from bad, separate the literary wheat from the linguistic chaff. The crusconi (bran flakes) decided that each member should be given a nickname, a motto in the vernacular, and a symbol linked to the cultivation of wheat (Salviati’s was L’Infarinato, “the floured one”).

I first learned about La Crusca because of an object I saw in the window of a wonderful Florentine art gallery, Ducci (Lungarno Corsini 24r / (39) 055.214.550 / http://www.duccishop.com/). I related this tale in a piece for Dream of Italy and for a ‘Foraging’ column I wrote for the travel section of The New York Times (September 25, 2005), so I won’t repeat every detail here; but the object I refer to was beautiful – it was made of wood, it was edged in gold leaf, it bore Italian words and featured a painting of a loaf of bread….I loved it, but had no idea what it was. I later learned the object is a pala (plural is pale), a baker’s shovel that is the symbol of La Crusca. (In addition to the pala images here, you can also see a number of pale lining the walls at Cantinetta di Verrazzano – one of my most favorite eateries in Florence at via dei Tavolini 18/20r – and in the pages of Elizabeth David’s Italian Cooking.) Ducci is, to the best of my knowledge, the only place in Italy where pale may be purchased, and each pala takes three artisans two months to make: one carves the wood, another applies the gold leaf, and a third paints one of the 156 La Crusca designs (note that there is no official partnership between Ducci and La Crusca as the Academy is a non-profit organization).

I visited the headquarters of Accademia della Crusca, located in the Villa di Castello, just outside of Florence (Castello is a Medici villa notable for its gardens, and the fact that Botticelli’s ‘Primavera’ and ‘Birth of Venus’ once hung here). I’d made an appointment to see the Sala delle Pale, a beautiful room where all the pale are hung on the walls and the chairs of the Crusca members – stools with baker’s shovels as their backrests – line the perimeter of the sala. The original dictionaries are kept here as well – I marveled as I was shown original, leather-bound volumes of all the dictionaries, as well as all the written material of the Academy.

Ducci displays between a dozen and 16 pale at any time, and a small one costs approximately 375 euros while a large one is about 562 euros. I have two in my dining room, and they are stunning , even more beautiful than the one I first glimpsed in Ducci’s window. Ducci also has a number of contemporary pieces of art, as well as a great selection of Florentine and Tuscan etchings and an assortment of painted wooden boxes made to imitate marble, in the patterns of notable Florentine churches.

Today La Crusca is active in organizing museum exhibitions, notably Settimana della Lingua Italiana nel Mondo (Week of the Italian Language in the World, 2002); maintaining an archive and biblioteca virtuale; and publishing a semiannual newsletter, La Crusca Per Voi, dedicated to enthusiasts of Italian. Villa di Castello and the La Crusca offices are not open to the public without an appointment, but visiting the Villa's gardens does not require one (www.polomuseale.firenze.it/musei/villacastello). The bus ride from S. Maria Novella station, on bus #28, takes about twenty minutes; ask the driver to announce the Castello stop. (http://www.accademiadellacrusca.it/)


*The Badia and the Bargello. It took ten trips to Florence for me to finally visit the Badia Fiorentina and the Bargello, not because I didn’t try but because of their hours: the Bargello is open daily from 8:15 a.m. to 1:50 p.m., but is closed the second and fourth Monday of the month and the first, third, and fifth Sunday of the month. The Badia – or rather the interior of the church – is only open on Monday afternoons – but don’t quote me on any of this. Both are frequently on many insiders’ short lists of favorite things in Florence, and now I can say that they’re on mine, too.

The exterior of the Badia, or abbey, isn’t particularly beautiful, but its cloister is, and the best known work of art inside the Badia is Filippino Lippi’s ‘Vision of Saint Bernard,’ which is truly worth an effort to see and is in excellent condition. The Bargello was inaugurated by King Vittorio Emmanuele II as the National Museum in 1865, and today it is home to the finest collection of Renaissance sculpture in all of Italy, and is to sculpture what the Uffizi is to painting. It has what I sometimes refer to as the Hit Parade of Masterpieces, with works by Michelangelo, Donatello, and Benvenuto Cellini, all of them remarkable. But actually I think what I love most of all is the interior courtyard, which is stunning – I could sit in it all day long, and even if I came here and never left it, I would consider the visit complete.

But the really interesting point about both of these notable buildings is the relationship they have to each other, as R. W. B. Lewis recounts in his wonderful book, The City of Florence. You may already know that the Bargello was originally named Palazzo del Capitano del Popolo – palace of the elected representative of captain of the people. It was the first specifically and designedly civic building to be constructed in Florence, as the magistrates met previously in rented private houses or churches or the Bishop’s palace. It was by intention a fortress-like building, militant-looking, even aggressive, and later became a prison. But it did not, as Lewis notes, stand in a hostile relation to the Badia across from it. Rather it “engaged in a kind of urban dialogue with the slim bell tower of the Badia – stoutly maintaining the rights and powers of the civic, as it were, but participating with the religious in the total urban enterprise. The dialogue is visible from many vantage points in the city: the Bargello and the Badia constitute the most striking pair of adjacent and contrasting monuments in all of Florence. And as you gaze upward from the second-story balcony of the Cloister of Oranges in the abbey, the Bargello tower and the Badia spire seem actually to be bending toward each other, caught up in an unending conversation.” Lewis clarifies this further when he explains that the current Badia campanile was rebuilt in 1330 after its 10th century predecessor was half destroyed during an anti-Benedictine uprising in 1307. It is topped by a very sharp steeple, above which there turns and twists a weather vane in the form of an angel: and hence the old Florentine expression, “to waver like the angel of the Badia,” a saying which I would refer to as “undiscovered” as I suspect most visitors have never heard of it.

Lewis refers to the urban rectangle of Orsanmichele, the cathedral, Badia-Bargello, and Palazzo Vecchio as the “defining urban statement of medieval Florence,” which leaves us with a vision that puts it all into perspective, one that encourages us to make every effort to visit the Badia and the Bargello.


*Buca dell’Orafo is a restaurant (via dei Girolami 28r, Florence, 055.213619) that is noteworthy because though it’s been recommended in a number of guidebooks, it is still very much loved by locals, who you will tend to see here at later hours for dinner than earlier in the evening, when there are more tourists. ‘Buca’ refers to hole or cellar, and indeed this is one of those places where you walk down into it from the street, and was probably once a version of what we might refer to as a “hole in the wall.” The chef has published a cookbook, which you can ask to see (though it’s in Italian), but what’s clear from the book and the menu is that the seasons are very much honored here. This isn’t a fancy place, or a place with inventive dishes, but each dish is prepared with care and each sings of its true flavors. Some of the dishes might be referred to as peasant dishes – you’ll find Tuscan classics like ribollita, pappa al pomodoro, and crostini with mashed chicken liver – and when I was last there in May, on the menu for just a few weeks was fresh, shelled fava beans tossed with olive oil and small cubes of young Pecorino cheese, a classic spring dish. It was so memorable, and it tasted so much like primavera, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The atmosphere at Buca dell’Orafo is boisterous and fun, the service is attentive and helpful but not the waiters don’t hover, and it’s the kind of place you’ll remember and want to return to.

*Accommodations: I do not buy into the idea that accommodations are only places to sleep --- where you stay can be one of the most memorable parts of your trip, and the staff at your chosen accommodation can be enormously helpful in making your trip special. Deciding where to stay should not be taken lightly and deserves your best research efforts. Accommodations are not in short supply in Florence, and though some places to stay that I very much like and recommend are in the Centro, this also means that they’re more often than not very “discovered.” Two of my most favorite accommodation choices aren’t in the Center and are therefore a little less discovered, even though each has received much publicity in the States. The first is actually not one but a quartet of charming residences, or residenzi · Johanna, Johlea I and II, and Antica Firenze (http://www.johanna.it/). Partners Lea Gulmanelli and Johanan Vitta are the proprietors of these charming lodgings, all within a few blocks of each other near piazza San Marco. Each residenza occupies a portion of a floor in an old palazzo, so guests feel more like residents in a building – you’re given a set of keys for the portal, entrance hall, and main door, as well as one for your individual room. The bedrooms are inviting and furnished with old, quality pieces, and each residenza has cozy sitting rooms -- Johlea II also has a great rooftop terrace. Johanna I and II, the originals in this family of residenzi, are the farthest away from the city center, but with such affordable prices they are worth the longer walk or taxi ride. The newest residenza in the group, Antica Firenze, is the jewel in the crown. The six double rooms are painted in pastel colors and are, as Lea Gulmanelli told me, decorated the way she would want rooms in her own home to feel – stylish and comfortable. Antica Firenze is priced a little higher but also has more amenities, such as a full and very nice breakfast (only instant coffee and packaged biscuits are provided at the other residences), direct dial telephones, satellite television with DVD, modem connection, and hand woven linens and silk fabrics. Guests who prefer to stay at full service hotels may not find these residenzi to their taste (no concierge after 7:30 p.m., no credit cards accepted) but they represent one of the best values in the city. And, visitors who may wish to stay in the surrounding Chianti countryside may be happy to know about the group’s cousin, Villa Il Poggiale, in San Casciano val di Pesa (17 kilometers from Florence, http://www.villailpoggiale.it/). The 14th century villa was once owned by the Ricasoli-Ruccelai family, and has rooms, suites, apartments, and a swimming pool. Rates for the Florentine lodgings range from 60 euros to 120 euros per night.

My absolute favorite place to stay in Florence is most definitely a splurge: ·Torre di Bellosguardo (via Roti Michelozzi 2, 055.229.8145 / fax: 055.229.008 / http://www.torrebellosguardo.com/). I love saying the name Bellosguardo, and I love daydreaming about Bellosguardo. And hardly a day goes by that I don’t wish I was there. Bellosguardo (“beautiful view”) may be an understatement, as the view of Florence from up here is astonishing, taking in every single Florentine monument, and is without doubt the very best view of the city anywhere (everyone will tell you and all the guidebooks say that piazzale Michelangelo offers the best views of the city, but trust me, it isn’t even a contender). Guido Cavalcanti – a celebrated poet of a noble family and a friend of Dante – chose the original fortress on this hill, above Porta Romana, to expand upon and create a hunting lodge/home. Later it was confiscated by Cosimo de’ Medici, and later still it became the property of the Michelozzi family, who retained it until the end of the 16th century, when Galileo reportedly set up his telescope here and scanned the heavens. (After such an illustrious history, it’s hard to imagine that Bellosguardo housed German officers in the torre (“tower”) during World War II, and that it became a boarding house and a school in the post-war years when the owner, German Baroness Marion Hornstein – who received the property after a divorce settlement from her husband, Giorgio Franchetti – couldn’t afford to keep it.) This exquisite villa is still a peaceful respite from the city below, with stunning gardens, a pool, and an avenue of cypresses to greet visitors. To say it’s a special place is yet another understatement. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote of it, “…From Tuscan Bellosguardo, where Galileo stood at nights to take / The vision of the stars, we have found it hard, / Gazing upon the earth and heavens, to make / A choice of beauty.” Bellosguardo is now owned by Amerigo Franchetti, who, in 1980, decided to return what then was his rundown family inheritance to its former splendor.

When I visit Bellosguardo I am reminded of a passage in Marina Belozerskaya’s The Arts of Tuscany: From the Etruscans to Ferragamo: the “links between man and nature, city and countryside, natural and man-made creations have always remained intimate in Tuscany, and endlessly generative. The countryside is what Tuscans see just beyond their city walls, traverse as they go to the next town, or look forward to visiting on the weekend.” For when you are looking out at the panorama from the garden (which is really a series of terraces that tumble down the hill) or from the second floor veranda, you see clearly that the city of Florence is encircled by green hills – there is a marked boundary between city and country. If this were a North American city, there would likely be no end in sight of the surrounding sprawl.

The Bellosguardo staff is wonderfully helpful but understands that most guests seek privacy here. Each of the bedrooms (1 single, 8 doubles, and 7 suites) is a little world unto itself -- more like a living area than just a bedroom – and each is uniquely appointed with uncommon decorative details, and features like painted wooden beams, gilded four poster beds, or a 16th century rosette-studded ceiling. Each room has a view, either of the city or the garden or the surrounding countryside. The room beneath the torre is the most requested, and the room inside the tower is the most magnificent, on two levels with a sitting room (perfect for a small festa!) and views all around. A subterranean sports center, complete with sauna, pool, gym, and Jacuzzi, is a recent addition, and breakfast is served on the veranda or in the dining room and often includes seasonal fruit from the orchard. There is no restaurant (though one is being considered) but this is hardly an inconvenience as Florence is a ten minute cab ride away (or a twenty minute walk down the footpath). A reviewer once noted that in those ten minutes “lies all that is unique in this superb hotel. A recent visitor summed up the experience poetically. ‘Staying here in Bellosguardo,’ she wrote in the guest book, ‘is nothing short of touching eternity.’

At Bellosguardo, you feel from the minute you walk in the front door that you have stepped very far back in Florentine time, “you can feel the history” as one staff member told me. It’s incomparable, but it’s not luxurious: some of the linen napkins have holes in them, the tables wobble on the terraced veranda, and, on my last visit, outside telephone service was out and my friends didn’t have a sufficient supply of hot water in the shower (and, you have to come to terms, or not, with the parrot in the ballroom lobby: on my first visit I didn’t know about the parrot, and when it squawked, loudly, I nearly fell over). But I gladly accept all these (minor) shortcomings for the opportunity to stay at this remarkable haven. In looking over my notes from my last visit, I jotted down, “you don’t come here for luxe, chic, or a restaurant. It’s all about the view, the tranquility, and hearing the birds sing.”


*Further about accommodations I’ll mention some very good sources for places to stay that are unique: Bed and Blessings – Italy: A Guide to Convents and Monasteries Available for Overnight Lodgings (June Walsh and Anne Walsh, Paulist Press, 1999); The Guide to Lodging in Italy’s Monasteries: Inexpensive Accommodations, Remarkable Historic Buildings, Unforgettable Settings (Eileen Barish, Anacapa Press, Scottsdale, 1999); Books by Alastair Sawday, Special Places to Stay: Italy and his more recent Go Slow Italy: Special Places to Stay, Slow Travel and Slow Food (http://www.sawdays.co.uk/ / distributed in the U.S. by Globe Pequot Press); Charming Small Hotel Guides: Tuscany and Umbria (edited by Andrew Duncan, Duncan Petersen Publishing; www.charmingsmallhotels.co.uk). This series, founded by Andrew Duncan and Mel Petersen in 1986 in the UK, deserves to be better known: the inspectors “go to great pains to try to get under the skin of each hotel; to draw a word-sketch of what the hotel really is,” and they are not afraid to mention any drawbacks of particular lodgings; Hello Italy! Best Budget Hotels (Margo Classé, www.helloeurope.com). Classé has mostly traveled alone to not only Italy but other European destinations as well, and she has an uncanny ability to ferret out inexpensive but clean and attractive lodgings. Of the sixteen Italian cities featured in this book there are listings for Cortona, Florence, Lucca, Assisi, Perugia, and Siena; Italian Bed and Breakfasts: A Caffeletto Guide (Michele Ballarati, Anne Marshall, and Margherita Piccolomini, Rizzoli 2006). Whether you reserve directly with the owners or request that Caffeletto make the reservation for you there is no extra charge. Caffeletto (http://www.caffeletto.it/) is Italy’s most successful bed-and-breakfast chain, founded by Michele Ballarati and Margherita Piccolomini (Anne Marshall provides the English text for the books). Caffeletto guides were the first high end guides to b&bs in Italy; Italian Hideaways: Discovering Enchanting Rooms and Private Villas (Meg Nolan, photography by David Cicconi, Rizzoli, 2007), features twelve places to stay in Tuscany and one in Umbria. Melissa Biggs Bradley, former editor-in-chief of Town & Country Travel and now editor of the online travel website Indagare, wrote the foreword to this lovely and useful book and notes that “staying in small, tucked-away hotels or renting a private villa is clearly one of the most authentic and inspiring ways to obtain an intimate view of Italy and her many-faceted charms”; Karen Brown guides (http://www.karenbrown.com/). I have found some of the most wonderful places to stay with the help of Karen Brown’s guides. There are no photographs of the properties in the books – but I think the line drawings suffice – and in addition to the thorough descriptions of lodgings (some of which are in palazzi, old mills, and buildings of historic significance), there are a number of useful tips offered that don’t appear in other guides.


My most favorite specialty hotel group for Italian accommodations is Abitare la Storia (literally “to live in history,” http://www.abitarelastorie.it/). This Hospitality in Historic Houses association was founded in 1995 and features independently owned hotels, restaurants, and historical residences in both rural and urban areas. All are in buildings of notable architectural and scenic beauty, and each is unique. I have stayed at a number of Abitare properties and each one was memorable (and there were few, if any, North Americans). A unique aspect of the member properties is that they are owned and run by the owners themselves -- known as appassionati proprietari (“passionate owners”) – and they have renovated their homes, manor houses, palazzi, castles, and monasteries with care.


* Like Kathy, and many of us here, author Barbara Ohrbach Dreams of Italy, and on the heels of her successful book Dreaming of Tuscany she has just published Dreaming of Florence, published by Rizzoli. The subtitle alone tells you why this book is a must-have: Renaissance Treasures, Rooms with a View, Exquisite shops, secret gardens, stylish restaurants, artisanal crafts, delightful day trips. I’ve known Barbara for about ten years and in May I visited her in Florence at the apartment she rented. She felt that the only way to complete this book was to live there, so she moved in a year and a half ago. Can you imagine how wonderful an experience this is? There is such an overwhelming number of things to see and do in Florence, but when you have more than a year in which to do them, you can take your time and make many undiscovered discoveries.

I feature an interview in my upcoming book with Barbara, and one question I asked her was, What are some of your longtime most favorite things in Florence that you’ve been returning to over the years? She replied, “In this rapidly changing world, Florence is unique in that there are so many places we visited years ago that are still there, being run by the same family, just a different generation. The great museums are still there, of course, but spruced up, like the Bargello and the science museum La Specola – their essence has not changed. Trattorias like Camillo’s, Buca del Orafo, and Sostanza have been there for generations and are still good and delicious, maintaining traditional Tuscan tradition. Rivoire and Gilli are still the most popular caffes, and shops like Loretta Caponi with luscious handmade lingerie, baby clothes, table linens still going strong and run by her daughter. The Officina Santa Maria Novella is more popular than ever – I’ve loved it since the 1980s when my former shop, Cherchez, was the only shop in the world that carried its products outside of Florence, and I still love it. Artisans are thriving now with shops like Locchi still making and repairing crystal, and others still crafting exquisite silver objects, just to mention a few. The hotel scene, on the other hand, has changed: Pensione Hermitage, where I lived decades ago, is still there but restored and more expensive. The 4 Seasons has just opened and it has a spectacular garden that’s centuries old. Boutique hotels like JK Place and the Continentale are very chic, and historic residences like Palazzo Niccolini enable you to feel like you live in the city.

Barbara’s book is too heavy to bring along on your next trip, but it’s a fantastic resource to peruse before you depart, and with its many color photographs is also a wonderful souvenir when you get back.


*Friends of Florence: Like the British, Americans have had a long relationship with Florence, since the 19th century, so it’s not surprising that an organization known as Friends of Florence (FOF), devoted to preserving and enhancing the historical integrity of the arts in and around the city, was created as a U.S.-based foundation in 1998. What is a little surprising is that this relatively small foundation has managed to fund a number of major projects, the most significant being the diagnostic testing of the David that determined the course of the statue’s cleaning in 2004. In just 24 hours, FOF raised the $200,000 needed for the testing.

Founded by Contessa Simonetta Brandolini d’Adda (American born) and her sister, Renee Gardner, FOF was modeled after the non-profit Save Venice organization, and maintains offices in Washington, D.C. and Florence. (The Contessa also owns, with her husband, The Best in Italy, a rental and real estate agency mentioned previously.) Because Italian law doesn’t allow tax deductions for funding preservation, and because the Italian fine arts departments can’t attend to all of artistic works that need preserving, FOF really fills a significant void, especially since Florence holds more of those artistic treasures that anywhere else in Italy. Brandolini’s network of noteworthy friends – including Piero Antinori, Bona Frescobaldi, Bette Midler, Franco Zeffirelli, Zubin Mehta, Sting and his wife Trudie Styler, and Mel and Robyn Gibson – and the lure of Florence itself have ensured FOF’s success. One of the organization’s most recent completed project was the restoration of the Sala della Niobe in the Uffizi. I was in this room the summer before the work began, and couldn’t stop thinking about it: featured are the sculpture depicting the Myth of Niobe, one of the more tragic figures in Greek mythology. (Niobe had 14 children and in a moment of arrogance, bragged about her seven sons and seven daughters at a ceremony honoring Leto, daughter of the Titans Coeus and Phoebe. Niobe mocked Leto, who had only two children, Apollo and Artemis, but Leto did not take the insult lightly, and in retaliation, sent Apollo and Artemis to earth to slaughter all of Niobe’s children.) Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to see these restored statues on my last visit, but I remember them as hauntingly beautiful and I urge visitors to the Uffizi not to skip this room.

For every U.S. dollar FOF receives, the organization applies 99.6 cents toward its projects, and Brandolini told me that no gift is too small – see my blog for a heartwarming story about a school in Dallas whose fifth grade students wanted to become patrons of the arts and managed to raise $2,500 for the cleaning of some of the statues in the Uffizi. However, to participate in FOF’s extraordinary annual program, you must become a Founding Patron (contributing a one-time gift of $30,000) or Patron (contributing $5,000 or more annually). Patrons have an exceptional opportunity to experience programs led by renowned experts in various fields of art, historical preservation, architecture, etc., and they “become true citizens of Florence, seeing the city in a unique manner not possible to the casual visitor.” A few past programs have been ‘Special Treasures of Tuscany,’ ‘Donatello: The Renaissance of Sculpture,’ and From the Classical World to the Renaissance.’

To learn more about FOF’s past and current projects, and its wish list, visit http://www.friendsofflorence.org/, where you can also find contact information for its offices in Washington and Florence.


--- the rest of the presentation will be posted this afternoon.