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2005-05-09 - 12:47 a.m. Day 1 and 2/3rds: Does anyone know how to say Fiesole? We're going to need taxis about ten hours from now. Does anyone know how to say Fiesole? Wally's been trying to teach me to say it all week. Hang on. I'm sitting in the airport with my mission teammates, waiting for our flight to Italy, when we realize no one can pronounce the name of our endpoint. Wally? Theo? I can barely hear you. How do you say Fiesole? Un-huh. Fee-ahz-uh-lay? No. Fa-ez-ah-lay? Then I hear two of my party say, simultaneously, Can you get him to teach someone that *doesn't* have a Southern accent? Fine. I hand my phone to the guy married to a Sicilian. That should go over well in Tuscany. Eleven of us engineers, plus three significant others - brave Roland, the intrepid Girlfriend, and the recent fianc�, are bound for Italy. When we build a spacecraft, we buy some of the components, and this one we're getting from Galileo Avionica near Florence, Italy. Seven hours of watching the little plane trace a great circle across the Atlantic Ocean lands us in Charles de Gaulle, Paris. I'll mention straight off that I hate CdG, and try not to whine about it further. Roland has ten minutes to make his connection to Florence, so he disappears while the rest of us stagger about CdG in a sleep-deprived stupor, finally finding the spot where we wait for a bus to take us to our plane. We've digressed to the point Pink Sheep (which comes up much later) is performing a credible vampire imitation, when, viola', Roland appears. Yes, he missed his flight; but, they rebooked him on our connection. But, wait. In the end, his original flight leaves ten minutes before ours and arrives fifteen minutes after, causing my teammates to dub Roland the anti-Jonah just as we arrive in the homeland of Galileo Galilei, father of modern physics, inventor of the telescope, royal mathematician of the Medician court of Florence, professor of Padua,and sometime called heretic. Ok, my travel companion says, Tell us something about Galileo we don't know. What is less well known is Galileo Galilei was the son of a musician, a college dropout, an avid gardener, a devout Catholic, and a father. In 1585, he left the University of Pisa after four years of study in medicine and mathematics without earning a degree. Galileo returned to Florence and began behaving like a professional mathematician, until he was invited back to Pisa four years later as to lecture. Eventually, he left his native Tuscany for the chair of mathematics at Venice's University of Padua. In Venice, that temptous city, our thirty-something Galileo met his mistress, Marina Gamba. Over their twelve years together, she bore him two daughters and a son. His daughters Galileo considered unmarriagable because of the circumstances of their birth, which left the only safe option of the cloister. Most of the patrician women of Florence spent at least half their lives behind convent walls. In 1610, Galileo returned to his homeland to take up the post as the Medici court mathematican, having seen his mistress married off to a respective Venetian. In the years after his return, Galileo settled his daughters, Virginia and Livia, in the Convent of San Matteo, where they took the veil as Suor Maria Celeste and Suor Archangela, nuns of 'Poor Clares'. His son,Vincenzio, was later legitimized by the Grand Duke, Cosimo II, proving men have always had an easier climb up the corporate ladder. Wally's coaching succeeds in getting the taxi's to go to our hotel in Fiesole, which is a suburb in the hills north of Florence, overlooking the terra-cotta roofs of Firenze (Which is what the Italians call the city. Don't ask me why Americans call it Florence. Also, don't ask me why the Doge's hat is shaped like that.) But, we're Americans; we must tourist. So, nine engineers and Roland get on a bus which eventually takes us to the Piazza de San Marco just at our entry time (pre-booked) to the Accademie, which houses Michaelago's David. David is amazing. It was intended for outdoor display, so his head and hands are strangely oversized when viewed up close. The little copper skirt that once preserved his modesty and Florentine blushes is long gone. I can tell you from up close inspection, I find new meaning in the term 'chiseled butt.' The rest of the museum is a collection of bizarre items - modern sculpture, ancient musical instruments, video skits and Gothic religious art. I think I frightened my colleagues by explaining the symbolism in the altar pieces, including the Pelican in its Piety over Christ's head. So, we move along but not briskly enough, for our Boy (the one I usually have room clearing fights with for all that I'm fond of him) has a list of five things to do in four hours. He leads most of the flock to the Duomo and chivvies them into climbing the bell tower. C'mon, LH; it's only 411 steps. I haven't slept in thirty hours, and I will not be drawn into this craziness. Besides, Roland and I are staying all next week. Roland, TK and I, take our own slow meander around the outside of the Duomo, then into the Baptistry. Duomo, I should explain, is from the Italian word for house. In Florence, it refers to the famous church topped with Brunchellsi's Dome, a marvel of Renaissance engineering. I always thought 'Duomo' meant Dome, but I was quite wrong - it's short for 'House of God.' The Baptistry is a separate building, because you were not permitted to enter the church until baptism washed you clean of original sin. There are three sets of doors on the Baptistry, each covered with bas-relief panels, their scenes forming a story. If you want to read them for yourself, I'll show you my vacation pictures, but I will ask if anyone out there knows why does the Noah panel on the north (?) doors have pyramid on it? Animals, Noah, rain, rainbow, but a pyramid instead of a boat. Inside, we spent a pleasant hour reading the mosaics on the dome. The panel of Hell looks like Dante's description. The Old Testament scenes were easy to interpret, but, we had to work hard at reading the bottom tier (Life of St. John the Baptist.) Luckily, TK is a good Catholic. We take a long meander through the Piazza Santa Maria Novella - obelisks stand in the piazza supported, incongruously, by little turtles which caused Roland to whisper Take a cooter, and a hatchet... (Someday, I will get Genevieve back for buying me that Redneck cookbook.) So much for Roland behaving in front of my professional colleagues. We rendezvous at the Piazza del la Signoria, where the rest of are party are saying over and over I can't believe it was only 411 steps. We sit down at one of the sidewalk caf�'s, obviously catering to tourists, and dine in the shadow the Palazzo Vecchio. But, the Boy has more on his list, and trots the party over to the Ponte Vecchio, that famous bridge across the Arno River, that is nothing but shops and pedestrians. Once, you might have found bargains here, but haggling seems extinct in the 21st century. Halfway across the Arno, we linger to watch the sunset and wonder at the statue. The fence around it is entirely covered in locks, a romantic tradition where couples write their names on the lock, click it onto the fence, and toss the key into the river as a symbol of their eternal pledge. Last on our list was gelato from a handy shop - I think our Office Linebacker managed to have two cones while the rest of us were dithering over what to get - then, the bus to Fiesole. � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �