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Florence, Italy
and the Amalfi Coast
(One More Time with Feeling, Part I)
by Albert Elias © 2004
In 2001, Albert Elias and his friend,Susan, visited two of
Italy's jewels: the Amalfi Coast
and Florence before moving
on to London,
England. In Part I, Come along as they navigate the scenic
beauty and the often inaccessible landmarks of Amalfi and Tuscany . Albert
has Cerebral Palsy and used a manual wheelchair to enhance his travel
mobility.
January was cold in
New York when my friend Susan needed a break and decided to visit sunny
Florida and me. January was also the month Susan celebrated her birthday,
a good excuse for us to visit my favorite restaurant, Paradiso. I am very
partial to Italian. And Paradiso, in my opinion, is the best around.
I hoped Susan would
enjoy her meal as much as I knew I would enjoy mine.
Angelo, who not only
owns Paradiso, but also doubles as chief chef, greeted us at the door.
“What can I fix for
you tonight, Albert?” Angelo asked.
“Veal,” I said,
turning to Susan. "Angelo can really do magic with veal and lemon butter.”
“I bet,” Susan said.
“Introduce me to
your friend, Albert, “Angelo said. “Forgive me,” I said, “Where are my
manners this evening? Angelo, meet Susan. Susan and I know each other
from New York.”
“Pleasure,” Angelo
said. “Likewise,” Susan said. “Albert and I have known each other since
1989, and we used to go to Johnny's Italian Ristorante when he lived in
New York.”
“I see your friend
speaks Italian,” Angelo said. “A little,” Susan said. “Language is one of
my strong suits.”
“That could come in
handy in June,” Angelo said.
”June,” Susan said. “What’s Angelo talking about?”
“I do believe we
have just been invited to a wedding,” I said.
“Who’s getting
married?”
“I am,” Angelo said,
“and you’re both invited. “Give me your addresses before you leave and
I’ll make sure you both get invitations. And Susan, you keep practicing
Italian. You’ll need it at the wedding. Enjoy your dinners.”
After we were seated
and Angelo left us, a waiter brought over a small bottle of wine and we
toasted Susan’s birthday.
I said, “ I hear
from my friends John and Mary that Angelo is getting married in
Sorrento
in June. I don't know about you, but I would like to go.”
Susan took a sip of
her wine and said, “Don’t make plane reservations just yet. After all, how
well do you know Angelo? I for one don’t know him at all. This is the
first time we have laid eyes on each other. Let’s wait and see. It might
not happen.”
“But when he does
actually send us an invitation? Would you consider going?” I took
another sip of wine and continuing said, “I can't travel any more by
myself.”
I know that,” Susan
said. “I’m only saying let Angelo think about it. And if he does send us
an invitation, sure, I'll consider it. But I must tell you that June is a
busy month for me. She took another sip of wine and bit into a hard roll.
“We should order. I’m really hungry.”
During dinner, Susan
filled me in on what was going on in her life and the state of the New
York theater scene.
If I could only walk
without assistance, I would be enjoying that life, too. But that was
yesterday. Today I can't travel outside the confines of my apartment
without help.
We didn't speak of
the wedding in Italy again that night. And as we left Paradiso, Angelo
just said goodbye and hoped we had enjoyed our meals.
A week went by and
Susan had gone back to New York. And then I received a call from my
friend Jack.
“I hear you and
Susan saw Angelo.”
“Yes,” I said, “he
invited us to Italy for the wedding.”
“I know,” Jack
said. That's why I’m calling. Angelo can't find your address or Susan’s.”
“You mean he was
serious?”
“Sure he was,” Jack
said. “Angelo is a man of his word.”
“I guess so,” I
said, my heart beating fast. ”Gee, how about that?” I hadn't been back to
Europe for six years and for Italy it had been 40. What if Susan couldn't
or didn't want to go? Could I still go and manage on my own?
“Albert, “Jack said,
“are you still with me.
“I'm still here,” I
said, “I was just thinking if this trip is manageable, given the state of
my mobility, or immobility, as the case may be.”
“Oh, come on Albert,
“Jack said, “you’ll be fine. And besides Susan will be with you.”
“I hope so.”
“Enough!” Jack
said. “Mary and I will come by around six and take you to Paradiso for
dinner. Don't forget to bring your and Susan's address. You can give
them to Angelo at dinner.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’ll refreeze my chicken dinner. See you at six.”
“You will indeed,”
Jack said. “Don’t worry, Albert, I know this trip will work out for you.”
Hanging up the
phone, I hoped the Jack was right. I longed to return to Europe but knew
it all came down to Susan. If she couldn't accompany me, the trip wouldn’t
happen.
Oh, Susan! Susan!
What is it to be? Italy or no Italy?
At dinner that
evening, I gave Angelo both Susan’s and my address and then wondered if he
would really contact us.
I didn't have long
to wait. Two weeks later, the invitation came. It was so fancily printed
that I had trouble reading it.
I called Susan and
asked if she had gone one and if so, could she please tell me where the
reception was being held. My eyes are not what they used to be, and I
couldn't make up the lettering.
Susan told me she
did indeed get the invitation that there was nothing wrong with my eyes as
she had a hard time reading it, too. Susan did think the reception was
being held in Massa Lubrense Hotel, and if possible we should book a room
there as it would save a lot of hassle with trying to get a cab,
“I agree,” I said,
delighted. "So does that mean you will go to Europe with me?”
“I hope so,” Susan
said. "I can't give you a definite answer yet, as I don't know if there
will be a reading of my show during that time. When at the latest can I
tell you?”
“The sooner the
better,” I said. “ Europe and especially
Italy attracts the crowds, and
the longer we wait, the less likely it is that we will be able to get
either the flights or the hotel rooms we want."
"That's crazy,"
Susan said.” It’s only the first week in March. The wedding isn't until
June 24. Plenty of time."
"OK," I said, but I
was still nervous, knowing the overseas flights get booked up very fast.
In the meantime, I
had mentioned to my parents my desire to return to England, and that
perhaps the wedding in Italy would be a good way of doing that.
The both thought it
was an excellent idea and told me that through their points with American
Express they might be able to get a deal on business-class seats. That
would be great as the flights to Italy normally ran eight hours, and I
could use the extra legroom. As it turned out, the seats on
business-class also recline, which gave me extra leverage that helped my
blood flow and my ankles from swelling.
My parents also told
me they would treat us to part of the trip. It would be their gift to me
for my 55th birthday. (Yes, I would be the speed limit this year. Will
it be uphill or downhill from here on out?)
After thanking them,
I sat down and drew up an itinerary. I decided that I might as well see
as much of Italy and England as possible, for who knows what the future
had a in store for me.
Florence was a
must. I was there 40 years ago and still have vivid memories of both the
architecture and the art. I couldn't wait to see the statue of David
again.
I decided that I
would let my trip, with the optimistic notion that Susan would indeed be
accompany me. For I knew that if she dropped out the trip was off.
I went to a head
with my planning and took out cancellation insurance. Plus travel
insurance. I was prepared for anything and everything.
The wedding would be
on a Sunday. So, Thursday, June 21 would be our departure date, returning
either July 4 or 5.
Susan still was
hesitant and thought 16 days was too long. Of course, I didn't think it
was long enough.
I stood firm and the
trip lasted 16 days.
It was touch and go
for a long while, but finally Susan said, "Yes," and on Thursday, June 21,
Jack, Mary, Albert and Susan were riding in a van to
Miami International
Airport to board on an Al Italia flight to
Milan, where we were to change
planes for a flight to Naples. From Naples, it would be an hour's drive
from the airport to our hotel in Sorrento. If all went according to plan,
Susan and I should be walking the streets of Sorrento .by 2 p.m. Friday
afternoon.
But that wasn't in
the cards.
Our flight to
Miami
left on time, and the eight-hour flight landed in
Milan a full half-hour
ahead of schedule. Great, I thought. Now there would be plenty of time
to catch our connecting flight to Naples.
I was feeling good
as we deplaned. Being in business-class really makes a big difference. I
was able to have my feet elevated almost the entire time.
Being in a wheelchair means that on the first on the airplane, but the
last off. The airports in Italy are set up a little differently from
those in the United States. The flights in Italy don’t taxi to the gate,
but disembark passengers a short distance away. Not only do people have to
walk to the gate, but they also have to be able to walk down a flight of
stairs. Two activities I cannot do.
Susan, and I had to
wait for a special truck with a platform that was fitted to the door of
the plane, so that I could be wheeled into the truck and driven to the
terminal.
What a procedure.
After all that, we
still had the time to spare before our connecting flight, but that's when
the fun began.
We were sitting in
Al Italia’s business-class lounge when an announcement came over the
loudspeaker stating that the airport was to be experiencing the strike,
which would be lasting from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.. All scheduled flights were
canceled until that time.
Susan and I looked
at each other. “Boy,” I said. “We’re in for a little adventure before our
trip even starts.”
"It sure sounds like
it," Susan said. “Well, if we’re going to get stuck here for hours, I
might as well use the time boning up on my Italian." She opened a pretty
knapsack and took out a small book. "I'm glad I brought this. It will
come in handy right away."
A few minutes later,
an Al Italia representative came over and spoke to Susan. "Well, here
goes, Albert," Susan said. And using her Italian phrase book, Susan was
able to find out that they thought our flight would be able to take off
then since it was fueled and ready to go.
Jack, Mary and Susan
followed the Al Italia representative, who was pushing my wheelchair to
the gate. We us and we would be admitted to the plane and our way to
Naples.
Boy, were we wrong!
But we found at the gate was a crows of angry Italians, shouting airline
personnel. One man was even standing on the counter, hands waving madly
in the air. It reminded me of Roberto Benini in “Life is Beautiful.”
The flight didn't
take off, and we were taken to the VIP lounge to wait out the strike .
Susan is a fast
learner, and by the timely finally landed in Naples, around 6 p.m. some
six hours later, she had learned enough words to be able to locate our
limousine driver and tell him we needed help, not only with our luggage,
but with the wheelchair as well. I was glad that the driver stuck around
the Naples Airport for us. He didn't seem too upset about waiting, as he
told us strikes of this nature happen frequently in Italy.
The driver informed
us that his company takes people out on tours, and he would be happy to
arrange one for us. Susan and I both thought that was a great idea and
asked him what he would recommend seeing. We would only have one free day
in the area and not a day and a half as we would have had if there hadn't
been a strike.
"I think your best
bet would be a tour of the Amalfi coast," the driver said. "You will
really enjoy the scenery."
"What do you think,
Susan?"
"It's a
possibility," Susan said. "But I was wondering about
Capri."
“Capri would be
difficult for you Mr. Elias," the driver said. "I don't know how you
would be able to fit the wheelchair onto one of the hydrofoils that you
take to the island, and once there, the streets are very narrow and
steep. I just don't think it would be doable."
The
Amalfi coast it
is,” I said.
“An excellent
choice," the driver said. "You'll be in a car most of the time and on
pavement that a wheelchair can easily be pushed on."
“That does sound
good,” Susan said. "I pushed your wheelchair up steep hills and along
narrow roads before, and I really don't want to do it again.” Susan looked
at me and said, "Sorry, honey, I know how much you were looking forward to
seeing Capri."
"Oh, well," I said.
"I guess I'll have to use my imagination, just as I do with most of the
rest of my life."
"I'll say one thing
for you, Mr. Elias,” said the driver. "You certainly have a positive
attitude. Well, here we are at your hotel. My name is John and I will go
ahead and make the arrangements for Amalfi trip.”
"Thank you," I said.
"Check with the
front desk tonight," John said. "I'll call and tell them the time I will
come tomorrow to pick you up. But I expect it will be around nine."
After we settled in
our room, Susan said, "I think I'll take a little walk to get the lay of
the land and see if I can peek at the copy of the International Herald
Tribune. I know how much you enjoy that newspaper. I'll be back soon.”
Susan left for her
walk. Susan and I have a wonderful friendship, but we aren’t lovers and
so we have a room with two beds, but more on that later.
For now, I was happy
she was here to help me, and perhaps on her walk she will find a good
restaurant nearby where we can have a nice meal. I didn't want to eat all
my meals in the hotel. And I’m quite sure Susan didn't either.
An hour later, Susan
returned and said, "Well, honey, the streets are very busy and the
sidewalks are very narrow so I was unable to make it across the street to
buy you a paper. But I did find us a nice place where we could have the
dinner.”
"Great," I said.
"But how are we going to maneuver the wheelchair along the narrow
sidewalk? Remember what you said in the limo about not wanting to deal
with steep narrow streets and sidewalks?"
"I remember," Susan
said. "But the restaurant is only a block away. I can manage that all
right. I just don't want to manage a lot of narrow streets. Okay?"
"OK," I said. "
"So let’s get your
into your wheelchair and go out and have some dinner."
After
Susan and I
made our way down the small he'll not led from the hotel to the main
street, Susan said, "See what I mean? Look at how fast the cars are
going. It's impossible to get across the street to newsstand."
We started up the
street that led to the restaurant. It was indeed narrow, but we managed
and people were kind enough to move aside to let us pass. When we reached
the restaurant, I was pleased to see that the entrance was on street
level, and not up a few stairs as some are in Italy.
After we were
seated, the waiter brought over two glasses of white wine. "Let's order,"
I said. "I'm starving. And besides, I have a bit of a surprise to show
you."
"A surprise," Susan
said. "This I've got to see. Let's order right away."
"Very good," the
waiter said in perfect English. “What can I get for you?"
"Salmon," Susan
said. "I hear the fish is wonderful and in this part of Italy."
"It is," the waiter
said. "An excellent choice. And what can I get for you, sir?"
“I'll have the veal
chop."
"Very good. I'll be
back soon with your meal."
Susan lifted her
glass and said, "A toast to you, dear. I still can't believe we’re really
here."
Soon the waiter
returned of our dinner.
"Sir, do you want
the veal cut?"
"No, that won’t be
necessary," I said. "Just give me a sharp knife." I looked at Susan.
"That's the surprise. I now can cut my own neat!"
"Wow!" Susan said.
"I'll be right back
with a sharp knife," the waiter said.
When the waiter
returned, I wasted no time in showing off my new skill. Taking a fork in
my right hand, I stuck it into the veal. Then taking the knife in my left
hand, I proceeded to cut the neat.
"That's fantastic,
Albert," Susan said. Looking up and noticing the waiter still standing
there, she continued, "He never was able to cut his mate before, and now
look at him."
"I'll leave you two
alone to celebrate," the waiter said. "Let me know if I can be of any
more help."
Walking back to the
hotel, I noticed the street was still too busy for us to cross to get to
the newsstand. I would have to wait till tomorrow when we were in the car
and ask the driver to stop and pick up the paper.
When we got to the
hotel, we learned that a car and driver would be picking us up at 9 a.m.
for our trip to Amalfi coast.
Heading towards the
elevator, we suddenly heard music.
"The music sounds
great," I said. "Cole Porter."
"Your favorite,"
Susan said. "Let's check it out."
As we entered the
hotel's lounge, we were each handed a glass of champagne and sheet music.
"Come join us," the
pianist said.
Soon we were
drinking, singing and making new friends. We were 10 couples who wallop
along to a Swedish social club. They paid their club dues in order to go
away for a long weekend every year. They were very nice to us and we
exchanged business cards. We hoped that we'd run into then again, not
only on this trip, but perhaps in Sweden, or even the good old USA.
The next morning, we
met the driver at nine and started our tour. Susan was a little concerned
because the company sent a different driver. But her fears were put to
rest when he assured us that he not only spoke perfect English but would
be willing to push the wheelchair in case Susan wanted to go off exploring
by herself.
After stopping to
pick up a newspaper for me and a disposable camera for Susan, we headed
towards Positano. The drive along the
Amalfi coast, with its winding roads
that hug the cliff, was just breathtaking.
We stopped a few
times to enjoy the view and have our picture taken. I was able to get out
of the chair and stand next to Susan for one of them. It's a cute
picture. I had one made for my parents, calling it "the Italian couple."
We couldn't get over
the beauty of the miles and miles that ran along the southern coast of the
Sorrentine Peninsula. It is undoubtedly the most beautiful stretch of
coast in Italy. It has a wild, tumbling landscape of mountains, cliffs,
rocky coves, and deep blue water, adorned by several towns.
Susan and I were
intrigued to learn that the area was home to many artists, musicians and
writers. Picasso and Nureyev are two who come to mind. Nureyev bought
the tiny Li Galli Islands, said to have been home of the Sirens, who sang
sweetly to lure Odysseus onto the rocks.
We stopped in
Positano. It was a small town that had only one main road accessible by
car. The many hotels and apartments have no vehicle access. Our driver
told us that we would have problems if we wanted to stay in town for any
length of time.
We did, however,
find a place to park and the driver pushed me to an open area while Susan
went exploring.
Susan just fell in
love with Positano’s pyramid of sugar cube fishermen's houses that lead
down to a sandy beach containing colorful fishing boats.
I was sorry that
Positano’s vertical geology prohibited me from joining her. But no
matter, forcing after she left, I was enjoying one of my favorite
pastimes, people watching. The driver found a really good spot for me to
do this.
A woman passed and
then quickly turned around and smiled at me. "Albert," she said. "What
are you doing here?" It was my friend, L.isi. We both couldn't believe
it. She's one of the three Italians I know. And the last I had heard,
she was living in New York.
"I should ask you
the same question." I said. "I thought you were still back in New York."
I'm still there,"
Lisi said. "I'm just here for the summer, visiting with my friend Franco
Zefferelli. Did you know he has a summer place here?"
"I know," I said.
"Susan is with me."
"Oh," Lisi said.
"Wait here." She left and went into a store and came back, carrying a
sheet of paper. Handing it to me, she said, "Here's my phone number.
Call me and we’ll get together. I must dash. My luggage is down at the
dock." She kissed mean goodbye and said, "Don't forget to call me."
When Susan returned,
she said, "I ran into Lisi and she said she gave you her phone
number. Do you think we'll have time to see her?"
"We should have time
after the wedding," I said. "If it starts at eleven, the reception should
be over by four at the latest. We’ll meet for dinner."
"Well, what did you
think of Positano? The driver asked when we were back in the car. We were
on our way to Ravello where we would have lunch.
"It's very nice,"
Susan said. "But I see it would certainly be difficult for us."
"Don't worry about
Albert," the driver said. "He does quite well for himself."
"I know," Susan
said. "The minute I’m out of sight, there he is with another woman."
We all laughed. And
I knew Susan had forgotten her initial fears about the driver.
Way passed the town
of Amalfi, famous for the setting of the drama, The Duchess of Amalfi." Our driver told us that there are two main shopping streets in the town,
but he said the real attractions were the alleys and passages leading to
the many little squares, with pretty fountains.
We had to park
outside Ravello, as most of the town is inaccessible to motorized
transport. But what the views!
Again, Susan, and I
were interested to hear that the town had been home to many artists,
musicians and writers. Virginia Woolf, D.H. Lawrence, and Graham Greene
are just a few of the writers.
Ravello, too, is
noted for elegant courtyards and terraced gardens with incredible views.
Every July, Ravello is home to the Wagner Festival.
Our day along the
Amalfi coast was one we thoroughly enjoyed.
Returning to the
hotel, we both noticed how light the traffic was. "If it's like this when
we’re ready for dinner," Susan said, “I would still consider pushing year
across the street to that outdoor cafe."
"Sounds good to me,"
I said. "And look, the cafe overlooks the
Bay of Naples. How romantic!"
The traffic was
indeed lighter than our first night in town, so Susan had no problems
pushing the wheelchair across the street. There also seemed to be fewer
people on the street. It was a far cry from the crowded streets in New
York. We were even able to get a table outside that overlook the
Bay of
Naples. There was a guitar player that played music of the 50s, and it
was a marvelous clear night, as well!
After we were seated
and the waiter brought as each glossy white wine, Susan turned to me and
said, "I'm glad you talked me into this trip."
"I am, too," I
said. "I can't wait till we get to Florence."
”I wonder if Jack and Mary are enjoying themselves," Susan said.
“I'm very surprised
we haven't heard from them," I said. "I'm sure I told them the name of
the hotel we would be staying at.
"It doesn't matter,"
Susan said. "We’ll see them tomorrow."
"I hope will be
alright tomorrow," I said. "I got a little nervous when I heard that the
hotel was inaccessible."
"Don't worry, dear,"
Susan said. "It will be OK."
The next morning, we
arrived at the church at 10:45. The wedding was scheduled to start at
eleven. Susan and I were the only to people in the church. Where were
Jack and Mary? And where were the other invited guests?
Susan went inside
and from someone who told her that this was the right church but that
there was no marriage ceremony on the books for eleven. There was,
however, a High Mass scheduled for 11:15 and we were welcome to stay for
that.
When Susan returned,
she found me talking to a couple who also flew in from Florida to attend
the wedding. After hearing Susan’s news, it was decided that we would all
stay and see what developed.
The High Mass,
conducted in both Latin and Italian, was an enjoyable experience.
Halfway through the
service, Susan got up and walked around the church. When she returned,
she said she had spoken to a man who thinks there might be a wedding
taking place here at 12:30.
"Let's hope he's
right," I said. "I would hate to think that we traveled all this way for
nothing.”
Around 12:30 Susan
and I noticed that the church suddenly became very crowded and among all
the people, there were Jack and Mary.
"Where are you two
staying?” Jack asked. “I looked for you at the hotel. Angelo told us you
checked out. It is everything OK?"
"Everything is
fine," I said. “I guess we forgot to tell you that after we found out that
Via Lubrense was not accessible for wheelchairs, other hotel arrangements
were made. I thought I told you and Mary that."
"No, I don't recall
you telling us anything about that," Jack said. "So I guess you didn't
know about the change of time."
"No," I said. "What
happened?"
"All I know is that
the wedding came very close to being canceled."
"When did this
happen?"
"Yesterday morning,"
Jack said. "Mary thought it would be a good idea if we drove by the
church to see where it was so we wouldn't get lost."
"That was smart," I
said.
"You better believe
it," Jack said. "Why, if we didn't do that, we'd be here at the church at
11:00, as you were."
"So, how did you
find out the change in time?" I asked.
"Well, Mary and I
were walking around the square when we ran into Angelo and Bernadette, who
told us that the ceremony came very close to being canceled. I'll never
understand the workings of the Roman Catholic Church."
"Me neither," I
said. "So you mean to tell me the church refused to marry them?"
"That's what I'm
telling you," Jack said. "It took some fancy wheeling and dealing on
Angelo's part to pull it off."
"I guess so," I
said. "Imagine coming all this way, and then finding out there won't be a
wedding."
"That is one of the
points Angelo raised," Jack said. "There must be over 100 people who came
over from the US. And I have no doubt that Angelo promised the church
some kind of donation. But just remember, Albert,
Lubrense is a small
town, and even though Angelo was born here, he left for Bermuda when he
was 16, and has only been back for short visits. And then, to top it off,
he moves to Florida and becomes an American citizen."
"I still don't get
it," I said. "Whatever happened to the old notion of local boy does good
and returns home to be married?"
Jack laughed. "I'm
afraid the church doesn't see it the same way you do. In their minds, the
church is here to serve the local community, and even though Angelo’s
family is still here and is active in the church, Angelo is not. They
feel they shouldn't be obligated to help Angelo.”
“That's crazy,” I
said.
"I know," Jack said.
“And what's more, one priest thought so, too. That is why the ceremony was
delayed. The church finally found another priest."
"I'm glad cooler
heads prevailed."
“The wedding is just
starting," Jack said. "I don't not how this will affect the reception."
"Don't worry, Jack,"
I said. "There's always time for a song and some wine."
Jack laughed and
said, "You're right about that."
Soon the wedding
ceremony started. I had trouble seeing from where my wheelchair was
placed, so Susan wheeled me up to the front of the church where I was
almost part of the wedding party. She stood next to me and we held
hands. Once or twice, Angelo looked our way and smiled. Susan told me
later that she felt Angelo liked the fact that we were holding hands.
The ceremony itself
was beautiful. It was conducted in Arabic, English, Italian and Latin.
There also readings from the Bible and the Koran. It was worth the wait.
After the ceremony,
the bride and groom made their way up the aisle, stopping to shake hands
with their guests.
Susan was able to
get us a ride with one of the guests to the reception. She also arranged
for Jack to push me down the rocky path that led to the hotel.
"I'm glad we didn't
stay here," Susan said. "Not only because of the rough terrain, but we
couldn't have met the Swedes if we had stayed in this hotel.”
One couldn't ask for
a better day for a wedding. There were tables lining the grass, so that
people could sit outside enjoy a cocktail. After they got me seated,
Jack, Mary and Susan left to scout out finger food.
A man came up and
introduced himself. I recognized him from the wedding party.
"We were lucky
today," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Lucky about what?"
"Having a wedding
and reception."
I still didn't know
what he was talking about. Jack, Mary and Susan returned with plates of
food. "Hi John," Jack said.
"Hi Jack," he said.
"I was just telling Albert about Sandra's and my experience."
"Oh yes," Jack said.
"I almost forgot you guys had a similar situation when you came to Italy
last year. I can't remember. How did that wedding turnout?"
"It didn't," John
said. "The wedding was canceled. (I didn't find out if the couple got
married a later date in, perhaps a civil ceremony.)
"Oh, that's what he
meant by lucky," I said.
"Imagine," Jack
said. "Travel all this way and then have the church cancel your wedding
because you aren’t a "real” Italian."
"The Roman Catholic
Church is tough," Susan said.
"You can say that
again," I said.
At that moment,
Angelo and Bernadette joined us.
"All pictured out?"
I asked, smiling. "Thank you again for including Susan and me."
"Yes, thank you,"
Susan said. "This is quite an experience."
"Don't mention it,"
Angelo said. "We're glad you’re here."
"Yes," Bernadette
said. "It took some doing but we pulled it off." She gave Angelo a kiss.
"Well," Angelo said.
“I think they're ready for us inside. Shall we go in and have something to
eat?"
After Jack helped me
up the huge step that led into the building with a wedding reception was
to take place, Susan said, "Thank you, Jack, I can manage from here."
As we made our way
to the table, I noticed a young man dressed in a clown costume.
"Isn't that nice,"
Susan said. "On top of everything else they had to deal with, Bernadette
and Angelo hired someone to entertain the children." She pointed to a
large table by the window, decorated with balloons.
"You don’t think
that’s the head table?" I asked with a smile.
“Maybe at your
wedding."
When we sat down, I
noticed there was a menu that listed an eight-course dinner. How am I
going to eat all this? I asked myself. Looking at the courses again, I
noticed that half of them were fish and rice. Two foods I don't eat.
I did, however, like
the looks of the menu and started putting it in my jacket pocket.
Susan, noticing what
I was doing, immediately stopped me. “Honey, there seems to be only one
menu per table. I think it is only fair that the rest of us have a chance
to look at it, too."
"I'm making a
scrapbook of the trip,” I said. “And the menu would make a great
addition.”
"I know," Susan
said. "I'm sure the menu will still be on the table at the end of the
evening."
As I put the menu
back on the table, I knew in my heart that I would never see it again. It
didn't take long before my heart was "broken." One of the other men at
the table put it in his jacket pocket.
"Oh, well," Susan
said. "That's what you get for being nice."
The first course was
served, and with it two bottles of wine, one white and one red.
“The wine will flow
tonight,” Jack said. “Angelo's cousin owns a winery.” He raised his glass
and said, "Here’s to Angelo and Bernadette."
I let four courses
pass by before I partook of the tomato salad, and then I filled my glass
with more white wine.
Susan and I like
wine but didn't drink as much as the rest of the table. With each course,
new bottles of white and red wine were supplied an emptied.
Music came over the
loudspeakers. One of the songs was Frank Sinatra singing "Love and
Marriage."
Susan got up and
started dancing by herself. I guess she needed to work off some of the
food. After a while, she wheeled me onto the dance floor, and we “danced"
together. I moved my feet and clapped my hands to be the music. It was
lots of fun.
When the music
became Middle Eastern, Bernadette and her sisters got up and belly dance.
Soon, they were joined by Susan, who really entered the spirit of the
dance.
Susan also led the
Conga line around the building.
Little did Angelo
and Bernadette realize that when they invited us we would contribute so
much to the success of the evening. And we were not finished yet.
Back to eating and
drinking. I did manage to enjoy the lemon sherbet and the steak,
served in that order.
The steak was very
tender, and, as a result, I was able to show off my new skill in cutting
my meat.
A long time elapsed
between the steak and wedding cake. I looked at my watch and couldn't
believe it was 7:45. People were starting to leave, including Bernadette
and Angelo.
"What, no wedding
cake?" I asked.
"Relax," Susan
said. "People just need a little break."
“Do you realize it's
almost eight o'clock?" I said. "We can forget about meeting Lisi for
dinner."
"Don't worry," Susan
said. “We’ll see her in New York. I'm sure she'll understand. And
besides, I would hate to come this close and miss them cutting the cake."
"I guess you’re
right,” I said. “At least one thing is for sure: the kids are still having
a good time." I looked over in the direction of the man who has still
dressed up as a clown and was still in amusing the children.
The bridal couple,
in a change of clothes, returned around nine.
Susan must've been singing while we were dancing because Bernadette came
over to our table and asked Susan to sing "My Way." The lyrics don't
really fit the occasion, but I guess considering what they both had been
through the last two days, the wedding was done their way.
After the cake was
served, there was one last bit of drama. The groom, along with his
mother, wheeled around a cart full of small gifts. They stopped at each
table and gave each one of the female guests three little boxes. I've
never seen that before, and I found it rather nice.
After that, people
left and a wedding that was to start at 11 a.m. and had a reception that
ended at 11 p.m.
Susan and I had just
enough time to get back to the hotel and pack. We were leaving the next
morning for Florence, the city I was longing to see again. The last time
I was there was back in 1961 and a freshman in high school.
Early Monday
morning, we said goodbye to Sorrento and bordered our flight to
Rome. It
was the first leg of the two plane rides that would eventually get us to
Florence around two in the afternoon.
Both airplanes were
small and Susan did a wonderful job in changing our seats, so that I
wouldn't have far to walk and also get the needed room I required to give
my legs a good stretch. Ironically, these seats were in the back of the
plane and not in the front where I usually sat. The main entrance to the
aircraft was also located in the rear on both flights.
We were about tired
and hungry when our plane finally touched down in
Florence. We were also
grateful that the air Air Alitalia people decided not to strike that day.
We had our fill of Italian airline strikes.
Our driver was
waiting for us when we left the baggage area. After settling us into the
car, he handed me a note from the hotel manager. He welcomed us to
Florence and informed us that our driver's name was Tiziano and that the
journey from the airport to the Grand Villa Cora Hotel shouldn't take more
than 25 minutes.
Villa Cora has quite
a history, dating back to the 1860s. It was originally Villa Oppenheim
built for Baron Oppenheim in honor of his wife during the period 1865 --70
and Florence was the capital of Italy.
The Oppenheim
residence, with its fascinating neo-Classical style, was very much admired
for its grander, denoting the elegance of the period.
Some of the hotel's
furnishings are authentic antiques and could be seen both in the hallways
and in the apartments. The bulk of the furnishings, however, were
specially constructed following original drawings.
Susan and I were in
awe of the whole setup. Even the drive up to the hotel along the
tree-lined road is simply breathtaking.
"This is the way it
should be," I said to Susan. "A bit of nature with the city not too far
away."
"Yes, it's lovely,"
Susan said.
When the car was
parked in front of the hotel and Tiziano opened the door to let us out, I
asked if it would be possible for him to take us on a tour later of the
countryside.
I told him that the
drive to the hotel was so beautiful that I was sure there must be other
sites around that are just as spectacular. It would be a shame to miss
them.
"No problem,”
Tiziano said. "Just arrange with the front desk, and I will make myself
available."
I looked at Susan
and said, "How about tomorrow around nine?"
"Fine," Susan said.
"Let's get you
registered," Tiziano said. "I'll tell the hotel manager that I’ll be back
for you and Susan tomorrow morning at nine." He helped me into my
wheelchair and said, "Don't worry, I will arrange a wonderful day for the
two of you."
He wheeled me up to
the front of the hotel. There were three huge steps leading up to the
entrance.
There was a moment
of silence, and then Tiziano said, "Let me go inside and see if I can get
us some help."
It is not gone too
long when he returned with another man who introduced himself as Stefano
Celli.
"You're the person
who wrote us that nice note Tiziano gave me in the car. "
"That's right. I’m
chief concierge, Mr. Elias.” He extended his hand and I shook it. "Sorry
for the inconvenience. We were hoping to have a portable ramp in place
for your arrival here, but unfortunately, it won’t be here until
tomorrow." He looked at then the steps and said, "Let's see what we can
do."
"Why don't you lift
up the front of the wheelchair, and I will do the same with the back,"
Tiziano said.
"Good idea," I said,
and soon we were up the stairs and in the lobby. Tiziano arranged with the
front desk to come back in the morning to take us around the countryside.
Both Mr. Celli and a
bellman took us to our room. Susan and I couldn't get over the marble
floors and the gold trim and frescoes that lined the hallways. This was
one hotel we would both remember for a long time to come.
When we finally
entered her suite, we were again filled with awe as the frescoed
ceilings. There was even ivory-inlaid ebony furniture.
Susan and I each
had our own space in the suite. I would read and do my exercise in the
outer room while Susan did her thing in the bedroom. There were also two
bathrooms, but only one bathtub.
Speaking of the
bathtub, it was built in the old European style -- very high. And even
though it looked beautiful, all done in marble, it proved impossible for
me to use. I just couldn't lift my leg high enough to get in. I tried
raising myself on every chair in the suite, even my wheelchair, all to no
avail.
What was I going to
do?
Mr. Celli called
downstairs to see if there was another room available that had a lower
tub. But sadly, all the rooms came with high tubs.
The simple solution
would be not to bathe for three days, but I don't think Susan, or. anyone
else for that matter, would want to be around me.
Oh, what to do you?
What to do?
While I was
thinking, the doorbell rang. It was the assistant manager with a bag full
of different sized sponges that the management thought I could use to take
a sponge bath.
"Thank you, "I
said. "That's an excellent idea. How much do I owe you for the
sponges?"
“They’re complements
of a hotel, sir," he said. "We got you various sizes as we weren't sure
which one would be right for you."
"Thank you again, "
I said. "I've been in many hotels where the management wasn't that
thoughtful!"
"I'm sorry to hear
that," he said. "We at the Villa Cora feel our customer’s comfort is
foremost, so please let us know if there's anything else we can do to make
your stay with us a pleasant one.”
After he left, Susan
asked if I wanted to bathe now.
“No,” I said.
“Before dinner will be fine.”
“In that case,”
Susan said. “I’m going out for a little walk and when I come back I’ll
help you take a sponge bath.”
“That would be
great,” I said. “Have a good walk and report back all that you see.”
“I will,” Susan said
and gave me a kiss on my lips before leaving on her little adventure.
As I said before,
Susan and I aren’t lovers, so her helping me take a bath is something new
and very different. Still, I needed the help. Using sponges is very
different from handling a bar of soap while lying in a tub of water.
Soon, Susan
returned. She had made dinner reservations for seven o’clock and had
managed to reserve one of the outside tables by the swimming pool. The
pool is surrounded by marble statues of Venus, carved by Giambologna,
which would be all lit up. And with a glass or two of white wine, along
with a great meal, it would be the perfect way to end, what seemed to
have been a long day of traveling.
But first I had to
get really fresh and clean.
“Well,” Susan said,
“are you ready for need to sponge you down?”
“Ready when you are,
my dear,” I said, as I started to strip.
Once naked, my mind
was free of all thoughts that I would never see Susan that way. It didn’t
seem to matter. Susan was a true friend who was here to help in any way
she could.
Walking into the
bathroom, I found Susan, standing by the sink, washcloth and sponge in
hand.
“Hi,” she said. “Why
don’t you sit yourself on the bidet. If nothing else, you will have your
fanny cleaned.”
Susan did an
excellent job on me, and even gave my head a nice shampoo. However, I
washed my crotch myself. The running water from the bidet felt good.
I was pleased that
Susan wasn’t going to mind doing this all three nights we stayed at the
Villa Cora.
After we were both
dressed, Susan wheeled me to the front desk where we picked up some
postcards to send to our family and friends and ask the manager again for
his help with getting the wheelchair down the main steps. For some
reason, both the hotel’s dining room and swimming pool could easily be
reached by going out the front door of the hotel and then walking around
to the back.
“It looks like we
can do anything,” I said to Susan, and she wheeled me down the path that
led to the dining room.
After we were
seated, the waiter brought us each a glass of white wine. Susan took a sip
and said, “Albert, this is so nice.” She put down her glass and took hold of
my hand.
The night was clear,
and with a gentle breeze blowing, the touch of Susan’s hand felt
wonderful. I knew that no matter what, we would be friends for life, and
that might even be better than being married.
The waiter returned
with our dinners. Susan had to fish, and I had chicken. The chicken was
tender enough for me to cut by myself. “That’s really great,” Susan said.
“I don’t have to help you at all. Who would have thought it when we first
met.”
“It’s a good
feeling,” I said.
“Well,” Susan said.
“We have a busy day planned for tomorrow. Where did Tiziano say he was
going to take us?”
“Into
Tuscany and to
visit a winery.”
“I’ll bet you’ll
enjoy that part of the day,” Susan said with a smile.
As it turned out,
that was the one part of the day I least enjoyed.
After dinner, we ran
into two couples from England, and after hearing where we were headed
next, they gave us a few ideas on how to best spend our days in London.
The men also helped me up the steps. I felt good about that, as it left
the manager free to help other hotel guests.
The next morning,
when we came down for breakfast, the manager was waiting for us with a
portable ramp. The ramp was very narrow and proved to be unusable.
Once again, Tiziano
and the hotel manager had to help me down the stairs in my chair.
“Well,” Tiziano
said, once we were on our way, “how do you like the hotel? It’s good?”
“It’s wonderful,”
Susan said. “And they’re very accommodating, helping us up and down those
stairs and getting sponges so that Albert can bathe.” She smiled and put
her arms around me.
“They’re nice people
at the hotel,” Tiziano said. “I made reservations for us at the abbey I
mentioned to you yesterday for 10:30.”
“Is it accessible?”
Susan asked.
“The grounds are,”
Tiziano said. “But I’m afraid the
Abbey of the Good Harvest is not.”
“So typical,” I
said. “Just think, if there were a few disabled monks back in the 11th
century, I bet this whole country, including our hotel, would be
accessible.”
We all laughed.
“You’re probably
right,” Susan said. “But since there weren’t...”
“Since there
weren’t,” Tiziano repeated, “I’m afraid Albert, you will have to endure my
company for an hour or so while Susan tours the abbey.” He smiled at me,
saying,” I’m really not a bad sort once you get to know me.”
The drive to the
Abbey of the Good Harvest took us through a beautiful countryside of oak
and fir trees.
We arrived at the
Abbey of the Good Harvest a little before 10, with just enough time for
Tiziano to give us a quick tour of the grounds.
He told us that the
abbey itself was built back in the 11th century by Vallombrosan
monks (I guess I knew what I was talking about when I mentioned 11th
century monks back in the car.). It has been producing wine from the very
beginning. When I heard that, I said to myself that over the centuries, a
monk or two might have gotten themselves drunk, which should have created
the need for an accessible building. Just think of all those bruises that
could have been avoided if only there were grab rails for tipsy monks to
hold on to.
Tiziano continued,
telling us that Lorenzo de Medici’s family has owned the abbey for the
last century and a half.
The parts of the
abbey that I was able to view were just breathtaking, with wonderful views
of the Tuscany countryside that will stand by memory for many years to
come.
When the tour
started, Tiziano wheeled me to a point where I could see too small lakes.
on the land below. Then he took me to a shaded area where people could
bring their picnic lunches.
“Wait a here a
minute,” Tiziano said. “I’ll get something to drink.”
Soon, he returned
with two glasses of wine.
“Drink up,” Tiziano
said. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
I enjoyed the wine.
It was white and very dry, my favorite kind of wine. But I stopped after
one glass. Tiziano had told me that I would be joining the others at the
end of their tour for a wine tasting. I knew my limits and didn’t want to
get sick. One drink would be enough for now.
While we were
waiting, Tiziano told me that the abbey also made find cold-pressed olive
oil, along with various flavored vinegars and floral honeys. All this was
for sale at the gift shop (I wondered if the monks ran a gift shop back
in the 11th century!).
I was told that the
gift shop also carried beeswax hand lotion cakes in little ceramic
dishes. It was a good thing I knew my suitcase was full and couldn’t hold
anything else.
I thought it was too
bad that Susan didn’t bring her camera, as Tiziano told me that the abbey
also contained a lovely Renaissance stone garden, which I couldn’t see
from where I was sitting. I hoped Susan took mental notes on the sights
she saw. I always enjoyed her full reports.
Soon, we heard
voices. “It’s time for me to get you inside with the others,” Tiziano
said.
“I’ll drink to
that,” I said with a smile.
When we were all
seated, I learned that once again, Susan, with her witty remarks, had been
the hit of the tour.
The room was dark,
lit only by candles placed on picnic tables. The man started speaking
while bottles of wine were placed on each table. One red and one white.
His commentary was quite thirst provoking, so it didn’t take me very long
to have a sip of the white wine that was placed before me. I passed on
the red.
I also took
advantage of the bread that was placed on each table. I thought that as
long as I had some food in my stomach, I wouldn’t feel sick .
Was I wrong!
I was on my third
glass of wine from the third set of bottles that were served to us. I only
had one glass from each of the previous two bottles when it hit me, and I
became nauseous. I don’t think it really came from the wine, but rather
from sitting in a confined space with no circulation of fresh air.
As much as I wanted
to stay and enjoy the moment with Susan and the rest of the group, I knew I
had to get out of that room and fast.
Luckily, Tiziano,
who didn’t stay in the room after he wheeled me in, was right outside, and
Susan got him to come get me. Once outside in the fresh air, I felt fine,
and Tiziano said that it was amazing how fast the color returned to my
face.
Soon, Susan joined
us, and the three of us are headed towards the parking lot and our next adventure.
Tiziano drove us to
Monteriggioni, the tiny town 35 miles south of
Florence. It proved to be
a lovely place to have lunch. For Susan, it was another chance to first
stretch her legs walking along some of Monteriggioni’s open countryside,
admiring the poppy fields she found along the way.
I was surprised to
learn that this sleepy little area was once a hotbed of activity. Back in
the 13th century, Monteriggioni served as
Sienna’s
northernmost defense against impending Florentine invasion. Back in those
days, I bet the townspeople spent many a sleepless night.
Of course, while
Susan walked, Tiziano pushed me in the wheelchair. It was nice having
time to explore the sights on our own and at our own pace. I was
interested to see the town’s formidable walls are still in good condition,
although the 14 square towers are not as tall as they seemed to be back in
Dante’s time (1265 –1321) when he likened them to the four giants that
guarded the central pit of hell..
After our walk, it
was time for lunch. Once again, Tiziano knew just the place. He directed
us to a little restaurant called Il Pozzo. It was located in the
village square and had a pretty garden where we could enjoy our meal out
on a shaded porch. My guidebook describes ll Pozzo as a rustic
tavern that serves hardy Tuscan country cooking and savory wines. I
really enjoyed their pasta dish. We each have a loss of cello, a very
popular Italian dessert liqueur. But cello proved too strong for my taste
buds. Tiziano, however, seemed to enjoy it and had at least three
glasses. One thing I noticed, though, was Il Pozzo’s lovely white
ashtray with its blue design of the Tuscan countryside. I don’t smoke,
but I took the ashtray nevertheless, and now have it prominently displayed
on a coffee table. Perhaps I should feel guilty, but somehow I don’t.
After lunch, we took
the leisure he drive back to Florence through some very beautiful
countryside.
Tuscany’s coast is
blessed with the best of both worlds: steep hills flanked by evergreen
forest and stretches of sandy beaches along with sparkling sea. I enjoyed
every minute of the drive and was pleased to have a day in the country.
We arrived back of
the hotel after five and made arrangements for Tiziano to come back for us
the next morning at nine.
Once back in our
hotel room, I could see that Susan was troubled by something.
“What’s wrong?” I
asked.
“I didn’t like the way Tiziano drank at lunch,” she said. “Did you see
how many glasses of cello he drank? It was at least three.”
“Really?” I said.
“I guess I was too busy cutting up my pasta to notice.”
“I’m not blaming
you,” Susan said. “It’s just that Tiziano is our driver. I was really
frightened that we were going to get into an accident.”
“Now that you
mention it,” I said . “He did take some of those turns rather fast.”
“I’m going out for a
walk and a swim,” Susan said. “And then on my way back to the room, I’m
going to stop the front desk and say something to them about this.”
“Be diplomatic,” I
said. “Tiziano has been very good to us.”
“Don’t worry,” Susan
said. “I know what to say. We don’t want him fired.”
“No,” I said. “We
certainly don’t want that. He’s been a big help to us.”
“I know,” Susan
said. “I’ll take care of it.” She left her room, taking the hotel key
from its special slot in the wall. At the time, I didn’t realize how what
seemed to be an insignificant move would affect me. All the lights were
on the room and Susan left, but within five minutes the room was dark.
Luckily, there was
enough light from the outside so that I was able to see the phone and call
the front desk and tell them what happened.
The person on the
other end of the phone was very nice and explained that putting the key
into the slot activated the power for the lights and that once the key was
removed from its slot, the lights would automatically go off within five
minutes. I was then told to wait a minute or so. Another switch had to
be turned on, and that could only be done from the front desk.
I thanked the person
for the explanation, and within two minutes the room became fully
eliminated once again.
Once understood, I
liked the idea of the key switch. The eliminated the need for wall
switches. And it prevented the lights being left on when the room was
empty. Those frugal Italians!
Susan returned and
told me she had spoken to the people at the front desk about Tiziano
drinking and that all was well.
I then told her what
happened with the lights and that luckily, I was sitting on the bed and
near the phone at the time they went out.
“Sounds like you’re
in need of a good sponge bath,” she said. “After that, a glass of white
wine. And a good meal wouldn’t be bad either. Right?”
The next morning,
when Susan and I had finished our breakfast, Tiziano was waiting for us in
the lobby.
“Good morning,” he
said. “Ready to go? I planned a busy day for us.”
“We’re all set,”
Susan and I said in unison.
As we reached the
front steps of the hotel, the manager went to get the ramp. “No need for
that,” Tiziano said. “I think if you just lift up the back of the
wheelchair, and I’ll do the same with the front, we can get him down the
stairs much more easily.”
I was pleased the
hotel manager listened to Tiziano, as I really didn’t feel comfortable
using the ramp the hotel had rented. After that, there was no more
mention of the ramp during the remainder of stay.
Once in the car,
Tiziano told us that our first stop would be Florence is famous
Leather
Guild.
My guidebook said
Florence takes great pride in its leather products, and that leather
guilds date back to medieval times. An interesting feature of Florence’s
shopping centers is that each area has its own distinct feel to it, the
same as it was in medieval times. I guess the city fathers wanted to keep
Florence the way it was as much as possible.
As we drove along, I
wondered if the hotel had spoken to Tiziano about his drinking. He surely
was going out of his way to be kind to Susan and me. In the meantime, I
was also thinking back to 1960 when my parents took my brother and me to
the Leather Guild and bought me a brown wallet. I remember it was areally
nice wallet, and I also remember using the oil at Boston University, but I
don’t remember what happened to it after that.
The
Leather School,
as it is called, is wheelchair accessible. At least some Italians, I
thought, have the wisdom to see that disabled people make great customers.
Tiziano had arranged
for one of the school’s representatives to give us a guided tour. We
first watched a guild member at work, where we saw their leatherwork was
really an art form.
After that, it was
on to the leather showroom, and, hopefully, some good bargains. I was
told by the manager of the hotel to buy my leather goods directly from the
Leather School as the prices were a lot lower than the department stores.
He better be right, for not only was I on the lookout for a new wallet,
but my mother had given me an “order” for a red leather purse. I knew I’d
better not come back away empty-handed.
I decided to make
the purse my first priority. As he had done from the moment we entered
the school, Tiziano pushed me down the long hall where on either side were
showcases full of various size persons. Again, as we went along, I not
only look for a person my mother, but also couldn’t help noticing how nice
and helpful Tiziano had been to us all morning, and wondered what was in
store once lunchtime came around.
I did find my mother
a nice purse. She had to settle, though, for a white one with red trim.
The top, however, where you open the purse, was all red. I really liked
it and knew she would, too.
Our guide informed
me that the school could put my mother’s name or initials on the outside
or the inside of the purse at no extra charge. I decided to have her name
put on the inside. My mother’s name is Rea. I had to impress on the
engraver that Rea was a name and not your initials, so they shouldn’t be
any periods between the letters. He told me he understood and to come
back a little later.
While that was being
done, Tiziano wheeled me into yet another room where we saw nothing but
men’s wallets.
I had only one
problem: what kind of wallet did I want?
I remember that in
the 1960s, I had the kind the kind that fit into the inside pocket of a
suit or a sports jacket. A billfold, I believe they call it. My
lifestyle has changed from the 60s, and today I rarely wear a jacket.
There are times when I look back on those days of having to put on "the
uniform" with fondness. But those days are gone. No, a smaller wallet,
one that could fit into the pocket of my trousers was what I wanted.
Tiziano must have been reading my mind as he wheeled me to the very
section of the room that displayed exactly what I was looking for. Now
the only problem was the color. My last wallet was brown. But what I
booked at the brown ones, they didn't suit me. And the red ones were
definitely out. I decided that the color had to be basic black. This was
my first time in handling such a wallet, and I was pleased to see that
there were two places where i can hide important items, such as a credit
card. There were also different sections to separate the various
denominations of money. The wallet looked good, and even smelled good. I
was both pleased and excited about my selection. And since there was no
extra charge to have my initials stamped on the wallet, I did that, too.
I had fun with the engraver when I told him this time A.L.E. were my
initials and not my name, so periods were very necessary. We both had a
good laugh.
Susan was also
buying wallets and eyeglass cases for herself and for gifts. I was so
pleased with my wallet that when I got back to the states, I logged onto
the Leather School's web site and have purchased a few more items via my
computer and fax machine. Again, purchasing directly from the school, and
with the favorable dollar exchange, makes the purchase not that
expensive. For my brother's birthday, I purchased what I thought was a
picture album, but when my brother received it, he turned it into a daily
journal. However, as of this writing, I do believe he is still having fun
smelling the leather cover.
After leaving the
Leather School with our purchases, I knew at that moment that I didn't
have enough room in my suitcase and should have packed less. Susan said,
"Next time I'll do you are packing."
We both looked at
each other and smiled. We've really do travel well together, as long as
our health holds. Why not continue? It turned out that it was a good
thing we went to Europe when we did, for a year later I was just getting
over a stroke and Susan was suffering from stomach problems. We both seem
to be on the mend, so if we’re lucky, the summer of 2003 might have
another trip in store for us. We can only wait and see. But for now,
this trip wasn't over, so on to more sights.
Pisa was our next
stop, and once again Tiziano pushed me while Susan walked. When it was
getting time for lunch, I still wasn't sure if we would have a repeat of
yesterday's drinking. Tiziano was extremely nice to us this morning. What
was he up to, I wondered.
We arrived at the
restaurant, a lovely little place situated on the town square, and Tiziano
said, “I’ll be back for you in an hour."
As we sat down,
Susan said, "See how I handled the situation? Nice, with no bad
feelings."
"Yes, I see," I
said. "Nice and friendly."
Replaced our order,
and as I looked around, I couldn't help noticing the lovely ambiance and
the beautiful brown ashtray.
"I hope you are not
thinking about taking that ashtray?" Susan asked.
"As a matter of
fact, I am," I said. "The brown color will go nicely in my apartment."
"Remember," Susan
said. "You have to get that ashtray home. You already have one ashtray
you're bringing back. Will there be room in your suitcase for one more?"
"Don't worry," I
said. "I'll make room. Besides, an ashtray doesn't take up much room."
There was a silence,
and then I said, "I wonder if Tiziano know is all right."
"I'm sure he's doing
just fine," Susan said. "He probably has a lot of friends in the area."
"I guess you're
right."
"I am right," Susan
said. "Don't worry about him. Just relax and enjoy your delicious lunch.
You’ll need your strength when we tour Pisa this afternoon."
"OK," I said. "I'm
kinda excited to be back here. My family and I were last here in 1960,
and I have a picture of me and my mother, leaning right in front of the
leaning tower. Of course, we didn't walk up to the top. The left that
fear for my dad and William. Do you think you'll make the climb?"
"Oh, I don't know,"
Susan said. "I do like climbing, but something tells me with that
scaffolding around it, I doubt if I’ll have a chance."
"A good excuse for
us to come back here some day."
"That would be
nice," Susan said.
We finished our
lunch just as Tiziano returned.
"Your lunch was
good?" he asked.
"Wonderful," I
said. "Where to now?"
"Well," Tiziano know
said. "I thought we could tour Pisa for awhile before heading back to
Florence."
"Good idea," I
said. "My city guidebook states that once you get beyond the pretentious
atmosphere of the Leaning Tower, you will find Pisa has much to offer."
"That's true,"
Tiziano said. "Did year guidebook mention that Pisa not only has a lot to
offer, but that its treasures are a little more subtle than Florence’s?"
He looked at me before continuing, "And did it mention that Florence is
often compared to Pisa as far as art treasures go?"
"It sure did," I
replied. "It also stated that Pisa's Cathedral Baptistry-Tower complex is
among the most dramatic in Italy."
"Well. Tiziano
said. "You have done your homework. Let's go see if what you read this
true are you both ready?”
We said we were, and
as we left the restaurant, one nagging thought still remained. If Tiziano
had, indeed, been spoken to, did he really stay away from the Cello, and
if so, would he be as nice to us this afternoon as he was in the morning?
I guess time would tell.
Again, Tiziano
pushed me as Susan walked. I also learned by reading my guidebook that
Pisa may have been inhabited as early as the Bronze Age. It was certainly
populated by the Etruscans, and, in turn, became part of the Roman
Empire. In the Middle Ages, it flourished as an economic powerhouse and
was one of the Maritime Republics.
But the city's
economic and political power ended in the early 15th century , as it fell
under Florence's domination. Pisa sustained heavy damage during World War
II, but miraculously, the Duomo and Tower were spared, along with other
Romanesque structures."
Well," Tiziano
said. "Time to explore. And I might add that Pisa is best seen on foot,
and most of the sites are within walking distance."
As we moved along,
Susan said her sights on the Duomo, Pisa’s Cathedral was one of the first
buildings to use a horizontal marble stripe motif, which we found out
later was borrowed from the Moorish influence of the 11th century , and
became common to Tuscan cathedrals. Tiziano couldn't get me close enough
to the Duomo because of the torn up streets, so I had to rely on Susan
giving me a full report of what the Duomo looked like up close, both from
the outside and then from the inside.
I enjoyed hearing
Susan telling me that the Duomo's outer door was made up of Romanesque
panels depicting the life of Christ and that there was a beautiful carved
wood pulpit, dating back to the 14th century.
After that, Tiziano
walked us around a bit more before saying, "It's getting late and I must
get you to back. I have something special planned for you this evening. "
"What do you mean?"
Susan said.
"I thought it would
be nice for you and Mr. Elias to have a meal in a place other than the
hotel."
"That's really
nice," Susan said. "Just give us another 10 minutes to explore and we’ll
be on our way."
Fifteen minutes
later, our car left Pisa on its way back to Florence, with two very sleepy
people in the backseat, but awake enough to wonder what Tiziano had in
store for them.
When we reached our
hotel, Tiziano told us to have a little rest, and then to dress in nice
clothing, for we were going someplace special for dinner.
I thanked him and
arranged for Susan and me to meet him in the lobby of our hotel at 7:30.
After Tiziano left, I turned to Susan and said, "He’s sure being extremely
nice to us today."
"Yes, he is,” Susan
said. “I guess my little talk did some good." She brushed back her hair
and continued, "it should be very interesting to see where he plans to
take this after all of this." Smiling at me, she added, "If nothing else,
it will give me a chance to show off to Florentine society the dress I
bought for the wedding." She turned me, still smiling, and said, "And I
know you really like the dress. Am I right?"
"Yes, I really do.
I do.."
Tiziano met us in
the hotel's lobby. "Ready to go?" he asked. He looked at both of us for a
moment and said, "You both look very nice. Let's go. We have just a bit
of a ride."
The
Villa San
Michele is steeped in fascinating history. The façade was designed by
Michelangelo; white interiors are filled with exquisite antique
furnishings and Italian works of art.
Reading some of the
Villa San Michele’s literature, I learned that the villa was once a 15th-century
Franciscan monastery. It's nestled in the hills of
Fiesole, above the
city of Florence. The Villa San Michele was, indeed, a wonderful spot for
Susan and me to end our stay in Florence.
Tiziano again was
kind enough to wheel me around the grounds before Susan and I went
upstairs for dinner.
Once we received it,
Tiziano said, "Now enjoy your dinner. I'll be back for you in two hours."
Susan and I were in
awe of everything around us as we ordered our dinner. Then we sipped our
white wine and looked out the open space of the monastery onto the
mountains and trees below.
Susan took my hand
and said, "This is so nice, Albert. I’m so glad you talked me into this
trip."
"I'm glad, too," I
said. “We may not be lovers, but I'm having such a good time just being
with you and doing things with you that I wouldn't change it for anything
in the world." I closed my eyes, hoping to hide my tears.
Susan seemed to be
on the verge of tears herself and said, "That's the nicest thing any man
has ever said to me." She gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
Our dinner was
served. One chicken dish and one fish. The waiter spoke English and cut
my chicken for me. I was too moved to do anything.
The food was
delicious. It was one of the best meals we had in Italy. The ambience of
our surroundings made for a perfect evening.
The next morning, we
woke up early, as we didn't want to wait waste a moment of our last hours
of Italy, especially in Florence. Tiziano picked us up around eight and
drove us to the synagogue of Florence, Tempo Maggiore, or as the locals
refer to it, the Major Temple. Whatever name it goes by, Susan couldn't
wait to see it. She is rich in Jewish history and loves every opportunity
to add to her knowledge.
The temple had too
many steps for me to handle, so again Susan went on her own, but Tiziano
kindly wheeled me around the local park.
My guidebook states
that the Synagogue of Florence was built around 1874 --1882 by Vincenzo
Micheli.
While Italy is a
largely Catholic country, the Jewish Synagogue of Florence is a welcome
addition to the Florentine skyline. Its huge copper dome fits in
perfectly with the neighboring community. The synagogue is Moorish in
design, but also includes healthy doses of Byzantine and Egyptian
influence. The façade of the synagogue uses two distinct types of marble
in order to harmonize with the surrounding buildings. That the synagogue
has seen better days is evident from the patches found in its copper dome.
The synagogue was used as a garage during World War II. The Nazis also
mined the place, and it suffered much damage. Nevertheless, Susan fully
loved seeing it and spoke of her experience to everyone she met.
Tiziano drove us
next to the famous Pitti Palace, a place I haven't been in since my
parents took my brother and me there in 1960. Susan had never been
there. I knew it would be interesting to see what changes, if any, had
taken place.
The
Pitti Palace is
one of Florence’s largest -- if not one of its best -- architectural and
museum set pieces. The original Palace, built for the Pitti family around
1460, comprised only the main entrance and the three windows on either
side. In 1549, the property was sold to the Medici family and Bartolomeo
Ammannan was called in to make substantial additions.
The museum holds a
largely forgettable collection of mostly Italian works from the late 18th
through the mid-20th centuries, but the rooms themselves are of no
interest. Painstakingly restored to their early 19th-century incarnation,
they are a treat, particularly the bathroom with its low-hanging massive
chandelier, and room 15, with its fanciful decorations that date back to
their early 17th century. Another pleasant surprise were the two
paintings by the French Camille Pissaro.
Most famous of all
is the Galeria Palatina, which is home to a broad collection of paintings
from the 15th to 17th century. he rooms of the Galeria Palatina remained
much as the Medici left them. Their floor-to-ceiling paintings are
considered by some to the Italy is most egregious exercise in conspicuous
consumption, aesthetic overkill and trumpery. Still, the collection
possesses high points, including a number of portraits by Titian and an
unparalleled collection of paintings by Raphael, notably the double
portraits of Angelo Doni and his wife, the saturnine Madalena Stronzi.
With so many
galleries to see in such a short time, we got ourselves a guide to take us
around for two hours before we had to leave for our flight to England.
One of the first paintings we saw was a nude of the Virgin Mary painted by
Titian. Susan and I smiled at each other from the for the guide's
explanation that she lost her close in the desert. Well, I guess it's as
good an explanation as any other. Still, Susan and I had a good laugh. I
enjoyed being back at the palace after so many years. It brought back
happy memories when I was 13 years old and visited the place for the first
time with my parents and brother. I learned that the palace has a web
site, and now see their artwork all the time, only this time it is in
cyberspace.
Finally, it was time
to end our stay in Florence. It had been a wonderful time, and I'm so
glad we were also able to also get out of the city and see a part of the
countryside. And, of course, the hotel was first-rate, along with its
staff and management, who went out of their way to make our stay a most
comfortable one. We said our goodbyes to Tiziano and promised to contact
him on our next trip to Italy.
I couldn't wait to
get to England. It had once been my second home, having spent two years
there in the 60s and five in the 70s. I wondered how much of a change I
would find.
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