More Italy journals (there will be 2 more after this, then that's it!) I'm glad that I'm posting these, BECAUSE I am wearily recovering from my extravagant, golden-lilies-and-tequila birthday yesterday, and also because I just ate a soft-baked cookie that seemed to be covered in some kind of stinging poisoned chicken grease. Gross! More on all of this over the weekend, I suppose, when I run out of Italian for you.
31 March 2004
The rest of Florence, almost the whole second week, was kind of a bust, after the haircuts (which seemed, at the time, incredible, but were revealed by showers to be all smoke & mirrors! the brassy Italian lady who did them was pronounced by all to have been a strega!) On the day of the haircuts we saw the lovely, lovely, lovely Brancacci Chapel, the life of St. Peter and that banished Adam & Eve, at S. Maria del Carmine, and we ate a good delicious lunch, but! I most certainly had a head-flu, or powerful cold, since the night before, and was hopped up on Sudafed or Aleve Cold or something all day, so that the cold water and the hot water on my scalp as the shampoo girl washed my hair sent me into mystic, synesthetic raptures, and language was sometimes confusing.
We spent most of our visit to Siena running around in our rented car, looking for the Europcar office or the city walls, but at last we gave up & took a cab to il centro & although shopping mania consumed most of the day without me even getting a 300-euro sailor hat, I got a useful purse & visited with the relic (a tiny slice of bone set in a plastic nun-shaped doll) of Saint Catherine of Siena (yes, that conjunction of sentences seems sacreligious, but if you understood some things, which I cannot explain here, you would understand that that useful red leather purse and that tiny plastic shrine with its tiny relic and its rows of electric button-operated candles are not so very different.) And also beautiful, beautiful was the duomo, which I visited alone, the thousand heads of popes, the dark blue madonna chapel, and the heaps of pink clouds in the blue-gray sky as I waited for Momma & Ana to meet me, & watched the pigeons (again pigeons! who am I, Rilke?) fly among the saints & prophets & philosophers.Posted by anonymousblonde at juin 02, 2004 11:24 PM