For the final day of my waterborne adventure, I booked a double-header: the leaning tower in the morning, the artistic font of Italy in the afternoon.
Pisa surprised me. Both less and more solitary than I expected, the infamous tower presides over three other structures on the Piazza del Duomo, each striking in its own right: a cathedral, a baptistry and a cemetery. Unlike every other site I had visited so far, however, that was it – no town, no shops, just a field of green and enterprising vendors.
I learned the tower leans in two directions – a later architect added the final floor with the correction of unequal columns, so that the tip bends back towards the vertical.
Obligatory photos out of the way, I snuck in a much needed rest and prayed inside the cathedral.
On our way from the bus, the alarm sounded – train incoming! Urged by our guide, we dashed across the tracks. In answer to looks ranging from dubious to scandalized, she only smiled. “In Italy, everything is possible!” sang the guide.
On to Florence!
Our guide urged us to invest our previous hours in touring Santa Croce rather than the iconic domed cathedral. My first impression of the church didn’t immediately delight, but then I noticed the soft interplay of vivid stained glass with the quietly glamorous Giotto frescos. Further in, the arches’ proportions impressed on me the elegance of perfection.
I have sometimes found a final resting place underwhelming, however fitting that may be – Jane Austen’s quiet inscription in Winchester, for instance. No danger of that in Santa Croce: its most marvellous occupants boast equally marvellous tombs, dazzling in their tributes to unusually gifted men.
The expressive grief of the graves’ statue attendants added solemnity to the splendor. A loss for mankind, they proclaim.
Before I ducked out, a voice called, “Kittie! Kittie!” Friends from Oxford had found me. “We recognized you by your hat,” they laughed.
My tour group tarried all too briefly over the fabulous sculpture in the city, pausing to admire a copy of David among a throng of marble and bronze masterworks.
Brunelleschi’s famous dome impressed even more up close: the delicate stonework in shades of aqua and pink grace the walls like mother of pearl. I longed to spend more time lingering over it, but the timetable beckoned – another item for my next visit.
Architects, artists, sculptors, and statesmen – but did you know that Florence is also the birthplace of gelato?
