Sunday, October 09, 2011

Impressions of Italy

On the Eighth Day God obviously had to create some kind of a bulldozer to scrape all the crap and detritus left over from his masterpiece in northern Italy down to the south.  Especially some of the people.  Particularly those humanoid creatures we might call teenagers elsewhere, but who run and shove there, and kick and hit.  Their targets are mostly themselves, but passersby and tourists get a lick now and then too.  I brought bruises with me out of Naples and will only go back with an army platoon and then only to get even.  The south is messy and garbagy and it stinks, and its only redeeming features are covered with heavy cigarette gasses and shouting, gesticulating and angry people.
By the Ninth Day, God must have settled down.  He probably came back to his favorite place on this whole planet and I’m not talking about Rome.  God can’t go there anymore.  That’s where the Pope hangs out and HE won’t let God come inside the place.   So if God does show up in Rome, He has to hide and sneak around kind of incognito, perhaps in a robe and sandals and a beard, so you would have to really look for Him.  All the trumpets here are for the Pope.  
Venice is amazingly impressive and sad at the same time.  One cannot help but think of the tomb of Lenin, where that thing which used to be a human body, lay for many years adorned in colorful uniform surrounded with fine lighting, and incredulously adoring passers-by.  And like Lenin, Venice too once ruled vast portions of our planet, and now it lies with its colorful uniform adjusted and polished and gently placed and pulled, and just as ghastly too, if you look around its edges.
Tuscany is obviously where God came back and settled down.  Now it is the place where artists hang out.  Small wonder about that, and the food here is on a different scale too, wonderful, marvelous, delectable, incredible . . .  but it’s Italian food.  The Italians seem to know how to screw anything up and they do it with their food too.  You go into a restaurant and they bring you wonderful bread, magnificent olive oil and incredible vinegar.  Then they take your order and bring your wine along with your appetizer,  and then two minutes later your salad comes, two minutes later here is your anti-pasta then your pasta and in two minutes more comes your entrée, all in a matter of about six minutes.  And – the bread and pasta will all be white – tasty but full of glycemes and not thoroughly digestible.  
Then, there is Florence.  Art comes shouting down out of that place screaming at you, it charges you and grabs you and shakes you and it won’t let you go,  You become giddy with art.  You stagger around with your mouth open and your gaze eventually unfocusable.  That’s Florence.  And that is the heart of Italy.
So,  if you ever think you really need to go to Italy, just book a reservation for Florence.  Go there, chew off as much art and food as you can.  Digest what your system can handle, and then come home to tell your own tales of wonder.

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