Jet lag woke me up at 4am, but I managed to get back to sleep until 7.
The convent serves a good continental breakfast and my table looks out into the garden - very nice way to start a day.
I spent the morning at the Museum of San Marco, where my Fra Angelico moved his Dominican Order -- he turned down an offer to be archbishop so he good spend his time painting, which he considered a form of prayer. He prayed beautifully. No reproduction I've seen of his famous 'Annunciation' does it justice -- the angel's wings sparkle with tiny flecks of gold, and Mary's face radiates joy. I stood awhile in a cell which Cosimo de' Medici himself used as a retreat in the 1400's (and due to his patronage of the arts, it's not surprising he shows up in paintings and frescoes -- in his cell, the frescoe has him as one of the Magi)
Fra Angelico has become a favorite artist of mine, to put it mildly.
I then saw some gorgeous mosaics at the Museum of Precious Stones. Stunningly beautiful!
Stopped in at a Supermarket and bought the deli makings for a picnic at Piazza San Lorenzo, then meandered around the market place before heading for the Duomo Museum.
My Italian is bad and getting worse because my French has come back to me. Folks look at me quizzically because my clothes say "American" but my words are French and my accent is (very good) Italian. They have all been delighted that I at least try to speak their language, but there's a lot of laughter when I come out with a French phrase with an Italian accent.
At the Duomo museum, I was awe struck by Michelangelo's "Venice" Pieta -- it brought me to tears, it was so sad. He created it for his own tomb, and it reflects how broken he felt at the end of his life. Broke my heart to actually see his pain after a life of so much artistic vitality.
I was feeling very sad until I came around a corner and saw a very pretty Museum guard giving a very handsome guard a neck and shoulder massage. I sat down in a chair in front of them, presented my admission ticket, and said "moi aussi" (French for "me too"). We had a good laugh and I learned they were students at the Art Institute.
Dante's house was closed today, so I meandered into the Uffizi Gallery square where I struck up a conversation with a group of handsome policemen who were MUCH more friendly than the ones I met yesterday. Then spoke with a lovely old Italian woman who often spends afternoons by the Arno River sketching scenes. In my very odd French/Italian and her somewhat broken English, we talked about how precious each moment of life is, and how easy it is to forget that if you aren't creating or enjoying some kind of art.
Jet lag really hit me at 17:00 (they use 24 hour time here), so I bought a dreamy vanilla caramel gelato and meandered the back streets back to the convent. I've become pretty adept at maneuvering the narrow streets and crazy intersections -- there's a rhythm to dodging vespas and teeny tiny cars, and so far, I've been a wily but considerate pedestrian. There's a ranking system to share the narrow sidewalks: people with gray hair have absolute right of way, followed by beautiful women, followed by anyone with a child...all the rest must step into the street.
And I have to make another comment about Italian men -- they just worship women, not as objects to be leered at, but as the fabulous works of God's art we are to be admired. And learning after watching Italian women, the appropriate response to mens' smiles, loving looks, and delightful (not horny sounding) compliments is a big smile and a "grazie."
My feet are VERY tired tonight, and my body is saying, "whoah -- you're supposed to be a computah programmer -- whazzup with all this walking?" -- but I love every sore muscle and blister. A very small price to pay for such an adventure!
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