Put one step in front of the other…

The final push is on to have the book make its September 1 release date.

The journey from now until the book’s launch next week has me feeling like I am climbing a tower in Italy … I am terrified of heights and, yet, with each step up, I long to see the view from above.

I love having a bird’s eye view of Italy. To stand on top of a 500-year-old structure is an indescribable thrill for me. Of course, it is “thrilling” mostly by my realization that at any moment this 500-year-old structure could collapse. With each step up, my heart races, my palms sweat, and I have to force myself to believe “the glass is half full”—as in the tower has been standing for 500 years so it will make it another 500, instead of considering “the glass is half empty”—since it has been standing for 500 years it will collapse with my next step!

Here are some of my favorite, nail-biting climbs:

1. Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, Siena. A museum is now housed in the abandoned 13^th century expansion construction of the Duomo in Siena. Through this museum you climb an exceedingly narrow stone staircase up to the top outside viewing area, which, had the construction not been abandoned almost 800 years ago, would be where the cathedral roof would have started. Yikes, it is way up there!

2. Torre Guinigi, Lucca. This tower has trees growing from the top of it. Yes! Atop this tower of a once wealthy businessman of Lucca is small garden planted with seven or eight oak tress. The view from the top is cool—literally, because the trees provide great shade from the hot summer sun!

3. The cupola of Saint Peter’s, Rome. It is a long way up to the top of the cupola at Saint Peter’s. It is a long way up even if you take the elevator…it lets you off at the bottom of the last 320 steps to the top. For me it is a big metaphor: life is like the elevator—pretty easy straight up, and then there are the 320 stairs—penance for all the things you did wrong in the “elevator” on the way up, before finally reaching Glory—the fantastic view of Rome!

4. The two leaning towers of Bologna. In Bologna, there is a set of “twin” towers…though they are not identical…that both have a very pronounced lean out of level. Asinelli is the taller tower and Garisenda is the smaller tower. The shorter/smaller one is only half built—they stopped construction in the 14^th century when it become so far out of level that people feared its collapse. Going to the top of Asinelli gives you the feeling of being a car hanging off a cliff, only secured by one tire. You know that at any moment, as you peer over the viewing wall from the tower’s top that a fly will land on your head, and with that slight amount of added weight, the entire tower will finally give way and topple over. Mamma mia!!

5. Torre Lamberti, Verona. This is the tallest tower in Verona. The climb is not bad until you get to just below the first set of clock bells…there is a higher set father up this clock tower. Here the modern metal steps turn into their original wooden ones as you wind your way around the interior walls of the clock tower…the whole time, able to peer over your right shoulder back down to ground level through the tower’s shaft. The climb to the higher bells is even more precarious feeling, since that staircase is exposed on all sides. You feel secure at the top—until the clock strikes the hour and the bells clang out the loud tones, which immediately turns you into the hunchback of Notre Dame.

6. The cupola of the Duomo in Florence. To get to the top, you must first walk the interior dome of the Duomo, just underneath the enormous fresco depicting the rise from Hell, where you are—at the bottom of the dome, toward salvation with God at the very top of the interior dome. From here you head up between the dome’s interior ceiling and the Duomo’s exterior roof, until finally emerging through a little door onto the viewing ring that circles the outside of the cupola. Breathtaking!

7. The Campanile of San Giorgio Maggiore, Venice. Palladio designed this famous church and bell tower in the middle of the 1500s. Palladio’s first campanile was built in 1567, which fell in 1774…gives you confidence to climb the 1791 rebuilt tower, huh?! From the top of this “new” tower, besides seeing all of Venice and the surrounding islands, you can see the Dolomites looming on the horizon, 20 miles (33km) away.

I hope you will enjoy these views and, like my book’s next step toward being released, I hope we can be thrilled and awestruck by the glorious view from the top—success!

My next post will be made from my new site. I hope to see you there…where you’ll be able to purchase the book! That will be a glorious moment indeed.

Ciao e a presto~

Mark

Photos:

1. View from the top of the Museo looking at Torre del Mangia, Siena

2. Torre Guinigi, Lucca…see the trees?

3. View of Saint Peter’s Square from the cupola of Saint Peter’s, Rome.

4. Asinelli, Bologna…the taller of the twins. Can you see the lean?

5. Torre Lamberti, Verona. There are two levels of bells up there. It is a beautiful clock tower.

6. The view of the Duomo’s roof and bell tower from the cupola of the Duomo, Florence.

7. View from San Giorgio, Venice. The Dolomites are in the background, but notice the leaning white tower in the foreground.

Day 5: Verona~

Having worked at a theatre specializing in Shakespeare for over 20 years, it is no surprise that the first thing that comes to my mind when hearing “Verona” is the tragic tale of Romeo and Juliet. I know—predictable. Luckily, it was one of the last things we concerned ourselves with when we went there. Tragic love might be the most famous thing about Verona to the English-speaking world, but it is hardly the main reason to visit this ancient Italian city. Verona is an ancient town. It has a Roman arena that dates back to AD 30 which is still being used today for opera performances (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Verona_Arena).

Our main purpose of going to Verona was to visit i Giardini Giusti (http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=it&u=http://www.giardinaggio.it/unagitaa/giusti/giusti.asp&ei=xXQ6S8DiJYa1tgeZ-ZSLDA&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=5&ved=0CCUQ7gEwBA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Di%2Bgiardino%2Bgiusti%2Bverona%26dq%3Di%2Bgiardino%2Bgiusti%2Bverona%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26hs%3DCUP ). We spent the better part of 3 hours enjoying the gardens and the views of Verona by ascending the hill and a spiral staircase enclosed in a tower at the rear of the gardens. It is no wonder that Mozart and Goethe visited here. The above link gives a great description and history of the gardens, though I think my photos are a bit more enticing.

With our brains swimming with images of hidden statuary, garden mazes, and sweeping views we headed over the Adige River by way of the Ponte Nuovo (New Bridge) and worked our way through the crooked streets toward the bell tower—Torre dei Lamberti.

One of the things I love most about Italy is the ability to climb ancient structures and towers. The climb up the 276-foot Torre dei Lamberti was a bit exhausting, but worth it. At the top, it provided a 360-degree view of Verona and an unexpected encounter with a very enthusiastic Croatian girl.

The tower’s belfry is split in two with the larger of the two bells being hung above the smaller and being reached by a separate staircase that continued up past the small bell to the top of the belfry. We had gone all the way up to the larger bell before making our way back down to the lower part of the belfry to kill time until the bells would strike 1:30 p.m. Regardless of where we are on vacation, Richard loves to stop everything to listen to bells ring, and we were only 10 minutes from having the bell next to us strike—we had to stay until he could experience the “strike” up close and personal.

“Hello. Do you speak English? Can you take our picture? I am from Croatia. Are you on vacation also? I am with my friends and my husband. We were married last month. This is our honeymoon. I am scared being up so high…”

“Smile,” I said, as this young, Croatian girl huddled next to her girlfriend against the belfry railing. “Say “cheese.” “Cheese!”

“Thank you for taking our picture. Have you been to Italy before? This is my first time in Verona. We have been to Germany and to Venice and we are going to Rome and to Florence. We are making a big trip. 3 weeks.”

She was tall, dark-headed, slim, and very pretty. She introduced herself, although for the life of me, I can’t remember her name. She had the energy and personality of a cheerleader or a sorority girl—better yet, a bow-headed Southern sorority cheerleader! I am sure she was in her mid 20s, but she was so bubbly that she seemed 16. We could hardly get a word in edgewise, because she rarely came up for air in her excited barrage of questions.

Her friends laughed as they headed up the stairs to the belfry’s second level to see the larger bell. They called to her to come join them, but she only took a couple of steps before stopping to continue her conversation with us.

“I hope my English is good. Have you ever been to Croatia? When you come, you will stay with us. We will show you around our beautiful town and country. Why have you never been to Croatia? You should come…” she said, as she finally stepped far enough away from us to take the stairs up to join her friends.

Richard and I laughed. She was a lot of fun. We imagined what her wedding night must have been like—with her never shutting up.

“BONG!”

The moment we had been waiting for: however, only the largest bell on the level above us struck, and when it did, our Croatian friend must have been standing right next to it—because she let out a shriek that could have been heard back in her homeland. Well, the bell might have caught her off guard, but her shrieking sent Richard over the edge. The clock struck, the girl shrieked, and Richard whooped. He let out a huge laugh and, even though the bell only struck once, she kept shrieking—and he kept whooping. “SHRIEK!” “WHOOP!” “SHRIEK!” WHOOP!” Finally, his whoop turned into a sinister laugh. “AH-hahahhaahaha!” The tourists on the upper level were laughing at her, and the ones around us had Richard for their entertainment. Between the two of them, they were an unlikely, yet in sync, comedy team.

We giggled ourselves down the tower and headed into the now sun-drenched Piazza delle Erbe to grab some lunch, “al fresco,” at one of the many ristorante. We ordered “Papparadelle con funghi e zucchine”—wide, handmade pasta served with porcini mushrooms and zucchini. The piazza sits in the shadow of the bell tower and is ringed with frescoed buildings. Many of the frescoes have not been restored, so, at times, the piazza seems haunted by its fading, once vibrantly-colored images. Reaching out from the past are the shadowy memories of heroes, both fallen and victorious, facades of villas and palaces, and the flora and fauna of the surrounding countryside.

A bottle of wine later, we decided to wander Verona’s streets, the ancient city center, to get a sense of the “vibe” and stopping to do a little window-shopping. Many of the old buildings throughout the center remained frescoed and the churches were as varied as they were plentiful. What struck us most about Verona were the rather posh and sophisticated Veronese people themselves. Italians, as a general rule, tend to be well dressed, but the Veronese, as a general rule, seemed even more stylish than the norm. They seemed to elevate this ancient town from the status of “old” to the status of “richly antique.”

As afternoon turned to dusk and into early evening, we decided to stay late and eat dinner in Verona. Biba Caggiano, the Sacramento restaurateur, has a list of Italian ristorante in one of her cookbooks (http://www.amazon.com/Trattoria-Cooking-authentic-family-style-restaurants/dp/0025202529/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262155796&sr=1-6 ) and luckily for us, she listed Al Pigna in Verona—the only trattoria  she listed in Verona. Restaurants in Italy usually don’t open for evening service until 7:30 p.m. and most Italians don’t arrive for dinner until 8:30 p.m. or 9:00 p.m. Since this was the case, we decided to take the plunge and find Verona’s most touristy attraction—Casa di Giulietta (Juliet’s House) to kill some time before dinner.

Tucked down a little side street, with its buildings’ walls graffitied with thousands of love notes addressed to Giulietta, there is no doubt that you are in the center of a tourist trap. This papered street ends in a little piazza where a bronze statue of Juliet stands for all to capture on film—and to also capture a quick feel. Yes, this statue of Juliet has been groped to the point that one of her breasts gets rubbed daily by enough hands that it is as shiny and untarnished as the day it was created. Her other breast, like the rest of the statue, is dark and tarnished. Poor Juliet. Not only did she lose her love and poison herself, but her right breast gets groped and photographed daily. There is a marble balcony off of a second story door that is supposedly the place where she first dreamed of her Romeo. The house, now turned museum, originally belonged to the dell Capello family—never to the Capulets. We decided not to take a tour of the house and its museum. Having killed enough time, we headed for Al Pigna.

Our waitress suggested that I try the asino—donkey—but I passed on the ass. The day before I had ordered smoked horse—puledra, which was very good, but I thought that tonight I should leave alone the barnyard animals that we consider inedible in our country. I started with roasted radicchio with brie, pine nuts, and raisins, while Richard had prosciutto served with Roquefort and fresh local honey. My entrée was Baccalà (salt-dried codfish that had been reconstituted in milk) served over polenta. This is a very classic dish from this region of Italy. Richard ordered the gnocchi with duck. Both were wonderful. I finished with the homemade tiramisu and Richard rounded out his meal with biscotti that he dipped into a dessert wine from the Fruigli region. Biba’s list has never failed us and tonight was no different. Brava Biba!

On the drive home, we passed a stretch of industrialized road that seemed to be populated with a lot of scantily dressed girls standing alone, each about 100 yards apart. Each time we passed one of these lovely ladies, Richard would scream out to me “Look Mark, LOOK! Oh my God, LOOK!” Poor thing, I don’t think he had ever seen someone employed in the world’s oldest profession. Come to think of it, I don’t think that I have either. But after seeing people of both sexes and all nationalities grab the shiny right breast and smile while a camera flashed—maybe a girl has to do what she can to attract a Romeo of her own.

Felice Anno Nuovo~ Happy New Year,

Mark