A Tuscan Wedding

On Thursday we hit Florence - or more accurately, Florence hit us. Almost a week has passed with nary a moment to write. There has been art galore (and crowds) and history too; quadrants and astrolabes and electromagnetism in the Galileo Museum (and terrifyingly vivid 18th century anatomical models of everything that can go wrong in childbirth); there have been palaces and crowds and gardens and crowds and piazzas and crowds and gelato and crowds and not a few churches (and few crowds!). We have set out as the morning sun is turning the buildings on the Arno golden, and we have staggered home as they grow gold again in the setting sun.

It has been exhilarating and exhausting and we can’t wait to tell you all about it. If we can just keep our eyes open long enough.

But first, there was The Wedding. It was the occasion that drew us all here: to celebrate with (our nephew) Graham and Hannah his lovely bride as they made their vows. (My brother Rob’s family has developed a specialty in exotic European weddings; it was our niece Ariana’s wedding to Florent in a medieval abbey in Normandy that took us to France last year).

Picture a tenth-century castle, vineyards and cypress trees lining the way, up, up, up (we know; we walked the last couple kms) into the hills, past a 10th century stone church called San Donato, still ringing its bells for Saturday mass right at 5:00 (just as the happy couple got married) and in through wrought iron gates to a little chapel in a walled courtyard.

The sun shone gold as Graham and Hannah took their vows outside the chapel, the aperol spritzes shone red and orange (and the excellent limoncello shone yellow), and we feasted al fresco under the stars.

The bride and groom laughed and cried (and so everyone else did too, especially the bride’s and groom’s fathers), there was music and dancing and it was a joy to be together.

What a beautiful way to say “I wed you forever.”

And there was the extra joy of meeting our brand new great-nephew John (John Eden Patrick Joseph, in fact), Rachael’s (the groom’s sister) and Wes’s son. He is, of course, adorable, and appears also to be wise. Especially with headphones on.

We wound our way back through the star-studded dark – amidst the groans and snuffles of wild boar – courtesy of a nonchalant young taxi driver who was unfazed by tiny winding completely unlit mountain roads with steep drop-offs on either side and tiny bumpy-stone Florentine streets with packs of partying kids on either side and as often as not in the middle too. Not sure I’ve ever been quite so grateful for a taxi.

The wedding was the highlight, but a few other moments deserve mention.

On our way to Florence we stopped at the little town of San Giovanni d’Aldarno where David had discovered a Fra Angelico Annunciation.

The town hall

There we were, all alone with the angel and the lady (which seems, after a week in Florence, a small miracle). She is ethereal; he is golden and beautiful and she looks right at him. Direct? Challenging?

Different, at least, from the Annunciation we saw today at the top of the monastery steps in San Marco. Mary and the angel are glowing, but in the distance the sky is dark and lowering as the angel with flaming sword kicks Adam and Eve out of Eden.

The small gallery held some other treasures too, especially the enthusiastic musical angels, complete with bagpipes.

Domenico di Michelino

Madonna con Bambino e Santi (1450-1460)

Paolo Schiavo

(1397-1478)

lo Scheggia (1406-86)

In Florence Nicholas joined us from Rome (Tivoli, in fact, where he had spent the day exploring Hadrian’s villa and the Renaissance Villa d’Este, evidently equally opulent and impressive, even in ruins) and led us on Friday afternoon to the best gelato I have ever experienced, a symphony in cream and chocolate.

Friday morning Ariana (also the groom’s sister) gave us wedding guests a ‘hidden Florence’ tour, starting at Ognissanti (All Saints) church, where Botticelli and Amerigo Vespucci (of “age of explorers” fame - think “America”) are buried and where there is art not only by Botticelli but also by Giotto and Ghirlandaio - and you can just walk in and see it. It’s astonishing.

Giotto's Crucifix

Ariana, tour guide extraordinaire

Ariana and her Dad

St Jerome in His Study (Ghirlandaio) hangs across the aisle from St Augustine in His Study (Botticelli). Ghirlandaio flaunts his talent with a hat on the shelf jutting into the room over Jerome’s head – perspective! – and real Hebrew script on a scroll hanging down from another shelf (history! Jerome translated the Hebrew bible into Latin).

Ghirlandaio: St Jerome (1480)

Botticelli: St Augustine (1480)

Botticelli gives us depth of another kind, the Augustine of the Confessions, his gaze inward, intense, even agonized. All this we saw thanks to Ariana, who if the professorial route palls has a career awaiting her as art guide in Florence. We went from Ognissanti to Santa Trinita with its striking and extensive Ghirlandaio frescoes (and beautiful altarpiece). I don’t think I’d ever given Ghirlandaio a thought before last Friday and now I am a fan.

Ghirlandaio: Adoration of the Shepherds (1485)

This is the altarpiece; the whole chapel is frescoed by Ghirlandaio with scenes from the life of St Francis, from which many contemporary Florentines peek out at us.

Other highlights of the weekend:

– catching up with Michael and Patti at a great little butcher / sandwich shop / bar (pour yourself a glass of white or red from the bottle on the counter and order up a sandwich of meat and cheese sliced fresh on the spot, or some home-baked eggplant parmiggiano);

– dinner at a local Florentine place with Nicholas Friday night - pasta to melt (al dente) in your mouth; shellfish; the best bruschetta ever, topped with (a) fresh tomatoes and basil and (b) porcini mushrooms and some kind of creamy Italian cheese and (c) something mysterious that tasted like caviar; fresh pizza; some kind of frothy dessert involving a lot of chocolate and even more cream, and not a single person other than us not speaking Italian.

– running to the Duomo for the Sunday evening mass after seeing our bus disappear around the corner (and if you have been to Florence recently you know that is madness since the people are packed in on those narrow streets like raucous sardines)...and making it on time!