Drums and Thunderstorms
Writing these journals is a little strange: more like sending letters by snail-mail than posting to the world wide web. Because the nearest open wifi is over an hour's ride away I find myself doing the writing bit at odd hours ahead of time, not knowing exactly when it will reach its intended audience.
This time is different. This time I am fairly confident that we will be going to Lucca, home of the Baricentro cafe/bar and internet spot, tomorrow (Tuesday) so I am writing this with the intention of it being posted soon. And since my travels seem to keep bringing me back to that city, I think it is only fitting that I write of my adventures therein.
When last I posted, the above picture was my view: a procession of drummers in medieval attire making their way through the city. They were a part of a Medieval Festival (sort of like a Renaissance Fair, only focusing on the Dark Ages) that was taking place just outside the Wall of Lucca.
This is an especially good place to hold a medieval festival. For certain there are others like it all over Europe, and into and across America, but few I imagine would have such a fitting backdrop as this.
Lucca's Wall was first built in the middle ages, and was a typical stone wall for that time. The original stonework (the large grayish slabs of rock on the lower half of the wall) are still visible. Then came the Renaissance and the advent of the cannon. So the people of Lucca fortified their wall with another few meters of height in the form of red bricks, added a few bastion-like protrusions, and padded it with one hundred feet of dirt. This process took roughly a century, but rendered the wall completely cannon-proof. So obvious was this fact that not only was Lucca's wall never breached, nobody ever bothered to attack it. Even the Germans, who were so happy to blow up Firenze's bridges, were uninterested in bombing Lucca.
The only time the Wall actually served to save the town from an outside threat was when the nearby Serchio River flooded and threatened to wash the town clean away. Then the residents simply sand-bagged the entrances and stayed inside, protected by their wall.
It was against this tapestry of stonework and history that a group of fifty-odd re-enactors set up tents and booths and put on demonstrations in everything from cooking and embroidery to archery, fencing and falconry.
And while most of the women re-enactors were to be found in headdresses showcasing domestic work, I did find a kindred spirit in a particularly solid woman who showed up (in a dress, no less) to school the boys in sword-fighting. Here she is explaining the refined dynamics of butchering people with a battle axe. Or she is indicating the size of her balls. Or her gears.
Another interesting feature of this festival: there was nothing for sale. No vendors, no performers asking for tips, just people (nerdy Italians, my Aunt said) showing off their stuff. Granted, I did see a few kids scampering about with stock wooden swords and girls with flowery headgear, and I didn't pass through until the afternoon of the last day, but as far as I could see all you could take away from this was knowledge, experiences and memories, and all you had to spend was time.
It was a refreshing change.
From today (Monday) I have fewer pictures
…because it was raining. Hard. We had planned to bike up into the mountains to have lunch at a family-style ristoronte in Abetone, but about half-way there it began bucketing down. We ended up getting saved by the Car, which is a tiny French job that seats seven, or four and some bicycles. Cold, wet and hungry we arrived at the place and were served a most excellent meal by a surly waitress (who fortunately did not have a sword).
We have some new companions: a family of five consisting of Andrea, the former Olympic gymnast, husband Chris, their three-year-old firecracker Mataya, and Chris's parents Tracey and Dan. Chris and Andrea are both cyclists, and Dan is awesome on a stick with chocolate. He raised his son (Chris) off the grid and out of school. He is a rambling grand old man with a deep rich voice and scary hands. I think I will adopt him as my Awesome Uncle, since I don't have one yet.
Awesome Aunt was optimistic all through lunch that the rain would subside and we could ride home. It didn't. It got heavier. Then it began to thunder and lightning all around.
The drive home was very exciting. David was at the wheel, which always makes the ride on those twisty mountain roads a bit of a roller-coaster, but this time the experience was enhanced by the pelting rain and cracking lightning. Once a bolt struck just up the hillside from us, so close that we heard the sharp crack of thunder at the same time we saw the bright zig-zag of light. Add to this the old country towns with their sombre bell-towers looming into view through the mist and I felt as though I were plunging through vampire country.
I did not get a picture of it, but there will be a painting, I promise.
Speaking of painting, I hope to do more of that tomorrow. I have not been able to scan any of my finished pieces, so until I return, this will have to do:
And to close with an oddball thought: I've been making a habit of drawing pictures for the waiters at the various bars and restaurants we've been frequenting (as mentioned before), in lieu of a tip. So far they have been very happy. One waitress in Florence even tried to take my drawing away before I finished, since I was drawing it on the paper placemat she'd given me, and was apparently worried I would spoil it with food. Last Sunday in Lucca we were treated to a very fine restaurant by Awesome Aunt, and I drew another picture, this time including the intended waiter. He liked it very much, and they even put a photocopy into their guest book and had me sign it. They also took 2,50 (Euros) off the bill.
For artists traveling on the cheap; just sayin'.
Until I post again, BAWK!
