Cortona is a classic Italian hill town. Built on the side of what essentially is a mountain, most of its streets exist on inclines exceeding thirty degrees. If you have ever been on a thirty degree incline, you know that it feels more like sixty degrees. Moreover, have you ever been on an incline of thirty degrees, you know that it is enough to make even, as the law would say: “a man of ordinary courage and fortitude” weep. As we all know, Shaffer is far inferior to the man of ordinary courage and fortitude.
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| View of Cortona |
Suffice it to say, the visitor to Cortona must be stout of both heart and quadricep. The streets stretch on toward heaven itself, and at times it seems that you are trying to walk up the very side of a building. The roads are all of rough sandstone, and they are uneven and deteriorating in many places. Our pride began to hurt as much as our legs when we began to be passed, at alarming rates no less, by young women in impossibly tall stiletto heels, and (even worse) elderly women. Shaffer conjectured that a few days spent in this town would make his butt look phenomenal. As everyone knows, Shaffer already thinks that his butt looks phenomenal. But a little extra work couldn’t hurt.
Our second morning in Cortona, we decided to take a bit of a hike. Many of Cortona’s most famous churches, as well as an enlightenment-era fortress, lay outside of and above the town. Thus, with a cappuccino and a croissant to fortify us, we set sail.
The road was hard and steep, but we had our high spirits and fresh clothes to buoy us. Also, the cool morning air was refreshing, and we had only the stiff aerobic exercise to contend with; we were spared the ubiquitous, unrelenting sun. There is much renovation and restoration going on in Cortona: Slender, young Italian men on the side of medieval buildings with their shirts off, sweating under the hot Tuscan sun with hammer and chisel in hand. We gave them Kim Cooper’s phone number. Go get em’ Red!
After a few minutes climb we came to the first church: San Francesco. And here we encountered a bit of a quagmire. Most churches here, understandably, require that visitors observe a modest dress code: No shorts or bare shoulders for men or women. The problem is that we were hiking. In the summer. Uphill. Of course we had shorts and bare shoulders. Thus we were denied entry. We still got some beautiful shots of the exterior.
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| San Francesco |
After San Francesco we continued our hike toward the summit. As we climbed, each step brought us a more beautiful view of Cortona below, and the vast Tuscan plain stretching out at its base. In the distance, Lake Trasimeno glittered in the sunlight; a brilliant sapphire in the heart of the emerald and crimson farmland. Legend has it that the deep blue of Lake Trasimeno was stained red with blood during the Second Punic War, when Hannibal’s Carthaginian Army (with the help of the native Etruscans, including warriors of Cortona) slaughtered a Roman army of 15,000 en route to Rome itself.
We tarried only a minute or two at the small, quaint church of San Niccolo. It had a humble façade and an intimate courtyard. The overseer kept circling us nervously: We guessed that we were probably his first visitors for some time. He seemed almost relieved when we left. We continued on to our penultimate destination: Santa Margherita.
Margherita is the patron saint of Cortona. In medieval times she was an unwed mother and it is implied, with the utmost reverence, that she may have been a prostitute. Regardless, in her early 20s she renounced her previous life, and became a nun. She founded Cortona’s first hospital, and dedicated the rest of her life to helping the sick and impoverished. Her Church is perched high on the hill overlooking Cortona; a grueling 30 minute hike from the town center. Shrines along the way tell stories of Margherita: Some in Italian, and some in Latin. We were able to discern the gist of some of them, but ended up wishing that we had dedicated more time to polishing our Italian before the trip. (Or in Shaffer’s case, wishing that he had paid more attention in class in the first place). It was a brutal hike, but Shaffer’s thunder-thighs bore it well.
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| Amy at Santa Margherita |
Given the history of Santa Margherita herself, and the isolated, remote location, we expected her church to be fairly modest. As we rounded the final corner, the view took our breath away. The church of Santa Margherita is absolutely massive. It is a beautiful building; particularly beautiful in its simplicity. The façade is bare, free from the intricate gothic stonework that dominates most churches of the era. Again we were denied entry. Oh well. The exterior alone was worth the hike. We still cannot imagine the magnitude of the construction effort: The church is so far uphill from any quarry. Truly, this was a triumph of sheer effort.
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| Santa Margherita |
Having climbed so far already, it was an easy choice to commit ourselves to even more torture. The Fortrezza Medici (a medieval fort) loomed a brisk 10 minutes uphill. By this point our legs felt like jello, so the walk was actually pleasant. Soon we were staring up at the ruins of the fortrezza. Originally built in the early 1300s by order of the ruling family of Florence, the fort served a vital purpose for the Florentines. Cortona borders both Siena and Umbria: Siena was Florence’s chief rival for much of the Renaissance, and Umbria has long been a papal state, and thus another rival. Cortona was thus a lynchpin in Florence’s defensive strategy, and the fort was superbly designed. There were renovations in the 16th and 18th centuries, in an attempt to respond to the innovation and prevalence of first the cannon, and later firearms. During the rise of modern warfare, the fort fell into disuse, disrepair, and ultimately ruin. A massive renovation effort is ongoing.
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| The Fortress |
Entrance was supposed to be 3 euros, but the young man at the gate let us in for free, for some reason. (Remember, Amy’s shoulders were bare). It was an intriguing step back in time. As we walked through the dusty rooms, we tried to reconstruct the life of the soldiers in this keep. At intervals were overhanging toilets that looked down directly into the forest. The windows were all angled to one side, and downward: Maximizing a bowman or musketeer’s field of view and limiting his exposure. On the barren stone walls we would occasionally happen upon a piece of modern art: A very striking, even unsettling juxtaposition.
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| The view from the fortress |
We climbed the keep all the way to the top, where a small door led to an even smaller walkway, which connected the keep to the battlements on the very edge of the fort. We walked out halfway, and just admired the view. What was so staggering about it were the many layers of the panorama. Just below us, the mass of Santa Margerhita; farther down the heads of the tall trees that had flanked us on our hike; farther still we could see just the bell tower of San Francesco; The red shingles of Cortona loomed far below; farther still were the great plains below Cortona, at this point no more than a colorful canvas on which the rest of our view was painted. It was truly fantastic. Being up so high actually gave Shaffer a touch of vertigo. At the time it was sort of a funny embarrassment. Little did we know that it would prove a harbinger for things to come.
In the cellar of the fortrezza, local youth were putting on an exhibit: Vito (my life) in Val di Chiana. (Val di Chiana is a sort of sub-region in which Cortona is located. Not an actual political distinction, but rather a geographical one that serves to unify its inhabitants. Sort of like how in Oregon we have the Willamette valley, or the high desert). The exhibit sought to teach students the history of the 3000 year old region. The endeavor was mixed media: Some displays gave the objective history of the region, while others were dedicated to interviews of people who lived there, both young and old. Most interesting to us was an exhibit comprised of some 20 short films that provided interpretations of some of the most ancient stories of the region: For example, inter alia, a modern retelling of the tale of Santa Margherita. It was fascinating: Not only was history being taught, but also fiction: The very fabric that unites a region. Also, it was students, both high school and university level, that were doing the teaching to people of all ages. They were rediscovering their own history. It was inspiring.
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| At the top |
Going back down was almost worse than going up, and was hard on both of our sets of knees. Unfortunately we had left our spare knees back in the room, and had to make do with the ones that we were wearing. When we got back down we were ready for a light lunch, and a place to sit down. We found a charming café right on the main piazza. Amy ordered prosciutto e melone: Salted ham wrapped around slices of cantaloupe. Shaffer thought that this sounded disgusting, so he tried to order a prosciutto crudo sandwich. What he actually ordered was a second prosciutto e melone.
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| Proscuitto and Melone, and Peroni beer...mmmm |
Turns out that it is a delicious combination. The sweetness of the cantaloupe with the saltiness of the ham is simply divine. Kind of like apples with cheese. Only in this case, the cheese is bacon. Mmmm….Bacon. It was light, but also satisfying. And the price was right: Only 3 Euros a piece. When it was time to pay, Shaffer went off-script. Previously when we had wanted the bill, Shaffer had always pantomimed writing something on his hand. That had always worked. However, he had seen a local do it, while also saying “Il Conto.” Despite Amy’s protests to do otherwise, when Shaffer simply caught her eye and said: “Il Conto.” Amy slumped in her chair. “Great…” she said “She’s probably going to come back and give us a giant raw fish or something.” We got lucky: No raw fish, just the bill.
After lunch we checked out the interesting, but very highly priced, Etruscan museum. The Etruscans were, at one time, the richest people in the world. Their empire spanned 1000 years, ending around 1 A.D. They were very successful merchants and pirates. Moreover, they learned from, and improved on, Greek art and architecture. Frequent wars with Greece, and the rise of Rome in the south rained on their parade. After fighting against Rome in the first and second Punic wars, they joined them for the third, and were eventually brought into the Roman fold. Though Rome copied much of the Etruscan style, art of the sophistication that they produced would not again be seen until the Renaissance.
The museum was very cool. We first went through an exhibit of artifacts on loan from the Louvre. It was fascinating to see the Etruscan’s whimsical, almost self-deprecating representations of themselves: exaggerated noses, eyes, funny body posture. They obviously had great senses of humor. Or maybe they all actually really looked bizarre. The museum then went underground, and on our descent we passed an ancient Etruscan wall: Massive stones perfectly stacked without any mortar to hold it all together. The lower floors were dedicated to several Etruscan burial mounds that had been discovered in the vicinity of Cortona. Skeletons, wine jars, tools, weapons and other personal effects were all on display. The effects were interesting both in the quality of the craftsmanship, and the reason for burying them with the people. These were obviously things thought important in the afterlife. It is, sometimes, less interesting to see how people lived, than to see how they chose to die.
The museum was massive, and impossible to explain succinctly. And Shaffer already has problems doing anything succinctly. Among the highlights were wine jars with people’s names on them; iron weapons; the remains of an Etruscan woman; and a contract, forged in bronze, recording the transfer of property from one Etruscan to the other. Yes, law students, it was for valid consideration and the parties were competent to consent. Any parol evidence was negated by an incorporation clause. It was a sort of ancient blackacre.
As we climbed, the history became more modern, culminating with exhibits on medieval and Renaissance Cortona on the uppermost floors. It was an interesting effect: Climbing your way through history. Overall, we probably overpaid a bit for admission. The artifacts were interesting though, and you really got a sense that you were interacting with antiquity. Pretty cool.
We sat outside at Casa Kita and shared a bottle of wine in the afternoon. Despite it being a bit overcast, the weather was quite warm. Warm enough that Shaffer took off his shirt for some sun bathing. Strictly because it was warm, mind you. The visiting girls from the University of Siena who were watching us from the Piazza Garibaldi had nothing to do with it. All of a sudden we felt a few drops of rain. They were welcome at first: We had a string of very hot weather. Then Amy noticed a very dark cloud moving in quickly. At first it was little more than a novelty: It was the first cloud we had seen while in Italy. And so what if it rained on us. A warm summer rain would do us some good.
All of a sudden, we heard a shriek from the Piazza, some 50 feet above us. We looked up to see an enormous gust of wind, blowing all of the leaves from the square. “We need to get inside.” Amy said. Too late. The gust hit us full on, ripping our plastic wine glasses out of our hands, and sending them over the railing and down the hillside below. Chairs and tables on the patio were overturned. The table umbrella, which we had been using for shade only minutes before, was ripped from its socket, and flew over the railing, and down to the base of the escalator.
Shaffer, the gallant fool that he is, felt responsible for it, and insisted that he go get the umbrella. So he ran outside into the now driving rain. Dodging between locals who were now scrambling to get indoors, Shaffer made for the escalators. As he neared them, something struck him very hard on the back of the head. Shaffer spun around, looking for his assailant: Perhaps Michael Goff had come to Italy and heard Shaffer disrespecting the Boston Red Sox. Another missile struck him, this time on the shoulder. Shaffer looked up. From the heavens, hail was falling. Marble sized hail. Shaffer ran toward the escalators, sprinting (barefoot) down one. More hail was falling, and faster. It stung Shaffer’s leg, leaving welts (and later a view bruises) on impact. Shaffer grabbed the umbrella, and sprinted up, covering his head with his arms. Every second, he was peppered with icy bullets. By the time he reached Casa Kita he was soaking wet. Amy brought him a towel to dry off, and then he stepped inside. Our host Osvaldo was waiting. Osvaldo must have laughed for a good ten minutes straight. The storm lasted another hour. After securing the premises, Osvaldo watched the storm in awe, punctuating the crescendo outside by shouting Incredibile (Een-cray-DEE-bee-lay). We get the impression that this doesn’t happen very often around here. So naturally it had to happen to us.
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| Hail on the roof |
After a change in clothes, we went off in search of dinner. Tucked way back in a back alley, we found a joint bustling with activity: La Trattoria Toscana. All of the tables were reserved. We thought we would ask anyway. “I don’t know” said the owner “I have someone coming in at 9.” It was 7:30. “Ah.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “You are Americans. You eat too fast. I’m sure that you’ll be done in time.” We did finish before 9. Amy had a wonderful ravioli, with spinach and mushrooms, and Shaffer had a spicy pasta with fusilli noodles. Both were excellent.
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| Delicious dinner! |
We had an errand to run. Before we left, we had purchased adapters for our electrical appliances. The adapters claimed that they worked in Italy. The adapters lied. Turns out they worked in Germany and most of Europe. But not Italy. So we found a hardware store, with a very friendly clerk. Who did not speak any English. Our Italian is passable, but imperfect. We do well ordering food, and figuring out how to get around, but there wasn’t a unit on hardware in our textbooks. We just stared at the clerk for a minute. Shaffer eventually began pantomiming the action of plugging something in. The clerk seemed to grow a little worried, and eventually we just left. Only later did we realize that a pantomime of plugging something in looks eerily similar to a pantomime of stabbing someone. Oops. We found another hardware store. The clerk there also spoke Italian, but luckily had the right adapter on display, so we were able to buy it.
On the way home, we bought a gelato and surveyed the medieval town palace. We had read that each year a new Florentine captain would be appointed, who would engrave his coat-of-arms on the building. There were supposed to be hundreds of them, from the 1300s all the way to the 1700s. We had looked everywhere: Inside every room of the building, down in the cellar, up in the attic, on the bell tower, everywhere. We had even looked in other buildings, thinking that perhaps we had been mistaken. Eventually we just gave up. Sitting outside, with the fresh smell of rain hanging about the ancient cobblestone streets, we enjoyed our gelato in silence. As the Tuscan sunrise washed over the town, the palace walls were briefly and brilliantly illuminated. There on the very front of the building, were the coats-of-arms. Sometimes things work out.
We thought about sampling the nightlife in Cortona, but decided against it. We still have not figured out how to sleep over here, and are usually pretty tired in the evening. We were sorely tempted by a local bar advertising karaoke. We didn’t end up going in. We heard a few locals singing as we walked by. Good though they were, they have nothing on the Quackers Crew.
We enjoyed a bottle of wine (yes, another one) on our terrace at Casa Kita. Around 10 o’clock, when the locals all start to take their evening walk, the birds come out. Hundreds, maybe even a thousand small birds, twisting and diving around each other. We never did figure out whether they were hunting, or mating, or fighting, or maybe just playing. Nevertheless, it was fun to watch. Were Lorin Guadagnoli or Emily Blaylock here, we know they would have gotten a cute profile picture of themselves with birds diving all around them. Had we tried it, we would have gotten our eyes pecked out. That is just our luck. After the bird show, it was bed time.
Also Up Next: Saints, granitas, strangers looking for the Stranieri, confusing labels, fizzy water, more walking and bathroom entrepreneurs: An Italian roadtrip!
Arrivederci!
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