Explosions, rapes and bonfires

We took a quiet inland route of terraced olive trees to our next destination: a home exchange near the coast of Viareggio, where we have three floors to play in.

As the day after we arrived was Easter Sunday and we read that the museums were all open and free, we jumped on a train down our street, that went to Pisa, changed there for Florence and were in the city centre in a little over an hour, which saved having to think about parking there. Not that we would have found a carpark. The entire city centre was literally seething with people out in the sun. The weather was in the early 20°C and folk were making the most of it. 

Not to mention that there was a special Easter Sunday service on in the Duomo, that we only caught part way through as we didn't realise anything special was on until we came to a standstill with the crowds encircling the Duomo. Scoppio del Carro, or the Explosion of the Cart, it is called, is a festival that occurs because a young Crusader, Pazzini, brought back three flints from the Holy Sepulchre in 1099, which are now kept, like relics, in Firenze. To celebrate the Resurrection church officials, for the last 300 years and more, have built a tall wooden wagon then loaded it with fireworks in the square, then had the Archbishop use the flints to light the Easter Candle, then later to set flame to an artificial dove shaped like a rocket representing the Holy Spirit, that then shoots down a wire, like an old postal receipt return, to collide with the cart outside the Duomo. Then, poof! Fireworks happen, as if the cart is truly exploding. Celebrating the Resurrection. 

We missed much of that as we were in the Archeological museum absorbing more of the loveliness of the Etruscan era. We simply could not pass this opportunity up since we were so deeply fascinated by the Etruscans this trip. Here we saw the magnificent bronze Chimera di Arezzo found by construction workers near the city gates. It is simply exquisite. Probably one of the loveliest displays I have ever seen in a museum anywhere. 

Another gorgeous find was a glorious bronze flabellum, or fan. So large, too. Amazing to think many of these pieces are at least 2,500 years old. They are such wonderful work. We saw lots of Etruscan ex-votos; and a particularly lovely small statue of Laran, the Etruscan God of War. 

We will have to revisit to see the tomb recreations, as they are only open on a Saturday. We often sigh over such complications in Italy. 

When we came out of the Archeological museum we passed the beautiful Ospedale degli Innocenti which now has charming plaques of bandaged children set up on the external facing of the loggia of the building. This was one of the first ever orphanages in Europe and has looked after children for five centuries and more. Its philanthropic construction was funded by the Silk Guild in Florence in 1419. They had enormous power and funds, sufficient to employ the great Filipo Bruneleshi, one of the earliest and influential Renaissance designers who impacted Michelangelo's work so effectively. 

On we wandered through the crowded Renaissance heart of Florence, reminiscing about when we once spent a gorgeous week here, enjoying the city, wandering the same streets. The Duomo is even more beautiful than then. We think it may have been washed clean of pollution. Such beautiful colours in the blue, white and pink marble are showing clearly this time on the Duomo, the Campanile and the Baptistry. 

Bruneleshi's amazing dome tops the Duomo. Bruneleshi won the contract for the dome, while his pupil, Lorenzo Ghiberti, a goldsmith, defeated him in the competition to win the contract to decorate the Baptistry doors. Ghiberti included an image of himself in his beautiful Baptistry doors. 

We stood back enjoying them, as Michelangelo stood, studying the dimensionality of this beautiful work, learning from it. An impatient student, Michelangel often quit with teachers, who were too slow for him. He preferred following his own needs, wishes and passions -- learning at the source, often by dissecting the works that he admired.

We wandered down past the Palazzo Vecchio, now the Town Hall, once the home and the prison of the powerful Medicis, ogling the statues in the loggia to one side, though the originals of these have now been safely tucked into museums. Here, the Rape of the Sabines, an amazing piece of twisted arms, legs, bodies and emotions all carved from one block of Carrara marble, reminds us that there was a time, at least in mythology, when the Romans were prepared to forcibly run off with the women folk of neighbouring tribes, in order to perpetuate their own nation. Terrifying times for the Sabine women. 

Just a few steps back from here we came across the exact spot where Savonorola died in 1498. As a young man of twenty-three, Girolamo Savonarola secretly left his home and studies in medicine and philosophy, saying nothing to his parents of his move, as he feared they might stop him. His passion was to be a Dominican monk. His beliefs, over time, became even more rigid, more doctrinaire. He attracted a large band of religious fanatics and for a time developed a power base that swept him to power in Florence, when the Medicis were out of favour. His zealotry and sermons in this square attracted vast crowds. He urged citizens to simplify their lives, throw off all their vanities: their books, their lavish clothes, their art. These, he encouraged them to burn, in great bonfires, in this very piazza. Bonfire of the Vanities. 

But, as often happens with zealots, their popularity wanes, they fall out of favour, and their word is no longer supported. Savonarola's time came when the city finances were cut off by the political opposition and the common folk were starving. Savonarola came to be the sacrifice. He and two of his friars were hung, then burned, on the very spot marked by this circle. As the fire raged beneath him two of his fingers rose, as if in blessing. Seeing that, many in the crowd ran from the spectacle. Such was the ensuing crush that children died in the exodus. 

Today, Florence was nearly as crowded as the day Savonarola died. I cannot imagine what it is like in the depths of summer, during tourist season. There were buskers everywhere: albeit very imaginative and prolific.

We walked, rather sombrely, down to the Ponte Vecchio, before heading back to the station to catch our train home, sad to leave. 

Terraced olive trees enroute to our new home in Capezzano Pianore, near Viareggio

Florence was seething with folk on Easter Sunday

Explosion of the Cart Festival using the flints from the Holy Sepulchre crusade in 1099

Magnificent Etruscan bronze Chimera di Arezzo unearthed near Firenze's city gates

Another Etruscan find, small statue of Laran, the Etruscan God of War.

Glorious Etruscan bronze flabellum, or fan, some 2,500 years old

First ever orphanage, the Ospedale degli Innocenti, with its charming bandaged children plaques

The white and pink marble colours of the Duomo, the Campanile and the Baptistry

Bruneleshi's amazing dome tops the Duomo

Ghiberti's image of himself on his beautiful Baptistry doors

We stood back enjoying the door panels, as Michelangelo once stood, studying the dimensionality of the work

Flemish artist Giambologna's Rape of the Sabines

Savanarola was hung and burned in the very square from which he attracted vast crowds to his sermons

Imaginative buskers everywhere

Ponte Vecchio enroute to the station