Snakes and Skulls

This small reminder was on the somewhat-tarnished-but-still-remarkable little church outside of Castel Rigone (which is a smallish town in the hills around and behind Cielo Chiaro):

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Close Up from Orvieto’s Duomo

I was talking to a friend about Italy yesterday (he and his family are getting ready for a trip, and I of course was happy to give opinions and things to do and see in central Italy), and it was a strange experience. First, I’m always ready to point folks in directions when they’re visiting Italy--directions of spots I like, that is. But secondly, it was hard (and always is) to talk to someone who is heading towards central Italy when I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Anywho, to get away from my maudlin meanderings, one of the places we talked about was Orvieto. If you’ve read my Orvieto post, you know I was blown away by the wild Duomo there (if you haven’t read the post, go here). The prismatic colors, the doors, and especially the sculptures are not to be missed. Of course, after we talked I went back and looked at all our pics taken when there, and just had to post this close up of one of the scenes on the Duomo, Cain and Abel's story:

It’s so textured, and life-like, and ruthless, like many of the scenes sculpted. Amazing.

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Crowned Eagle in Ravenna

Following up the below bird-art-in-Ravenna theme, here’s a picture of this amazing crowned eagle statue which was perched in the Dante neighborhood (if I’m remembering correct). This pic also shows in beautiful blue fashion how pretty our day was in Ravenna, with clear skies to go along with the avian art:

 *Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Tiled Duck in Ravenna

I wrote a lot about the most Byzantine of Italian cities, Ravenna, before (in this here post), and even (in said post) showed a pic of a random tiled duck that was on the floor of San Vitale. I forgot (until going through my pics again, for nostalgia’s sake) that there were actually two ducks on the floor, and since I loved them both, I wanted to bring the second one a bit more public attention:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

The Duomo and the Christmas Tree

The Florence Duomo is one of those building that makes you have an instant intake of breath. A “wow” moment, if you will, and (at least for me) not just the first time you see it. It’s not only breathtakingly lovely with its variety of colored stone, marble, and statues, but also just massive. Seeing a giant Christmas tree alongside it, which it dwarfed (even though in this photo the tree is partially holding its own—due to my lack of a sufficiently wide-angled lens to even come close to capturing much of the Duomo), only emphasized the massivity:

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

Stone Heads in Citerna

Citerna was an Italian hill town we visited one fine afternoon in November, 2010, which I detailed a bit here. It’s well worth a visit if you ever happen to be in Northern Umbria and like art, good coffee, and amazing views (and who worth their salt doesn’t?). Wandering through the town we took a right turn up some stairs in hunt of a particular antique fireplace and all of a sudden were face-to-face with these carved heads:

I was both scared (they do have that “we will now pronounce your doom” look about them) and in wonder (at how you never know in Italy when you’ll all-of-a-sudden be face-to-face with art).

*Note: We were on pre-tirement, and now we’re back. Want the full story? Start the pre-tirement journey here. Want to go backwards? Read the last pre-tired post here and scroll back. Or, just keep coming back for pretty Italy pictures.

A Medieval Morning and More in Bella Bevagna

We’ve been in a stretch of amazing April weather here in central Italy, with skies of blue and temperatures rising up to the mid-70s here and there. Just delightful, and the perfect weather for a little Umbrian exploring. With this in mind, we headed to south-central Umbria the other day, specifically to a town called Bevagna. We’d both read and heard about Bevagna, so it was on our list of spots we wanted to stop at before pre-tirement ends (an infamous day that is rapidly approaching). And it was definitely worth a stop. Originally (so the history goes) an Etruscan town called Mefana, it rose to its most famous moments as a Roman town called Mevania, when it sat on the Via Flaminia, the biggest and bustling-est of all Roman highways. Then, however, the road got re-routed (bureaucrats were changing people’s lives without a thought even back then) and the town’s tourist bureau became less busy. Bevanga still contains practically the same structure from Roman times, however, as well as Roman mosaics from a spa, a small neighborhood of houses and such built on the remains of the Roman theater, a single Roman column in the town center, and more. The town center, or the Piazza Silvestri, is actually the place to start exploring, as it dates back to the 12th century and is quite lovely, with three churches, the Palazzo dei Consoli (sort-of a governmental seat, since the 1880s home to a famous theater), and a welcoming fountain:

In the back of the fountain you can see one of two churches that face either across the piazza, San Michele, which was built in the late 1100s, and whose façade boasts a line of worn faces across it, people, gargoyles, birds, and animals that have watched those in the square and those going into the church for centuries:

The second church in the square, San Silvestro, dates back to the same time, but has a completely different, ancient feel, due to a lack of restoration and a very plain, interior--it’s actually quite nice to step into a non-pagent’d church. Walking from the center in almost any direction on the small streets out of the center around the town is perhaps the most enjoyable part of Bevagna. They small streets still have a very medieval feel and houses and buildings accented by flowers, ironwork, sculpture, and other intriguing pieces:

Wandering through these streets led us to Sant’ Agostino, a plain-on-the-outside, fresco’d up on the inside neighborhood church:

The frescos on the inside were mostly un-credited, but gave the church lots of color, as well as giving me another view of one of my favorite cautionary stories (the devil is faded, but the general line-up and action is evident):

Bevanga has a famous event called Mercato delle Gaite in late June, and a scaled back La Primavera Medievale in April, both of which celebrate the town’s medieval heritage. The latter, which we stumbled into, means that there were medieval workshops open, highlighting specific medieval artisan crafts. Our first stumble into one of these was also the best, and maybe the highlight of the whole trip, as we walked around a corner and were face-to-face with a medieval-style candle-making shop:

We were peeking in, and then saw a gentleman making candles in the old school style:

He ended up not only speaking fantastic English, but being incredibly friendly, walking us through how they used to make this specific style of candle, with duel hemp wicks twirling around each other (the duel wicks and wax method lent itself to longer burning and less smelling—which meant these candles were for church leaders and rich folk, as opposed to the poor who used sheep fat candles. Or something as aromatic). He even let Nat take a turn:

There were also open rooms set up as medieval silk-and-fabric-making and paper-making shops, and while all were cool to wander through (they were each in a different quarter of town), none had as charming a host as the candle-maker.  After stopping for a scrumptious lunch (which I’ll blog about tomorrow), we stopped into the third church on the center piazza, one set a bit to the side, San Domenico e’ Giacomo, which had some nice frescos and oldish wooden sculptures inside as well as a little dog, carrying a torch no less, tucked into one painting:

Keeping our church-and-medieval trail going, after a short stop to look at Roman bits and pieces and here and there, and more wanderings of Bevagna streets, we stopped in at the church of San Francesco (naturally, like almost every church and town in the area—Umbria, that is—there’s a strong St. Francis connection):

Inside, the church has the usually array of frescos and sculptures, with one out-of-the-ordinary main draw (for Francis-completists, especially), the stone which he stood on when making his famous sermon to the birds. There is another spot near Assisi where it’s said this happened, but when in Bevagna, think like Bevagnans, and so I believe he stopped to preach to the flocks on the road between Bevagna and Cannara (a spot famous for its red onions), standing on this very square stone:

After seeing that, and enjoying a beautiful day in Bevagna, we were off in the same direction as Umbria’s most famous Saint, heading north past Cannara and back home.

Citta di Castello’s Retro Market

I believe (though hey, my memory isn’t 100% sieve-less, so if I’m mistaken, take it up with the court of universal blog authorities, or CUBA) I’ve mentioned the regular Citta di Castello (or, in AJ-speak, CDC) market (basic clothes, stuff, and veggies) somewhere on the blog, and know I’ve mentioned the small city itself, one of the closest small cities to us (where the truffle festival is). CDC also has another market, on the third Sunday of the month, called the Retro Market. It’s very different than the regular market (which is every Thursday and Saturday), sometimes smaller in scope, with a focus on, well, antique-y kinds of things: furniture, books, knick-knacks, jewelry, records, and more. Not as massive, or as massively expensive as the Arezzo antique market, the CDC Retro market sprawls in the old city square and some surrounding buildings and overhangs:

We went last weekend (only the second time we’d been this trip—sadly) and found tables holding everything that could possible fit under the designation “retro” and a lot that fit “flea market” just as well:

I think it’s a kick to amble around the aisles of stuff, sometimes day-dreaming about what furniture I might pick up if I had a little Italian hill house. The trunkish, table-ish, number in the front here was especially nice:

Perhaps the cutest thing at the market I found under one of the tables, though, when I was browsing some Italian books:

Here and there when walking around you come across a tableau (yeah, I talk fancy) that is almost like an art installation all on its own (makes you wonder if the seller is sad when a piece in the middle of an artistic grouping like the below is sold):

Usually, we’re okay just browsing, or picking up something small (okay, honestly, I should say I’m usually okay with browsing—Nat’s a buyer). This Retro market stop, however, we came across a couple art pieces we couldn’t turn down (the prices tend to be reasonable in the CDC), even if it might mean stretching our suitcases to get them back:

Aren’t those wonderful? We especially were drawn in by the frames, which have a metal layering on them that blends into the picture and adds to overall effect:

We also (okay, honestly, this one was my extra pick) found a sweet six-piece set of Ramazzotti coasters. Ramazotti is an amaro (or Italian slightly bitter, usually digestif-y, drink) both of us have been known to sip, and these coasters called to me (buy us, buy us):

My fav was probably this one, which has a lady carrying a ginormous bottle of Ramazzotti while riding an ostrich:

Now, that’s the kind of Retro market find I can get behind.

Five Pictures of Orvieto*

I can admit it—I have a fair share of what I like to call “punk-rock-poopy-pants-ness.” By this, I mean I often rebel against things (songs, places, books, movies, foods, shoes) that seem giantly mainstreamily popular. Usually, once I do get around to the thing, or at least 50% of the time, I’m sad about my previous poopy-pants-ness. But hey, as Popeye says, I yam what I yam. Orvieto falls into the “thing” category above, as we’d never visited it in all our trips to central Italy, until a couple weeks ago, even though it’s one of Umbria’s top tourist stops (in the top three with Perugia and Assisi I suppose, with maybe Spoleto a trailing fourth), and its Duomo one of the top two (with the Basilica of St. Francis) un-miss-able spots in Umbria for those interested in art. So, basically, I was kicking myself in the pants by my poopy-pants-ness. However, when pals Jon and Nicole said they were coming to visit we wanted to go somewhere new and so I got over myself and suggested Orvieto. The Orvieto experience starts (if you’re smart) by parking at the bottom of the tufa (or 325-meter-tall volcanic mountain) that Orvieto proper is built on (and which a town of some sort has been on due to its tall and fortuitous position since the Bronze Age) and taking the funicular up the mountain, through the forest, and then into Orvieto’s Rocca. Provided that you don’t head-butt the funicular heading down:

Next to where the funicular stops once you’re up up up the hill (around the corner more-or-less) was our first stop: the Pozzo di San Patrizio (or well of St. Patrick)—a good first stop especially if you’re going towards it when the large student groups are walking away from it. Named after the Irish saint who died in a cave, the well was built for Pope Clement the seventh, who fled Rome (dressed as a grocery store manager—I see him in a Safeway smock) and settled into Orvieto, worried about running out of water in an attack he felt was imminent. The well’s size is a marvel, especially considering the date it was made: 62 meters deep and 12 wide. But the real marvel is the double helix design, created to provide people and their donkeys with a path to walk both up and down without having to worry about meeting anyone going the opposite direction. Throughout the walk down, large, deep windows are cut, allowing natural light to filter to the 248 steps:

From the well, we wandered to the main event, the Duomo. It was built (well, the more entertaining story is what I’m going to tell--there might be a separate, more political story, but it’s not as much fun) after the same old story: boy becomes priest, priest starts to question his faith, specifically his faith having to do with the host (or, for non-church-oriented folks, the wafer and wine given with communion) being the actual body of Christ every time (through the miracle of transubstantiation), until, during a service, the host starts to bleed, getting on him and his liturgical table linen (or corporale), with each stain of blood assuming the face of Christ. You know, that old story. So, the Duomo in Orvieto was built (after this miracle was okay’d by the pope naturally) to house the corporale relic, starting in 1290 and finishing some 300 years later. The site was originally an Etruscan temple, then the first duomo, and it sits high in the center of town. And it is a masterpiece, almost too difficult to even take in without a few gasps of breath. It’s even hard to photograph (the massive façade, that is), but I suggest going to track down a few wide angle photos (or just getting away from the computer and going to see it), since this one only catches the top half, which is covered with mosaics:

Farther down, the four pillars are covered in intricate carvings, Biblical scenes, saints, stories, and local folks. Some of the carvings are frightening, too, with a ferocious Cain braining Able once again, Adam and Eve cowering as God drives them out of the Garden, and a whole pillar whose bottom details (after passing through Paradise) a chilling and creepy hell and purgatory where people are being pulled by devils:

and look at the detail—amazing:

One more friendly (or at least balancing) aspect is that wine vines wind around all the sculptures (on this pillar, at least) in all the levels. This is probably more of a shout out to Orvieto’s famous white wines (that volcanic soil isn’t just good cause it’s called “tufa” and fun to say—it also provides a perfect breeding and cultivating ground for white wine grapes), but I found it nice that the sculptures were providing the sinners with a little wine while they were being tormented. The Duomo is built out of the same dramatic black and white marble as many other large churches in central Italy, and hosts a number of intriguing statues on the outside even away from the façade. With this said, don’t think the inside isn’t magnificent though—I just don’t have any photos, cause they ask you not to take them (though there was one particularly jack-ass-y American in there who thought he should have the right to take photos wherever he wanted). Inside there are a number of fine pieces spread around the church, though it seems a bit sparse at first glace. The hits come especially in the Capella di Corporale (where the above-mentioned relic is held) and the carvings around the massive organ (okay, get those chuckles out, I just said “massive organ”), and even more especially (is that proper? I’m still chuckling) in the frescos by Luca Signorelli in the Capella di San Brizio. This chapel is, well, fantasmagorically outstanding. And I’m not the first to say it (big man Michelangelo himself studied it well before he painted a little thing called the Sistine Chapel. So there). The subject of the Frescos is the Last Judgement, and they take a lot of their vigor and fantastic temperament  from Dante’s work (there is one fresco of Dante, along with Ovid and others, and specific scenes from the Divine comedy done on the lower level as well). Specific panels include the preaching of the Antichrist (picture a devious-eyed Christ preaching as atrocities happen), the rising of the dead, end of the world, Purgatorio, Paradiso, and the calling of the saved. In all the pictures, the figures are muscular, often contorted, often in great pain (being ridden around by devils, or rising whole from the ground), and always hard to look away from. Okay, that was heavy, but it is quite amazing, as is the whole Duomo, including this dog who looks a bit hungry from his perch high above the ground:

There is much more to see in Orvieto, but like the dog above, we were hungry enough, and had seen so much after the Duomo’s vast treasures that we headed off in search of a good, long, Italian lunch, and some of the much-talked-about Orvieto wine. Cause you can’t make it through a day on history and art alone (at least you can’t if you’re traveling with me, that is).

*Okay, there are six pics. But one's a close up. That shouldn't count against me.

A Cautionary Tale, Italian Style

I’ve seen the below scene in a few paintings here in Italy (the below is from a small church in Anghiari, and I’m not even sure who painted it, honestly):

and have to admit being somewhat struck by it (not struck like with a cudgel, but it always makes me stop and think). As a basic overview, and since the photo isn’t, well, elegantly lit or anything, here’s the scoop on the players: there’s a kid, his mom, Mary (the Virgin Ma, that is), and the devil. The fable behind the painting goes like this: the kid (I was going to name him, but didn’t want to call out any kids I know, so we’ll keep him “the kid”) is out raising heck, throwing stones at dogs, yelling, tearing leaves off trees, and generally causing kid-like mayhem. His mom, after having just more than just about enough, says something like “I wish you’d go to the devil” or “the devil take you” or “jeez, I wish a guy with horns in a red suit would come relieve me of your presence.” Then, boom, flash of light, smell of brimstone, the devil shows up, and says “well, you asked me to take him—so I am” and starts to take the kid. Mom, realizing that maybe she went a little too far, and realizing that sons in Italy are cherished and that her mom will go nuts if the kid is gone, prays to Mary for assistance. And, low and behold, Mary shows up and convinces the devil to give the kid back. Now, the lessons here are many (never throw a stone or anything at a dog, be careful what you wish for, the devil is shorter than expected), but what I like best is Mary showing up and bringing the stick. She’s not going to plead, cajole, or win the kid back with grace, she’s going to kick some red devil butt. She’s so often pictured as a placating figure, accepting destiny, placid, calm. Here’s she’s like an early version of Wonder Woman (or vice versa). Go Mary, go!

A Pleasant Morning in Citta Della Pieve

Earlier, I detailed how Shane (who has, sadly for us and Italy, returned to the Pacific Northwest of the United States—happily for those living there) and I went all street style in Citta Della Pieve, while standing in one of its leaner streets. But if I stopped at only detailing that particular road it’d be giving short shrift to a particularly nice, mid-sized Umbrian hill town. We (Nat, Shane, and I) had headed to Citta Della Pieve originally looking for a restaurant owned and run by pals of our pal Gaetano (he of Da Cesari fame). Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn’t open (and honestly, we couldn’t find it anyway, as it is a ways out of city limits, and though the day was pleasant and blue-skied, a little much for our walking minds). Fortunately, Citta Della Pieve itself is charming, and very welcoming to visitors, with easy-to-follow signs, detailing where artistic, historic, and culinary stops are and in what direction, as well as where small attractive alleys were located. In addition, the town is the home of Perugino, who many consider the most famous, and best, Umbrian artist in the 1500s. It's somewhat of a surprise we hadn't yet stopped there (not to mention that pal Veronica told me that a famous Italian soap opera is set there).

We stopped first at the town’s cathedral, with its tall tower and red brick walls (the red brick being everywhere in Citta Della Pieve, due to it not having a large amount of local building stones):

The Duomo was a quiet and lovely spot, with two later paintings by Perugino, loads of interesting marble, and a calm, contented, comfortable feel that many larger churches miss (no pics inside naturally). From there we skipped across the road to the Palazzo Della Corgna, a large place which was for many years the home of the town’s leading family and which is now the Biblioteca Communale (and which also has handy communal bathrooms). It’s possible to walk up a series of stairs almost to the top of the palazzo (once you pass an Etruscan sundial from the six century—B.C. that is), with each staircase, and some walls, decorated by birds, faces, more traditional portraits, and babies riding dragons:

At the stop before the top floor, you can get a fantastic over-view of the town, seeing the traditional red rooftops flecked with green moss, a small grape grove, and rolling hills and larger houses in the distance:

Back outside of the palace though, we quickly founds ourselves just wandering the very streets we looked down on (after sadly missing entrance into the Oratorio di Santa Maria dei Bianchi, where another famous Perugino resides, by about five minutes since they close for lunch at 12:30 and we showed up at 12:35). I love wandering Umbrian hill town streets. The closeness, the colors, the sunshine—or rain—trickling down, and a slight weight in the air from the history contained (if not always recorded) in every step:

A pleasant morning indeed.

Pistoia, Emanuele, Caterina, and Emiliano

Pistoia is an under-rated city (most books that mention it, mention that not enough people visit) in Tuscany, a leap or two west of Florence. And I have to admit, we may never have discovered it and its charms as it’s about 1-1/2 or 2 hours (depending on the A1 traffic) away, and not on the tourist maps as much as other places (and, even though we’re all about going off the beaten path, going that far to go off the beaten path is a tough choice sometimes). However, we’ve now been there twice, for three great reasons: Emanuele, Caterina, and Emiliano. Caterina was our tour guide (she’s a super-knowledgeable Florence-and-other-Tuscan-spots guide if you ever need one) the first time we stopped in Florence, and besides learning a lot about history and art she also didn’t mind our cultural questions and was incredibly nice and fun. We’ve been pals ever since, and on later trips met her husband Emanuele and their son Emiliano (who wasn’t even around yet that first meeting). They used to live in Florence, but moved recently to Pistoia, which is where Emanuele’s family lives and where he grew up. The first time we visited them, it was raining at a level which would have made Noah nervous and so none of our pics turned out well enough for a blog post. But our last visit was on a recent sunny January Saturday, when we got to visit our Pistoia pals and visit the large Pistoia market, which is laid out among the medieval streets and right up against the Baptistery (which is built in a local Romanesque style of black and white stone or tile layers):

Across the square (the main square, that is, the Piazza del Duomo) and past a few market stalls is the Pistoia Duomo. Its outside is statuesque if not ornate, except for the beautiful doors, topped by a lovely Andrea della Robbia Madonna and Child:

Inside there’s the crypt of Cino da Pistoia, the town’s famous poet (and teacher of Dante—the story goes that one of the students within the statue on top of the crypt is Dante himself), a number of fine paintings and sculptures, and the massive silver Alterpiece of St. James (none of which I can show you, cause no pics are allowed inside). The market itself is a type of living art, with people selling clothes on certain streets, vegetables in one or two main squares, a whole square of shoes (Nat picked up some snazzy boots), and flowers (which I hadn’t seen at a city market before) that Nat and Caterina took advantage of:

After walking the market, we met Emanuele and Emiliano for lunch (we’d seen them earlier, too). Emiliano is five, and is a bundle of energy, silliness, and friendliness (reminding me a ton of my nephews of course), and doesn’t seem put off at all by our lack of Italian—or wait, maybe he is:

At one point, he had to get mom into the games:

Not sure where he gets it from, but maybe dad has something to do with it:

After lunch, we walked around town more, admiring the comfortable and pretty city streets, with a stop at the amazing Ospedale del Ceppo (an operating hospital that's been there since the 13th century). It has the largest della Robbia piece I’ve ever seen (this time one by Giovanni della Robbia—della Robbia works are speckled throughout Tuscany and Umbria), a tapestry of sorts, with colored panels (not seen much in Della Robbia works, which are usually white with blue) and incredible detail. The panels show the Seven Works of Mercy and the Theological Virtues (very hospital-y scenes):

 

Here’s a close up, too, of one circular piece off the main, so you can see more of the craftsmanship and artistry:

Really, I think this piece would be worthy enough for a long drive especially if you like terracotta work (but even if you just like great art). Walking back to Emanuele and Caterina’s house, we also stopped to visit Sant’Andrea, a smallish church that (not to keeping dropping the “this was also good”)was also lovely. No inside pictures allowed, but here’s the subtle outside (showing again the black and white layered motif):

The inside was plain, but plain in an austerely beautiful way, reflecting the age of the church (not a lot of light or decorations but a lot of serenity)—it dates back to the 12th century. The one more ornate piece in the church is the pulpit, which is a very detailed sculpture more than a plain speaking platform. From the legs carved as animals to the human forms (scenes from the life of Jesus) around the top, it has an energy and depth that’s hard to convey adequately. It was carved in 1297 by Giovanni Pisano and is another Pistoian piece that’s well worth a stop. I’d better stop though, before I say too much more about Pistoia (I don’t want to over-stuff Pistoia with a bunch of tourists and ruin the relaxed ambiance after all—and it does feel relaxed, especially when you consider it’s where the word “pistol” comes from, and has a history of wild-west-ish-ness). But one final giant "thanks" is needed for Emanuele, Caterina, and Emiliano, who were (as always) fantastic hosts.

D.S.D.I.: Dr. Strange and the Angel



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Visiting Urbino and Duke Federico’s House in Le Marche

We live in Umbria, but only by a few kilometers (a few the other way, and we’d be Tuscans). Because of this, plus the fact that Umbria is the Midwest of Italy (in a way), and full of little hill towns, most of our visits have been Umbrian-bound (with a few Tuscany hits and one big stop in Emilia-Romagna). The other day we broke the Umbrian chain, however, and headed to the province on the other side of Umbria: Le Marche. We picked it because change is good, because there’s always something interesting around every corner in Italy it seems, and because Le Marche is pronounced “le markay,” which is very continental in my mind. So much so that I think I’m going to start calling pal Mark (who’s the best commenter on this blog, and who is also very continental) Le Markay. When deciding where in Le Marche to go first, it wasn’t really a tough choice: Urbino is it. Not that it’s the only town worth visiting (especially if you enjoy wearing tiny bikinis on the beach—there are lots of beach towns), but Urbino is the artistic capital of Le Marche, which is a hook I find hard to resist. It being lovely on the hillside isn’t a bad enticement, either:

Urbino is really on the map (it’s of course literally on the map cause people live there, but “on the map” in the larger, why people stop there sense) because of one man, Duke Federico Montefeltro. Okay, the town is also the birthplace of hotstuff artist Raphael, and contains a university of note (we saw lots of parents and their student children walking about), but the Duke brought the Renaissance (as well as other eras of art) to town. Following a career path that was popular at one time (though you don’t see it as much today), Duke Federico was born a bastard son (as the story goes), managed to get his half-brother (who had been the Duke) knocked off, became a sort-of condotterie (or stylish mercenary general), fought for one side against the other, and then the other against the first side, until he made oodles of dough (losing part of a nose and an eye in the process, which is why his portraits, like that at the very top of this post, only show his good side), retired from the rough stuff, built (or expanded) a big palace, and then called in artists, intellects, and fellas that would laugh at his jokes, ending as a respected and renowned man of the arts.  The palace he fancy’d up had been started as a house by his grandfather, and is called the Palazzo Ducale. The more worthy-of-a-postcard side of it you can see in the above picture, but to get into the Duke’s house today you walk through a somewhat reserved and serene courtyard:

The Palazzo Ducale (or the Ducal Palace) houses the Galleria Nazionale della Marche, and has pre-during-and-post Renaissance paintings. It’s not overly jam-packed, which is a plus because A: it lets you focus in on specific works and B: gives room for the furnishings of the palace to shine—and they’re art in their own right in many cases (a number of intricate fireplaces, cornices, and eagle ceiling fixtures). Like most museums, no pictures are allowed inside, but the visit was well worth it, especially for a few key pieces. Tops in my artistic book was Room 18 (you walk room by room), the Studiolo (which may be my favorite room ever). Very small, the Studiolo was a read-and-hang out room, with paintings of “Illustrious Men” on the tops of the walls (some now stolen and residing in the Louvre—no wonder people swore at our French rental car), wood emblems on the ceiling, and the walls themselves a masterpiece of woodcarving by Benedetto da Maiano. The walls seem to be shelves at first look, with books, birds, musical instruments, weapons, the Duka in a toga, and even a squirrel, but they’re just wood. It’s amazing in its use of detail and perspective, depth and collage (and all in wood!)  No pic by me, but here’s one I found online that shows a couple details (which doesn’t do it justice, but it’ll give you an idea):

There are many doors in the palace with the same intricate woodworking, as well as a genius painting by Raphael called Portrait of a Gentlewoman (my favorite painting at the moment), and a painting by Laurana of the ideal city (fairly static, but harmonious in its lack of people). Next to the Palazzo is the Urbino Duomo, which has a marvelous façade (if a depressingly newer interior—maybe it’s just depressing because the finest painting in it has had a square cut out of it by a vandal. Students.) with statues standing out against the sky:

Urbino isn’t solely the palace (though it does hold a position both of prestige and cover a lot of ground), there are also many pretty and pretty hilly streets (bring good walking shoes when you come):

The main center, the Piazza della Repubblica is a pleasant square, well balanced and a perfect spot for people-watching, with a couple cafes, including an honest-to-goodness Campari café (I have to imagine this is the spot to sit and sip and watch for fellow students on a Saturday afternoon):

There are a number of other churches in the town, but the one we liked best and spent the most time in, was a smallish, but appealing one called the Oratory of St. John (or San Giovanni). Built by a band of early superheroes . . . okay, they didn’t have super powers, but these followers of St. John would go around helping people while wearing masks, which is pretty much the same as more modern masked marvels. The Oratory’s cozy interior is fully done up in Gothic frescos and has a heavy wooded ceiling, making for quite an effect:

The frescos follow the life of St. John, and are overflowing with images and color, but at least half share one thing: a dog. The dog (besides making me like the small church even more) is just doing normal doggy things, playing with a kid, drinking water, jumping around, even licking himself in dog fashion:

This little dog adds a touch of normality to the bigger religious scenes, makes it more comfortable, and more identifiable. It also reminded us that we needed to head home, back to Umbria, to let our own dogs out into the yard after our day in Urbino and Le Marche.