Italy: The Alps, Italian Style

To prepare for six weeks in Italy, Jan and I read quite a few books, and watched several films, about Italy during World War II. You might want to know that John Hersey’s A Bell for Adano still rings true as a novel about that era, and also that Roberto Benigni’s Life is Beautiful is a movie that hasn’t lost its power to make us laugh, weep, and cheer—all at the same time.

It may surprise you to know, though, that my experience in Italy has confirmed that I do have certain right-wing inclinations, at least in one respect. Hopefully, the only thing I may be said to share have with the Fascisti of the last century is their taste in real estate.

The lakes of northern Italy—the last seat of Mussolini’s government, his final hideout, and eventually the scene of his capture and execution—remain a deeply appealing destination, particularly as Jan and I were able to be there after the winter ski crowds had left and before the summer vacationers arrived.

Earlier this year I enjoyed spending a day in San Francisco with my friend Tony’s wife, Ronda Bowman. She wanted to visit a bar not far from Fisherman’s Wharf, where she and Tony used to enjoy Irish coffee and a splendid view. There we met a well-traveled, slightly drunk American businessman and his young, Asian-American secretary. Besides making jokes to the effect that Tony would not be my friend much longer after he learned I’d taken his wife to this bar, the well-traveled man strongly suggested that I visit Lake Garda when I came to Italy. He also had plenty of other advice, which I promptly forgot. But Lake Garda stuck.

So Jan and I rented a car and drove up there from Bologna, which we made our first home base in Italy. We loved being in Riva Del Garda, beautifully situated at the top of the lake. So much so that we arranged to stay longer.

The narrow lakes of northern Italy were formed by glaciers and contain many micro-climates that vary with elevation. Palm, lemon and olive trees flourish at lake level, while higher up the craggy peaks falcons soar, and fog clears to reveal glistening snowcaps. The towns of the lakes are linked by a good ferry service. Romans loved the area as much as the latter-day fascists, and the early Christians, did.

Culture and nature are equally captivating in this part of the world. I particularly enjoyed exploring small village churches, set in their own quaint piazzas that are often accessed via mazes of medieval archways. Typically the churches, and their bell towers, command beautiful views. The uniquely tuned bells toll the hours and joyously peal when prompted. Unlike many of their big-city counterparts, village churches are usually left unlocked. They are maintained as quiet settings for settling the mind and opening the heart during the week, and for celebrating the presence of God on Sunday.

The city of Bolzano, which slugs it out each year with Bologna for the title of   Italy’s “most livable” city, is located even further north: the gateway to the stunning Dolomites, a UNESCO “world heritage” mountain range—in a remote region of which the famous “Ice Man” was discovered, one of the most remarkable archeological finds of the last hundred years.

The museum in Bolzano that is devoted to the Ice Man and his story is well worth a visit. His mummified and frozen body can be seen, but even more interesting to me was the display, and analysis, of the clothing and artifacts that were found with his body, as well as the impressive recreation of what he must have looked like before his murder. (Yes, there is ample evidence that he was shot in the back by an arrow and bled to death in a crevasse.) Though his copper axe, tattoos, arrows, bows and amulet bag were unable to save his life, the dry air and thick ice succeeded in perfectly preserving his body for thousands of years.

Jan and I could not find an apartment right in Bolzano of the sort we have discovered we need (one with a separate bedroom, a full kitchen, free Internet, and plenty of fresh air and natural light), so we booked a place 30 kilometers away. We are so glad that we did—but we were not prepared to walk into the town of Nova Ponente and find everyone speaking...German! Aren't we in Italy?

The village of Deutschnofen (Nova Ponente’s German name) reached maturity in the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In many ways this town lives in the past—but the past that its residents prefer to imagine predates both World Wars. The leather shorts, dirndls and Tyrolean caps that some residents still wear (both for work and for special occasions) reflect the nineteenth, not the twentieth or the twenty-first century. Streets, homes, farms and gardens are immaculate. Schools and churches are welcoming, beautifully designed, and well maintained. People are friendly, but they are not speaking Italian, let alone English!

Italian people we later met, during the 10 days we next spent in Milano, were not terribly generous in their views of the German “separatists.” “They want our tax money but not our culture,” we were told. While nothing suggested that the people of Deutschnofen were fascists any longer (if they ever were), we observed an unsettling insularity and uniformity of appearance among them, even as we embraced the charm and beauty of this small town’s peaceful way of life. What, if anything, did we not understand, and could we not, in our ignorance of the language, even ask about?

As the beautifully tended graves at each village church suggest, perhaps every generation takes its worst memories with it, leaving the next generation to remember and preserve what was kindest and best and most beautiful. However, if our ancestors’ hardest truths are lost, how do we, the living, avoid re-presenting them?

Italy: Where Past Meets Present

Italy became a destination for us because Jan was asked to speak at the annual conference of the Italian Infant Massage Association. The event was held in Bologna. Our hosts were exceptionally kind and welcoming, and the audience was engaged. We sold all the Italian HUG DVDs we had brought, and I made it an all-day project to have more copies made there to meet the demand.

Through the Infant Massage conference Jan made a connection at the University of Bologna’s school of midwifery. As a result she was asked to give a lecture at the oldest University in the world. It’s hard to imagine an institution so venerable that Dante is on their alumni list!

We enjoyed being based in Bologna. It is not unlike Durham—a gritty, commercial, academic, transportation hub city—just many centuries older. Here, in what some consider the food capital of Italy, we grasped the obvious truth that the secret to great cooking lies in the ingredients. We discovered the rich taste of mortadella (the REAL “baloney”), of the vinegar from neighboring Modena (especially in its thick and sweet glassa form), and of the cheeses from nearby Parma and Gorganzola (sold and served to discerning Italian consumers before they get too dry). We bought pasta, bread, and salume (of various kinds) almost every day. I added extra kilometers of walking to compensate for my palate’s pleasures.

It was easy to take the train from Bologna for day trips to nearby, medieval cities such as Cremona, Ferrara, Padova (Padua), and Verona. The violin museum in Cremona (with its collection of Strads and other magnificent sixteenth-century instruments) was well worth a visit, but just winding through the streets of this lovely town was even more fun. Ferrara’s enormous central piazza and picturesque castle with a moat are stunning. Padova has a breathtaking, multi-domed cathedral and offered one of the highlights of our entire visit to Italy: the amazingly executed and beautifully preserved Giotto frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel.

I went to Verona in search of Shakespeare but discovered Gordon Parks instead. “Juliet’s house” (a lovely fantasy, but a real Renaissance home nonetheless) conveys a sense of the times and contains the bed constructed for the Zeferelli film, which Jan and I thoroughly enjoyed watched again—and appreciated even more for its skillful use of Verona as a set.

As I was smelling the heady jasmine in Verona and pondering whether Shakespeare could have visited Italy (he probably did not, though his fellow actor, Will Kempe, and his patron, the Earl of Southampton, both did), and why a third of his plays were set in Italy (probably so that he could present topics that would otherwise have run him afoul of censors or libel suits), I noticed a poster for a photography exhibit. The work of Gordon Parks, of all people, was on display in Verona.

Both the photos, and the gallery that contained them, were absolutely stunning. As you probably know, Gordon Parks (1912-2006) was one of America’s greatest photographers. His subjects included everyone from Malcolm, Martin, and Muhammad Ali to Marilyn Monroe. He is best known for his documentary work, and for being the first black employee of Life magazine (as well as a co-founder of Essence), but Parks’ scope as an artist was enormous. Beginning as a piano player in a brothel when he was a teenager, Parks was a lifelong musician. He wrote a piano concerto and several other works for orchestra. Parks was also a writer (The Learning Tree is his best known book), and he went on to become Hollywood’s first black director when he created the Shaft films. I learned at the exhibition that in 1976 Parks also made a dramatized film about Leadbelly.

One of Parks’ most iconic images is the one he did to illustrate his friend Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. It depicts a black man’s face peering sagely from a manhole. The basement setting for the Verona exhibition of Park’s photos could not have been more resonant. Viewers move from room to room of reinforced concrete walls, neutral but confined spaces that are here and there punctuated by glimpses of footers, foundations, and floors dating from Roman times.

Literally built upon the past, contemporary Verona preserves an intact Roman colosseum and an intact Roman amphitheater, both of which are still used as performing arts spaces. Seeing Parks in an ancient, underground setting brought home how universal his themes and images are, as well as how they are bound to a specifically American context, some of which I am old enough to have glimpsed firsthand.

I was touched to hear an Italian teacher, standing before the foundation of an old Roman prison, explaining American segregation to his high school students. It gave me hope for the world, as well as a sense of the powerful role art plays in keeping hope alive and well grounded.

Spain/Italy: Renaissance Paintings and HUG Themes

I am always drawn to Madonna and Child portraits, and the MNAC (Museo Nacional d’Art de Catalunya), on beautiful Monjuic in Barcelona, is especially rich in this genre. Art historians commonly observe that Renaissance artists sought to humanize their subjects and to make them more lifelike than their predecessors did. The introduction of perspective was one technique for accomplishing this goal. Another Renaissance approach to realism was the artists’ striving to make faces and gestures specific and personal, rather than iconic and universal, as medieval artists attempted to do.

Noticing how Renaissance painters depicted the baby Jesus, it occurred to me that I was seeing real-life HUG principles, observed and embodied. Typically the holy infant is in the “Ready Zone,” ready to interact with those who come to see him, although occasionally he is depicted demonstrating an “SOS,” such as “Switching Off.” Maybe, at the times when he seems to avoid Mary’s gaze, he is listening to his heavenly father, or to angels’ voices. In any case, Mary does not seem upset when Jesus looks away. She’s a wise and accepting mother.

I’ve never seen Jesus portrayed as a fussing or crying baby. His temperament is “easy.” Perhaps, in part, this is because Mary is such a skillful mother. She is also a breastfeeding mother.

I was surprised to learn of an entire sub-genre of Renaissance paintings that show Mary breastfeeding Jesus. Paintings of this style are called, in Spain, “Virgen de la Leche” or “Virgen de la Buena Leche” paintings. Several of them are on display at the MNAC. They were fascinating to see, and remarkably realistic.

Later I saw Italian treatments of the same theme at the Mueso di Castelvecchio in Verona and at the fabulous Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Leonardo painted the leading example of this genre, but it hangs in the Hermitage, and Russia is not on our itinerary for this trip.

But I particularly enjoyed the Ufizzi’s Florentine copy of the Leonardo painting, which shows the baby Jesus pulling off Mary’s breast, as if surprised by the appearance of the viewer (or artist), and illustrating the normal distractibility characteristic of four-month-olds. 

If this topic has engaged your interest, as it did mine, here are some links where you can learn more.

At the website art-breastfeeding.com you can view an archive of Italian “Madonna dell Latte” paintings compiled by a Spanish pediatrician and Associate Professor of Nutrition at the University of Valencia.

A La Leche League leader, humorist, and self-identified Roman Catholic “radical,” Caitlin Kennell Kim, blogs about sacred lactation paintings on a site she calls “Busted Halo.”

Another blogger and mom, Paala from the Bay Area, has posted a lovely series of breastfeeding paintings that she located on the Internet. You can view her collection and commentary.

If your tastes run along more academic lines, you might wish to explore the research of Thomas Peter Kunesh on the iconography of the “pseudo-zygodactylus gesture” (“the gesture of the lactating goddess”) in western art—the fingers of a woman (or a man) at the chest, symbolically expressing milk.

At this point I’ve probably lost most of my readers, and maybe even my own way, so I will archly place my hand on my heart and sign off—but not before drawing attention to just one more major work of art in this genre: the famous Neptune fountain (“Fontana del Nettuno,” completed by Giambologna in 1566). It’s the focal point of Bologna’s central square, the Piazza Maggiore.

This larger-than-life sculpture portrays the unashamedly naked sea god, accompanied by four bronze sea nymphs. When the fountain is working properly, water sprays from the nipples of each goddess. Unfortunately, the fountain was not working when Jan and I visited Bologna (where she spoke at the University of Bologna and at the annual conference of the Italian Infant Massage Association).

We were excited to see the Neptune sculpture in action, but when we got to the centro, no water was running, no latte flowing. Evidently, greater attention must be paid to the maintenance of this fountain, just as Italian women (like women everywhere) need more attention, encouragement, professional advice, and practical support if they are to achieve their breastfeeding aims!

Spain: Beautiful Barcelona

Barcelona is absolutely wonderful in springtime. We stayed in a newer part of the city, close to Avinguda Diagonal, between Poble Nou and the Forum. It was a great location for Jan and her scooter. The southeastern extension of Avinguda Diagonal includes ample space for cyclists and pedestrians, plus a modern tram. The re-developed beach for the Olympics (and Paralympics) was easily accessible. One morning I thought I saw a pod of dolphins splashing 50 meters offshore, but looking closer I realized it was swimmers in wetsuits, training for a triathlon. Barcelona’s people love to be outdoors!

Our favorite thing to do? Simply walking around neighborhoods, enjoying people and buildings. Barcelona has a long and proud history of innovative architecture and urban planning. We especially loved the Modernist buildings of Antoni Gaudi and his teacher, Luis Domenech i Montaner. The latter’s spectacular Palau de la Musica Catalana is breathtaking, and the story of how it was built to showcase a volunteer choir composed mostly of factory workers was touching. It’s simply the most appealing performing arts space I’ve ever seen!

Gaudi’s bold designs, including his cathedral masterpiece, La Sagrada Familia, were as startling to Jan and me as they were to Walt Disney, who was also inspired by Copenhagen’s Tivoli Gardens and by Chicago’s “White City” (where his father had worked as a builder in the 1890s).

Another worthwhile stop was the Picasso Museum. Barcelona has the oldest such collection in the world, and it focuses on the young Picasso. Pablo lived here (with his family) as a teenage art student, and again, with a Russian dancer friend, during World War I. It was impressive to see how skillful—and how devoted to absorbing the artistic traditions that preceded him—Picasso was.

It was also interesting to imagine the extravagance and competitiveness of Barcelona’s art world in the 1890s and early 1900s. As Modernism flourished here, those who practiced it challenged each other to be ever more bold and innovative. Picasso’s determination to keep exploring new directions in his work was deeply rooted in the Modernism and populism he encountered during his Barcelona years. (We were to learn of a similar dynamic at work, centuries earlier, when we got to Florence, Italy.)

It was a pleasure to take part in the life of this lovely, seaside city. We enjoyed our cafe con leche and our morning walks along the beach promenade, our siesta times (most stores still close from 2-5 pm), and the evening paseo (people out strolling) on Avinguda Diagonal. We ate dinner late and shopped for our groceries every day. Lunch-time tapas in the oldest taverna in Barceloneta was as memorable (and typical) as going to Camp Nou to see FC Barcelona play. It was not their best game, but we did see Leo Messi score a gooooooooaaaallll!