I love those days of blissful serendipity when you wake up with no particular plan, and then, while still in your pajamas, come up with one modest goal. Mine, recently, was seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was 9:30 in Viareggio (the Venice Beach of Tuscany) when the idea struck. I’d been to Pisa airport several times and also seen its silhouette—and that of the adjacent cathedral—at a distance from the train and highway, but I wanted to be beside it, to feel the scale, see the lean. So, an hour later I was on the train, and by 11, strolling down the medieval, shop-lined Corso Italia. The streets were animated, but not crowded, and Pisa struck me as a nice small Tuscan city, the way Florence once was, but no longer is, nor ever shall be. There was a convenient mixture of long-standing and/or artisanal shops alongside the boutiques of popular chains like Sephora and H&M.
There’s a train stop close to the cathedral, where the Leaning Tower is located, but I continued until the central station just so I could stroll through the town. I wandered in and out of piazzas and churches. When I arrived at the Arno, the same river that flows through Florence, former private palazzi line the riverbanks, some still residences, but most transformed into banks, museums, and offices.
After crossing the Ponte di Mezzo, I followed Borgo Stretto, a continuation of the Corso Italiano that wound across the city. Toward the end of the street, off to the right, was a park and beside it, a church. I investigated. The distinguishing feature was the impressive number of confessionals—shallow ones sunk into the lateral walls at even intervals, whose priest-confessor stations were flanked by sinner stations and topped by beautiful, neoclassical stucco work. 4 along each wall. Most Roman Catholic churches have one or two, but this abundance made me curious about the number of priests and sinners belonging to this small, urban parish.
The sun shone and warmed in the cool winter air. My watch read11:45, a bit too early for lunch, so I strolled toward the cathedral. Enroute the street opened into Piazza dei Cavalieri with its manificent sgriffitoed Palazzo della Carovana designed by Girogio Vasari in the 16th century. The building opposite, the Palazzo dell’Orologio, had a plaque affixed to its exterior, which informed that this was the prison where Count Ugolino, the twelfth-century noblemen whose sad tale Dante recounted in his Inferno, had been imprisoned and died, allegedly accompanied by his sons and grandsons. One of those moments of political conflict in which the stronger party imprisoned his adversary, along with his heirs, and left him to starve to death. Such a relief that human civilization has moved past that kind of barbarism!
As I walked toward my destination, I passed several small restaurants and groups of students heading out for lunch (Pisa University is in this neighborhood). I saw the restaurant where a friend had taken me one dark March evening after having arrived, starving, at the airport. He’d found one of the rare Italian restaurants that manufactured its own, gluten-free pasta. I remembered my delight in perusing a menu on which I could eat everything. A rare occurrence, nowadays. That’s where I’d have lunch, after checking out the Leaning Tower, which was just around the corner.
A broader street led to the impressively spacious and bright site, compared to the maze of shadowy medieval streets from which I’d emerged. Spread before me were three buildings all faced with brilliantly white Cararra marble: the circular domed baptistry, the cathedral, and the tower. I saw tiny figures leaning over the railing at its top and decided I could live without seeing the bird’s eye panorama it offered. I was hungry. The tower didn’t seem to lean as much as I’d expected, and I had a vague recollection that its lean had been corrected recently so that gravity wouldn’t cause it to topple.
I was the day’s first customer at Grano Libero. Yup, this is where I had that wonderful dinner two years ago. I ordered spinach-ricotta ravioli topped by crispy speck and onions and a side order of grilled zucchini and eggplant and washed it down with one of a dozen artisanal, gluten-free beers. Not disappointing! Shortly after I arrived, a young man sat down at a neighboring table and we chatted. He was an archaeology student specializing in the Lombard period (6th-7th centuries) in contrast to most Italian archaeologists, who focus either on the Roman or Medieval periods. One of the main sites he excavates is in Orvieto. When he discovered I was an art historian, he recommended the current exhibition at Palazzo Blu, the city art museum, one about the Belle Epoque and Italian artists working in Paris. It was in one of the palazzi along the Arno and thus on my route back to the central station, so why not?
Although sated by my meal (I rarely order secondi/main courses when in Italy), I couldn’t resist an enticing assortment of gluten-free desserts. I opted for cheesecake topped by forest berries. This was an exceptional moment for me, because I very rarely order cheesecake anywhere—even in New York—other than City or Manhattan Diner near 96th and Broadway. Juniors is, of course, the most popular cheesecake venue in New York, but to me, it hasn’t tasted the same since the main restaurant located in Brooklyn franchised out, with now several locations in Manhattan (and perhaps elsewhere). The GL cheesecake arrived in a half-pint-sized mason jar and was topped by lingonberry jam (no fresh forest berries in January!). Although the consistency of pudding, the flavor was sublime; could it be better than the New York cheesecake I love (and will sometimes eat daily when visiting)? Maybe. I’ll return to Gran Libero for the cheesecake if nothing else on my next visit to Tuscany.
I returned to the sunshine and headed back to the station. Then, another church! I went in. This one was distinguished by the baskets of free lemons and kumquats at the entrance. A paper inscribed ‘an offering’ was tucked under one. So thoughtful! Citrus trees are everywhere in this part of Italy, and one often sees fallen oranges and lemons smashed on the ground. There are so many citrus trees, mainly thought of as decorative, I suppose, that people don’t bother to harvest them. Actually, some of the oranges I’ve picked weren’t really edible. But at this friendly church, I took 5 lemons, enough for the lemon meringue pie I planned to make a few days later (the pie was delicious).
Happy with my find, I continued to the Arno and saw, off to the right, a blue palazzo. The exhibition was well conceived, with many paintings from private collections (always a thrill to see works seldom seen in public) and a substantial number of international loans, including Detroit and New York. I’m often bored by art exhibitions, but this one was fascinating. Well-organized and informatively presented with articulate texts (nowadays the exception). I hadn’t done my research before heading to Pisa, so I walked right past a Keith Haring mural without noticing it, got on the train, and returned to Viareggio. I guess I’ll have to return. La vita è bella!
