The art is magnificent, although we particularly enjoyed the Foreign Artists' section, which includes Rubens, Rembrandt and others a Philistine such as I can't remember.
After making sure we saw Boticelli's Venus (there's a personal story involving the Prado and a wasted day in Madrid, but that's for another time) we decided it was all too overwhelming and headed for the Gallileo Museum around the corner. That there was no queue here is a tragedy, because this museum houses fabulous scientific equipment from Gallileo's time (and his right middle finger, like a relic, in a jar. Which I found quite reassuring)
I thought how both Scientist No 1 & Child No 2 would love this place, with their natural curiosity about all things scientific.
Talking of Scientist No 1, this picture of the Gucci HQ is just for her
It was getting late, and our legs were tired, so we headed back to the Stazzione Santa Maria Novella, found the platform for the next train to Borgo San Lorenzo and boarded.
I returned to my Kindle, giving Walter strict instructions to watch out for our stop - Dicomano. (Walter seems to have recovered from his gout and now has a fierce head cold, poor thing) His eyes watered, he sneezed and nodded.
Many stops later a conductor told us (in Pinglese) we were at the end of the line. I explained, in my best Fritalian, that we needed to get to Dicomano. Walter sneezed and looked tearful, which was a good thing. The young conductor took pity on us and, with hand gestures and Pinglese explained we would have to wait an hour before catching a train to Dicomano.
Eco. (this is the Italian version of eintlik, if you throw it in from time to time people think you have a good grasp of the language)
My panic at the thought of trying to buy a ticket from the machine almost overwhelmed me but I spied a bar and ordered due Amaretti, per favore signora and sans the bloody ice in this temperature, grazie.
I wandered outside to think, where I was seized upon by an old duck who started rattling off Italian to me. I looked at him and said "Mi tourista signor, non bloody comprende. Inglese" at which he switched to German and carried on regardless. From what I gathered he was a pilot who had crashed 100 kms from Rome "Mamma Mia!" injured both his shoulders (although he may have been crossing himself) his wife, currently in Hamburg, still flew. I looked at my empty glass, wondering if he was senile or if I was hallucinating. He looked around, grunted "Eco. Ciao" and disappeared around the corner.
Walter, who had been studying the timetable, came to ask me why there were 2 entries for the same train on different platforms, and who was the old man? I explained, checked the entries (1 for summer, 1 for winter) and confirmed the platform. His eyes watered some more, he sneezed, muttered about foreigners and went inside to get warm.
We finally made it back to Dicomano, and the trusty Fiat Panda and a dinner of steak, egg and chips (no salad for Walter).
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Frazione Corella,Dicomano,Italy
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