What I bought at ll Libraccio (Firenze)

There are many fine bookstores in Florence but Il Libraccio is particularly helpful when you're looking for hard-to-find and possibly out-of-print books.

I found a book I needed and had been searching for when I visited the Florentine branch of Il Libraccio during our vacation last year:

Lettera da Francoforte

("Letter from Frankfurt")

It's by "my author" -- Edith Bruck, and the plot is as follows: A Holocaust survivor becomes embroiled in an odd correspondence with an official at the German organization that disburses relief/compensation funds to survivors. How it ends is stunning.

Since I began translating Andremo in città (in English: This Darkness Will Never End), I've been trying to read all of Edith's work but it's not easy for two reasons:

-There aren't many American booksellers that stock a lot of Italian titles (there aren't even many that stock SOME Italian titles; two notable exceptions are Rizzoli in New York City and I AM Books in Boston) (And as for Amazon, sometimes the Italian books on offer there are very expensive).

-Some of Edith Bruck's work is out of print.

When I was visiting Il Libraccio, I also bought:

Vita immaginaria by Natalia Ginzburg

(I probably buy a book by Ginzburg every trip -- I'm always reading and re-reading her work)

Il Libraccio also has branches in Milan, Ferrara, Pisa and Rome, among other cities. The branch in Florence that I visited is at Via dei Cerretani, 16R.

Last but not least: to the owners of all of the independent bookstores out there, I'd like to say I love you. And I hope to visit as many indies as possible, in the years to come.

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The 20th anniversary of my blog!

Two decades ago, I sought a method to log the ways Italy had seduced me, and the activities I pursued so that the language of Dante would remain impressed in my mind. And that's how this blog was born. Early posts were about Italian meals Mike had made, rides in the Alfa and wines we bought.

It has evolved over time to become a public diary of my thoughts, my achievements, my passions (often involving Italy or Italian, but not always) and my commitment to fluency in the form of blogposts in Italian, among other activities (movie reviews of Italian films and course endless ruminating about books, too!). Oh and a few mentions of the book-length translation I finally managed to publish (Did I mention it's called This Darkness Will Never End?!).

I'm going to commemorate the 20th anniversary with a series of posts. This is the first. And here I'm going to very simply revisit a few of the posts that have resonated the most with readers. I'd be thrilled if you read some of the posts, and I hope perhaps the blog inspires you to return to your own passions and hobbies with renewed vigor.

Posts I liked:

"Tiny Moments of Exquisite Beauty," or the travelogue from my 2025 visit to Italy: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2025/08/tiny-moments-of-exquisite-beauty-in.html

*Praise for the film that convinced me to study Italian and changed my life: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2024/03/an-oscar-winning-film-seen-on-whim.html

Posts readers liked:

*About my fears of how the pandemic could permanently re-shape my life: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2021/05/what-ive-feared-about-post-pandemic-life.html

*On the reasons I need to hoard (or, my letter to Marie Kondo): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2017/12/dear-marie-kondo.html

*On the reference to Angelina Jolie in Roberto Saviano's book, Gomorra (note, it's in ITALIAN): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2008/06/gomorra-angelina-jolie.html

Posts about travel and the glorious Italian language:

*The time Leo learned how to curse in Italian: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2022/08/italian-lessons.html

*What can you do with a mere 24 hours in Rome? Oh quite a bit

*When I want what I should not want (in Italy): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-boarding-doors-are-closing-jeanne.html

*How can Milan be this beautiful? https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2020/07/from-archive-italian-diary-may-2017.html

Posts about Leo:

The joys of running -- even just short distances -- with Leo: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2023/03/running-very-little-very-often.html

Leonardo from Atlanta (not Vinci): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2022/10/the-little-artist-whose-mother-is.html

A Day in the Life of this American Man at Age 10 (Esquire article re-enactment): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2023/07/a-day-in-life-of-this-american-man-at.html

Posts about books:

My all-time favorite books, essays and short stories: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2024/07/literature-ive-loved-after-nyt-list.html

A book list for those looking to read the work of women Holocaust survivors: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2024/01/women-holocaust-survivors-reading-list.html

My book log for the year I read Le otto montagne by Paolo Cognetti and many other outstanding works: https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2022/12/what-i-read-in-2022-what-i-plan-to-read.html

Women authors have often been overlooked in Italy (in ITALIAN): https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2017/06/dove-sono-finite-le-scrittrici-italiane.html

*

Thanks as always for reading my blog. 

The best gift anyone can give me is to care about Leo in some way. 

But the second best? Read my work.

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Memories of the House of the Dead (Luciana Nissim Momogliano)

File under: What I'm reading

I read a very short book on the train to NYC in February by a woman who was deported with Primo Levi: Luciana Nissim Momogliano. 

It’s called Ricordi della casa dei morti. ["Memories of the house of the dead"]. A very insightful book! In the most difficult situation I can imagine, she managed to survive in the same way Primo Levi did: she was able to practice her profession – medicine – just as he worked as a chemist. But she was still starving, and she still observed atrocities. She says at one point that the head doctor in her barracks had to kill two children who were born in Auschwitz. Another semi-eyewitness account of this particular slice of the Holocaust but still not enough information for me [I'd like to read firsthand accounts of women who gave birth in the Nazi concentration camps. Do they exist?]

The book clarifies something I should have already understood: many Holocaust victims were gassed – thrown into the camera a gas – and then cremated. 

She also says when they received rations, the question was always: 'Do I keep some until tomorrow?' But she said any decision she made felt wrong -- because she was still starving.

She also was able to transfer to another concentration camp later in 1944 and that likely saved her as well. Her friend, Vanda Maestro, whom Primo Levi also wrote about, died after Luciana left for the other camp. 

I'm happy to say this is one more book from the canon I'm seeking to exhaust: books by women survivors of the Holocaust. Because women's experiences of the Shoah were different. It's something I first grasped when I read Edith Bruck's Andremo in città, and that revelation convinced me to translate the work (which, as you know, is called This Darkness Will Never End in my English translation). My life really changed once I met Edith Bruck!

Sidenote: I bought this book directly from Giuntina last summer during my visit to Florence. I had written to the editorial staff to say there were books of theirs that I couldn’t easily find so was there a bookshop onsite? There isn't but they said they would sell me the books directly so I went and happily spent more than I should have.

The author mentions that period of follia between July 1943 and September 1943 when Fascism appeared to be overthrown, only to have the Germans essentially invade Italy and re-impose Fascist rule. What a moment that must have been -- sheer joy followed by sheer terror and the anguish that descends when you realize the specter you thought you'd escape looms anew.

Nothing original to say but here I am: I'll simply have to read about World War II for the rest of my life. I'll never fully understand what our grandparents and parents lived through -- and none of mine were in combat! None of mine were Jewish, none of mine were deported or sent to a prisoner of war camp. And yet still: They lived through a period of immense sacrifice and tension, where the fate of the world hung in the balance. So I'm simply going to try to know as much about it as I can because its impact and scope shaped the world we're living in today.

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The Four Seasons Hotel in Florence

The boy whose Fiorentina soccer team shirt reads 'Nato Perfetto' ("born perfect") gets around. 

This is a photo of Leo, aged 5, in the park surrounding the absolutely stunning Four Seasons Hotel in Florence, close to Piazza D'Azeglio and not too far from the Accademia (home of the David statue).

Somehow this fancy-schmancy hotel has an exquisite private park to its name, but there's a coffee bar there so you can show up at the hotel and simply say you're visiting the cafe to gain entrance to this amazing park, which, as you can see, is adorned with sculpture.

(No one can be denied a coffee in Italy!)

We were staying with my old roommate whose current apartment is nearby so we were game to go.

Yet since the park was so beautiful and the hotel clearly for high rollers, the day that Leo and I arrived, I hesitated. Could it really be that simple? So when I asked a hotel employee if we could enter, the born-and-bred Florentine took one look at Leo's shirt, which featured the symbol and color of Florence's beloved soccer team, and he said, "Con quella maglietta lui può andare dove vuole." In that shirt, he can go wherever he wants!

It's absolutely worth a detour if you're visiting Florence -- Italy is full of hidden treasures, often in courtyards and concealed behind high stone walls. It's nice that this one is sort of within reach.

I was reminded of this hotel recently because one of my sisters will be visiting Florence in the Fall for a wedding so I looked up the rates.

Well, she is a bit of a high roller but the cost is King-of-England-level high rolling so she might just have to pass on this one! 

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Giardino Bardini in Florence is delightful

You can thank my friend, Laurie, that this photo I took in one of the most beautiful places in Florence has finally made it onto the blog.

It's the Giardino Bardini on the other side of the Arno, a garden that's connected to the Boboli Gardens but which just might be superior (especially if you enjoy terraced gardens).

(Oh and it's a terraced garden that overlooks the city of Florence. Not too shabby!)

I visited it for the first time during a vacation long after I'd left Florence. In fact, I'm not sure it was open to the public when I was an ex-pat.

Everyone is going to Italy, it would seem, and friends and family are asking for recommendations. In the process of assembling ideas to share, I've discovered that many of the places I love most are not represented on the blog. I think it's because I treat the blog in somewhat the same way I treat stories I'm editing: they should be well-written and complete. (Although, yes, there are blogposts, especially from the early years, that were written off the cuff and don't hold up too well).

But I digress. The Bardini Gardens: yet another treasure on the Oltrarno side of Florence. Palazzo Pitti, Forte Belvedere, Santo Spirito, the Boboli Gardens, Piazzale Michelangelo and this terraced marvel. When I lived in Florence, I would often take walks through the Oltrarno, in part because I lived for about a year in an apartment on Via dei Serragli, one of the main roads in that part of the city.

When you venture over to that part of the city, you are physically close to the chaos of the centro storico but spiritually very far. And these gardens are packed with tiny little paths that are so gorgeous, you may feel a heart attack of happiness coming on. How could a place so beautiful exist outside of heaven? (Simple: it's Italy.)

There's a nice gift shop here, too. I don't recall touring the actual villa on the property and I'm not sure you can. What I am sure of: this is a beautiful place to spend an afternoon.

Last but not least, I believe there is a combination ticket that gives you access to both the Boboli Gardens and this property but it would be hard to do both in one morning or afternoon (I think we spent most of our visit at Bardini and then dashed through Boboli exhausted and haphazardly). If you had the time, I suppose you could visit one in the morning, break for lunch and then return to the other in the afternoon (and if you did, I would of course recommend Trattoria Casalinga off of Piazza Santo Spirito for lunch, although there are several other old-school trattorias in the Oltrarno that would be worth your time).

So, Laurie, and other friends, please enjoy this post and hopefully you'll also enjoy this gorgeous Florentine garden!

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My favorite photo of Florence?

I took this photo one morning over the summer as I walked the streets of "my city." Firenze. Florence. The City of Dante. Also: The city of Jeanne. I'd finally made it across the river to revisit my old neighborhood and check on Piazza Santo Spirito, my old stomping grounds.

The morning that I took this photo, I'd stopped at Caffe Ricchi by Santo Spirito for a cappuccino and as I wrote in an earlier post about the trip, when I asked the barman there about a sign listing soy milk cappuccino, he said it tastes like cardboard. Old-school Italy remaining old-school Italy -- yay. The piazza was largely empty, I guess because it was all of 7:30 a.m. but how delightful.

On the way home to our apartment, I passed a throwback record store and peering into the window, I saw a Beatles album whose cover read in Italian, "Aiuto." Aiuto = Help. That's the famous “Help” album – translated for the Italian edition. LOVE IT!

Anyway, this might be my favorite photo of Florence from this trip. It remains such a beautiful city -- especially if you're able to step away from the areas that are heavily populated with tourists.

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Tiny moments of exquisite beauty in Italy

The apartment in Florence where we stayed this month during our trip to Italy had a top-floor terrace that stares directly at the Torre di Arnolfo, which defines the Palazzo Vecchio and is arguably the symbol of Florence. In the early morning hours as Leo and Mike (and the rest of the city) slept, I had my coffee while staring back at it. One morning, the silence surrounding me was so profound that the flapping of a bird's wing overhead was singularly audible. 

(Fun fact: the apartment is on the top floor -- 75 steps up!)

Each trip contains certain touchstones -- I revisit my old apartments, I retrace my steps along treasured walking routes, I prowl beloved bookstores and newsstands for all of the written material that I feel as though I need to live. I observe the small moments of exquisite beauty, something I believe my mother would have done (a habit she almost certainly instilled in me by modeling it).  

But each trip is also different, and engenders a specific set of preoccupations. 

At one point during our travels, I developed an obsession with the Roma-Viterbo train line, which is separate from Trenitalia. It's not entirely odd: our apartment in Rome overlooked one of the stations on the line. And when I am in Italy, I am immersed in "my beat," which I define as the ordinary aspects of Italian life, the parts of Italian life that an average Italian contends with. 

It reminded me of the PATH trains that link lower Manhattan to New Jersey inasmuch as it's both local and separate. They are like an alt subway line, which is slightly odd. If you were a traveler to NYC, you could mistake them for the actual subway system, no?  

When I poked my head inside the station I could see from the window, it was as old-school as it comes. The tracks were visible from the entranceway (the long train tunnel simply deadends into the lobby of the station) and on them sat old tram-like trains. There was a bustling coffee bar attached, of course, and I had my breakfast there one day, knowing that while it appeared scruffy, the volume of customers and the people who frequented it (real Italians) guaranteed a fine cappuccino and a light, fluffy ciambellina. Yet still, I am both irked by this random, standalone train line and also by my obsession with it!

More from the Rome Journal: You can buy calendars where each month is a photo of a young Italian priest. Yes, I, too, am wondering how on Earth I left Rome without one of those calendars! I mean, dai, per l'amor di Dio ... you cannot top that. I tried to explain it to Leo by saying it was driven by the dearth of vocations and that the notion of a slew of new young priests would give older Catholics such joy....

There’s an article in the current L’Espresso that is so funny: Italian politicians who years after they’ve left office continue to enjoy la scorta (police escort/secret service-level protection), which is to say they still jump the line (in traffic, at the airport, etc) when it’s convenient. The article cites a two-century-old line of poetry:

Io so’ io

E voi non siete un cazzo

Not a poem I've ever read. (From Wikipedia: La celebre frase che il Marchese rivolge a un gruppo di popolani («Mi dispiace, ma io so' io e voi non siete un cazzo!») è ripresa dal sonetto Li soprani der Monno vecchio di Giuseppe Gioachino Belli, che comincia così: «C'era una vorta un Re cche ddar palazzo / mannò ffora a li popoli st'editto: / "Io sò io, e vvoi nun zete un cazzo"».)

ENGLISH SUMMARY: The gist of the line of poetry, spoken by a nobleman to commoners, is roughly: I'm important (or I'm someone) and you're a nobody (said more colorfully in the Italian: 'You're not jack squat,' or, 'You're a fuckin' nobody.')

I was walking through Piazza della Signoria one evening only to find a concert in the loggia behind the Uffizi – a gorgeous soprano and a small ensemble. Leo didn’t want to linger but luckily the singer’s voice lingered, following me out of the piazza (I walked extra slow).

New 'addresses' emerge on each trip, often connected with coffee bars or bakeries that serve good ciambelle/ciambelline (who would care? Yes, yes I know. There's a reason few people read this blog!). I stopped at Caffe Le Logge by the post office one morning for a cappuccino. I was out on my morning walk and needed to refuel before venturing across the river. When I returned later to buy some pastries (which were quite good), the barman said, "Ri-buongiorno." I believe that's the first time I've ever had someone say that to me. Good morning -- again. (Not that you would care if you weren't obsessed with Italian and why should you be?!)

And while we're on the topic ... The trip was especially fruitful in one delicious way: I ate some of the best ciambelle I've ever had (none would qualify as a ciambellina, where -ina indicates little). Soft, doughy, enormous, and of course covered in sugar.

How Italy Ruined My Life (sort of -- for The Millions)

The way Italian plunges me into an intoxication of sound and thought is something I've wanted to write about for a long time.

The way the Italian language is like a person in my life, "a twin who accompanies me everywhere -- for better or for worse," the way knowing a foreign tongue "confers a special passport" or how my attempts to convince Florentines I had mastered their language -- la lingua di Dante -- devolved into nothing short of high school hazing ... yes I've wanted to explore this topic for so long.

And now I have! Thanks to my editor, Sophia, at The Millions.

You can read the essay here:

https://themillions.com/2023/11/the-quiet-exhilaration-of-reading-in-italian.html

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Guide for your trip to Florence -- buonviaggio!

When my aunt and uncle embarked on a trip to Florence last year (after an absence of 40 years!), I realized I have slightly skimped on travel tips here on Ciambellina or in some cases not organized the posts with tips well so I am going to try to unite everything here in one post. Everything you -- my friend, my Ciambellina reader, my cousin, my uncle -- need to know in order to have a special trip to Florence, Italy (where I still live in my heart). You can thank Aunt Maureen and Uncle Pat!

Before I get to specific tips and itineraries, let me mount my linguistic soap box: learn some Italian before you go. 

Not to be nice or cosmopolitan, and not to improve the American image abroad (magari!). 

But rather because: speaking Italian with an Italian is one of life's special pleasures.

The other major bits of advice:

*Walk as much as possible

*Visit the main produce markets

*Have a ciambella (and bring a few back for me).

OK, sermon over.

Where to go

Assuming you will tick off the major sites listed in your guide book or online (the Duomo, the Uffizi, l'Accademia, San Marco, Cappella Brancacci, etc.), I will move onto advice about other attractions in Florence.

One of the main recommendations I want to make is: Visit the Villa and Giardino Bardini. Most people visit Boboli Gardens, which is quite lovely but I think the Bardini is even better. The gardens are gorgeous [terraced in some parts] and the views stunning. When I was in Florence last summer, our ticket somehow got us entry to both, though I don't know how you would visit both in one day and see everything. 

(Note, they are both on the other side of the river).

Also on the other side of the river: Forte Belvedere and Piazzale Michelangelo. I recommend walking to both, but have your walking shoes handy. Both sights are gorgeous, with views equally as gorgeous. There's likely some important historical note someone else could tell you about.

There are also specific corners of the city that I love. I'll start with piazzas: 

Piazzas I love (to walk through, to stroll through, to gaze at, to sit in)

Piazza Santo Spirito (there's often a market on in this square)

Piazza del Carmine

Piazza dei Ciompi

Piazza della Repubblica (now with a carousel)

Piazza della Signoria

Quirky neighborhoods

Piazza Torquato Tasso: Real people live in this neighborhood! Locals gather to play soccer in the park at the center of the piazza and you could go over to Al Tranvai if you wanted authentic but decidedly unfussy Florentine food.

Piazza Santo Spirito: Still where you might find artisan workshops, real Florentines and flourishes of the everyday dolce vita, though to be honest, overtourism is swallowing up these things, even here.

Santa Croce (or one quirky aspect of the neighborhood): the area across from the piazza and the church was originally settled by Etruscans and it's one of the few places in the city where roads curve. There are some tiny, hidden piazzas and viuzze here that are fun to discover.

Speaking of which...

Where to eat

I mentioned Trattoria Cammillo (Borgo San Iacopo, #57R) in a previous post about restaurants in Florence because it's a place that I like (and Beyonce also liked it!).

Cibreo is also good -- there are actually multiple Cibreo storefronts in the same basic area, depending on your budget (Via Andrea del Verrocchio #8R). Here are some other recommendations:

https://ciambellina.blogspot.com/2015/05/where-to-eat-in-florence-update.html

Note, a lot of the places I like are on the other side of the river and two are in Piazza Santo Spirito: Trattoria Casalinga and Borgo Antico. The piazza is also quite lovely (see above) and the church was my father's favorite (designed by Brunelleschi).

I also love Ristorante Caffe Italiano on my old street, Via della Vigna Vecchia.

Where to eat and shop for dinner

I really like going to the public produce markets in Florence and the two main ones in centro are the Mercato di San Lorenzo (by the station; it is the best-known) and the Mercato Sant'Ambrogio; this last one is where I did my shopping when I was an ex-pat. It is east of Santa Croce -- and has fantastic cheese, sliced meats, veggies, etc. 

The San Lorenzo produce market -- the main market -- is now a wonderful place to dine and shop. You have to wade through the outdoor flea market surrounding the market to reach it but it's worth it.

Not just where to eat but what

People rave about pasta but here's a secret: Italian sandwiches are divine. Note: in the Old Country, they are nothing like a sub or a hero. Freshly made and reflective of all the Italian culinary acumen we've come to expect in pasta dishes, the Italian sandwich you can buy at a bar is something not to miss. Antico Noe is one of the best places for sandwiches, and not only because it is literally tucked inside a medieval arch a half-mile from Piazza Santa Croce (with a view of a medieval tower I once lived atop, but that's neither here nor there).

Other highlights:

Crostini -- as an appetizer. In the event these are new to you: little toasted slices of bread with toppings, including chicken pate, freshly-chopped tomatoes, mushrooms, etc.

Prosciutto crudo -- I believe it's part of Italy's culinary patrimony and I am not joking. Salty, silky, delicious. I don't care if you're a vegetarian -- my Italian friends certainly didn't when I pretended to be one in college and they kept urging me to eat prosciutto! (Ma dai!)

Cinghiale -- Wild boar. It's used often as the main ingredient of an amazing pasta dish that I suggest you order: pappardelle al cinghiale. It's available everywhere!

Porcini mushrooms -- if they are in season

Fiori di zucca (zucchini flowers) -- fried or stuff

Italian pastries -- Forget gelato. The real treats in Italy are pastries. Look for bars that say 'produzione propria' (that means they make their own pastries) or head to a pasticceria.

(Also grab a chocolate bar at the supermercato/alimentari if it has whole nocciole in it -- the big nut at the center of the baci candies. Why have one nocciola when you can have an entire chocolate bar full of them?)

Where to walk...

In addition to "everywhere," I also recommend walking to the other side of the river -- often. From there, as I've mentioned, you can walk to Forte Belvedere, Piazzale Michelangelo and the Bardini gardens.

Indeed some of the nicest walks are in the area around San Niccolò (the other side of the river) because they allow you to get outside the walls of the city and go up into the hills. One place you could try walking to is Forte Belvedere.

Where to have a coffee and step onto a page of A Room With A View:

There are old-school caffes that make your morning coffee feel royal and four of them are on Piazza della Repubblica, of which Caffe Gilli is probably the best (coffee/pastries/aperitivo etc); also the Rivoire on Piazza della Signoria will make you feel as though you're a wealthy landowner.

Where to drink wine

Everywhere! That's one of the things that makes Italian coffee bars special -- you can order a caffe latte in the morning and un bicchiere di vino rosso in the evening!

But I will give one recommendation of a place to drink: Rose's on Via del Parione; it's on one of the more beautiful streets in the center city. Drink outside at one of the tiny tables where you can watch fancy Florentines walk and bike by.

Look for a place called 'enoteca' to sample some good wine. I also love the hole-in-the wall (literally) kiosks where you stand on the street at a counter and order a glass of wine and maybe a sandwich.

Pastries

You'll find an entry for gelato below but as I mentioned, I think paste or pasticcini [pastries] are the unsung sweets of Italian cities (unsung, I should say, by Americans. Italians know). And really, by now, you should know my favorite: la ciambella or ciambellina (looks like a donut if a donut was baked in God's kitchen). Also good: un bombolone (similar but without the hole and typically filled with crema). 

Gelato

Vivoli (Via Isola delle Stinche) around the corner from our old apartment is very popular and also very good but so is Festival del Gelato right off of Piazza della Repubblica (down the block from the Duomo). Also good (and popular): Gelateria Carraia and Gelateria Santa Trinita (both are stationed on the other side of two consecutive bridges across the River, Oltrarno side).

Souvenirs

I still buy souvenirs and so should you! I favor paper goods because reading in Italian is my passion (and paper was an ancient Florentine art) so my suitcase is always loaded down with novels and magazines but the category also includes notepads, calendars and the like, which would appeal to anyone.

I find some of the best souvenirs can be had at the big bookstore on Piazza della Repubblica: Libreria Feltrinelli (there are also lots of kiosks right in front of the bookstore that may have something you like). In addition, I highly recommending visiting the Bialetti store for the classic Italian Moka coffee pot (and coffee cups and other accessories).

Lastly, I know some of you out there are real foodies so I recommend checking out a website published by a local Florentine food writer who knows her stuff (and has Catholic interests -- hugely into sushi, etc.):

https://www.ioamofirenze.it/

She recently published a guide on her blog to choosing a restaurant in Florence:

https://www.ioamofirenze.it/mi-consigli-un-ristorante/

Note, it's in Italian but all the addresses you see everywhere (on maps, for hotels, etc) are in Italian anyway and the names of restaurants are in Italian on the sides of buildings so if you really want to go somewhere, you'll figure it out. I suggest choosing something from her guide under the category 'Trattorie tipiche' ('local, traditional eateries'), with the name of the restaurant in bold at the start of each entry (then Google the name of the restaurant and figure out where it is). She also has a heading for fine dining (in English) and if you have the euros, go for it!

Buonviaggio!

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Stepping Stones Reveal a Path into Italy's Dark History -- for PBS site

Writing stories culled from your travels is a dream assignment. I rarely get paid to do it! But in this case I did, and what's more, the topic is tied to the work I do as a literary translator.

For the PBS website, Next Avenue, I wrote about tiny public memorials to victims of the Holocaust and other targets of the Nazi-Fascist forces. These memorials are copper-plated cobblestones embedded in the streets of Italy, Germany and other countries. I learned about the stepping stones while researching Italian women writers -- and others -- who have borne witness to the Holocaust.

And last summer while I was in Italy, I was able to visit some of these stones in Rome, Milan and Florence. 

The stones in some ways are a paradox: tiny but powerful, open to the public at all hours for free but especially poignant when you're able to do some additional research. Under foot -- which some people object to -- but also in the way, in your face, in a way that supporters like. You can't avoid this historical moment -- it's right under your foot.

(Editor's note: the Next Avenue site has been pared down because of budget shortfalls and many of the stories it once published are no longer hosted on the site. Click on 'Next Avenue' at the top of this post for a PDF of my story).

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The Italian trip memento group photo

How did it start? Why would you do it? Who can say? But as far back as when I lived in Allentown (at least), I've been gathering all the wonderful items I collected during my trips to Italy and snapping a photo of them.

A group photo of my souvenirs.

I even wrote about it for Catapult!

So here's this trip's memento group photo. There's not much that I do that's unique -- there are even other hair-twirlers in the world. There are certainly other pushy, petite broads around (to the Franciscan brother who tried to tell my mother that I was refreshingly outspoken when I arrived at St. Anthony's, my mother said, "She's very pushy!").

But so far I haven't met anyone else who ritually poses her purchases for a group photo after trips abroad.

(I did it when we visited Montreal, too. So foreign souvenirs occupy a special spot in my psyche).

It may stem from a habit I have that's connected with Christmas: I leave the gifts under the tree for as long as possible. That's what we did, growing up. God Bless Pat: she was not one of those mothers who was snatching the wrapping paper from your hands and socking it into a trash bag as you were  still unspooling it from the gift. Nope! You got to revel in opening the gifts and also gaze lovingly at them, day after day during your school holiday.

Similarly, I leave the Memento Shrine (TM) intact for as long as possible. It's an unusual ode to conspicuous consumption for me, not because I am virtuous but simply because I am not a shopper. I still have the lacy jacket-like shirt that I bought in a London thrift store in 1995 as well as the black-and-white scarf my sister, Denise, gave me in high school, because to replace them, I'd have to enter a shop. And not one that sells cutesy Italian paraphernalia. Which brings me back to my point.

Items of interest this trip:

*New Bialetti Moka AND coffee AND mug; I guess the Bialetti company figured they should begin roasting coffee to go with their signature stove-top coffee makers

*Spaghetti definition place mat (it says spaghetti is something you must never go without in your pantry)

*Tins of Callipo tuna

*A picture frame swathed in traditional Florentine paper (and various journals, pencils and notecards -- singlehandedly keeping the Florentine paper industry in business)

*Books, of course, including a back back back issue of Granta Italia, which I had been searching for since on Amazon it costs a zillion dollars

*And the edition of the Corriere della Sera with the headline, "Addio al governo Draghi," which I wrote about already.

I linger over these items because the time in Italy is so precious. And so different. Another Jeanne emerges when I step off the plane. Indeed, all of these purchases reflect the habits of this other person -- going about on foot, making acquisti, collecting mementos (this time: packets of sugar from the coffee bars I visited --- shhh! Don't tell Mike. For some reason, he thinks the house is full of clutter). Oh and also moments. Collecting lots of moments.

It helps that I never have to step inside a big box store. It helps that I don't have to traverse a parking lot to examine the Spaghetti place mat or obsess over the gorgeous paper goods.

Also, that when I am done, I can repair to a bench in a piazza to revel in what I've bought. La dolce vita, in a nut shell.

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Indo ttuvai (Firenze!)

Quante volte avrò sentito questa domanda? Comunque sia il conteggio, non basta, ora che non abito più a Firenze.

Quando arrivai a Siena tanti anni fa per studiare -- la prima volta che venni in Italia -- l'accento toscano mi era difficile. Entrando nei negozi, facevo confusione subito, e mi chiedevo, 'Come mai non riesco a capire quello che dice il proprietario (o la commessa)?'

Ora so che la gente che incontravo nei negozi e i ristoranti e i bar di Siena parlava con un accento forte forte. Per una ragazza americana che stava in Italia per imparare la lingua, parlare con i Senesi a volte mi faceva sentire come se qualcuno mi avesse preso in giro, visto che avevo sempre sentito che in italiano si pronunciava ogni lettera a contrasto della mia madrelingua (inglese).

E invece no!

Spesso a Siena (e Firenze e Pisa e ...) non si pronuncia la C! Viene aspirata dopo l'A, per esempio, come tutti gli italiani sanno. E ci sono altre lettere che subiscono una modifica, tipo la Q e la T. 

Difficile quanto, che so, cinese? No -- ma quando arrivi in Italia per la prima volta dall'America con una conoscenza molto limitata della lingua, e nessuno ti dice, 'O guarda questi qui a Siena fanno un macello con la C!' ... qualche difficoltà si pone. 

Ormai ci sono abituata -- infatti aspiro la C anch'io! Come affetto per la regione che mi ha accolto. E quando leggo uno scritto come quello che ho inserito quassù, mi sento quasi coccolata perché posso ben immaginare una persona mentre dice, 'Indo ttuvai?' Con una voce che mi fa ricordare tanti amici fiorentini che parlono cosi.

Elena Ferrante scrisse, "Le lingue per me hanno un veleno secreto."

Nel mio caso, non si tratta proprio di veleno ma invece forse una specie di droga.

Se mi capita di dover pensare della mia vita, concludo che il periodo trascorso a Siena in cui sono diventata bilingue -- cioè, una persona che sa esprimersi non solamente in una lingua ma bensi due -- ha cambiato tutto. Il momento in cui la vita si divide in due -- prima, parlavo solamente inglese, e dopo invece ho capito che parlare solamente in inglese non mi avrebbe più bastato.

Chiudo con questa guida geniale al parlato fiorentino:

https://www.girovagandoioete.it/dialetto-fiorentino/

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Italy is Italy: Chiuso per ferie (Coco Lezzone) -- Fave photos/Italy trip

I often worry that Italy is no longer Italy (like maybe they need the Italian equivalent of 'Keep Austin Weird' bumper stickers everywhere). 

This is for many reasons, including globalization of industries and companies, but tourism, especially from America, is also one culprit, even as it bolsters the Italian economy.

Signs Italy isn't Italy to me: English is everywhere in Italy, often for no good reason. In other words, what at first was used to accommodate tourists has now spread to content/slogans/informational texts that should be in Italian alone.

(As I blogged earlier this year, Paul Auster wrote of his father's visit to Holland where he was disappointed to find everyone spoke English and hence "were denied their Dutchness." Arguably, that's a different situation, of course, because the Dutch were/are using English to communicate with Anglophone people whereas English in Italy is often used, as I said, to communicate with Italians!)

There are also alarming messages everywhere that give you an idea of what some brazen tourist has already tried and what Italian authorities have had to now attempt to rein in (we were visiting one monument where we saw a sign on a high railing in English only: "No climbing.").

I also know the American schedule (and perhaps the English schedule or Japanese schedule) has made its mark. My old friends at the factory where I taught English ( and which is owned by Americans) don't seem to have the choice anymore whether they work to live or live to work.

Not to mention, it's odd to see foreign tourists zooming around on the same kind of scooter we bought Leo for his birthday or in modified golf carts. This wasn't available when I first came to study. Theoretically, it could be progress.

But I always look for a bit of an anthropological strain to my Italian studies -- I want to see how Italians do and say things naturally, without any outside influence.

And they don't zoom around Dante's city in a golf cart. 

But then I see signs like this one at the Florentine restaurant Coco Lezzone (famous for its appearance in the film "I Laureati") and I think, "Italy is still Italy." Chiuso per ferie = closed for vacation. In this case, for an entire month.

I saw similar signs on the doors of other establishments -- in some cases, they had been posted in late July and the businesses wouldn't reopen until sometime in September. That's an Italian-style vacation. Hard to imagine any business in America, save a purely seasonal operation or a family-run ag coop, closing for more than two weeks IF AT ALL. 

Maybe Italy is still Italy.

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The photo I take every time I visit Florence (1966 flood)

A photo of one of the markers commemorating the heights the Arno River reached in 1966 when there was the terrible flood. 

"Qui arrivò l'acqua dell'Arno. Il 4 Nov. 1966."

(The waters of the Arno reached this point. Nov. 4, 1966.")

The markers are everywhere in center city Florence and in some cases, you really marvel at how high the river surged -- markers at the level of the second or third story of a building, for example.  

I was telling Leo about the markers while we walked around the city, and I said that people came from all over the world to help the Florentines recover, largely because the flood damaged countless works of art. To which he said, "Which ones?"

Yeah, Mommy, which ones?

Well, I didn't know but I've begun to research it a bit -- and there are many articles about the flood, especially since the 50th anniversary was in 2016. If you're curious, too, come along.

Take a look at this Art and Antiques piece about a Vasari work that has finally been completely restored.

Or this article from The Florentine about the damage the flood inflicted on the famed Ghiberti doors on the Baptistery in Piazza Duomo -- five of the ten panels were "ripped from their doors by the flood waters."

That was all before my time, of course. But the history of Florence, perhaps especially the modern history, which doesn't seem as remote as say the Medici era, ensnares me a bit like the personal histories of my parents. What shaped these monoliths in my life?

Good thing the kid is so curious -- I've learned all kinds of interesting things! I've also learned not to speak idly -- if I say works of art were destroyed, Leo is going to ask for specifics about which works of art I mean.

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The boarding doors are closing, Jeanne Bonner

It began maybe two days ago -- perhaps more. Pre-emptive sadness. The time in Florence (and in Italy) non basterebbe -- wouldn't be enough.

Odd to think I didn’t see it coming. But I try not to be greedy and I thought, in the case of Florence, a week sounded like plenty of time. Now I see it’s plenty of time to become situated, settled -- and receptive to a longer stay. 

People are without work, some children go to bed hungry, Covid has been raging and the political systems of so many democratic countries seem frighteningly fraught. So the notion that soon I will be heartsick over leaving this small Italian city that I called home years ago is a notion that should cause no one any harm. Not even me. And yet. 

This is the second to the last full day in Florence, and I’ve come to Leo’s room in our flat on Borgo Ognissanti so I can write with a view of green shutters and red tile rooves. 

I do not want to leave. 

I want instead to begin some research grant like I had at the New York Public Library (maybe on 'nostalgia tourism'?! I wrote about it for CNN after a trip to Turin -- just joking or magari! as the Italians would say). I want instead to enroll Leo in Italian lessons at the British Institute (which is also quite good for foreigners who want to learn Italian) or some other school as I had planned. I want instead to go back to Siena, seeing as we came close the other day with Mike’s friend, Dante, during our hike near Arezzo. 

Last night I went to meet Jacqui for a drink at one of the most delightful places I have ever seen – an outdoor bar in Oltrarno between two medieval gates to the city (one leads to Via Pisana, where the large supermarket is). While we spoke, I glanced up at one of the stone archways – rare that the backdrop for a drink is gorgeous, historic, monumental. (The alt title for this post was 'In Florence, picking up where I left off' -- gloriously true with Jacqui!).

Yesterday morning I must have walked five miles. I was out for two hours while the other two slept. I went along the Lungarno to San Niccolò (and through the old city gate, I gazed up at the steep, narrow road I once took to Forte Belvedere on previous monumental walks) and then across my other old bridge (by Santa Croce) then through the old Etruscan streets, to Piazza della Signoria (which was delightful, half-empty) where I realized maybe I could try to get tickets at the Accademia to see the David (the real David) (alas, no).

I will need to transcribe the streets I roamed because it was a monumental walk. Even I lost my bearings at one point (where the streets curve around the Duomo). I feel alive when I am walking (perhaps I've mentioned?). (Like my father before me). And my meanderings were fruitful in in one way: I snapped another picture of a pietra d’inciampo commemorating an Italian victim of the Shoah – in Via dei Pucci.

What I bought yesterday:

Una ciambellina (of course)

Friday’s edition of La Repubblica (which comes with the Venerdi mag)

3 packs of (Italian) Pokemon cards

 

What I bought the day before

Florentine paper goods -- including, of course, a journal

A book by Tabucchi that I wanted (Si sta facendo sempre più tardi)

*

Yesterday: the Boboli gardens. Yesterday: the new museum about the Italian language in Santa Maria Novella (only two rooms so far – one day it will be a proper museum – lots of mentions of Pietro Bembo -- too late to read his treatise on language?)

Also yesterday: realizing seriously the holiday is at a close. You will have to leave Italy, Jeanne Bonner (again). Last call. 

In fact, I am not even going to write much more here because Italy beckons me – from the window of the second bedroom of the Borgo Ognissanti flat where Leo never did actually sleep. I have opened the shutters and the windows, as I mentioned, and the sounds of Italy as it wakes up are filling the room. They are loud and in some ways unforgiving – how urgent all the cars and trucks sound, roaring back from the sleepy Sunday chiusura -- but since I want to be out there with them, they sound just fine. Plus I hear the distinctive sound of the saracinesche -- the shutters -- loudly opening as business for the day gets underway. 

Not to mention the purring of pigeons on the roof above me. 

Even the sound of pigeons is lovely right now. God help me!

Letter from Borgo Ognissanti

I see my life as divided in two: Before Italy and After Italy. As I wrote in my Bennington graduation lecture, "If my life were a novel, the central year dividing the action into 'the before' and 'the after' would be the year I left for Italy on a study abroad program."

Or perhaps you could phrase it this way: My life is divided into the period of monolingual me versus bilingual me, since once I discovered that I could think, speak and write in not one but two languages, there was no going back.

(You, of course, could also divide my life into Before Leo and During Leo, which may make you wonder, how would YOU divide your life?).

Earlier, I wrote that Jeanne on vacation is Jeanne walking while immersed in Italian. But I've speculated, what if all of a sudden Arkansas adopted Italian as its official state language? (Or South Jersey for that matter). Would it have the same ambience? Would it evoke the same gauzy invitation for swooning?

Let's stay on Terra Firma and have me strolling among Italians as they continue the work of Dante in their everyday conversations.

And especially among Florentines as they jabber away in their C-less Italian.

To be fair -- and to add some nuance to this geographical hagiography -- I've described Florentines in my attempts at fiction as a hostile high school clique that hazes newcomers but which you'd nonetheless cut yourself to join (And Senesi -- the people who live in Siena -- and Pisani are arguably snobbier; I've also heard Milanesi aren't the friendliest people).

And yet it is also true that knowing Italians -- knowing them enough that they whisk you off into the country, up a mountain to a rustic restaurant or over to a hidden beach studded with caves -- is like having the secret key to the hidden door (or the hidden key to the secret door). It makes a magical place -- Italy -- truly sparkle.

We had several occasions to insert the secret key in the hidden door; for example at Serre Bistrot, an Oltrarno restaurant you'll find in a private garden (Il Giardino Torrigiani) that heretofore I'd only seen on a map of Florence, even though it's quite close to my old apartment, which I shared with my friend, Irene, who took us to Serre Bistrot. It's described as a secret garden in the heart of Florence, and that's more or less true (specifically near Piazza Torquato Tasso, which you may or may not consider the heart of Florence). You won't stumble over it -- you have to look carefully at the map and seek out what Irene called "an internal road" that leads to the entrance.

We also took a hike! Mike's friend, Dante, took us up into the Pratomagno mountain range near Arezzo so we – or really Leo – could have a break from the painful heat of the cities we had been visiting. And it was delightful. Classic Italian gita – drove two hours (not a half hour, not un’oretta, but a full two hours), had a wonderful lunch al bosco in this rustic little eatery where Mike and I ate half the menu (at lunch!) and Dante had a quartino of wine (at lunch!), and then proceeded to take a short hike in the wonderfully breezy environs of Pratomagno. 

We hiked to a red, iron cross at the top of the crest of the mountain that had been built by ‘Francescani secolari’ in honor of St. Francis, who had spent a great deal of time nearby. The wind was truly delicious, the way Rahawa Haile described it in her essay about hiking, "Going It Alone."

And Leo ran up the mountain. Ran. Literally. 

He was way out ahead and he kept saying to me, “There’s a good view over here.”

There was an organized group of school-age kids and when they reached the summit as we were descending, we could hear them celebrating with shouts of joy. I kept looking back at them as they encircled the cross, thinking, 'This is perfection.'

(When you reach the summit, there's a stamp and an ink pad, which we duly used on my travel journal. Why do I act as though the journal page with the stamps is like a manuscript of Shakespeare? I was careful not to write on the back to preserve it).

Dante had picked us up near the station at 10:30; at around 3 p.m., when I was ready for a nap but casually mentioned that I hadn’t been to Siena in a while, he said, “Andiamo ora se vuoi!” (We can go now if you want). 

And then there's the Italian lesson, courtesy of Cristiano, which I wrote about earlier (maybe every Italian male would have begun the lesson with the word for cuckhold?!). Not to mention the evening we dined at the house of our friend Vicki (German by birth, Florentine by choice) and Leo had his first glass of Coca-cola (in Italy!) while I gazed out at the building's verdant courtyard, which I've described before as 'If 'Rear Window' were filmed in Italy.' 

We are lucky to have such adventures when we set foot back in Italy.

Plus, there are also always new adventures -- ways to stretch this relationship with Italy, because I feel at home in Italy, even when I am not with friends. So I was delighted to see we were staying near the French bookstore in Piazza Ognissanti, a place I'd never needed to patronize since I was plenty busy with Italian books when I lived in Florence. But now that I visit Montreal and in particular the neighborhood Petite Italie, I know that there are bilingual Italian-French books to be had and they are delightful (I have Erri De Luca's Non ora, non qui//Pas ici, pas maintenant in the bilingual edition, published under the Folio series by Gallimard).

Inside the darling little store, the proprietor juggled her infant while answering my questions about the bilingual editions and ringing me up (plus responding to the phone; at one point, I heard her say to an unseen caller, “Buongiorno, si, si ... ah Bonjour, oui nous l’avons….”).

She also patiently put up with the neighborhood lunatic who entered the store to harass her -- and judging by her cool-as-a-cucumber attitude, he comes in often. It reminded me of a Ligabue lyric that mentions "l'idiota del paese" -- the village idiot, whom everyone knew and everyone said hello to, even if he puzzled them.

You may not believe me, but I am leaving out 1,000 other tiny encounters and moments! But isn't that the way with Italy? Especially when you spend the first ~two hours of your day pounding the cobblestones, head up, eyes aglow (and not from the screen of your cellphone).

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