Requiesta in pace. I mouthed these words, Italian for Rest in Peace, to myself, facing Michelangelo's tomb in the Basilica di Santa Croce di Firenze. The main Franciscan church of Florence, Italy, holds the burial places of not only Michelangelo, but also Machiavelli and Galileo, and other well known Italians.
I could not believe that I was merely feet away from the body of one of the most talented people of all time. The mastermind behind the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, and arguably the most recognized statue of all time, the David, Michelangelo was no amateur.
It hit me just then, that thought: There is so, so, much more to the world than Flemington, New Jersey. The bland green and brown town in central New Jersey was such a stark and uninteresting contrast to the golden Tuscan earth, and the emerald Venetian waters, and the red Florentine sky. The familiar farms and fields simply could not compare to the immense beauty of Italy.
"Let's move on!" our friendly tour guide's voice, Brigitte, jolted me out of a trance. Slowly I walk outside, reluctant to leave the church. I enter the loud, busy world outside of the silent church. Where are the birds? I ponder the absence of the common city pigeons. I spotted a number of them in the surrounding area but none directly above the church. They seem to have a conscious respect for these beautiful holy places.
24 hours later. The soft white sunlight of another day falls behind the hills of Tuscany, through the sparse cypress trees. We visit a monastery, quiet and still, except for the movement of the 5 monks that still remain there, the last of their kind.
I am angered to hear this unwelcome news. This beautiful monastery, hundreds of years old, is going to be made into a hotel after the last monk dies? That to me is disgraceful. There is so much beautiful art here that is going to be further withered by the activity of people around them. A well in the courtyard designed by Michelangelo himself, and beautiful paintings on the church ceilings will only further fade and crumble due to this.
I start to wonder: even on vacation, will I ever escape the negativity of the real world? It seemed like not.
It seemed like just a minute before. I was in Rome. The Eternal City. Its somber glisten and ancient structures were old and wise as the city itself. There was so much life, so much energy here. I always took the window seat in the tour bus, gawking out and all the new sights, color and people that were around every corner.
"Keep your purses close, folks, this area is crawling with pickpockets!" warned our tour guide, Dennis. I liked Dennis. He wasn't your average, irksome tour guide. He was a real person with real stories and experiences. I liked listening to his accounts of his travels. They filled the cold silence those first few days on the tour.
Pickpockets? Of course. I thought. There had to be something wrong to ruin my state of bliss...
70 people killed by suicide bomber....Elections rigged in Africa...Player injured in World Cup game...American economy still failing... Watching the news can be like eating too much of an unhealthy snack: you like it, but in the end it puts a damper on your day. The news station that we watched seemed to cover not only Italy's problems, but America's and others worldwide. I fell onto the bed not reflecting on how strikingly beautiful Roma was, but fretting over what I heard on the news.
"Oh my God, is that the Mona Lisa?!" I point downwards to the streets of Florence. There it was, the spitting image of the Mona Lisa right there in chalk, being drawn onto the street by two young artists. The vibrant colors seemed to jump off the pavement. I noticed there were 20 other spectators around me. All of them chatting away in their native languages. It was nice to see people come together to appreciate this art.
DRAFT ENDS HERE HEHEHEHHE
No comments:
Post a Comment