Bologna Day 2, Part 2 -- Eyes Bigger Than Arm Strength

After the church, which was an unexpected attraction, I headed off to the antique market. It straddled two sides of a cobblestone street. It was like any other flea market, but with stuff from Italy. 

This object reminded me of Suleika Jouad.

I took photos mostly surrepticiously because people do not want you to. There were Vasarely prints in a few of the stalls. Lately I've been of the opinion that the guy made too much work. Perhaps I should pack up a bunch from here and take it to Italy.

I bought some overpriced earrings, glad that the "more is more" of the 1980s is back somehow. They delight me. There were interesting bits of ephemera, house accessories (light fixtures, etc.). 

And I impulse-bought 10 extra heavy cut glass glasses for 20 euros. Basically an awkward bag of rocks that I then had to haul around with me.

This whole scene was a *lot* for me. I had flown to Italy by myself and was now navigating a flea market I'd picked out to visit. I had to sit down on some pigeon droppings and give myself a rest. This kid was happy-screaming, and chasing a pigeon who didn't seem to tire of the game himself. This went on for quite a while. Note: Bologna is full of screaming children who sneeze a lot. I wonder when I will reap the harvest of doom. I was only so willing to mask, since I was hot and tired and feeling oppressed while also thoroughly enjoying myself and doing an inner high five for how high-functioning I was being.

From there I decided to track down the perfume that is signature to Bologna. This was the last time that I was able to navigate with even the help of Google Maps. But I made it. The saleswoman sprayed it all over me, and then made me turn around and sprayed it on my back. I really liked it -- kinda cedar-y, woodsy, but feminine. I would have wanted to buy it for the Rev and I to share, but I don't wear that much perfume. Hubba hubba, though.

I had recommendations for lunch, but ate at a sports bar, reminiscent of Sam Wo's, in that it was a room over a room over a final room, which is where I sat. The servers were all women of a certain age (college?) wearing soccer outfits. Asian-Italian. The room they directed me to was empty, but soon filled. I was trying to eat light because of my recent stomach upset. It was pretty much my modus operandi during my stay. So I had rigatoni alla norma and some grilled vegetables. I know it was a simple thing, but both were outstanding. I took half home for dinner and ended up eating the whole thing with my fingers.

Suitably rested, I decided to find some vermouth and the Medieval museum. That's when I started to misunderstand the directions and walk in circles. My rocks were so heavy. I was hot and tired and carried a coat, so I felt like I'd squandered my one day with my poor decision making. I found the nearest large street and hailed a cab.

Back at the hotel I was pretty cozy except for the fact that the room was hot. As in Germany, they don't turn on the air conditioning until a certain calendar date. But also there is the noise. Hotel Maggiore is so nice. The people are gracious. It's sweet. But the sound is fucking punitive. During the week there is earth being moved. But that's child play. Nearby is a hospital with a helipad. And so many ambulances. And street noise, and then an indescribable constant loud grinding machine sound. It sounds as if a cement truck is idling beneath your window, but what it is is a machine boring a hole under the city. I kid you not. And because it's stifling in the room, you need to get up close and personal with the street noise by propping open the window. The first night I kept the window closed and wet a washcloth to put on my forehead (I also had a headache from too much wine on the plane), but on Day 2 I braved the noise.

Bologna, Day 2. The Shower v Mrsguy

After all that sleep I went down to breakfast and grabbed a few things before taking a shower and heading out. I ate mortadella every day. Probably cheap, stepped-on mortadella (fewer pockets of fat), and I'm down with that.

The plumbing confounded me. First, I turned on the water and the hand-held, pointed straight at me apparently, shot cold water at my mid-section. Aiieeeee!!! Then I pointed it away from me and gently turned the heavy handle to the left, which I assumed was temperature - aieeeeeee! The handle plummeted to the shower pan and I moved my toe away just in time. I stuck it back in place and tried again, still confused but boasting to myself about my superior reflexes.

The taxi driver left me at the city wall and a sign drew me down the street. 

Before I could do more than take a photo I saw some people head up some stairs and followed into a church hallway embedded with tombstones or monuments. And a photograph or painting (I couldn't tell) of bones. This was my kind of place. I spent a good long time in San Giovanni in Monte, checking out all of the areas. It's Easter season, so you can kneel in front of these olive branches:

But the thing that struck me the most was this:

Something precious in a glass case on an impressive gilt riser. I looked up the name on the sign and learned about St. Elena Duglioli. And after I took the photo I realized that the pointy black object was her foot. Wow. She died in 1520 and was beatified 300 years later for her cult, or because she encouraged others to follow the cult of St. Cecilia. She was in possession of one of St. Cecilia's knucklebones. And she commissioned this chapel and commissioned Raphael's painting of St. Cecilia. I think I could have been there all day. Also I did enter the chapel and gaze upon her countenance for a moment. Made me wonder how she was preserved. And what happened to St. Cecilia's knucklebone.

I selected 26 photos for Day 2, so I should break it into chunks. Stopping here.

Bologna, Day 1

A month ago I was asked if I wanted to do a presentation on an upcoming anniversary of the forklift company. It wouldn't be an official thing, but the hosts were offering a free business class ticket to Italy. Mrguy is doing great, but did not want to go with me. He and boy kitten had a guy's date while I was gone.

So for the last month I struggled to write the presentation. I got some feedback from a colleague and that set me right, again. I went from what I called "a solid 16 minutes" to almost an hour, and that seemed good. I felt guilty spending time on this presentation but felt as if it could give back to forklifts somehow.

The flights were through Lufthansa but serviced by other airlines, which made figuring out the schedule, how to confirm flights and anything related to flying confusing. Know also that when I travel I always do so with mrguy, who is in charge of logistics. I knew this would be good for me, but a stretch. Stretching is good.

Day 1 was the trip to Bologna. First an 11 hour flight on United, then a short flight from Frankfurt to Bologna. I watched Sing Sing, and some other stuff that I can't remember. The gate transfer at Frankfurt, which is a huge and intimidating airport, was blissfully easy, after the usual annoyance of passport control,

bus crowds from the plane to the gate

and passport control. 

I like striped planes.

On to Bologna. Lunch was a gigantic ball of burrata, which I ate with glee, and later regret.

I tried to sleep on the second leg of the trip but the scenery was so lovely. As the Alps loomed, it was really impressive, and I felt a connectedness because of my Swiss ancestors and the research I've done in the past. You could see little towns tucked in between the mountains, and it made it apparent why the Criblez of Péry, who lived there, appear in death records on occasion as having been found in a crevasse after the snow melted in Spring. Just saying. I judge them, and then I judge myself. A Google view of Péry shows it in relatively flat surroundings. Perhaps the Criblez travelled farther than my ancestors. OK, confession, I have one Criblez ancestor, the first Marc-Elie Criblez.

A nice young woman held up a sign for me at the Bologna airport and took me to my hotel. I was supposed to spend part of the day in town doing my things, but I could not. My stomach was churning and my head hurt so I slept and watched tv until the next day.

Week 7 -- 2020

I wonder why I never published this one, from during the pandemic.

There are certain aspects of sheltering in place that I like. One is that I'm able to run out and see my mom in the middle of the day (instead of at night after work), and it only takes me 15 minutes to get there. Also that right now I don't have to sleep over and take care of her through the night. Yeah, I'm heartless. What super sucks is the awkwardness of social distancing. I'm usually super physical with her, lots of kisses and hugs and I always have a hand on her. A lot of my love is expressed in this way, through soothing rather than talking.

But we're social distancing and I have to use other skills, which are not abundant. And I do it as the local emissary of the Guy Family. I go to see the mama every M, Th, Sat. We social distance together in front of her apartment building, and I try to always come with something for her -- avocados, circus animal cookies, flowers from the garden, surgical masks. After that, we try to converse.

She is deaf and won't wear her hearing aids at the same time as a face mask, so it's been difficult. Also she can't speak up because her voice is shot, and a car always drives by when she tries to tell me something. And the front desk at the community where she lives is watching and vigilant and she gets chastised after our visits when they see we've been too close.

I have come to dread these visits because on top of navigating all of the above, I have nothing to talk about because I am working, and the rest of the day it feels like my siblings and I are texting about Mom. If I enjoy something, I don't want to tell her because she either can't understand it (if it involves technology) or wishes I'd invited her to also do it.

She's sometimes frustrated and unhappy. And it's not like she's grateful or really happy to see me or knows that I do it because I love her. I snapped the last time I went to see her. She used all of the arrows in her quiver to make me feel bad about her situation: blame, tears, bombast, anger, threats. I held it in until I got in the car and then was angry when I got home.