Let the beatings begin!

As I was planning this trip, I tried to find a soccer game for us to attend so Bella could get an authentic taste for how nutty Europeans are for the game.  Unfortunately, the season for the professional teams ended in May.  But, I happened on information about Calcio Storico - a historic round robin soccer tournament played in Florence between the four main neighborhoods.  As it happens, the tournament is while we are in town.  It looked a little brutal from the You Tube clips that I watched, but our kids have seen enough hockey games to get behind a good brawl during a sporting event.  

Today was the first game in the tournament - Bianchi di Santo Spirito (our neighborhood team) versus Rossi di Santa Maria Novella.  And, I had no idea how this day was going to turn out.  Either I was going to be running from the stadium with two kids in tears from the crime scene they had just witnessed or the kids would be joining the riotous crowd and throwing molotov cocktails with the other fanatics.  Turns out my kids quite enjoy a brutal game with beatings, particularly Scarlett.

The first success of the day was that I had properly purchased our tickets and we were able to easily find the will call, our entrance gate, and our seats.  As some of you may recall, I had to use a website in all Italian (with no translation function) to buy the tickets.  I was extremely relieved to have the tickets in hand.  Our seats were great - basically center of the field four rows up from the action.  The difficulty was that people stood right by the security fence in front of the first row, so we had to stand on the bleachers to see anything (and I had to hold Scarlett as much as possible to give her a better vantage point).  

While the game was only fifty minutes, this "historical" match had a pre-game performance that include drummers, flag bearers/throwers, military re-enactors, mounted cavalry, clergy, and some sort of oxen all dressed to the nines in historical garb.  While everyone loves a parade, we were anxious to get to the beatings.  Each team fields twenty-seven players and there are no substitutions.  All fifty-four players are on the field at once with a running clock (no time outs, no stoppage for injury, etc).  The ball can be passed in pretty much any manner (though it mostly resembled rugby as opposed to soccer).  There are two end lines of which the entire length is the goal.  Teams change sides after a goal is scored.  A goal is one point and the team with the most points at the end of the game wins.  

We had been warned that the first fifteen minutes or so of the game are a total brawl.  I wasn't too sure how much blood would be flying and was glad to learn that in recent years they have added some "rules of civility" to the contact part of the game.  Basically, fights can only involve two people at a time and can last for as long as both parties can endure.  No sucker punches or kicks to the head, but head-butting, punching, clothes-lining, choking, and elbowing are allowed.  EMTs are on site (and on the field) to attend to anyone who gets severely injured - they actually spent a lot of time distributing water to the players.  

When the initial whistle sounded to start the game, it looked like twenty boxing matches were simultaneously occurring.  The offensive players pretty much hang back from the boxing action.  It honestly took us about ten minutes to figure out if there was even a ball on the field or if this was just the pre-game slug fest.  There was one extremely gigantic guy on the Rossi team who looked intent on using his striking power.  He proved to be a formidable opponent.  However, Bianchi had a few thugs too.  But, better yet, we had break away speed.  

While Bella was extremely interested in the strategy of each team, Scarlett was more excited by the gashed eyes and flying round house kicks.  I fear that she may be attracted to MMA fighters in the future.  The kids loved the excitement of the crowd - cheering and giving high fives when Bianchi scored.  There was honestly so much happening on the field at one time you didn't know where to look.  When the final whistle blew, Bianchi had secured the win with a 3-0 score over Rossi.  I wasn't sure if there was post-game pomp and circumstance too so we sort of hung around for a few minutes.  Fans from each team rushed the field and the number of people in the action tripled.  It looked obvious that the beatings were going to continue, so I quickly dragged the kids out the nearest exit gate for a quick getaway.  

Even though nothing about Calcio Storico resembled soccer, we all had a fun time.  It was a perfectly balanced train wreck - there were enough beatings and resulting blood to make it exciting, but not so much violence that you were repulsed or sickened.   

Palazzo Vecchio

Today I stood in amazement in one of the most stunning buildings I have ever seen.  I seriously think these are the places where people who decide to become architects must have a defining life moment.  The Palazzo Vecchio dates to 1299 and was primarily used as the center for city government.  It was also the Medici residence before the construction of the Pitti Palace.  While the building was renamed numerous times in its early history, the name given to it by Cosimo I is the one that has stuck.  Palazzo Vecchio literally means "old palace" in Italian.  Cosimo was referring to it as the old palace because he had built his family a new home with the Pitti Palace.  

If I was a Medici and my dad (Cosimo) was moving me out of the Palazzo Vecchio, I would have been pissed.  I mean, full on stomping, hissy fit, not talking to the parents type of mad.  While the grounds of the Pitti Palace (the Boboli Gardens) are beautiful, the building itself isn't that spectacular.  In fact, to me it seems quite "cold."  It is grand, but not spectacular.  The Palazzo Vecchio, on the other hand, just makes your jaw drop.  I giggled to myself a couple of times when I turned to look at Bella and she was standing there, mouth wide open, just like me.  Virtually every room is covered in frescos, from baseboards to the ceiling.  Many of the ceilings are inlaid with paintings on wooden planks.  It must be like an old fashioned version of Aaron and Candy Spelling's residences.  The thing that struck me most was how vivid the colors in the frescos have remained over so many years.  The oil painted ceiling panels have really darkened and they are quite a contrast to the bright frescos.

While the Palazzo Vecchio was the original "landing site" for Michelangelo's David statue (and there is still a replica there today), the girls and I had headed to the museum to learn more about the fresco painting style.  We did have the opportunity to oogle at some other statues by Michelangelo.  But, the lesser known Giorgio Vasari was the man of the hour.  

The girls and I joined a few other families with children to learn more about how to make a fresco and to try our hand at it.  When making a fresco, the walls are first covered with a rough layer of spackle - the spackle is made of sand, limestone and water.  Next, another skim coat of spackle is applied and the fresco is painted onto this wet spackle.  The spackle dries in about a day, so artists could only work on small sections at a time as the painting needs to be applied to the wet spackle so that it binds to the mortar and holds over time.  We all agreed that it was incredibly interesting to learn about the different minerals, plants and animals that were used to make the powder that ultimately became the tempera for the frescos.  We also found it interesting that sand from rivers was preferred over sand from the oceans for making the "spackle" because it did not contain salt which would alter the picture with a white fog once the fresco dried.

Bella really shined once we got to the painting part of our workshop.  She created a lovely street-scape during the evening hours.  Scarlett made fireworks of color.  We were surprised to find a fresco of fireworks over Florence in one of the stairways as we later toured the Palazzo Vecchio.  I made a traditional Florentine flor-de-lis (with a little help from Marco, our instructor).  I must say that I color by number VERY well!  

While there is much to do in Florence, especially as far as museums and art are concerned, the Museo di Palazzo Vecchio is not to be missed.  

the other parent

Every family has a fun, bend-over-backwards-for-whatever-the-kids-want parent.  In the Zarcone household, I am the "other" parent.  I am basically the "bad cop."  I am the one who has to tell people to get out of bed, to turn off the tv (or other digital media), to do their homework, or to stop doing anything fun that has the potential for bodily injury.  

Tom, on the other hand, is Mr. Fun Dad.  He hangs intently on every word that the children say - who has time for that?  Tell me what I need to know and move on!  I have shit to do.  Tom also gets to be a spectator for anything that involves praise and clapping for a kiddo - be it for someone who has mastered a new song on an instrument, perfecting a gymnastics move, or creating a new poem.  I, on the other hand, get to experience the "process" and the frustrations that come with that process.

But, Tom's biggest indulgence to the whims of the children involve anything having to do with avoiding a meltdown when they are tired.  He is a world class bucking bronco and provides infinite rides from the dinner table or couch to their bedrooms so they don't have to struggle on those last 12 steps to their bedrooms.  He will also carry them just about anywhere, because apparently their legs stop working in his presence.  

I am, however, always impressed with the kids' ability to "charge on" when Tom isn't around.  As many of you know, Tom headed back across the pond this morning.  So, no better way to distract ourselves from missing our main man than to trudge out into the city.  This afternoon I really tested the limits of the kids and ran them into the ground.

Today is one of the first days that really feels like summer here in Florence.  So, the kids were begging to go to the pool after linner (if you don't know what linner is, read the blog post from a few days ago).  Well, I had done my research and came to Florence knowing the location of two pools.  But, I was a little weary about getting the kids all excited and then having things not work out.  Our waitress from linner had warned us that the pool was at least a half hour hike from our flat, but any good "other parent" knows that wasting time and tuckering the kids out is the best recipe for a summer day.  

So, we left our flat with bathing suits on, towels in tow, and high expectations for a refreshing swim.  The one great thing going for Florence is that it is flat.  But, the waitress wasn't kidding about the trek - it was a good two miles to the pool and my people were hot.  We made a game of trying to stay in the shade to try to fool ourselves into thinking that the temperature wasn't sweltering.  Scarlett was, however, suffering from the misconception that I had been to this pool before, so I should 1) know exactly where I was going and 2) we should have been there by now.  

We figured we were getting close to the pool when we kept seeing 18 year olds in bathing suits.  I was honestly thinking to myself that it must be nice to be a teenager in Italy because apparently no one has a summer job when they are a high schooler.  Another dead giveaway that we were getting close  was the pulsating music.  Now, that actually got us fairly pumped because everyone knows that the Zarcone ladies LOVE a dance party.  When we finally found the entrance gate, we were greeted by Alessandro (the pool manager).  Alessandro looked quite nervous about the scene to which I was preparing to expose the kids.  He insisted that we take a look before we paid the entrance fee.  As he nervously walked us toward a vantage point of the pool, I half expected to see something akin to a Playboy Mansion pool party complete with orgy.  I was pleasantly surprised that all of the 18 year olds still had their suits on, but the grotto was packed!  

So, expecting to be greeted by tears and meltdowns, I had to be the "other parent" and explain to the kids that today wasn't the best day to take a plunge in the pool.  Alessandro assured me that this was the first time this event had ever taken place (he was pretty clear it was the last time too), and he pleaded with me to bring the kids back tomorrow for an appropriate swim.  As we started the long, hot slog back to our flat, the kids were incredible troopers.  The only mild complaint received was when Scarlett took a face-plant and scraped her knee from running with clogs on uneven terrain.  After a few choked back tears, she tucked her pouty lip back in and put on her "I can do this mommy" face and kept on walking, never asking to be carried.  

Today wasn't a rainbows and butterflies kind of day.  It was the kind of day that we "other parents" use to build character in our kids.  These are the days that we show them life is hard and there isn't an instant reward at the end of every task.  But, our kids rise to the occasion.  They also use these days to demonstrate to us "other parents" that they are learning the not so glamorous life lessons and don't always need to be carried along the easy road.

Croissants with coffee, linner, and gelato

Just as you might have imagined, Italy is all about food and wine.  And Italians know how to do them both incredibly well.  The Zarcones have embraced the Italian way of life - easing into the day, taking a long mid-afternoon siesta (called a pausa pranzo), and indulging in a daily gelato.  

Most Italians eat a very light breakfast that includes pastries, fruit and coffee (for the people over five feet tall).  The pasticceria (pastry shop) a few doors down from our flat specializes in shortbread type pastries that are filled with either fruit or chocolate.  They also have croissants, which we typically eat for breakfast.  Bella has taken a liking to the chocolate filled croissants.  We have noticed that the Italian version of a croissant is more dense than the French-type croissants of which we are more familiar.  The fruit stand, which is next door to the pasticceria,  provides us with out breakfast fruit - usually strawberries or peaches.  

Coffee is also something that takes time and is not to be rushed in Italy.  There is no Starbucks on every corner and you don't take your coffee to go.  You are expected to sit or stand at a counter and sip your cup which has been made for you by a barista with mad skills.  

As some of you know, Tom should not be conversed with until he has had at least two cups of espresso.  I am not joking!  I often have to send him text messages if I have told him something of relative importance before he has had his coffee.  The coffee-maker in our flat is a traditional Italian coffee pot and I think Tom is in LOVE with it.  It is basically a three-chambered vessel.  You put water in the bottom chamber and your finely ground coffee in the middle chamber (not too tightly packed or the pot will explode).  The pot is placed on the stove and as the water boils it travels through the coffee grounds and fountains into the top chamber.  Tom says it makes the perfect cup of espresso.

Because we generally ease into the day and don't eat breakfast until later in the morning, we eat a late lunch/dinner that we affectionately call linner.  Linner is an Italian feast that we eat between 2-3 pm.  I have fallen in love with a grilled vegetable salad that is my "starter" course.  It usually includes zucchini ribbons, thick tomato slices, a portion of a head of romaine lettuce, and eggplant slices that are char-grilled and  topped with shaved parmigiano-reggiano.  Now, as most of you know, I don't really like cheese.  But, I think I would throw an elbow for the last bit of some parmigiano-reggiano.  It has only taken me thirty-eight years to find a type of cheese that I can't live without.

The kids are experimenting with different types of pasta and sauces.  Bella has discovered pesto and Scarlett could eat any ravioli placed in front of her.  But, the girls are absolutely in LOVE with the lasagne that the trattoria at the end of our block serves.  The owner knows to just bring two plates of it for the girls - she doesn't even ask their orders anymore.  The lasagna doesn't really have ricotta cheese filling - it is pretty much just ribbons of pasta loaded with ragu (meat sauce).  Scarlett covers hers in grated parmigiano so that it resembles a snow-covered mountain.  

We usually share a classic margherita pizza - which is always cooked in a wood-fired oven.  We have all noticed that the crust is usually very salty.  The pizzas are much smaller than we are used to (the size of a large plate) and are not cut into slices when they are served.  It is also good etiquette to eat your pizza with a fork and knife (but we still sometimes cut them into slices and eat them with our hands).  No meal is complete without water frizzante - which is like seltzer.  And seeing as how we are in the heart of the chianti wine region, all linners must include at least one healthy glass of the house chianti.  There is really no point in ordering anything more extravagant than the house wine - it is inexpensive and better than most "great" wines we can get at home.   

We don't usually eat a traditional "dinner."  Dinner in Italy is the least important meal of the day.  The Zarcones seem to have cut it out completely.  But, we cap off our day with an evening stroll to the gelateria around the corner from our flat.  The locals say that it is one of the best in Florence.  We limit ourselves to the smallest serving size and we are trying new flavors almost daily.  Scarlett happens to be on a lemon kick at the moment.  Bella discovered dark chocolate the other day and it is almost like eating thick brownie batter - so that has become a staple in everyone's repertoire.  You can get two flavors scooped onto a cone, so there is no need to limit yourself to just one choice.  But, there is definitely an art to blending your flavors.  

While Florence is a very cosmopolitan city, I have been struck by the lack of variety in eateries.  Fortunately, we came here with traditional Tuscan fare in mind.  So, the lack of other good ethnic restaurants isn't really breaking our hearts.  We will continue to enjoy our breakfast pastries, traditional linner and gelato and hope that we still fit in our pants by the end of our trip.

driving a tuna can

Today the four Zarcones squeezed into a car the size of a tuna can and took a stroll through the countryside.  Now, I am a girl that really gravitates to old cars.  My grandfather and my dad both used to restore cars.  My grandfather rebuilt a 1929 Ford Model A that my parents still own.  My dad has tinkered with everything from british touring cars to old American pick up trucks.  My brother had a pretty beast muscle car back in the day too.  So if a car is older than me, I will probably find it amazing!

When I was looking for things for us to do while Tom was in Florence, I wanted to make sure to include a tour that took us further into the Chianti region.  I happened upon this small tour company that specializes in driving tours.  While you don't drive a Ferrari, as Tom would have preferred, you drive lovingly kept Fiat 500s.  These little cars are original vehicles from the 1960s (ours was from 1962) - think Italian versions of the VW Beetle.  

While I just sat back like Miss Daisy, Tom had to quickly learn the nuances of driving with a "double clutch."  This basically involves pushing the clutch in once to disengage the gear that you are currently using and pushing the clutch in a second time to put the car into the next gear.  So, you ultimately push in the clutch twice to change from one gear to the next.  Tom was a quick student and never stalled our car - we did get a slight bucking bronco ride at one point though.  The most thrilling part for the kids was riding without a seatbelt.  

While the car we were riding in today was minuscule, most cars in Italy are on the petite side.  Parking is at a premium in Florence and in the historic center vehicles are prohibited all together.  It seems that most people rely upon bicycles, scooters or motorcycles to get around.  We love seeing how people carry packages at their feet on a scooter, piled precariously.  Today we saw, by far, the most bizarre scooter ensemble.  The scooter driver was riding with a small poodle between his feet.  Tom equated it to a redneck driving a pickup with his dog in the bed of the truck.  I thought that was a great analogy. If I hadn't been so stunned, I would have been horrified.  

While most drivers seem to be very respectful (recall the gas/brake blog post from earlier), the police are all business.  The police cars are the equivalent of little rally cars.  They are small, grey compact cars that look like they just got a wash and a shine.  And, when they have on their lights on they move like lightening.  Drivers really get the hell out of their way too, I think because they know they will get run over (or run off the road) if they don't.  I swear there must be an officer in the passenger's seat yelling out navigational directions that include degrees of a turn.  There is a police station on our block and I fully expect to see Tanner Faust or Travis Pastrana standing outside.  At the very least, I expect to see a Red Bull sticker on one of the police cars.  

Tom is having a great time identifying all of the different types of cars and motorcycles - especially the ones we don't have in the States.  I love seeing him perk up and his head snap around to get a glimpse of a throaty two-stroke motorcycle whizzing down the street.  While Tom is dreaming of getting home and jumping on his dirt bike, I am content to be living in a walking city for the time being.  It is nice to really slow down, appreciate your surroundings and work for your daily chianti and gelato!

Kim de'Medici

Now, I am not by any means the art history buff in the family.  My mom and my brother definitely get that award.  I tried my best to avoid art classes as I can't really draw anything other than a great Snoopy face.  My speciality is photography - I have more of a knack for seeing something and capturing it in the moment.  But, my brother is a gifted artist and we have a number of his original works hanging in our house.  He really should have majored in art in college, but he was afraid that it would drain the fun out of something that he loved so much.  So, he just dabbled in art classes through high school and college.  But, Craig is an artist at his core - free spirited and claims not to give a shit what others think.  Every child who has a sibling is envious of some unique skill set that their life-rival posses.  I was always envious of my brother's ability to paint.  

Being here in Florence, I sometimes feel at a bit of a disadvantage that I don't know more about the great artists and their works.  As our guide introduced us to both Michelangelo and some of his unfinished sculptures, I felt some great pride that Bella and Scarlett are having this information imprinted in them at such a young age.  Bella clearly has Craig's (and my brother-in-law Mike's) artistic talents and takes great pleasure in drawing.  So, she is like a little sponge when being talked to about the great works and the artists who made them.

I was surprised to learn that the David statue is a representation of the biblical story of David and Goliath.  Again, my art history ignorance.  I didn't grow up in a particularly religious house, but most kids know the story of the under-dog defeating the giant.  I could really see the wheels turning in Bella's head as she listened to our guide explaining how the statue was carved and the items David is carrying as he readies for battle with Goliath.  Bella was also very intrigued about Michelangelo's study of human anatomy and was able to identify before any adult in our group the realistic veins in David's neck and arm.  

In observing David, I was most struck at how Michelangelo was able to capture the mental focus that a person has between the moment they make a decision to take action and the action itself.  The irony of David's statuesque size is hard to ignore too, as the representation puts him at about 17 feet tall when in the biblical story he is slight in comparison to Goliath.  In fact, the statue pretty much removes all references to Goliath and merely shows David looking into the distance (presumably toward his foe).  The statue of David is such a wonderful representation of how we should all feel when getting ready to tackle a task that seems insurmountable.  We should ready ourself mentally, we should feel like we are 17 feet tall, and we should walk so bravely that we don't even notice we are naked.  

While I am the sibling that gets to learn about the masterpieces from first-hand observation, I accept that it is my brother who has the artistic talent to create his own masterpieces.  While Craig is Michelangelo, I am more like a Medici who can appreciate the art but am unable to create it myself.  

Work it Venus!

The renaissance standard of beauty is a pretty accurate description of me - fair skinned, long red hair, and a little soft in all the right places.  Except, I missed the mark by about 600-800 years - dammit!   Today we toured the Uffizi, one of the oldest and most famous art galleries in the world.  The art in the Uffizi covers many different time periods, but the greatest works are those from the renaissance.  The Uffizi collection represents the tension between sculpture and painting during the renaissance as the finest form of art. 

The most anticipated piece of art that we saw was The Birth of Venus by Botticelli.  However, we all agreed that we liked Botticelli's Spring as much or more.  Bella put it best when she said that she liked them both, but maybe preferred Spring because she got to experience it for the first time upon seeing it.  So, her emotional reaction to it had not been tempered by previous exposure.  That little girl is such an old soul and so wise for her years.  But, not to be outshone by her sister, Scarlett remarked that I was a striking resemblance to Venus.  This is why haven't killed my children yet - so they can wow me with their amazing perspectives and shower me with compliments.  

So, our day was filled with getting new perspectives on old artifacts and masterpieces.  It was refreshing to replace the media-driven, photoshopped standard of beauty with realistic, curvy ladies who clearly knew how to work it!