Italy's Treasures

A resort town in northern Italy.

As always, it has been a challenge, a dramatic adventure. Now it’s finally over, the race against the clock right up to the last minute. Another guide, another region, with the same reasons for existence, the same desire to recount, to amaze and delight, and the increased awareness of discovering a country which is always different and always true to itself. Tuscany is no exception. The common denominator leads us page after page in the discovery of a reality which is already a myth, of a land which is already a dream. This is love at first sight, and the desire to live it to the full. It’s consuming nostalgia and genuine wonder, or else it’s indifference. There are no half measures, no clichés. It’s all here, concealed in stones which whisper their history: cities, towns, castles, and cathedrals, palazzi and bridges. Everything is art, everything is unique, vast genius. Maybe it’s a generic inheritance, or more simply a “modus vivendi”. You can perceive it, but not describe it. Just try, for example, to summarise in a few clear concepts Roberto Benigni’s extraordinary, awkward form of communication. This is Tuscanness. And so are the colours of Chianti, – whether we’re speaking of the wine or the countryside – the genius of Leonardo and the Florentine beefsteak. The rest is history. Rivers of ink have flowed – the Arno doesn’t need them – in attempts to say what has already been said, already written. The truth is that we didn’t discover Tuscany. But we have tried to re-perceive and interpret it, each bringing to the task his or her own cultural baggage and experience of life. We have all contributed to make it different and we would have liked to do more, but a guide by definition remains only a first step towards knowledge. We only hope that it will prove a useful companion along the way. To transmit what is perhaps most aptly encompassed by the term “Tuscanness” is frankly no easy task.

As you approach the city over the bridge from the Italian mainland, you leave behind terra firma and, with it, earthbound notions of how to see and experience a city. Venice is not solely the spill of churches and palazzi on either side of the Grand Canal, but rather a city of islands, 118 in all, some of which are little more than the weedy, humps you see in the Lagoon of Venice. And yet these mud flats provided haven for the people who fled here (without benefit of a bridge) from Huns, Visigoths, and other marauders in the fifth century. And those refugees gave birth to a culture that ripened into a thousand years of greatness.

As you near the end of the bridge, you see at first only the back side of the city itself. But in the time it takes to walk through the train station, you begin to hear sounds peculiarly Venetian–the low rumble of boat motors, a humid incubation of voices, water lapping insistently against wood and stone. And then Venice confers her greatest gift: No matter how many times you’ve been here, it always seems, in that first glimse, like the first time.

If you are smart, you will immediately start a tour down the Grand Canal by hopping on a vaporetto (water bus) or gondola or water taxi. If you are lucky, it will be during those few hours before sunset when the light shines most kindly on the venerable facades that line this liquid boulevard. If you are particularly observant, you might even notice that neither the light nor the colors are quite Italian, not like the tawny earth tones of Florence or Rome.

The canal is a murkey green, the palazzi a mix of faded, grimy sherbets–watermarked mint and sun-blanched apricot and deep overripe peach. Sunlight shatters into spangles on the water, gondolas knife bach and forth, the Rialto Bridge looms overhead, and then, beyond one final curve, the Palladian church of Santa Maria della Salute and the Campanile (bell tower) of San Marco come into view.

Piazza san Marco is Venice’s grand salon–expansive, familiar, picturesque, pigeonesque. It is anchored at its eastern extreme by the Basilica di San Marco, which is not only the spiritual seat of Venice’s patron saint but also one of the most glittering monuments of Christendom.