Managed another scapata down to Firenze and Val d’Elsa combining business and pleasure, with one of the pleasure parts being a second Saturday morning scapata to abandon the Florence forno for the rugged Tuscan shores south of Livorno. Roberto and Gabriella make this a habit when they can’t slip away for longer, and I learned it indeed makes a great half-day getaway.

We were on the road by 7a.m., to beat traffic and make sure to be able to find a roadside parking place once we arrived. We stopped on the way out of town for un caffè, because, well…it’s necessary, that’s all; un tappo obbligatorio. As I was trying to decide on a brioche with or without marmellata, I heard some discussion of my name. This is normal anytime I tell someone come mi chiamo., as although it is only three letters, the vowel sound is wholly unpronounceable in Italian: nin? nenna? nahnna? Com’è? goes the conversation, always. Explaining that it’s short for Nancy seems to provide some relief, but I become Nancy from then on (who’s Nancy?).

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Hope to write a brief Redentore rundown at some point, as this year, having enjoyed the shorter (but well-choreographed) fireworks from the bacino theatre in barca was a completely different experience. In the meantime, I like these foto malfatte almost more than the decent ones (photographing fireworks are not easy in a bobbing barca, I’ll have you know).

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There’s another Spritz though, that I simply can’t get enough of. It’s furry, this one, weighs several kili, and has four legs. I was not happy when I had to move again in the fall of 2005 (the second move in as many years), but one of the positive aspects of the move turned out to be this Spritz; Spritz the Cat.

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This gallery has been moved to the blog gallery, or click “more,” below…

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A friend who saw the last post just sent this article, describing it as “compelling, well-written, and of course, terrifying;” it does seem an appropriate addendum to the fountain rant. So many travelers are curious as to whether the lagoon water here is “clean”…this article seems to put things in perspective a bit:

www.bestlifeonline.com

Don’t worry, we’ll be back to cats and cicchetti very soon…

. . . and not only can you drink it, it’s quite tasty, actually.

The other day, I was on the way to the San Marcuola vaporetto stop, following a traveler down the broad rio terà that runs behind the Ghetto. He was outfitted for the day with a medium-sized backpack filled with, oh who knows, traveler stuff; but on opposite sides of his sparkling-new, expertly-engineered pack were hoisted two 1.5 liter bottles of water, pronte to relieve his thirst at a moment’s notice. They made my packless back hurt just looking at ‘em.

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A couple of friends I had not seen in years let me know they would be in Ravenna for two weeks at a language school, and after much organizing and reorganizing we managed to make a plan to connect for an overnight in Ferrara, a point halfway between us. I had not visited to Ferrara since I studied in Bologna over a decade ago, and remembering how much I liked it, was delighted to have both the excuse and the time to return.

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