Did I ever say that Rome was hot? Did I think humidity had its upper limits? Oh Rome, thou verdant grotto, thou temperate paradise! Bologna is inland, away from mountains, sea, and river. At 10 o'clock at night Rome is pleasantly cool. At 10 o'clock in Bologna it's as hot as Rome is in the late afternoon.
I went up there for a couple of nights to see the town - which looks much like it did in the middle ages, and contains the requisite pile of beautiful churches - and work in the Conservatory's library, which has one of the best collections of Baroque music in Europe. It was slightly ill-planned. I should have gone in June, when I was moping by myself in Rome with not so much to do and the weather was cooler. I might have met a music student or two more in Bologna.
Anyway, I did get something done, and came away with a pile of new pieces. It's slightly frustrating to look for unknown composers when you can't explore the stacks in person. At the library, I had to request specific scores (one at a time), writing my name and address on the little request slips every single time! But how do you look for composers you don't know? It also was an experience in Italian protocol and bureaucracy: the library is only open from 9-1, 5 days a week, of course they're closed for all of August. They will xerox scores for you, but only up to 20 pages. You can do more on your own, but you need to go around the corner to the copy shop. You can't print from microfilm, but you can take photos of the microfilm images. You can request prints, which they will mail to you for an exorbitant sum. No air-conditioning in the library.
I was pleased to meet Constance, an energetic Swiss violinist who has been researching her PhD in Bologna. She's a few year's older than me, but is one of those ever-green people who's friendly energy makes her seem ageless. We had a nice lunch together (more below) and had a drink on the piazza in the evening. We also watched about an hour of an old Italian movie at the free cinema that was set up on the piazza, but after not being able to follow the Roman dialect, we gave up and called it a night. I hope we cross paths again.
After the library on Friday afternoon I headed straight for the department stores where I hoped to find some A/C. I was wrong, but I did find some sales. I've mentioned that Italian style is not really to my taste, but I can privately indulge myself in such frilliness with lingerie. And a new bikini.
The rest of the afternoon was punctuated by the following odd experiences:
- As I was crossing a street, three girls were coming towards me. One said in Italian, "Watch out signora she's going to grab your tit." As soon as she got to the word tetta, the deed was accomplished by her companion. That's a first!
- I met the apparently famous Bolognese band-aid woman, who tried to sell me a box right in the middle of the street.
- Sitting on the piazza, I turned around to someone tapping my shoulder. It was a woman begging, and she stood silently next to me with palm outstretched for several minutes.
I spent Saturday morning running around town, seeing all I could. It's refreshing to go to a smaller city, where the treasures lay before you like a jewel box. The main church on the piazza was meant to be bigger than St. Peter's, but the pope put a stop to it to skirt competition. Even the facade is only half done. I walked up the taller of the two medieval towers, the one that is even higher than the one in Pisa. How much water did I sweat out on the way up?? Later, a friend said that on September 11th, some Bolognese were confused and thought that it was their twin towers that had been attacked.
As I was looking at the facade of one of the many Renaissance palazzos, a handsome man approached me and suggested some other sights that were more noteworthy. He also said that I if I was interested in Italian architecture and style I really ought to see Rome. We chatted and shook hands and parted, the first such exchange that did not include an invitation.
And I ate well. Here's a newsflash: spaghetti bolognese doesn't exist! They serve it with tagliatelle, a floppier, broader, rough-cut noodle. The sauce is rather dry, but very flavorful. That lunch with Constance was a lovely salad, which must be the most unsung Italian specialty. When I've had good salads they've been a perfect balance of all the ingredients: not just lettuce with stuff on top but tomatoes in exact proportion to the beans to the arugula to the cheese and to the olives. And Italian dressing doesn't exist here, need I mention. In restaurants they give you olive oil and balsamic, salt and maybe pepper, and you just lightly dress the salad to bring out the flavors.
On the train ride home (for which I had packed a sandwich of mortadella, the predecessor to our bastardized baloney) I overheard a girl saying that she would be living in Trastevere and going to school near the Spanish steps. I didn't make the connection that I also was living in Trastevere and going to school near the Spanish steps. It turns out that this was to be my new roommate, who is very cool and nice. She's Australian, with a Chinese mother and Italian father. We picked up some groceries on Saturday night, and she asked me where the salad dressing section was. I don't believe it exists, I told her. When we went out together on Sunday night, I was pleased that it was she getting the stares from the fellas and not me for a change.
As I was looking at the facade of one of the many Renaissance palazzos, a handsome man approached me and suggested some other sights that were more noteworthy. He also said that I if I was interested in Italian architecture and style I really ought to see Rome. We chatted and shook hands and parted, the first such exchange that did not include an invitation.
And I ate well. Here's a newsflash: spaghetti bolognese doesn't exist! They serve it with tagliatelle, a floppier, broader, rough-cut noodle. The sauce is rather dry, but very flavorful. That lunch with Constance was a lovely salad, which must be the most unsung Italian specialty. When I've had good salads they've been a perfect balance of all the ingredients: not just lettuce with stuff on top but tomatoes in exact proportion to the beans to the arugula to the cheese and to the olives. And Italian dressing doesn't exist here, need I mention. In restaurants they give you olive oil and balsamic, salt and maybe pepper, and you just lightly dress the salad to bring out the flavors.
On the train ride home (for which I had packed a sandwich of mortadella, the predecessor to our bastardized baloney) I overheard a girl saying that she would be living in Trastevere and going to school near the Spanish steps. I didn't make the connection that I also was living in Trastevere and going to school near the Spanish steps. It turns out that this was to be my new roommate, who is very cool and nice. She's Australian, with a Chinese mother and Italian father. We picked up some groceries on Saturday night, and she asked me where the salad dressing section was. I don't believe it exists, I told her. When we went out together on Sunday night, I was pleased that it was she getting the stares from the fellas and not me for a change.
San Petronio, the unfinished.
The Neptune fountain, taken from the angle that got the artist in trouble. Can you see why?
From the courtyard of Santo Domenico (?).
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