Act 2, Scene 11
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Act 2, Scene 11
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There are two trains that connect Firenze and Cortona. One stops at every little goat trail along the way and takes several hours, the other is an express that makes fewer stops and rockets along the rails. The express train puts amusement park rides to shame, as we discovered on our way home. The train hurls through tunnels at astounding speed, the curtains whipping around and your ears popping from the change in air pressure. Some of these tunnels are quite long so they leave the lights on inside the train. The windows turn into black mirrors reflecting your terrified gaze back at you. Sometimes an oncoming train will pass, appearing in an explosion of sound, reduced to a mere streak of light with the combined speeds, then it's gone as suddenly as it appeared. Then you exit the tunnel and the serene Tuscan hills drift by in the sunlight. Worth the price of a ticket in thrills alone and you get a damned fine transportation system to boot! Back in Cortona, some random
woman in the group was on crutches with a badly sprained ankle, the victim
of fashion-over-function footwear. Other tales of the weekend were less
gloomy, but none nearly so amazing as ours. Darling (yes Tina) you're starting
to get next to me |
All aboard... Hahaha... I,I,I... Crazy,but that's how it goes Millions of people living as fools Maybe it's not too late To learn how to love And forget how to hate Mental wounds not healing Life's a bitter shame I'm going off the rails on a crazy train I've listened to preachers I've listened to fools I've watched all the dropouts Who make their own rules One person conditioned to rule and control The media sells it and you live the role Mental wounds still screaming Driving me insane I'm going off the rails on a crazy train I know that things are going wrong for me You gotta listen to my words Yeh-h Heirs of a cold war That's what we've become Inheriting troubles I'm mentally numb Crazy, I just cannot bear I'm living with something that just isn't fair Mental wounds not healing Who and what's to blame I'm going off the rails on a crazy train Crazy Train, by Ozzy Osbourne |
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Sundays the Cortonans
put on their best and cruise the strip. The ritual is precisely the same
as in any small town in the States, minus the muscle cars. In Cortona
it's strictly a pedestrian ceremony. Hordes of well-dressed cruisers walking
back and forth on the 1/2 kilometer stretch of Via Nationale - Main Street.
Singles, families, young and old all out to socialize. The students of
our group stick out even more on Sundays with their shorts and backpacks
but I don’t mind. (And I don't want to wash my one set
of semi-nice clothes too often, as hand-washing them in rough concrete sinks
is doing a number on them.) Instead, I sit on my favorite perch watching
the singles try to become unsingled. I sympathized with the young folk
in Cortona. Coming from a small town myself, I know what a drag it can
be to find playmates when the choices are limited. Here the hormonal adolescents
must have an even harder time with Catholicism ruling the populace. Up to this point the rumors regarding Heather and I had been increasingly entertaining. Last we heard, we were supposed to be living together in an apartment somewhere in Cortona. (I wish they'd give us the keys - I'd like a warm shower and a washing machine!) After Heather, Melanie and Bec all slept in my room and the news about our trip to the gay bar in Firenze gets around I am sure the gossip will get even juicier. We are even considering egging it on ourselves. One thing I noticed everywhere
we've been - Italians don't care much for the environment. At Pompeii
I watched an Italiano tourist walk past a trash can so he could throw
his litter directly on the ground. In Cortona people throw their debris
into the wind and the concept of a pooper-scooper is heresy. Every day
one of those street-sweeping trucks has to clean the main streets - every
day! They've been trashing the place since before the Roman empire
and don't see any reason to stop now. |
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One afternoon I went in search
of Heather for our daily bike ride. Walking past her window I could see
through the crack in the shades that it was dark inside. Her roommates often napped
during siesta so when I got to the door and didn’t hear anything
inside I crept away, leaving them to their rest. On the way past her window
the shades opened and Heather leaned out the window. |
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| Refreshed with the afternoon romp, we biked to a Franciscan monastery, one founded by old St. Frank himself, a pretty little place around the hill from Cortona. Rumor has it St. Frank and his pals used to throw some amazing parties out there including a variety of sexual “ceremonies.” Now it’s all but silent. The place is built around a waterfall but the stream is dry during summer months so it's nothing more than a rocky creek bed with an occasional pool of stagnant water beneath the bridge. But the monastery itself is pretty, a series of old stone buildings that wind along the edge of the hill. Behind that is a nature trail that goes farther than we were willing to explore, as usual littered with used condoms and cigarette butts, but if you can ignore the litter you can find a bit of peace there. In the midst of siesta and off-season, the monks were nowhere to be seen and the place felt deserted. |
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Between the incredible art, legendary churches, amazing cities and other unprintable sights I've seen on this trip I doubt I shall return sane. It's too much. In a few weeks the student
exhibition opens. Because I'm not working in sculpture, my preferred medium,
I'm not looking forward to the show. However, I heard an interesting
tale of a past show. A student carved, from the finest Cararra marble,
the most beautiful crucified Mickey Mouse ever seen. The faculty discussing
the work didn't think much of the idea and said the locals didn't go for
it either (gee.) However, I found the idea fascinating, particularly after
one professor noted that it was a combination of the two most famous icons
of all time. Sitting in the park watching three 8-year-olds play soccer better than I ever could makes me wonder. "Consider the following:" These kids are good because
they practice, day in and day out with a soccer ball at their feet all
the time. Some of the students in the tour got together a soccer team
to play some of the waiters on weekends and some of the lopsided losses
have been amazing - the students never win, even against old chain-smoking
fat waiters with permanent limps. Speaking of other males, Heather
had been getting a letter each and every day from one of the hangers-on
back home. This particular one was younger and dumber than the rest and
was slowly getting aggressive enough to reach her breaking point. I’d
learned not to point out what it was the hangers-on really wanted from
her, and having her to myself in Italia meant I didn’t have to point
at all, since they weren’t there. But this guy wouldn’t give
up the campaign even from abroad. "Nor can I truly say that
I wearied of this beneficent and innocent life; I think instead that I
daily enjoyed it more completely; but I was still cursed with my duality
of purpose; and as the first edge of my penitence wore off, the lower
side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to growl
for license." |
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