Off The Map: Tour of Italy

Chou! As is foreshadowed in the previous blog our journey now continues to Italia! Today we will be strangely enough talking about a common tourist attraction, however not in the context of which most travel guides take. As well as next time we will see a smaller less know place that perhaps may soon earn a dot on your maps.

First off for this entry, a place that needs no introduction the Duomo of Florence Italy! Now while I could go on all about facts, history and such that make this place the wonder that it is and tempt you to tears that way, which is easily done, that is not my purpose. I shall tell different stories of this place, to tempt your imaginations and tickle your romantic fancy. All of the stories told by close friends. For while a building, or church is built with stone and mortar, and adorned in master’s art, it is also built by people, who toiled and had things to tell. It his held up by stories and inspiration, so I find it only best to recount just a few of the stories which took place at this cathedral to give one an image of why, it is so holy.

(photo by Google images)

Our first story comes from Ms. Megan Goodson. When asked about her experience at the Duomo she said, “I remember it was beautiful.” Ask anyone who has seen the Duomo of Florence, what they remember and this is the first thing they will say in some fashion. She told of how she and her family sat on the great marble steps and had lunch. “As an art student the architecture was well done and if I remember correctly it became a still standing joke how they used checker pattern for decoration.”

(photo by Google images)

The Duomo is covered in patterns and colors that stretch all the way to the top down to the steps themselves. On the inside the ceiling is painted with the portrait of heaven the walls leading you ever outward. During the Medieval ages, cathedrals such as Notre Dame of Paris, or even the Duomo of Milan, were designed to take your thoughts upward to heaven and God for guidance. However the Duomo of Florence was constructed in the Renaissance and was designed to make one take their thoughts outward to the world. What can you see? What can you create and accomplish? So for a cathedral of its time it was revolutionary.

I asked her to continue and she spoke of the church itself. “I felt at peace as a Christian...just because I have this standing theory that the old churches - the original chapels - they have the holy spirit with in them ...so ...walking into the Duomo was a major MAJOR spiritual journey for me personally.” she continued. “I also remember for me it was a homing beacon,” she added with a reminiscing smile. “because Jennifer (her sister) told us, ‘if you ever get lost look and find the Duomo and head towards it’ so it was like that family member always there looking out for you.”

The Duomo is a great landmark of Florence. “All roads lead to Rome.” they say this is true for the Duomo, if you can find it you can find your way. “Jennifer said she did and it was a view of Italy that rivaled seeing Paris from the Eiffel tower.” she explained. When I asked if she went to the top, she laughed and said that no, she was too “chicken”. My friend smiled gazing outward and continued reminiscing happily, “When you walked by the Duomo no matter what mood you were in, it calmed you down. And it took me back to the Italian Renaissance.... its almost like it washed away everything that modern ....and around its four corners you went back in time”

(Photo by me)

My second story comes from Mrs. Gwen Sheffield, who helped me recount her journey to Red Sand Beach. She told me of her experience in Florence and of her visit to the Duomo as her second most meaningful trip to a place. She told me of how she went with her husband and his colleagues to Italy. There was only a hand full of them because only workers that had been with the company so long could go, so it was a special trip. They got a special privet tour of the cathedral, and were able to view it all to themselves. She spoke of the frescos on the walls, and how she preferred to being able to see them up close as apposed to those so far above you that you could not see as up close. Frescos are a special kind of painting method where the pigment of color actually binds in to the wall. So the only way to destroy the color and paint is to actually chip the wall down itself, making frescos one of the most if not the most long lasting type of art form in the world.

(photo by Google images)

She continued on, speaking of the great detail in the art, of both the wall and ceiling frescos; each one portraying a story to itself as well as adding to the over all huge spectacle of the domed ceiling. Soon we came to the pinnacle of any Duomo story, the climb to the top. She spoke of dim brick spiral up in the heat, and of the majestic view at the top. “Nothing can compare to the view of Italy from the Duomo.” She said. “You can see everything.” She described the picturesque landscape, all but painted across the world rather than grown. A place where time was ever present, yet its hand barley touched; of the sun as it glared above them casting a warm glow around the whole city.

Mrs. Sheffield smiled and told of how she dared to venture to the edge then went back. She told of the sloping slick outer railing and how slightly ominous it was, but then finished off by saying how beautiful a culture Italy is, and that she hopped it would remain that way.

(Photo by Google images)

The final story I wish to share with you is my own personal experience here. I had gone with my school’s trip back in summer of 2011, to Italy and our last stop was Florence. The hotel in which we stayed was in the shadow of the cathedral tucked neatly away in an ally not far from it. So for me it was a beacon as well. One can always find their way from the Duomo.

The day came to visit the great church itself, and we were all given the choice of whether to climb to the top or stay bellow. I have a horrible fear of heights, but I told myself I had to go, I had to see the great sight of Florence from a bird’s eye. So one by one we all filed in single file line into the building following our guide and began the arduous journey into the belly of the church up to the top. The bricks were covered in names of people past who too had made this pilgrimage, the stairs wound in a spiral up ward further and further. You felt and knew you were up high, yet you could not see outside, all save for the slivers of light, which seeped through the slits in the tower’s sides. There was no way to go but forward as your feet began to lose track of themselves stepping one after the other, your hands sliding up the rail for balance. We came out along the ledge on the inside of the church up along where the frescos on the ceiling clung. I remember hugging the wall for all I was worth craning my neck over my shoulder to see the frescos. Me being an art student I was torn between my love of Renaissance art and my fear of heights.

Eventually we continued on, higher and higher we climbed, till we came to a small flight of thin stairs, which pointed straight to the top and final platform. We came to a ladder and a small square of sunlight and clouds drifting by overhead. Just outside and above me was the view; while down here I was still safe from my fear. I took a hesitant step back, when one of my teachers approached me. She asked me how I was and I admitted I was a little scared, however she was not going to let me chicken out, not yet….

She smiled and looked me in the eye and told me a story:

“You know,” she said, “When my son was dying in the hospital, he could not see, he could not speak, all he had was a small white board that he wrote on to tell us what he was thinking. The night he died the last word he wrote “Persevere” as a message to all of us, that no matter how difficult things get, no matter how frightening it is, you must keep going and you must persevere. For that, no one can take from you.”

I stood there in tears dumbfounded and honored, that a mother, would recount to me a painful memory, and tell me such a heartfelt story just to help me over come my fear. All I could do was give a confident nod then look to the ladder and climbed boldly out up onto the circular ledge of the Duomo…

All descriptions of the sight one sees can never do it justice. I stepped into the light and stood on top of the world gazing out a spectacle that only God himself could see. The first thought I had was, “So this is what the angels see.” I looked out at all of Italy all around me, to Tuscany to Rome, as far as the eye could see, covered in green dotted with red till the glair of the sun swallowed it up.

I stayed well away from the edge mind you, but I walked all around in wonder and awe, and a feeling of newfound peace. I sat on the white, graffitied, marbled seat and looked out at the world before me smiling.

Here is where art was born, a place created by the Romans adorned in culture and majesty. A place as old as time itself, steeped in stories and history. A place that has survived countless over takings, wars and time itself; a country that always persevered through no matter the obstacle, with a smile on its face and a bounce in its step. Its culture and gentile still intact.

No matter your religious belief or thought, when you stand up there and gaze off the top of that cathedral, you will feel something. Call it what you will, the Holy Spirit, Peace, Understanding, Nature…Whatever. Its here, for that first moment when your breath is sucked from your throat and you feel your heart open. This my friends is what its like to fly, this is what its like to feel alive if only for a second, that wave washes over you…

This is Italia. A country and a place filled with so many stories. And to this day when you go up to the top of that church, or stand in its shadow, wander the streets of Florence, Venice, or Milan. You will feel them, and see them all waiting to be told…