Montelupo Fiorentino

Sorry about the wait, I am so busy its hard to sit down and write but I am pretty close on a few posts so hopefully they might come a bit more quickly from now on. So, to begin where I left off...

Sunday was all about travel.  The plan was to rendezvous with friends at the train station, take the train to Firenze Santa Maria Novella and then another to Sienna taking the second stop, Montelupo. I considered trying to visit the Vatican Museums in the morning before rendezvousing with the cohort but as desperately as I wanted to, it felt like I was tempting fate. Instead I slept in until 10, ate a relaxed breakfast, talking with my wonderful hosts, and then prepared to leave. Seeing Hilda, Giamo (My host) offered to drop me at the train station. I took him up on the offer rather than brave the stairs leading in and out of the metro. Driving with an Italian, especially in Rome, is a revolutionary experience. Honestly I’m surprised people still pay for roller coasters.

Despite the adrenalin-inducing ride, I got there safe, sound, and really early. I settled into the proposed café with my book and waited. About an hour later, my 6’3” appointment showed up, impossible to miss in the 5’6” Italian crowd. 

We proceeded to buy tickets to Firenze S.M.N., an easy hour and a half journey on the train. Because you actually buy seats like on a plane, we did not get to sit together, and actually ended-up on a few different trains, about 5 minutes apart but found one another again on the other side. Then we tried to figure out which train to take to Montelupo because it is not the destination of any of the trains but, apparently, almost every train stops by on the way and all of us were right. Something any amateur should know about Italian trains, at least, is not to let some helpful looking italian lurker sitting by the train doors help you. They are willing to left your bag onto the train and place it on the rack but they are really looking at it as a service rather than as an act of Goodwill and they want money for it. Also, they dont really ask. When Hilda and I rolled up to the train, she was snatched from my hands, heaved bodily up the stairs, and shoved onto the luggage rack before I had my Italian phrase book out. It felt more like a heist than a helpful service and instead of a tip, I yelled at them instead for taking my bag without asking, and for performing a task I had not asked for or accepted. I would like to think they would leave struggling young americans alone for a while, but I sincerely doubt it. 

We had just boarded and we waiting to get on our way when Dr. Lewis (dig director and Latin Professor Extraordinaire) called in a panic, telling us not to come early but to wait for the planned pick-up at 5 with all the students, and to just hang out in Florence for the two hours, something about not being ready and putting in some doors. As you will find out if you ever come, Italian time really does exist, and it really doesn’t care about the deadlines we Americans impose on ourselves, after all, they only had three months notice….

But we went with it, we swarmed off the train with minutes to spare and looked around for a nice café to set up and get to know one another while we waited since we still had our bags and exploration was less than appealing. Looking back, I want to kick myself a little bit because what I had not realized at the time but now do, having returned to Florence is that one of the sights of Florence was quite literally across the street from us and we never noticed it.  It is a famous church, the Santa Maria Novella, featuring an imposing façade, its own piazza, and even a tower. It isn’t Saint Peter’s but I still am amazed and my own obliviousness.

Back to killing time, we sat in a wonderful café off of the piazza (face:palm) and basked in the sunshine and atmosphere of beautiful Florence until Dr.Lewis and company arrived to accompany us, by train into our home for the next month: Montelupo Fiorentino.

Montelupo is everything you would want out of an Italian city. Around 15,000 people, it is situated on a hill, topped by an old fort which looks much more like a castle than an old  stronghold. It is traced with rivers that have been there for centuries and cobblestone streets which are only slightly younger. Looming over the small brick avenues lean stucco structures in every imaginable color, like a tin of pastels leaking into the sunset. Of course, we couldn't have arrived at a better time either, Montelupo was made to be seen thriving in the italian sun and then fading into a twinkling twilight.

In addition to the natural appeal of the town however, we were greeted by the finale of Montelupo's week-long annual ceramics festival with stands set up through the streets and piazzas and artisans performing in front of the shops their families have run for as long as they can remember.

We took a brief stroll through the town on our way from the absolutely idyllic rural train station to our villa/home for the next five weeks. And, if it had been possible, seeing where we would be staying for the next five weeks even better. Stretched down the side of a turn and facing a gold facade with brief interplays of medieval brick and forest colored shutters framing windows spilling flowers and the melodious notes of an Italian family conversing.

We entered though huge wooden doors more reminiscent of portal gates and proceeded into a hallway also paved with cobble stone and were guided into the lower of two apartments on the right side of the hallway.

When dragging all of our bags inside, we took care to avoid a hole in the floor. As the antechamber began to quickly fill with the overstuffed, over large bags of seven girls prepared to stay in Italy of the month, space was required and the hole was inspected more closely with the conclusion that it had been covered with glass. Because that's what you do when you discover something historical in an Italian building still in use so that interested parties can see whatever was discovered without impeding traffic or use.

We were shown through the three bedrooms of the apartment and had the magnificent vaulted ceilings of the16th century and the murano glass chandeliers pointed out specifically. 

We also got a little bit of History on the house itself. It is one of the biggest and oldest (possibly the oldest but I can't definitively get a straight answer on that) structures in the City. It is 3/4 of the way up the hill Montelupo is built upon, topped by the fort. The house is actually a set of older older houses that were all claimed by a powerful roman official who moved into the city in the early 10th century. Since, evidently, none of the structures in the town at the time were available or large enough to properly accomodate his needs, he simply requisitioned five apartments on either side of a street and enclosed them all with walls, claiming the path that wound through as part of his residence as well.  When you enter the house, the main hall is actually a cobblestone road, continuing from the one outside with steps and old lamps. 

On either end of the hall are impressively large doors with even larger old-school keys to open them. Inside, the hallway leads to four different doors and into what are now apartments but were once separate houses. Each features it's own particular styles and layout that distinguish it from the others and makes the villa even more enthralling. Our own apartment which boasts two bedrooms, two baths, an atrium, and a common area (currently a third bedroom) features a jail that was converted into a wine cellar (how italian-lock up the booze!) the grate door has since been removed but the erie cell remains and is a little charming in it's renovations. 

In the kitchen, along with a medieval grill and oven, lurks a beautiful 14th century fresco of the Madonna flanked by two local saints and more gorgeous brick vaulting, enough to make you want to cry. The entire house is a piece of history used through the present day and its history still permeates the wonderfully stuccoed walls. Lurking in random corners and niches are priceless (or at least very pricey) antiques and ancient ceramics placed beside gnome caricatures on a ledge. the whole house is filled with unrealized treasures and brief glimpses into italian history. 

After unpacking, we gathered together in the ivy-covered, terraced back garden of the house to meet one another and our dig staff officially as well as our host family.

In the process we were served a virtual parade of Italian dishes as our host mom, Ivana who was once a professional Italian chef doted upon us.

After dinner, we went into the festival itself where we wandered the streets looking at the wares of different vendors. Montelupo was once one of the most important centers of production in the Mediterranean because of its exceptional soil and its location at the intersection of the Arno and Pesa rivers. Operating as an arm of the mighty center of Florence, the city was quite wealthy and has continued to be world renowned for it's pottery since, wares having been found in places as far flung as Cuba, the American Colonies and the Netherlands. Montelupan, and any pottery really, is distinguishable in a few ways. 

Ceramics at the time was quite the complicated art and so many shops had three participating artists who were all masters in different aspects of production: the potter, the painter, and the kiln master. Since it was still a thriving merchant community, shops "branded" their goods as an advertisement for their skill.   Also, the quality and type of clay used and the forms produced can be quite telling but most interesting, Montelupan pottery, specifically, is all hand painted. It is a noteworthy distinction because it speaks to the unrivaled skill of potters and sculptors at the time of Montelupo's ceramic heyday. 

At the very start of the festival, local artists had set up with their wheels making pots under a pavilion, and then cutting out shapes and working the clay. watching the deftness and skill displayed made me feel a little awed by the thought that they very likely grew up doing it, and that the skill had been in their family for generations. One man was making small pots for all us "bellas" watching and so, along with a few compatriots, I got to watch a small authentic souvenir be formed especially for me on my first night in Montelupo.

Unfortunately, for fear of spoiler alerts, the rest of the story of the festival will have to wait until I am back in America. However, suffice it to say that it was a wonderful, beautiful first night iand I felt so ready for this next leg of my adventure to begin in this picture perfect little town nestled into the Tuscan countryside. Since it was Sunday and my first day of real work was lined-up for the next day, I went home and, content, went to bed.