One morning I decided I would try to find the Tombs of the Via Latina. I walked and everyone I asked said oh, just a little further on. Soon the level of the rooftops dropped and small houses began to nudge each other, jostle rooftops, forming a village of dirt streets and open running waterContinue reading “The Watcher: Rome continued II”
Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri
Forthcoming: Orvieto As It Was…And Is
Years ago, when I was living in a village 15 minutes from Orvieto, that inimitable city on a cliff in Umbria, some friends of mine said: “Why don’t you write about Orvieto? You’ve been here so long and could do a sort of Grand Tour, a guide to the city, and how it has changedContinue reading “Forthcoming: Orvieto As It Was…And Is”
The Watcher: Rome
Rome, December 1955 Florence is a Renaissance city, a misura d’uomo, of human dimension. But Italy is more than Florence and that is what I wanted to discover now. Easier said than done. Rome was so much larger than I thought – so very large, even compared to New York. Strange, the smaller a city,Continue reading “The Watcher: Rome”
Teah at Blue Bar
Morning walk. Ten o’clock. She, meaning Teah the dog, jumps down from the bed and stands hopefully in the doorway. “Time for my second walk, for that cappuccino, so I can see what’s going on in the street. Besides which I like Anthony and the others who come sit outside the Blue Bar. I mightContinue reading “Teah at Blue Bar”
The Watcher: Orvieto
The next day I took the hint, or advice if you prefer. I walked up past Santa Maria Novella to the station and boarded a train for Orvieto. At least, I thought, I’ll be warm for a couple of hours. It was still an autumn landscape, with the vineyards and gentler landscape of Tuscany givingContinue reading “The Watcher: Orvieto”
Masks
Red, white and blue. Or maybe red, green and white. Or any combination you like. In whatever country you like. Here in Orvieto, Italy, masks are mandatory. If you forget to equip yourself when leaving the house, you suddenly realize you’ve gone out half-dressed, without your trousers. So you stop and buy another one orContinue reading “Masks”
The Watcher: Florence continued III
I watched. I wondered if I could call them friends. Acquaintances was, perhaps, a better word. Some did though become real friends. Like il Dottore. I had been going through some papers to find an address – I must say I hate to throw papers of whatever kind away, including grocery lists – when aContinue reading “The Watcher: Florence continued III”
What’s in a Name
Give me a name and let me tell you what it stands for. A chair is simply a chair. A daffodil just that. But say Wordsworth and it’s daffodils and lake and wind. Say Shakespeare and it’s to be or not to be and the shoemaker’s sole. Robert Burns is a wee timorous mouse RobertContinue reading “What’s in a Name”
The Watcher: Florence continued II
The days passed punctuated by moments of sun and of fog. Yet I was not as alone in Italy as I had been in Germany, despite relatives. Wherever I looked, there were long-standing friends, somehow soul mates, the pink and yellow toy houses in the hills, the rows of dark cypresses, exclamation points indicating aContinue reading “The Watcher: Florence continued II”
Boat On The Arno
A lonely boat floats on the reflections in the slow-flowing silveryArno. Every morning the man lowers his long-handled shovel into thewater, a proboscis feeding on the sand, then to be disgorged on thebottom of the boat. Behind him, many of the buildings, facades lost tothe all-too-recent war, reveal their innermost secrets. Upstream alatticework cast-iron arch, replacingContinue reading “Boat On The Arno”
The Cat
Six a.m. Thump on the bed. Over to the window sill. The cat sits herself down and looks outside. Immobile, she stares out the window. I raise my head and look out too but all is calm. The leaves hang motionless, suspended, waiting for a breeze. Almost imperceptibly dawn merges into day. The cat Continue reading “The Cat”
The Watcher: Florence
A quiet car until Bologna. My fellow travelers were an interesting group, to be observed as they observed me. All men and all Italians, except for a tall thin American. An older mustachioed man in an air force uniform, two fat, short typical businessmen, a young priest, slender like a reed, a small tired-looking man.Continue reading “The Watcher: Florence”
For Sally’s Grandmother
Written for Sally’s grandmother around 20 years ago “Suddenly there was no more pain. It just stopped. Like when one stops breathing all of a sudden. For a moment, without the pain, she felt lost. So blessedly unaware of the body she had become accustomed to in the long years in which it had beenContinue reading “For Sally’s Grandmother”
The Watcher: Germany
For my Kreuznach relatives my trip was regarded as a natural step in my educational process. My field may be art history, but I’m afraid I didn’t feel drawn to the truly scholarly way where regardless of what else of interest the town might hold, all that mattered was the one painting by the artistContinue reading “The Watcher: Germany”
Corner of a Room
Captured on the film of memory a corner of a room. Time-bleached photographs are ranged askew against a wall of ghostly patterned stripes. Shadows from the past stare out, pensive self-conscious unawares. A print of a saint, hands clasped in submission hoping for an answer to his prayers, holds the place of honor. The smallContinue reading “Corner of a Room”
Tea For Two On Tuesdays
A great title. Heralding a friendship. One of those some people say can’t happen. Why? Well because I’m over 90. One doesn’t make new friends after a certain age I was told. If I were less of a lady, I’d say Bull… I made new friends when I was 70, and when I was 80.Continue reading “Tea For Two On Tuesdays”
The Watcher: Vezelay
Leo was back and we began our pilgrimage of Romanesque churches. Vezelay. It is July. Hotel Le Cheval Blanc overlooks the valley where at noon each olive tree is cradled in its shadow. We can’t wait to see Sainte Marie Madeleine. Not the façade of the abbey church but the narthex evoking Bernard of Clairvaux,Continue reading “The Watcher: Vezelay”
Newfound Friends
Every so often – shall I call it a chance encounter? It’s happened to all of us. “I’d like you to meet…. I’m sure you have a lot in common.” It starts like that. You gradually discover that the other and you think alike, or that what the other says is something you may havewantedContinue reading “Newfound Friends”
The Watcher
In July of 1955 I boarded a steamer for Europe. This year abroad was documented in sketches, photographs, and many pages written on this Olivetti 22 portable typewriter, bought in Florence, Italy, a constant friend thanks to which I can now share with you Europe (and myself) of 1955-56, so keep reading. Inspiration is sometimesContinue reading “The Watcher”
Biographies and Autobiographies
Other people’s lives. It’s not that we are peeping Toms or voyeurs. It’s just that if we know something about that “other person”, we can understand them better. Biographies and autobiographies. I could tell you about my life too for each of us has a story to tell, and writing things down helps us understandContinue reading “Biographies and Autobiographies”
Erika Bizzarri 