a m e l i a   f a i s   h a r n a s

The Uffizi itself was very noisy. In my sketchbook, I wrote, "Ridiculously loud humming in the Tintoretto Room." It seemed like almost every floorboard had its own squeaking sound, like no two snowflakes are the same. Then add the tour groups to this equation.

However, nowadays, technology enables the more privileged tour groups to listen through headphones while the tour guide (always with the brightly-colored excalibur-wielded umbrella-beacon!) rambles on into a tiny head-mounted microphone. While sketching a lovely Raphael self-portrait, stubbornly standing my ground as close to the painting as the shinguard would allow, a large tour group closed in around me. I heard the tour guide call me, "the lady in front," in a well-EXCUSE-me Miss Piggy tone. I knew at least the front half of the tour group was looking at me drawing and not looking at the painting. No pressure. As always.

From Firenze, I took 3 days of trains up through Italy, up into Switzerland again, over to Lyon, then down and across the southern border of France, finally dipping down into Madrid. There, I met up with a former collaborator/dear friend of mine. I was thrilled to see him again, as he is one of my favorite people in the world--all the more so in Spain, since he spoke Spanish.

Here, I must admit that one of the 50+ museums that I visited was, in fact, not what you would think of as a museum. This place is called Museo del Jamón (Museum of Ham).

We had breakfast here as much as we could since €3.60 got you 1 fresh orange juice that was the best fresh orange juice in the world, 1 cup of coffee and 1 crusty/fluffy roll with a couple slices of cured ham. Perfection.

Imagine a crowd of about 300 to 400 people. All ages. Holding signs. Police escorted. OK. No matter what language you speak, these are the universal signs of a protest/demonstration. A universal-ier sign involves wooden spoons banging on pots and pans. The universal-iest sign involves pitchforks and torches, but this protest was during the day and only bee-sting-ornery (not lynch-mob-angry), so wood vs. metal vs. your ears was sufficient for this crowd. Turns out that they didn't like the cut of Berlusconi's jib. No, Italy is not a bordello.

My favorite protest participant was a little boy with a wooden spoon and a metal measuring cup. This kid was taking his job of make-as-much-noise-as-possible very seriously. Throw the cup in the air and bat it as it comes down and you get not only the satisfying swatbang of the initial hit but also the even more satisfying bounceclang as it falls to the pavement. Place the cup on another metal object, like a big, empty, echoey, metal garbage receptacle and you benefit from a good two-fer. 

And then I stood in line to get into the Uffizi for an obligatory hour.