Bloodsuckers

Eight mosquito bites waiting at the school bus stop at 4:30 p.m....

The thing you forget, the thing they don't mention in the midst of all this glorious Renaissance: Firenze is, essentially, one big riverbed. Vermin are to be expected. And Florentines are

prosaic about the variety and sheer volume of biting bugs they live with (including the worst--the Zanzare tigre, a striped little bugger that bites all

day long and survives until November).

They've developed all sorts of electrical plug-ins with either toxic chemicals or natural rosemary/lavender/eucalyptus essences to drive the mosquitoes out of the room. There are potions and creams for after the bite--including one made in New Hampshire (how come we Americans don't know about this?).

And still...no window screens.

Chiuso

Gas strike. All the service stations on the highway closed last night and will stay closed until Sept. 18. It's one way to slow down the Autostrade....

My theory: They figure all the natives, the ones who might get angry, are busy getting their kids settled in school. And, of course, the strike will lift in time for one last trip to the beach.

Power to the people!

La Spiaggia in Citta

Borrowing an idea from Paris, the young and hip mayor of Florence has authorized vendors to set up temporary "beaches" on the embankments of the Arno.

This one near Ponte Vespucci is the most elaborate. Unfortunately, these beaches end up looking a bit like trailer parks--complete with above-ground pools and white plastic chairs.

This is the equivalent of Labor Day weekend--the last break before the kids start school Sept 15. So, despite the lack of glam, the embankment is full of sunbathers determined to tan their hides to a rich mahogany.

Full Disclosure: Vespucci beach is also the summertime location of the bane of our existence--the Damn Band. A sort of open-mike night, every night, the beach turns into a rather pathetic night club where local acts attempt to draw tourists down with mediocre covers of The Doors, Dire Straits and Italian pop.

On a beautiful September day, it's much more benign....

Amore di Funghi

I decided I'd figure out what all this craziness is about.... http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/aug/29/italian-mountain-mushrooms-claim-lives

The rest of the year, porcini are only available as shriveled little clumps. This fall is my window for fresh funghi. But rather than tromping through the woods, I paid $15 a pound.

a Piedi

The Italians have several speeds on foot: Most take a passeggiata (stroll) at a speed that drives many Americans crazy. If you're serious about it, you "cammino" (walk) or "corro" (run). Today, I went "footing" (jogging).

It goes without saying (but I will anyway): the Italians don't have a group of language purity watchdogs like the French do to ban such linguistic hybrids...

Islamophobia

Thousands of miles and an ocean of political correctness away from the opportunistic hand-wringing over the Ground Zero mosque, Italians blithely celebrate their crusading past. Every June and September, the town of Arezzo (an hour southeast of Florence) stages the Giostra del Saracino.

Part Renaissance fair, part mosh pit, the joust commemorates the town's rebuff of Medieval Arab raids. These days, the festival consists of three events: a procession around town of "royal" couples, spear-and crossbow-wielding "crusaders" and "knights" on prancing horses; a flag-throwing show by gymnasts from around the commune (think of that scene in "Under the Tuscan Sun"); and the "joust" with a wooden, dark-skinned foreign invader.

Sensitive, this is not. Huffington Post would have a field day: Two turban-wearing "Saracens" are marched into Piazza Grande behind a magistrate. The "joust" is with a wooden, dark-skinned foreign invader. (Of course, my camera batteries died and the only electronics store I could find open was run by two very helpful, Muslim Pakistanis.)

So, in spite of ourselves, we got into it. It's impossible not to appreciate dozens of Italian women pulling out lovingly preserved velvet dresses and woolen tunics twice a year. And hundreds of Italian men wearing tights? All this for what is, in essence, a neighborhood sporting event. All the winner gets is a carved golden lance and bar bragging rights for a year.

The rules go something like this: Each of four quartiere train two riders to point a lance at the target in the wooden Saracen's left hand. The living Saracens do double duty--covering the target as soon as the lance hits. A sequestered jury inspects the target and the lance (broken lances are double the points). Then, a guy in a funny hat reads the score aloud to the segregated, jeering/cheering crowd (they're behind barricades and nets and surrounded by police, of course).

This year's joust remained relatively calm despite three-fourths of the crowd's general disgust for one jouster who switched teams this year (from Porta Santo Spirito to Porta Crucifera--as Brent says, the LeBron James of this event) and the minor scandal when someone seated in the VIP section threw a small bottle of water at him as his lance hit the target. The carabinieri quickly hustled him away for his own safety. The Porta Crucifera crowd looked ready to jump the fence.

In the end, he broke his lance, doubled his points and Porta Crucifera went wild....

Lost in Translation

These are the closest thing to green onions/ scallions I can find right now. They look a little more like baby shallots.... Oh well, they taste the same.

Crispy Petunias

The mayor of Florence asked all those who could to plant balcony boxes this summer in an attempt to beautify the city. And I did my part.

Easier said than done.

Two rosemary and lavender plants bit the dust. And this is what my flowers look like after a summer of Firenze's heat and sun....