It is the pigeons that you notice first after the David copy when you
enter the Piazza Signoria. There is a little girl standing in the centre
of the piazza with her arms outstretched. In each hand she has a palm
full of birdseed. She laughs as the pigeons flock to her arms, using her
as a roost and covering her in a flurried frenzy. Her eyes are half shut
and her shoulders are pulled up as the pigeons walk on her head. She is
the center of everyones attention as you can hear the click of cameras
all around you. You walk across the piazza and stop near the little girl.
Her hands are empty now and the pigeons have left to strut across the
cobblestones elsewhere. You turn to look at the row of statues behind
you. You recognize the statue of Perseus and the head of Medusa. Your
eye scans the three remaining statues along the length of the loggia.
and then around to the far side of the square and then in front of you
again. A few yards a head , in the far left corner of the piazza ,you
spot a young girl with a violin case in one hand and a boom box in the
other stop in front of a cafe. She places the boombox on the ground, turns
it on and then pulls the violin out of its case and rests it on her shoulder,
ready to play. In a moment you hear the beginning strains of a familiar
but unidentifiable concerto coming from the box. She strikes a dramatic
pose as she was about to begin playing. Her bow strikes the strings with
a strong and sudden first flourish. The rush of sound fills the whole
piazza and you see everyone in her vicinity turn toward her. You also
see that she is standing in front of the Cafe Rivoire and it looks like
a good place to have a little lunch and some entertainment. There seems
to be a lot of music around this town you think to yourself.
The cafe is bordered on three sides by waist high potted shrubbs giving
the cafe an exclusive look, apart, separate from the common square. You
see an open table and you enter knowing this may prove to be an expensive
lunch. You sit down and look around you. Between the young girl with the
violin, the expanse of the square and the lovely striped awning you were
sitting under there couldn't be too many better places.
There is a small rectangular chalkboard on a stand by the door. It lists
the day's lunch specials in an elegant script. You decide on letting the
waiter decide. He is prompt and attentive when you ask him to put something
together. He smiles and suggests a nice light pasta dish. He tells you
the chef has a favorite simple pennini with garlic and onions in olive
oil. Very light he says. Antipasta? he asks. Wine? Yes, some wine sounds
good, you answer. Your house red would be fine. He nods and leaves. By
now the girl's first piece is over. There is applause from in front and
from behind the girl. She turns and gives an abbreviated bow to the audience
behind her. The music starts up again and she takes her position. A little
less dramatic this time but enough to get everyone's attention back. She
plays another three pieces. The last you recognize as Pachabel's Canon
and as she plays this perfect melody you see that her eyes are closed
and the music becomes hers. You suddenly change from an audience to a
voyeur and for a moment you feel awkward looking upon this musical intimacy
. Suddenly it seems the music ends. She draws the bow slowly, prolonging
the last note. There is more applause and another short bow. Her violin
case is on the ground opened. A few people from the crowd step forward
and drop some notes into the case. She steps into the enclosed area holding
a small cigar box. The takings in this area are much better. You hold
out a 2000 lira note and drop it into the box as she walks by . She nods
her head in thanks and continues on. In a moment she has walked through
and out. She packs her violin and picks up the boom box. With her life
in her hands she moves further down the square to another cafe and another
performance.
It has grown quiet. The piazza has temporarily emptied itself and only
the pigeons are left picking up every last seed, tidying up it seems for
the next wave of passers-by. The pasta has arrived and your wine glass
has been refreshed. You stab a couple of the pennini and place them in
your mouth. There is just a hint of garlic and onion and the taste is
like every Italian home in the world. You close you eyes and roll the
the flavour around in your mouth and you suddenly realize you are hungry,
very hungry.
A light breeze picks up, circulating the air in the piazza. You pause
for a moment in your indulgences and take another look about the square.
The violinist has started up again a ways away and you can hear the music
above the noise in your vicinity when the breeze starts up and pushes
the music about the open space.
You finish off the pasta and the wine and you think about moving on. It
has been a good lunch no matter what it costs. It is almost 230PM and
there is more to see on your first day.
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