After spending the first part of the day at the Uffizi, we took a drive to a small town called Vinci. While there are multiple museums in the region dedicated to Leonardo, we felt it was more apt to visit one in the town which gave him his name. Here, in miniature, are reproductions of dozens of contraptions invented by the late thinker. From the notes of Leonardo come cranes and winches, clock mechanisms, flying machines, cannon, gun, and tank. There are screw presses and kilns, bearings, a level. There were simple devices to measure humidity and wind speed, as well as complicated mechanically powered transportation devices, like paddle boats, bicycles, and spring driven cars. Designs for rack and pinion steering, and even boat shoes and a diving suit.
In short, the museum houses models for contraptions of every sort which, while many may have missed the mark, embody the kinds of ideas, the tinkering sort of love for things mechanical, which would propel humanity into the modern era and age of industrialization several hundred years hence. He was also something of a painter, so they say.
We then ventured still further west across the isthmus to another well known town called Pisa. Here a tower stands, or rather peeks from behind the buildings of the baptistery and cathedral of the Field of Miracles. The biggest mistake in its construction, the foundation poorly laid, has become it's greatest success, making this cathedral one of the biggest draws for tourism in Italy, of all the lovely cathedrals found here. Today, the tower's leaning has been corrected somewhat and stabilized, and the city takes full advantage of its popularity.
An arched entryway leads into the high walled courtyard of this miracle field. Just outside this entrance we were very much surprised to find a troupe of Native Americans dressed in their best feather headdresses and leather tunics, playing pipe and drum for the tourist crowds. Inside the courtyard, the right hand side was cast in deep shade, and lined with stalls selling scarves, postcards, magnets, little statues of the building that lay just a little distance away. We located the office to buy tickets for the tower, a timed entrance, prices set to somewhat reduce the crowds. In the mean time, we explored the green grass lawns where, as in any sun drenched park in Italy, young couples lay in the grass. We visited the cathedral, squinting at the bright pure white exterior of all 3 buildings in the afternoon light.
The tower itself is set into a bit of a pit, not having merely leaned to one side, but also having settle all together, so that you must descend a few stairs to the doorway, before you can climb up. Climbing the 294 steps to the top is not just a little like walking on sliding belts in a carnival fun house. because the building leans so, as you circle round and round up the tower, you lean first to this side, then that. Without the visual cues of the outside, and due probably in part to our general assumption that steps are level, it is difficult to recognize the shift until you find yourself almost falling upon the opposite wall, and so round and round, back and forth, like so many upside down pendulums we went. The stumbling steps of countless tourists have worn into the marble steps smooth dimples. With a brief stop about midway up to explore the outside of the tower, and presumably to let the previous group head back down, we found ourselves at the heady slopping height of the tower.
Below, the afternoon crowds throng along the little shops, the locals doze, and beyond the reach of my ear through so much interfering sound, a flute and drums play music not at all native to this land, in costumes wildly out of place. And in all honesty, I do not feel like a tourist, sheepishly taking in the typical sites. I feel like an audience member at a comedy play. Let in on the farce, this fun house of marble 700 years in the making, waiting patiently for me and others like me, with the proper sense of humor, to come and see the show.
In short, the museum houses models for contraptions of every sort which, while many may have missed the mark, embody the kinds of ideas, the tinkering sort of love for things mechanical, which would propel humanity into the modern era and age of industrialization several hundred years hence. He was also something of a painter, so they say.
We then ventured still further west across the isthmus to another well known town called Pisa. Here a tower stands, or rather peeks from behind the buildings of the baptistery and cathedral of the Field of Miracles. The biggest mistake in its construction, the foundation poorly laid, has become it's greatest success, making this cathedral one of the biggest draws for tourism in Italy, of all the lovely cathedrals found here. Today, the tower's leaning has been corrected somewhat and stabilized, and the city takes full advantage of its popularity.
An arched entryway leads into the high walled courtyard of this miracle field. Just outside this entrance we were very much surprised to find a troupe of Native Americans dressed in their best feather headdresses and leather tunics, playing pipe and drum for the tourist crowds. Inside the courtyard, the right hand side was cast in deep shade, and lined with stalls selling scarves, postcards, magnets, little statues of the building that lay just a little distance away. We located the office to buy tickets for the tower, a timed entrance, prices set to somewhat reduce the crowds. In the mean time, we explored the green grass lawns where, as in any sun drenched park in Italy, young couples lay in the grass. We visited the cathedral, squinting at the bright pure white exterior of all 3 buildings in the afternoon light.
Below, the afternoon crowds throng along the little shops, the locals doze, and beyond the reach of my ear through so much interfering sound, a flute and drums play music not at all native to this land, in costumes wildly out of place. And in all honesty, I do not feel like a tourist, sheepishly taking in the typical sites. I feel like an audience member at a comedy play. Let in on the farce, this fun house of marble 700 years in the making, waiting patiently for me and others like me, with the proper sense of humor, to come and see the show.
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