February 18: Museo Lamborghini

As of yesterday, I am back at work full-time, which is both a delight and a tragedy. On one hand, I'm an utter workaholic, and I do like my job; on the other, I had so many things I wanted to do before going back that getting so egregiously sick pretty thoroughly prevented me from doing. Well, at least I still have time for this blog!

I mentioned previously that Friday the 18th involved a trip to a very special museum. I'm sure you all have been dying to find out what it was (well, except for some of you clever people who've figured out how to view my Flickr photostream).

To get to the museum, from Bologna, you can either take a bus for an hour, or you can take a train for a half-hour and a bus for ten minutes and hope that the bus-train schedules match up efficiently. (I did the latter, and realized the next day that the bus I could've taken stopped literally a ten-minute walk from my hotel.) The train drops you at a tiny station in the middle of the country, with fields as far as the eye can see. You walk along the one road away from the station to the center of the nearby town, which consists of a few stores around an old arch and a bus station; you catch a bus to the town of Sant'Agata Bolognese, which is literally a church and a few houses in the middle of nowhere. There is a road; on the road is a sign that points to Bologna in one direction and Modena in the other. You walk along the road towards Modena.

Fortunately, it's only a few minutes before your destination is within sight. It's pretty big; combine its size with the flags out front, and it's pretty hard to miss.

The museum itself is actually rather small, which isn't a surprise considering that the rest of the complex is the factories of Automobili Lamborghini.



Museo Lamborghini contains a collection of the more noteworthy vehicles produced by the famous Italian automaker. The first floor is largely made up of older cars, including the first production model (the red 350GT, 1964) and examples of groundbreaking or beloved automobili from the company's first thirty or so years.



An early Miura (the P400S, 1968), for example, showcases both the beginnings of the classic Lambo look and the innovative thinking that has made Lamborghini successful.



The lower floor is arranged in chronological order, so as you walk around it, you can see how the models changed over time, both in aesthetic and in function. Each car has a plaque in Italian, English, and German that explains points of interest relating to its engineering, history, and power.



You can also look at parts of a disassembled engine.



Throughout the museum are a number of assembled engines as well. They are huge! I mean, logically, I know this, but it's really hard to appreciate what a five- or six-liter engine actually translates to in terms of real space until you have seen one up close.

The second floor of the museum houses more recent models - Diablos, Countachs, a car on the wall, some racing models, more engines...



In 2004, Lamborghini donated a pair of Gallardos to the Bologna police.



These cars are equipped with state-of-the-art radio communication, plus special compartments for transporting blood, fluids, and organs for transplant and transfusion. Considering that year's Gallardo's official top speed is in excess of 190 miles per hour, I'd say that they are being put to good use!

Oh, right, and there was a Murciélago mounted on the wall.



Further proof of my theory that the Lambo philosophy is as follows: "Why? Because we can."



But let's step back for a moment.

Look back up to the first photo of the second floor and note the dark gray car in the background, behind the beige Diablo.

That is the Lamborghini Reventón, possibly my favorite vehicle in the universe. I find it remarkable not just for being one of the fastest street-legal cars in the world (over 210 miles per hour), but for a number of engineering features which you can bet I will tell you about at length shortly! It has the added bonus of not being as butt-ugly as some of the cars that could actually beat it in a race. As a matter of fact, I find this car pretty attractive.



The overall design was inspired by modern fighter jets; note the air intakes and the design of the wheels. I love the headlights (which have influenced those of the more recent Gallardos) and the angles of the body around the rear wheels.

The tail lights are distinct (if I spot a newer Lambo on the road, sometimes I recognize these before I recognize the body of the car itself), and every line on this car is aggressive.



The chassis and the engine of the Reventón are the same as the Murciélago, but the exterior is new, lighter, made of a carbon fiber composite with a metallic green-gray matte finish. The instrument panel is entirely LCD, and can switch between two modes of display: traditional, and awesome--which is to say, made to resemble the panel of a high-tech fighter jet, including a G-force meter (note: I may have deviated slightly from official terminology).



Okay, we can give other things some attention now.

A Diablo and a GT:



A series of photographs and concept sketches, presenting a history of Lamborghini from the 1960s and on:



The 25th Anniversary Countach, made to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the company in 1988, and a Miura concept:



I admit to liking the Countach's general design philosophy, which seems to be, "does it look high-tech enough for you yet?". It actually has this appealing post-modern '80s retro look to it, albeit designed in the '70s. Marcello Gandini: time traveler? Or just that good?

Anyway.

I love the hub caps on the Diablo:



But not as much as I love those on the Reventón.



Why are they shaped like that? When it comes to Lamborghini, a fair answer in any situation would be "because it's badass!", but there is always more to it than that. In this case, the fanblade-shaped spokes actually help to channel air around the brakes and up towards the engine, thus cooling the whole system more efficiently at high speeds.

The Reventón is also the first Lambo to feature LED running lights, probably influenced by Audi.



Only 21 Reventóns were produced - 20 for sale, and one more that you see right here. They were unveiled in 2007--and funnily enough, by the time that the general public knew of their existence, all 20 models had been sold.

Probably for the best, given the before-tax base price of one million euro, making it the second most expensive street-legal car in the world.

All right, all right, enough of this.



I went to the gift shop afterwards and bought a cute little model Reventón.

Next up: well, there's only one more post that I have planned, but it's about my last days in Florence, so I hope you will enjoy it.

Ciaociao!

February 16-17: Bologna

Once I left Venice, I spent a couple days in Bologna, since my professor had recommended it and there was a site in a small town nearby that I wanted to see. I didn't really know what to expect, since I hadn't heard much about the place; I'd been there briefly and had lunch at a cafe near the station once, since I had changed trains there a few times, but I'd never seen the historical center or really heard much about it at all.

So, it was a shock.



Bologna is BEAUTIFUL.



The historical center is a medieval maze of beautiful old palaces, fortresses, churches, and towers. The ubiquitous use of red brick and terracotta roofing gives Bologna the nickname La Rossa; the name takes on a double meaning given the city's post-WWII connections with communism. Even today, it has a comprehensive network of social services, and entrance to most of its museums is completely free.



There is just nothing, nothing like walking down a perfectly ordinary city street, turning a corner, and finding yourself face-to-face with this.



Bologna's famous Two Towers, dating to medieval times when the city once contained as many as 180 such structures, are one of the most famous symbols of the city, mentioned by Dante and other authors of the time.



And yes - if you think they look slightly askew, it's not just sloppy perspective. The Two Towers, like another famous Italian landmark, both are leaning slightly.



The University of Bologna is the oldest university in the world and has been operating continually since its foundation in 1088. It is also the first use of the word "university," derived from the Latin universitas and meaning "aggregate" or "community" in the context of a community of scholars. Today, more than 100,000 students attend every year, and the historical center is full of bars and chic cafes that cater to the younger generation.

Bologna has dozens of prominent museums, many associated with the university: art, music, archaeology, history, science, medicine, and still others.

I could have spent a week in Bologna and still not have been satisfied, but unfortunately I only had a couple of days there and I had to blitz through the museums and interesting sights, hence the lack of in-depth reporting today. So much history, and so little time! I did eat some beautiful meals, though (the food in Bologna is said to be among the best in Italy).



(And now I'm craving buffalo milk mozzarella...)

Next up: my trip to a very special museum, and a subject that is quite dear to my heart.

February 15: San Marco

Well, then! I'm so sorry for the lack of updates. There are still plenty of photos, rest assured, and I will post them. I just came down with a really nasty cold on Monday and between that and starting work again next week, I've been pretty busy.

On my last full day in Venice, it was foggy yet again; I had put off the belltower and San Marco because I wanted a good view, but I wasn't going to leave Venice without climbing it, the weather be damned. So, I took a vaporetto to the piazza and ducked into the basilica while I waited for the campanile to open.



To backtrack—you're probably familiar with St. Mark's Square, as it is one of the largest and most famous piazze in Italy. Wide open (if usually tourist-choked) spaces, absurdly expensive cafés, flocks of pigeons and gulls, vendors selling roses, photographs, t-shirts and souvenirs; it is bordered by the wings of the ducal palace and the ancient administrative buildings, now converted into museums and offices, but the centerpiece is the gilded Basilica di San Marco. Construction of this cathedral began a cool millennium ago and it was completed in the early 17th century. It is a prime example of the Byzantine architectural style, corresponding to the period of Greek rule over what was once the Western Roman Empire; the building exhibits characteristically Byzantine traits such as use of the Greek cross as the floor plan (rather than the Latin cross of later structures), mosaic decoration, and lots and lots of domes.





Having climbed a Duomo or two in my day, I felt a little resentful of the fact that they didn't let me take the stairs to the top of the bell tower of San Marco, but I guess I will give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that there was a really good reason that we all had to take the elevator.

Looking down on the cathedral:



Piazza San Marco between the wings of the palaces (now the Museo Correr):



Looking south towards Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore:



I still love how everything just disappears into the fog.

Up next: Bologna!

February 14: Le Isole di Vetro e Merletto

Well, I have made it home safe and sound, and am busy getting readjusted to the American way of life (and making lots of appointments for my neck). I can't say how strange it is to walk into places and speak English! and while I'm sad about the lack of really amazing food, it is nice to be home with my cat.

Since last entry, I went to Bologna for a few days, then returned to Florence for the weekend before going home. Lack of reliable internet means a big backlog of photos to post and things to talk about, so I'll try to share them all over the next few days!

The fog that I mentioned last entry persisted, and if anything, it was even thicker on Monday. It's not the kind of thick-as-pea-soup fog that rolls along the landscape in discrete banks; it's more of a haze, I suppose. It doesn't significantly impede visibility when navigating on foot or along the canals of the island itself. But when you follow the canals to where they empty out into the sea, or when your vaporetto turns out of Canal Grande and you look out to the horizon—nothing. Just the emerald-green sea stretching out and into the mist.



Between Venice proper and Murano, there's a small island called San Michele. The whole island is enclosed in a brick wall, with towers and domes reaching up from between the cypresses. San Michele is a cemetery, and there must be hundreds of thousands of graves there. I got quite lost on it, actually, but it was completely beautiful, with flowers of every kind and color adorning the thousands upon thousands of headstones, and a mystical sort of silence broken only by bird calls.



No photos were allowed on the island itself, but I got a few from the boat.



The next stop was Murano, home of hundreds of glass workshops and a Glass Museum that includes Roman-era glass artifacts as well as artwork and functional pieces from the 16th through 20th centuries, and explanations of various glass-making techniques and materials. Naturally, no photos were allowed in the museum (and most of the shops had big signs saying “NO PHOTOS”).

The character of Murano is similar to Venice proper when it comes to the layout of the island and the style of buildings, though it appears less well-kept.



The central part, where the largest canals intersect by the main piazza and the bell tower, showcases this glass sculpture that is actually pretty ugly. I much prefer the chandeliers.



But there is plenty to appreciate about Murano, and it is definitely not limited to the glittery show room displays.





From there, I caught another vaporetto to Burano. It's a long ride, with nothing between the two islands but miles of fog-veiled ocean and rows of pylons to mark the way, and it is slightly disconcerting (but also really cool) to look back and see that the island you've just come from has completely vanished behind you.

Burano's claim to fame is lace, and the island's main tourist attraction (other than lace-shopping) is a Lace Museum. The museum is currently closed until spring, which would have been nice to know ahead of time, but I am not bitter, because Burano also surprised me in a good way.



Look at the buildings! I've never seen anything like this in Italy, but the buildings are all such bright, varied colors. The entire island is like this, with just about every color you can imagine.



Literally every street is like this.



While I am admittedly not very knowledgeable about or interested in fashion or textiles, and perhaps made some tongue-in-cheek remarks about lace in my trip journal, I will admit that Burano lace is pretty stuff.





It is cool, for lace.



Next on our agenda is Basilica San Marco and the view from the bell tower, so hold tight--when I am a little less jet-lagged, I will post that for you.

Ciaociao!

February 12 & 13: La Regina dell'Adriatico

I left my home in Florence on Saturday morning, having packed about half of my things and left the rest (mostly souvenirs and wine bottles) at my host's place to pick up next weekend. It didn't take me all that long to get to Venezia, changing trains once and watching the subtle changes in the terrain—green Tuscany with its hills swimming in mist, Emilia golden under patches of snow and brambles—until suddenly, we weren't on land at all, and to our left and right there was nothing but water and wooden pylons, stretching out and disappearing into the fog.

After pulling into the station, you walk out the doors and down the steps, and then... water.



I mean, obviously Venice is full of water; canals are the first thing that people think of when you mention the city. I'm not sure why it was such a shock—but it is certainly beautiful. It's beyond beautiful.



There are no cars. None at all, unless you go to Piazzale Roma, the bus station, connected to the mainland via a long causeway. You might not stop and think, really, about the logistics and the mind-boggling reality of it, until you see a police boat, or a vaporetto (the boat equivalent of a city bus), or a taxi-boat. Or an ambulance boat. Seriously; the ambulances are boats! I don't know why this made such an impression on me, I just hadn't thought about it at all until I heard a siren (the ambulances have the same sirens throughout the country) and suddenly realized that it was coming from a boat. Hah!

Canal Grande is the main road, so to speak, dividing the island more or less in half. The vaporetti run mostly through this and around the circumference of the island, with a few making trips to the outlying islands as well. Branching off from Canale Grande are many smaller canals, some with sidewalks and some running right along the edges of buildings and residences.





The water is this amazing, luminous teal, much closer to green than blue. I've never seen anything like it. I don't know what determines the color of an ocean—but it can't be the canals themselves, because the water is this color all the way out to Burano, at least. Is all of the Mediterranean like this? It's crazy!



If you keep walking in a given direction, you eventually hit the edge. Venice isn't all that big, so it's not difficult.



And I do mean the edge. The weather's been a little foggy for the past couple of days, so sometimes it feels more like the edge of the world than the edge of the city.



Anyway, not every street is a canal—there are lots of canals, but there are just as many pedestrian walkways, some as broad as big streets. Or maybe I'm looking at this from the wrong angle; maybe the canals are the streets, and the dry “streets” are just really big, really busy sidewalks with names. Without any cars, it's hard to say. But then, boats kind of are cars here. Gah! Worldview... so different! Cannot apply existing logic!



Anyway.





I took a walk around to Piazza San Marco on Sunday, in addition to several museums. The city museums are fairly expensive, but you can actually buy a pass that costs 18 euro and is good for something like twelve different exhibitions, all part of the Venice Civic Museum Foundation. This includes the good ones, as far as I can tell—several palaces and famous houses, the glass and lace museums on Murano and Burano respectively, Museo Correr by San Marco, and a natural history museum. The pass admits you into each one once and is good for six months, and considering that standard admission probably averages 8-10 euro for each museum, it's a seriously good deal. I saw Ca' Rezzonico (basically a showcase of 18th century Venetian noble lifestyle, plus a painting gallery) and the Museo Correr (a series of themed exhibits on the history, culture, and politics of pre-unification Venice, with lots of cool knicknacks, old maps, model ships, weapons, and an engraved narwhal horn). Afterwards, I hung around Piazza San Marco for a little while, but it was full of tourists and the weather wasn't good enough to justify the long line for the belltower.





Up next: the islands of Murano and Burano!