IV.v. Tosca

“Inspiration is an awakening, a quickening of all man's faculties, and it is
manifested in all high artistic achievements.”
- Giacomo Puccini

South of the Apennines, it suddenly gets much warmer. We traveled there today, not because it was particularly cold in Bologna, but because I had made plans with Alex and two American friends of ours to visit Lucca. Supposedly one of the most beautiful, immaculately preserved walled towns in Tuscany, it was like most of its cousins a powerful city-state at one time. Lucca is close enough for a day trip, though the incredible wealth of sights nearer still hadn't yet given me a chance to explore it; nestled amongst a ring of hills in the lower Arno valley, it is about three hours away by train.
    My principal reason for visiting was that Lucca is home to twelve Romanesque churches, though my travel companions were perhaps interested in less arcane things. We spent a wonderful day there, eating lunch in a sunny square overlooked by the wedding-cake like white marble façade of the church of San Michele. The Christmas markets that abound in every Italian town at this time of year were in full presence here, and throughout the day the narrow streets became increasingly lively, culminating in a packed late afternoon passegiato. The temperature hit a high of twenty-two degrees Celsius, which in most climes I would find too hot. Here, in mid-December, with palm trees swaying and a clear blue sky, I took what I could get.
    In the evening, after feasting on some aperitivi and downing some local wine, we attended a vocal concert in a beautifully restored, converted church. Highlights from Tosca were being performed, overlooked by a large photo of its cigarette-sporting composer, towering over the scene in place of an altar. The commentator, clad in a dressing gown and slippers, switched between English and Italian for his audience of no more than twenty, and claimed that, in addition to being the venue for "the world's only all-year festival", Lucca had the honour of being the birthplace of Giacomo Puccini, "the greatest Italian ever".
    Italy, in the end, is nothing without exaggeration.