Salvatore Ferragamo, the great Italian designer who died in 1960, remains famous for his classic shoes which combine impeccable design with ergonomic principles in an ideal marriage between fashion and comfort. His aim was to give artistic style to women from top to toe but his death meant that it was up to his offspring Fiamma, Giovanna, Fulvia, Ferruccio, Massimo and Leonardo to fulfil that dream.

One fashion item which daughter Fulvia realised is the silk foulard or neck scarf, an item which also links up with men’s ties. Silk, that most precious of fabric, that material from the embryos of worms, that exoticism from the East, that precious secret which travelled across the great silk route from east to west, that item which made Lucca, in particular, such a rich city, provided Fulvia with fertile ideas stemming from a variety of subjects, the first of which we encounter when entering yet another breath-taking exhibition in the under-croft of the mediaeval Spini-Feroni palace, dating from 1289, which Ferragamo bought in the 1930’s as the ideal fortress for his company.

The space we first encounter in the exhibition running until 8 April 2022 at the Ferragamo museum, opened in 1995, is occupied by (stuffed) tigers, tropical birds, lions, a rhinoceros and even a manta ray. Where are these animals leading us to, I wonder?

It was the natural world that inspired Fulvia for her imaginative designs printed on silk by master craftsmen in Como.

We enter different sections devoted to inspiration from flowers, birds and mythological beings. These muses are underpinned by old natural history books, Chinese prints from the Medici collection at their Villa at Poggio a Caiano and Japanese themes.

The engrossing display has a grand finale in an installation produced by artistes from Florence’s main art school in which we are presented with tableaux from different environments, the jungle and the ocean among them.

Here is an excerpt from this immersive experience.

2018 was a dreadful year for Ferragamo. Fulvia Ferragamo died in April and Salvatore’s wife Wanda followed in October, aged 96. This exhibition may also be interpreted as a memorial to them.

I have already written several posts on Ferragamo which I still find very relevant when re-read. Two of them are at

and

Woman is indeed a supreme work of earthly creation and the love Ferragamo’s family has shown in appreciating her beauty is in every way as wondrous as the celestiality which was shown to absolute femininity by Florence’s great artists like Botticelli and Ghirlandaio. Indeed, the city of the Lily nurtures ultimate exquisiteness for, as that greatest of English poets wrote, ‘beauty is truth, truth beauty.’

For more information visit the brilliant Ferragamo web site at:

https://www.ferragamo.com/shop/ita/it

(PS A Ferragamo silk foulard can be bought for as little as Euro 200.)

Florence’s Pitti palace with its imposing rusticated facade and courtyard built by the same architect who designed Lucca’s granducal palace in piazza Napoleone, Ammanati, is famous for its wonderful collection of art work in the Galleria Palatina which include several Raphaels, Titians, a lovely example of a rare Rubens landscape and so much else; that is, if one can get used to the once prevalent fashion of hanging paintings in top of each other rather than spacing them out side by side.

(It doesn’t just require architects to build palaces. At least that poor donkey has been remembered for his part in the project).

The Pitti is also famous for its other museums, the Medici collection of silverware and amber vases among them and the Royal apartments. What is not so well visited is the palace’s modern art gallery. Actually it is not so much modern as largely nineteenth century painting with some fine examples of Italian impressionists like Giovanni Fattori.

One can have almost too much of Madonne with bambino and horrific martyrdoms. So the Galleria Di Arte Moderna can make a pleasing contrast. I especially loved the landscapes and rural scenes describing a way of life which has vanished from so much of Italy since the last war (apart, of course, from such villages where I live).

I was amazed to find an excellent rendition of our Monte Forato, the natural arch of which I have crossed…but only once!

Lake Massaciuccoli was also atmospherically painted.

There was so much else to fascinate.

I loved this girl in bed painted by one of Italy’s most characterful impressionists: Zandomeneghi.

The aristocratic feminine portraits showed the elegance of La Belle Epoque to perfection.

I realise that energy has to be preserved not only for the main Pitti gallery but for the lovely Boboli gardens which surround it but my excursion into post eighteenth century Italian art was supremely worth it.

The terrible accident yesterday in which a cable snapped on the Stresa to Mottarone cable car plunging fourteen of its fifteen occupants to their death reminds me that as a child I, too, visited the Mottarone which offers the most expansive views over the Lago Maggiore. At that time, however, we caught the rack-and-pinion railway, dating back to 1911 and which was still operating. Built on the same principles as the Snowdon mountain railway it took a little over an hour to reach the summit station as distinct from the twenty minutes of the cable-car which replaced it in the 1960’s.

I have found this old photo my Milan uncle’s family, who took me there, sent from the Mottarone which is a popular day trip destination for the Milanese.

One of my wife’s relatives, who lives near the mountain at Gravellona Toce, told me today how sad he felt that that the train was no longer there. If it had continued to run what a fantastic tourist attraction it would have been and certainly so much safer too! Furthermore, there are two roads to the top of the mountain, one of which is a toll road as it runs through the land still belonging to the aristocratic Borromeo family. When we visit the mountain again we shall go by car…

Where does Mottarone get its name? As a child I always thought the outline of the 4895 foot high mountain had something to do with the famous panettone or festival fruit cake manufactured by Motta as both have a round, cupola-like shape. Nevertheless, the name derives from ‘Monte Rotondo’ as pronounced in Milanese dialect which means ‘round mountain’. So I wasn’t too far out.

Why did this awful tragedy happen? The whole world is sadly accident–prone and it seems to me that Italy is especially so. In the time that I’ve lived here the dreadful Viareggio train crash happened when a goods train carrying highly inflammable gas created a fire which spread to a nearby neighbourhood killing thirty two people. Then there was the infamous ‘Costa Concordia’ cruise ship sinking with thirty two victims. In 2016 the Ponte Morandi viaduct across Genoa collapsed taking with it forty three victims. And so on and on….

When we get onto environmental disasters then just citing earthquakes there was the Aquila earthquake of 2009 with over three hundred dead and the Amatrice-centred one of 2016 with even more victims. Landslides in such a geologically fragile country like Italy occur regularly carrying whole villages and many of their inhabitants. I thank the Deity I’m still here to start every new day in our mountain village not just because my health has resisted (so far) but because our village has not been buried by collapsing hills or flooded by the surrounding streams like that of Celle in nearby San Cassiano

In the Mottarone case investigations have already begun. I believe that the findings will concentrate very much on the maintenance of the structure. In this respect so many features and installations have been closed to the public because of Covid-19 that their disuse may create hidden problems for if something hasn’t been used for some time then by definition regular maintenance is that much more questionable. I just wonder how many other installations may be subject to the same complications.

I am always a little scared when taking cable cars anywhere whether it is the one to the pistes above Cutigliano or the London cable car (The ‘Emirates Airline’) over the Thames docklands. Meanwhile our hearts go out to the families of the victims and the brave young single survivor.

One of the more absurd questions asked by voters regarding the infamous referendum that took place in the UK in 2016 was ‘if we left the EU would we still be able to take part in the Eurovision song contest?’ The answer is yes of course since the song contest is organised by the European Broadcasting Union which is quite separate from the European Union. Indeed, European countries who are not members of the EU have regularly taken part in the song contest, including the UK both before it entered the EU and after it exited, the Ukraine and Albania. Furthermore, non-European countries have also joined in. For example, Morocco was in the competition in 1980 and Australia has taken part since 2015.

Despite this I am convinced that there is a correlation between the belittling of the Eurovision song contest by some UK citizens and the development of the brexitian movement. The late Terry Wogan’s sardonic comments regarding the competitors and their presentation veered towards making fun of the whole show and amusing the viewers – and he was born in Limerick!

It thus became generally assumed that the competition entries were not of a particularly high quality and were to be considered yet other variants of ‘Eurotrash’ mentality. This was in spite of those songs that have become classics in their own right, mostly notably Sandie Shaw with ‘Puppet on a String’ which won the 1967 edition and Abba’s ‘Waterloo’, the winner for 1974.

UK Eurovision presentation hasn’t always been so off-handedly ‘woganish’. Katie Boyle was the stylish Eurovision contest presenter in 1960, 1963, 1968 and 1974. My Italian-born mother couldn’t stand her but then she did not know that Katie’s full name was Caterina Irene Elena Maria Boyle, Lady Saunders (née Imperiali dei Principi di Francavilla) and that she was born in a royal palace in Florence, the daughter of the Italian  Marchese Demetrio and his English wife! (PS Katie Boyle’s autobiography is an entrancing read).

The sad fact is that Terry Wogan persuaded so many English viewers not to take the Eurovision contest at all seriously – in spite of the fact that his country of origin has won it six times to-date, including three years in succession. This attitude regrettably spilled over into snobberies about the UK being a member of the EU. The fact that the UK has not won the contest since Katrina and the Waves in 1997 has, in my opinion, also something to do with this lack of seriousness and the willingness for the UK to continue to contribute too many songs of the most appalling mediocrity.

The winners this year were rightly Italy with ‘Zitti e Buoni’ (roughly translated as ‘shut up and behave’) dynamically performed by Damiano David, Ethan Torchi, Thomas Raggi, and the half-Danish female bass guitar player Victoria De Angelis who gave the group its name of ‘Maneskin’ (Danish for ‘Moonlight’). The same song also came first in this year’s San Remo festival (which was the model for the Eurovision song contest).

The UK’s entry represented by James Newman sounded truly tired and hackneyed and fully deserved the dreaded ‘nul points’ it was awarded (or rather not awarded!)

It’s incredible to think that only five years ago Maneskin were just another group of buskers in the streets of Rome. At least both the Sanremo festival and the Eurovision contest have recognised their talent in this especially difficult year for artistes. I just wonder how many more years the UK will have to wait before it gets a winning entry – perhaps more years than it will take to re-join the EU? I wonder….

A routine is essential to my way of thinking in these dark days of a melancholy May, a mere scattering of social events and a considerably altered work pattern.  In my case this concept adds dismal significance in that I haven’t seen my wife since before Christmas last year. But as a wise person from the emerald island stressed for me: although we are physically apart we are both united in that affection which joins us and which is eased by the considerably advanced nature of today’s electronic communication and, most essentially, we are snug and safe in our respective places..

When we married all we had was a fixed phone line to keep up with our family and work business and a radio to keep up with the world’s. Before email there were things called letters which one wrote using a pen, a sheet of paper, an envelope, a stamp and a visit to the nearest pillar-box. Amazingly, in this respect, I have rediscovered among my things a suitcase filled with carefully filed letters by year dating back over forty of them. No junk mail here: everything has been kept for a reason (I’ve already looked at a couple of these years but somehow one needs truly emotional strength in many cases and I would like to have Sandra un-virtually by my side to go through this personal archive for her reactions would be quite invaluable. I just wonder if we could say the same thing about our emails. Would they ever be filed and treasured by us in quite the same way? )

What then is my routine in these days leading to a Mediterranean summer (we hope)?

I wake up at around seven o’clock although it can be earlier. I then remember to take my first lot of dammed cardiac pills (further lots will follow at midday and in the evening – fortunately they are now down to six samples). I visit the bathroom, put on the coffee on my upstairs little electric stove and have two small cups of Lavazza coffee with a digestive biscuit.

I then settle down (in bed) to do my language Duolingo lesson. Every day is a different language day. French is Sunday, German is Monday, Hindi is Tuesday, Latin is Wednesday, Thursday is Russian and Friday and Saturday are Welsh. Only one of these languages is new to me. French, in which I remain reasonably fluent, dates back to my school days. German is a massive revision of a language never learnt in an institution with the sentence word order still driving me bananas at times. Hindi, I once could speak quite well during my youthful time in North India (I have visited the southern part of subcontinent twice since but have not touched Malayalam or Tamil tongues – they don’t speak Hindi there).  Latin is pure revision again dating back to school days. Russian is the only new language on the list and the main reason why I’m learning it is to get used to yet another alphabet in addition to Hindi’s Devnagari script. It’s weird learning a Slavic language for the first time, however, but I find the word order easier than that infernal German.

Lastly comes one of my really favourite languages, Welsh. My knowledge of this lovely Celtic language dates back to 1990 when I used to attend London’s City Lit and was taught by a marvellous teacher. My knowledge of Welsh was enhanced by courses at the centre for endangered languages by that stupendous bay at Nant Gwrtheyrn and the central outpost of the University of Wales at Gregynog. Every language has its particular challenges and Welsh’s are its mutations which add to the musicality of this language – almost on a par with my Italian which I don’t need to brush up that much at all. Indeed, I’ve mentioned before the extraordinary number of Welsh words bearing a remarkable similarity to Italian.  For example, going from Welsh to Italian: Ffwrn=forno=oven, ysgrifennu=scrivere=to write (in Welsh ‘u’ is pronounced like ‘ee’ in English) and so forth.

If I don’t do my languages the day feels incomplete (quite apart from losing my Duolingo streak which now exceeds four hundred continuous days). Learning languages is also a kind of mental work-out and I’ve been told that learning at least one new language has become an increasingly popular activity in these covidian days and prevents premature senile dementia.

Then it’s skyping Sandra and reading to her a chapter from one of the books we are understanding together. There is no particular logic to the books chosen except that they are all extremely legible. ‘Little Women’ Part One was quite enchanting and this has been followed by Herman Hesse’s miraculous tale of self-discovery, ‘Siddhartha’ which we finished today. It’ll be back to ‘Little Women Part Two’ tomorrow because neither of us can wait much longer to see what happens to the March family (no spoilers please!).

Again, these are books I have read before, often years ago, but a good book is always worth re-reading since one views it differently as one differently views the landscape from a lighthouse’s spiral staircase. Indeed, life IS a spiral staircase. We are progressing upwards, travelling over the same places, experiencing parallel events but always from a novel perspective. Life is just as Govinda said to his friend Siddartha:

“We have learned much and much remains to be learned. We’re not going in circles; we are going upwards. The circle is a spiral, and we have already climbed several steps.”

(Inside the lighthouse at Mahabalipuram Tamilnadu, India which we visited in February 2017.)

Will we ever reach Nirvana when we get to the top or is that just another illusion?

Then it’s downstairs to sort out our cats’ breakfast. Four cats (in order of seniority, youngest first, (Archie (2019), Cheeky (2013), Carlotta (2012), and Cornelia (2005)) plus an unofficial tailless black cat appropriately called Nerina who dates back to at least 2009, are to be fed in the morning and then again in the evening. There is also Cornelia’s litter tray to be cleaned – a concession she is allowed to have because of her old age.

The morning’s main routine of tasks begin: gardening, house cleaning (yet another rota), repairs, errands, shopping etc. since I have now left the world of work, at least work for money. After lunch I always try to fit in a walk in the lovely countryside surrounding our humble Apennine abode. As the ferryman in ‘Siddhartha’ muses:

“I’m going into the forest; I’m entering the unity,”

I do believe that, in these somewhat disjointed times, finding ourselves a routine is essential. I hope I am not being too obsessive about emphasising it. It seems to work for me anyway…at least I still remember which day of the week it is!

With a May time weather largely like this:

with low grey clouds and the continued rumble of thunder and persistent downpours combined with the horrible pandemic still preventing a proper tourist season from starting in Italy it may be sobering to spare a thought for the sex workers who line the roads leading to seaside resorts like Viareggio or the more secluded inland forest lanes.

Few chairs in lay-bys are to be found to attract those wishing to be whisked off for quick lays and the covid social distancing and mask wearing regulations can scare off even the most eager client.

Already there have been arrests by the Carabinieri of sex workers operating in the Viale dei Tigli which connects the still mainly unfrequented esplanade of Viareggio with Puccini’s favourite location of Torre del Lago. (He was a ‘donnaiolo’ – look up that word if you still can’t guess its meaning – if there ever was one.)

The Carabinieri have explained to the unfortunate members of the world’s oldest profession that not only were they breaking covid curfew regulations but that their excuses for being out for work reasons were not strictly valid. (I’m sure some men might disagree with this). Furthermore the Carabinieri have been cunning enough to disguise their more attractive female members as prostitutes (PS aren’t Italian order-force women so much more appealing with their red lipstick and long flowing locks crowned by a nattily perched police hat than their prim english counterparts?). Several customers have been caught and fined this way. Be warned men!

(Carabinieri women pretending to be prostitutes)

Certainly this form of self-employment (or mafia-slavery in sadly too many cases) has been very hard hit. Moralists might say this is not unfair but the sex industry has thrived for many years in our part of the world (as the ‘Sexy shop’ proclaims to all motorists entering Lucca’s city limits from Bagni) and has a long history. On a general personal survey, for example, I’ve noted that, apart from women from the African continent- mainly from Senegal, Mali and Nigeria – and the notorious case of Chinese prostitutes flown in from rural areas to Prato there is a large number of sex workers/slaves coming from eastern europe especially Moldova and Kosovo.

From the fifteenth century there was a thriving sex-slave market in Lucca with many of the females for sale coming from the Balkans and Russia. (Plus ca change!) The Guinigi, for example, (the ones who built that famous tower in Lucca with the holm oaks growing at the top of it) obtained various acquisitions at the market.

What justification did the Lucchesi have for engaging in slavery? I do not wish to excuse them but there has to be a historical perspective on the matter. Much of eastern Europe and Russia was under Ottoman empire domination and the Lucchesi felt that not only in buying women from these parts were they saving the distressed damsels from spending the rest of their lives in a sultan’s harem but they were also helping them to convert to Christianity, avoid being adherents to a heretical faith and instead die in salvation.

In many cases, especially if the woman was older or not particularly good -looking, the citizens of Lucca were happy just to purchase a domestic servant. In the case, however, of stunning beauties, high prices were paid. Bidding could be really fast and furious.

Moreover there was consideration paid in the sale if the girl became pregnant – her offspring (provided she did not die in childbirth) would be fully cared for and, most importantly, be declared a free citizen. Finally, owners of sex slaves, paradoxically, obtained Christian merit for in most cases those women servicing the sexual gratification of the owners would be emancipated at the end of their useful sex life and obtain the rights of any other Luccan citizen, thus pleasing the bishop no end who would give indulgences and forgive the sensual sins of the generous ex-owner.

I feel very sad about the conditions of sex workers / slaves in our part of the world at present in the full fury of the Covid pandemic. Deprived of their customers, impoverished by lack of custom, arrested and fined a minimum of three hundred euros by the Carabinieri, abused by ruthless males, enslaved by international crime gangs, subject to appalling May weather and oppressed by cultural interpretations of racism and sexism in our country there is little in life for these often desperate women to look forwards to. And as for their children?

During these depressingly rainy days I have re-watched one of the greatest science fiction films ever made. It is also one of the greatest horror movies. Indeed it has been described as ‘jaws in outer space’. Except that in outer space no-one can hear you!

I am, of course, talking about ‘Alien’ which not only made Sigourney Weaver into a big star but also produced three sequels and two prequels. The first of these was ‘Prometheus’ whose events take place thirty years before’ Alien’. If you haven’t seen the film I’ll try to give the plot without too many spoilers.

Scientists Elizabeth Shaw and Charlie Holloway discover a star map among the remnants of an ancient Earth culture. They journey aboard the spaceship ‘Prometheus’ hoping to discover the origins of humanity and arrive on the distant planet LV-223 which is in the same region of space where the ‘Alien’s’ spaceship, the ‘Nostromo’ lands. There they discover the remains of an advanced civilization which is the same race as the dead pilot from the derelict ship in ‘Alien’ who were developing biological weapons in the form of a pathogenic mutagen which could have driven the human race into extinction.

Sounds a familiar story? For some it is. Our planet is indeed being invaded by a virus which is constantly evolving new mutants to resist developing vaccines. Our world today is rather like a dam which for ever creates new leaks so that the rest of the valley is always in danger of being flooded anew.  In the middle of all this scenario the boastful Prime Minister of the newly founded kingdom of Brexitania now easing a lockdown in a very disconcerting manner. Will these pathogenic mutants catch up with us again? I wonder…

Let us lighten this somewhat pessimistic post with those touching moments when Jones, the lovely ginger feline in the spaceship ‘Nostromo’, wakes up from his fifty-seven-year long hyper-sleep in the same–cubicle as the lovely Sigourney. He must be one of the longest lived cats ever. Brought on board as both a rodent catcher (any space mice out there?) and as a diversion for any crew members who are feeling stressed out Jones is the only other living being who manages to escape with Sigourney from the main spaceship on the shuttle craft called  ‘Narcissus’.

I think it is a delightful tribute to the inner goodness of so many members of the human race that in the midst of being pursued by a mindless monster with terrifyingly perfect weapons of death and lost in an endless dark cosmos Sigourney, alias’ Ellen Ripley’, manages to save a cat and place him securely in his basket.

It is also wonderful that my wife Alexandra played a significant part in the development of this ‘Alien’ when she, as a translator, was involved with dealing with the Italian delegation that had come to view the making of the film. Alexandra told me what an engaging person Sigourney Weaver (whose non-stage name is also Alexandra…) is and how behind the commanding exterior of the heroine she acts on board the spaceship she is still able to show the fragility of  mankind’s emotions in such an inexorable situation. My wife escorted her Italian delegation through the film set in which three main levels are all connected by corridors without any source of natural light so that the atmosphere of claustrophobia is even more accentuated. Alexandra also told me that the main model of three used to depict the Nostromo’ was really on a very small scale indeed and apparently constructed also using miscellaneous parts of those plastic kits where one can build Second World War models of flying fortresses and other vintage planes.

There are so many stories to tell about ‘Alien’, the first and still the finest in the whole series of these films. The one episode that most affects me is that all the actors involved in that classic horror scene of the alien bursting through John Hurt’s chest had absolutely no idea what they were about to witness and that they would be showered in blood. Indeed their expressions here are stunningly captured by Ridley Scott’s mastery.

A less horrific but still unexpected event in the film is that Sigourney Weaver when handling Jones thought she found herself allergic to cats whereas it was the glycerine she was forced to spread over her skin in order to produce a ‘sweaty’ effect. When the glycerine was removed Weaver found herself back at ease with Jones who in fact had four avatars (out of nine lives?) in ‘Alien’ including one for chasing, one for hissing, one for walking on tables and one for being cuddled.

The month of May this year has been very disappointing so far with over half its days consumed by persistent rain and with temperatures rarely rising above the teens. Indeed, we still have an electric under blanket on our beds. The grass is growing faster than ever but it’s too wet to even think about cutting it. At least the flowers and especially the roses are doing well. Let’s just hope that June will present a better show for us.

Certainly our local jazz concert for Italy’s Republic Day celebrations on June 2 should help warm things up. It will take place in Bagni Di Lucca’s Teatro Accademico at 5 pm and is free on booking one’s place by phoning the local library on 0583 87619.

Here is the poster for the event.

,
Although I am not too drawn to jazz I am particularly looking forward to this concert because of the presence of the singer Michela Lombardi. She was the highlight of a fabulous show by the famous suspension bridge spanning Fornoli and Chiffenti which I covered in my post at:

https://longoio2.wordpress.com/2015/08/06/a-jazz-triumph-at-chiffenti/

I wrote then that ‘a band needs someone to tie it together and the utterly magical voice of Michela Lombardi brought everything into an astonishing unity. Her songs were sung with perfect English diction: every word felt and every expression communicated. Her scatting was outstanding and, particularly in the softer numbers, her ability to sustain a sotto-voce was quite seductive.’

Born in Viareggio in 1973 Michela did her first live performance at just the age of fourteen. She graduated in philosophy at Pisa University and studied theatre technique. Her vocal training was in Milan conservatoire and her jazz singing teacher was Tiziana Ghiglioni at Bologna. Among her own pupils was Andrea Boccelli!

We need a lot to lift up our spirits in these tedious times. I’m sure this concert will do much to help!

I mentioned my modelling career in a post at:

In that post I said that “My finest model is not on show. Regrettably it got lost in transit from the UK to Italy many years ago.

I’d spent ages on the cardboard version of one of Spain’s most fabulous buildings; the King’s palace of Escorial. I’d even fitted it up with interior lights and with loudspeakers to transmit the motets of that greatest of Hispanic renaissance composers Tomas Luis de Victoria. I also added a bit of Soler who was also resident at the palace, played exquisitely by friend Gilbert Roland who has recorded every one of his amazing sonatas. Who knows where this model is now? Not even the company that supplied me the parts for its construction is in existence any more. ‘Sic transit…”

Yesterday our postgirl rang the bell at our gate to say that some paper had arrived for me. I thanked her for delivering the parcel on such an inclement day. It had been raining on and off for most of the time.

I think I had some idea of what might be inside the thick cardboard envelope. It was this:

I had finally found a cut-out model of the Escorial but it was not from the original firm I’d found which was in Barcelona. This one was printed in Germany. Would it possibly be the same one? Yes! Somehow the patents must have been sold and it was now this firm which had the rights to the Escorial, or at least the model of it!

So now I can start again remaking that original lost building – a great way to pass the time while the pandemic is still raging throughout much of the world. Who knows I may soon be able to visit this amazing building for real when travel eases up!

Meanwhile here is something about the Escorial (whose name actually translates as ‘dump’!)

San Lorenzo de El Escorial. The history of the palace is connected with the famous “Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial”, founded by Philip II in memory of the victory over the French at St. Quentin in 1557 which took place on the commemoration day of Saint Lawrence. Juan Bautista de Toledo, who had worked for Michelangelo in Rome, was commissioned with the construction in 1563 which was completed by Juan de Herrera in 1584 . The overall structure, in strict, functional Renaissance style, represents a large rectangle with four corner towers . The extension in the middle of the east facade corresponds to the apse of the church and the royal apartments. Two bell towers and, above all the high dome, are characteristic of the entire building. The Escorial comprises sixteen inner courtyards, twelve main corridors, eighty six staircases, over two thousand windows, eighty eight fountains and thirteen chapels and oratories. The building serves as a church, monastery, palace, pantheon, school, library, art gallery and museum. It is made of granite blocks from the nearby mountain range, the Sierra de Guadarrama. The main facade is 207 m long and 161 m wide. The main portal leads into the Royal courtyard and the forecourt of the church.

The church is on the east side of the courtyard. It has the shape of a Greek cross and the 300 foot high dome rises above four main arches. The Panteon de los Reyes (Pantheon of the Kings) was built by the Italian architect Crescenzi. The remains of most of the Spanish kings and queens since Charles I are buried here.

The sacristy contains valuable paintings including a Titian.

The Convent and Patio de los Evangelistas (Courtyard of the Evangelists) is a large cloister in which the life of the monastic community found its centre. It was completed under Philip II. Juan de Herrera built the fountain in the middle of the courtyard;

The Palacio Real (Royal Palace) was erected towards the end of the 18th century.

Can’t wait to visit the Escorial now before something else is lost!