My dear friend Monica, who happens to hold a PhD in Art History, has invited me to join her for Jazz at Le Murate (The Walled). Le Murate was originally built in 1424 as a convent for Benedictine nuns. In 1807-14, it briefly housed Napoleons finance department, in 1845 it was converted into a prison and finally in 1998 Italian architect Renzo Piano reinvented its use into the main centre of art and contemporary music in Florence. I highly recommend bringing an Art Historian to your next event in Italy!!
Arriving as the sun is setting over Florence. We rest on the concrete benches in the courtyard prior to the doors opening and study the divergent crowd gathered for tonight’s performance.
The historical impact of countless nuns, solders, and prisoners who would have rested on this very spot in the centuries prior, stirs our fertile imaginations. The infinite life stories infused into this stone edifice produces a rush of respect for the generations of voices hushed by the irreverent progress of time.
Taking our places near the back of the room, we find ourselves entertained not only by the musicians on stage we are captivated by the spectators gathered around us. Neither performance disappoints.
Humans are interesting creatures viewed outside their natural habitat. Living in a foreign country is similar to a scientist observing subjects in an uncontrolled lab experiment. Leaving the comfort of our homes we open ourselves up to the sights, sounds and experiences our world expresses. It’s up to us how we respond those interactions. Do we savour the experience or do we judge with critical eyes and ears? Tonight my Jazzy Monica and I are saturated by the richness of the evening, grateful for this time together and the lyrical freshness of our combined laughter and the pleasing sounds suffused by the characters gathered in this ancient room.
If you had one night of entertainment at your disposal, who would you share it with and where would you go?
Unable to nip the buds from the flowers near my window Araya turns to leave and in the process he knocks over several rakes and a small table. Beatrice who is within earshot races toward the clamour, she admonishes and shoos him from his latest fiasco then begins to tidy and reorganize.
Bree is mortified, (as only a daughter can be), when mothers inevitably embarrass them with public displays of insanity.
I make the call to Federica….I’m astonished when she explains that 15 minutes earlier, an elderly renter with mobility issues cancelled his 7 week reservation for the Garden Apartment. He was unable to navigate the narrow path that leads to the Apartment that she manages for her Aunt Beatrice. The Apartment is a stones throw from the room I rented, in Federica’s home, when I first arrived in Florence.
Multiple gardens and grassy open spaces tenderly greet tidy rows of grapevines laden with plump fleshy grapes ripening in the afternoon sun.
A horse gently neighs his greeting to us as he feast on grass and figs that have fallen from ripening trees.
The bathroom is charming and unique, a clever use of the limited space combining, sink, toilet and shower, all-in-one. It’s tucked neatly behind an under-height door, and located beneath a stairwell, (well, the underside of a stairwell I assume leads to another apartment above this one). Notice the ceiling/stairwell behind the toilet… no standing up at this commode gentlemen.
Beatrice beloved flowers
tomato harvest
View of the vines 
Figs & leaves I picked from the Tree
Flowers on my table
Art in the Garden
Pumpkin growing in the garden
sunflowers thriving in the summer sun….. perfect!!
