Garden Tour IV - Boboli Gardens

 This is Palazzo Pitti, sitting on the south side of the Arno looking down on the rest of Florence. It was begun in the mid 1400s by Luca Pitti. His aim was to outdo his rivals the Medici, who had just built their palazzo in the centre of the city.

Have a look here, and see what you think. Unfortunately, Luca Pitti died before finishing the palace, and it was purchasd in 1550 by Eleanor of Toledo, a smart and wealthy Spanish noblewoman, wife of Cosimo I de'Medici. It would become the Grand Ducal residence.  

It's a formidable place, sternly symmetrical, rigidly Classical, with forbidding rusticated stone walls. Nothing about the approach says "I've got the kettle on." Gardeners might want to suggest foundation plantings.

As it turns out, Eleanor did that. In a big way. But not here; only in the private space behind the palazzo, where she and Cosimo translated wealth and power into this dance between stone, water and greenery.

I am endebted to Wikipedia for this camera angle I didn't consider. The tinted photo is from the early 20th century. 

You can compare the Pitti and Medici palazzi in this article in the art blog The Artistic Adventure of Mankind. How the author got those photos...

Here's a bit more history on the Uffizi Gallery website. 

I'm feeling more visual than verbal - speechless as I was throughout my visit - so I will just let this Wikipedia contributor describe the garden's features and significance. The plans feature "wide gravel avenues, a considerable built element of stone, the lavish employment of statuary and fountains, and a proliferation of detail...informed by classical accents: grottoes, nympheums, garden temples and the like. The openness of the garden, with an expansive view of the city, was unconventional for its time. The gardens were very lavish, considering no access was allowed to anyone outside the immediate Medici family, and no entertainment or parties are ever known to have taken place in the gardens." The Boboli gardens set the trend for the formal Renaissance Italian garden, inspiring many of the great gardens of Europe.

Boboli Gardens. One hundred and eleven acres. Begun by one rich and powerful family, grown by others. Finally opened to the hoi polloi in 1766. My turn.Once you enter the front doors of the palazzo, you find yourself overpowered by a vast echoing three-storey courtyard. One of the stories I read about the Medici was a mock naval battle staged in this (flooded) space as part of the wedding celebrations of a Medici son. I ask you. Here's an account .

Here's the cavelike entrance to the gardens, a rather intimidating approach with all that lumpy Mannerist rusticated stone. Am I worthy?  But as I made it to the top of the steps another - a green - world spread before me.

From this point, steps process to the Neptune fountain at the top of the garden along the Viottolone - a 12% grade.

The Egyptian obelisk (origin Luxor 1500BC) and the gigantic granite Roman bathtub were set here in the first half of the 18th century.

Turn around to see the palazzo from this friendlier aspect. The green lawn is the centre of the Amphitheatre. If you squint you can see stepped stone seats at the sides of the photos. This impressive space was created in the quarry from which was harvested the stone for the palazzo.

Here's a nice summary on the Uffizi Gallery website.

 

Partway up the steps leading to the top of the gardens, and off on a side trail,  is a grassy terrace.Tindaro Screpolato's modern sculpture was generating a lot of interest; couldn't photograph his great face without including some others'. Fascinating: there's more here. Further along this lawn you can enjoy the Medici's unconventional panoramic view of  Florence .

Uffizi Gallery site's palace history 

Here's a guided tour by Kate Bolton-Porciatti, who took us around Piazza Santissima Annunciata in an earlier post. The closed captioner insists on "bobbly gardens".

A bit further along I turned off to enjoy some of the more natural areas - this is no English garden however.  Over two hundred Roman, Renaissance - and a few modern - statues line geometrically laid-out formal avenues along two main axes, lined with cedars and cypresses and Roman statuary. There are some wilder bits, and those I discovered. 

The interplay of stone, water and foliage was planned, and remains overwhelming and exciting.

Viale dei Cipressi exits at Porta Romana Square. I remember Den and I entering at that gate and having a quick shuffty, as he used to call a lookaround, with a vow to return one day. Ah, my love..

There's a Botanical Garden accessed along Cherciatta Grande (Great Branch Archway, so pedestrian in English). These 'green galleries' were cool and romantic unless you were a songbird. The dense leafy arches also served as bird hunting groves.The cherciatti were created by weaving holm oak branches to create overhead shelter. 

Lost yet? Here is a map. Seens I managed to see most of the attractions by following my nose, but I'm enjoying following it now as I relive my visit.

Two of my favourite spots are coming up. I was surprised and delighted to come upon L'isolotto del Giardino .The posted signage is very good, but sometimes a bit overwhelming.

It's interesting to note that there was no water source for the gardens; all water, including those gallons used for naval battles, came up from the Arno. More impressive Renaissance civil engineering.

I have grown to love plane trees. From what I read, it appears they are London Plane Trees. One source says they hybridized in Spain or an Oxford garden, in the 1600s. We have a row in a local small park. When they first appeared, we were worried about their peeling bark; were we to lose this young avenue? Well, no. That's part of their charm. They're also called sycamores. 

The map calls this area Meadow of the Columns - Roman ruin or Renaissance garden art? For me, the columns worth celebrating are the towering trunks in this circle of plane trees around a sunny meadow. They were planted in 1813 at the behest of the Grand Duchess, Napoleon's sister. 

Nevertheless. there are columns. Two, of red Egyptian granite, topped by white urns. 

And a more sobering thought. Though you wouldn't know it for the regal serenity of the place, the Pitti Palace was a shelter for thousands of homeless evacuees during Nazi occupation of Florence in 1943 and experienced bomb damage during Allied raids.  The interpretive panel here recounts that during the raids, bodies were buried here as they could not be taken out to cemeteries. It was called Prato dei Morti. 

I continued on along a treed lane heading briskly uphill and came upon this little face, one of many in a 1619-21 linear fountain called Fontana dei Mostaccini (Fountain of the Little Ugly Faces.) It had a more sinister role which I will leave you to read about here

Of even more interest to me was the guard tower in the distance, and sections of the fifteenth century city walls here and a bit further on.

Florence still has city walls in the Oltrarno district; the Boboli gardens border the southern stretch. Hence these evocative spaces, which were almost the best part of the garden for me, emanating history as they did. 

Just when I thought I could climb no more - does the phrase 'an embarassment of riches' resonate? - I came upon these steps. Now who could say no to these steps? Are they not gorgeous? And imagine the view that figure in red was enjoying, down over the gardens. This is the entrance to the Giardino del Cavaliere, built around 1793. It's build atop the sixteenth century rampart, the highest point in the garden. 

At the top - this formal garden, this building, the Palazzina del Cavaliere (the link gives you the history) and this view. The building was originally (1500s) a recreation place for the Grand Dukes, a grandducal 'man cave.'  It was given its neoclassical facade in the 1700s, and now houses a porcelain museum - more treasures of the Medici and their successors, the houses of Hapsburg-Lorraine and Savoy. Closed, mercifully.

As I turn to leave, I get that view downward from the stair balustrade. 

And then, onward and downward. 

Up next, The Abundance, begun 1608. Giambologna made a contribution. The location yields this rather splendid view back down to the Pitti Palace - " how far we've come, mother."

If you look at the figures along the front of the pool of Neptune's Fountain, and those in front of the palazzo further along, you get a sense of the elevation change over the north-south expanse of the gardens. Twelve percent doesn't sound like a lot, but...

Next, the 18th century pavilion called the Kaffeehaus, a rare Tuscan example of Rococo architecture. But a lot of fuss just to have coffee, though.  It's set in a beautiful terraced area of fruit trees, likely much more formally arranged in the day. Compare its gentle pastels and delicate "Chinese Pavilion" roof to the manly Baroque steps at the Cavaliere garden.

On the final descent, I passed the celebrated Grotto di Madama, dated 1553-55, one of the first of its type. Its faux rock facade and stalactites didn't impress me much, but it was a very romantic thing in its day, perhaps. Maybe had I been able to enter?  I somehow missed the Grotto Grande entirely, but it's okay, it's okay.

Below the grotto, rose gardens and this towering pine who's seen it all. And delighted visitors heading homeward as the sun's rays lengthen.

Now, should there be a need for any more words on the topic, to whom shall I give the last word? Credit due to the Museums in Florence Boboli page, which contains lots of extra information, and many teeny photos of statuary I ignored. So if it's your thing, click.

But the LAST WORD was to go to the University of Wisconsin Master Gardener and a fabulous article I found, with lots more photos. Oddly, the article has been taken down. replaced by reports on spotted lantern fly and soil contaminants. Sign of the times?

Jet-Settled

 Although we hate to be reminded, at some time we probably all studied a scientific experiment conducted in the late 1950s that proposed a model for societal collapse. Population growth in a 'rat utopia' of unlimited resources led to overcrowding and aggression.

That study gives me pause as I read the numerous articles about overcrowded tourist areas worldwide and the negative impact on local residents as well as the sites themselves. Historic and natural destinations - think Venice - are beginning to develop measures to respond to ridiculous overtourism.

When I visit the Cotswold district of Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire, I am in the bosom of a warm and loving family who make the area their home. They love their village and contribute to community life. 

 

I spend my time with jaw agape, awed at the stone cottages, ancient trees, mossy lanes. Aside from a snide remark about 'Chelsea tractors' I don't hear the kind of complaining that I would do, were I faced daily with overfilled parking lots, village centres and rural beauty spots, and degradation of country lanes by oversized vehicles.My family seems to take it all in stride - well perhaps not the commercialization of local pubs- welcoming newcomers of all types.

 

The Cotswolds have always been desireable for tourism and residency. But it seems that the recent pace of development and gentrification of charming places may be eroding not just quality of life for residents, but also for the very folk who have migrated here. 'Come for the character, stay to change it.' It's the same in the small Ontario town I call home.

It's not just me, here's a BBC report on Cotswolds overtourism with a particularly telling photo. 

Here is an  article by socialite and writer Plum Sykes and a piece in The Times that describe the situation with more authority than I. Getting very upmarket. Have to make sure you have the right label of wellies.

 

A pub, a green, a red phone box by the ford, an ancient church with an equally ancient churchyard beneath a century-old yew. Quintessential English village. Don't change a thing.

Tondo, Tondi

 

Here's an example of why one could spend a lifetime in Florence. Not a day, not a week, perhaps a month or a year, but preferably a lifetime. Didn't start soon enough, me. There is so much art, so much history, that to peel back the layers of just one piazza, one church, one portico is to indulge in such rich learning.

This is the church of Santissima Annunziata in Florence. It is situated on the piazza of the same name. It's a ten minute walk down the Via dei Servi from the Duomo. My goal was to visit the fabled and beautiful Ospedale degli Innocenti. Which I did. But I also visited this church. I won't go into the architecture, the spiritual significance, the Baroque interior.I will spend my time before a fresco painted by Andrea del Sarto.

The painting is of the birth of the Virgin Mary. This being a Marian church, all of the precious frescoes in this atrium outside the church proper are of scenes in the life of the Virgin. 

The birth is taking place in a Renaissance palazzo. You can see the newborn Mary being warmed at the fire, by one of the many women gathered in the birthing room. A Florentine tradition is taking place: after the birth women bring restorative dishes to the bedside on round trays. According to one source, these 'birth trays' were later hung on the wall, as a memento of the event.

From this arose the art tradition of the 'tondo', a small round painting, usually domestic in nature, typically featuring the madonna and child.

Here's the most famous tondo painting, the Doni Tondo (1507), the only finished panel painting by Michelangelo to have survived. The less charitable suggest that it's the only one ever finished. Despite the fact that I'm not a fan of his tortured Mannerist style or his masculine female figures, I made a visit to the painting while at the Uffizi. It is sublime; portraying the holy family, John the Baptist and five male nudes.

Somewhere I read that Michelangelo's women looked like men with breasts. Think of it - the Sybils on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the sculptures on the Medici tombs. 

Art writer Jill Burke offers a couple of cheeky essays on the topic,  ArtCurious and Jill Burke Part 2.

And here are a couple of tondi that I loved a great deal more, the Madonna of the Magnificat (1481) and the Madonna of the Pomegranate (1487) by Sandro Botticelli.

 

So, isn't this a fine rabbithole down which to find ourselves?

Rome Under Wraps

 I first noticed it when visiting Piazza della Rotunda, the piazza in front of the Pantheon, in October 2024. In addition to the clutter of street construction roundabout there was hoarding surrounding the monumental Fontana della Rotunda. Built in 1517, one of the first Renaissance fountains with its masks, dragons and the later addition of an Egyptian obelisk (Ramses II)  at the behest of Pope Clement XI, it sits in front of the Pantheon, largely ignored is my guess.  It's one of 300 monumental fountains in the city.

To the left, the 2023 unveiled version.

Now as I've mentioned before, a lot of these elaborate fountains don't impress me much, although I appreciate the access to cool fresh water. The sound of its trickling and splashing is welcome above the din.The gathering crowds, not so much. The over the top sculpture, meh. As a person who hates clutter, it's all vaguely disquieting. Still, plenty of other stuff to look at. This is Rome, after all. This video takes you for a walk to many renowned fountains and provides some good history.

Here's where the water of an ancient Roman aqueduct reaches thirsty tourists, the Trevi Fountain (shown in 2023.) There's a tap in a little grotto - you don't dip your water bottle into the fountain, with all those coins. 

I read that many of these fountains are gravity fed from aqueducts; 11 of them supplied ancient Rome. I would love to know the engineering; my travelling companion would have explained everything. The Pantheon fountain is supplied by the Aqua Vergine aqueduct (1570.). Now there's a story. The Vergine is the Renaissance reworking of the ancient Aqua Virgo. The story goes that a young girl led thirsty Roman soldiers to the spring, its source. Here's a link to the Roman engineering story thanks to Wikipedia.

As I walked around Rome I began to notice many familiar fountains and other architectural features surrounded by hoarding. It blended with the massive subway construction interruptions, visually and practically. I don't want to think about how frustrating driving must have been. 

But the fountains. Not a big disappointment for me, as I had seen the most iconic ones the previous year. But overall, the hoarding was a bit visually distracting, until the eye became accustomed to ignoring it and focussing on the important stuff. The good news is that none of the Ancient Roman sites I came to see were wrapped. I suppose everything vaguely ecclesiastical - and as I read, the fountains were commissioned by popes - was getting a brush-up for Jubilee Year.

Here's the approach to Castel Sant'Angelo, the 134 AD Aelian bridge, a Roman bridge now called Ponte Sant'Angelo, the majestic approach to the former Mausoleum of Emperor Hadrian.  Different look in 2024, agree? This CNN article explains the facelift that was going on in Rome. I expect it's all better now. But for the massive crowds. For this year is Jubilee Year, when millions of pilgrims and other tourists are descending on Rome. A good year to avoid visiting, if you're crowd averse. I picked my year well, without even realizing. The city expects 30-35 million visitors in 2025, this papal event that has happened every 25 years since 1300. My airport taxi driver told me he was planning to take the year off. 

2023

 

2024

Thought I'd look at some 'before and after' photos and revisit  some pretty special memories of the past two years in Rome.

Ever positive, here's a nice spin on all the disruption from Rick Steves. Keep on travellin'!

This is Piazza Navona, with after/before photos of two of its famous three fountains. 

On the left, a view of the Neptune Fountain, captured by squishing up close to the grid fence and poking a lens through. No-one yelled at me.

Lots going on: mythological cherubs, Neptune fighting with an octopus. The fountain started out as a simple marble basin.The energetic sculpture grouping by various artists was added only in 1873. 

The above masterpiece with the Egyptian obelisk (copy) rising from the centre is the dynamic Fountain of the Four Rivers by Bernini (1651.) It depicts "four major rivers of the four continents through which papal authority had spread: the Nile representing Africa, the Danube representing Europe, the Ganges representing Asia and the Rio de la Plata representing the Americas." Thanks Wikipedia, that was all a bit much for me.  Here's a Smarthistory article for the files.

As you can see, despite the crowds gathered around it (I always think they're saying to themselves, I'm here, got myself in the photo with this famous thing, now what?) you can see the sculptures. The 2024 view would have been a big disappointment for them.

And all of this has made me miss Rome and the Piazza Navona, so I've added this link so I can revisit the piazza with this very pleasant art historian from the Netherlands, on his Stories of Art YouTube channel. 

I  read somewhere that water was turned off to the iconic (sorry, no better word) Trevi Fountain (left) last year, a trough provided for the tourists to throw their sentimental coins into. Bit of a let-down. I am posting my 2023 photo, as I'd been sufficiently unimpressed to skip a return visit in 2024. (What does it take to impress this woman??) 

The crowds were ridiculous, but I managed to find myself a corner. A local restauranteur (at home here in Canada) told me he'd proposed to his fiancee there, a few years ago. Imagine if he'd picked 2024?

Enjoy this YouTube video of the temporary walkway, the empty fountain, and the expressions on the faces of people adjusting to the new reality. Enter the walkway at 10:30 on the video, enjoy an unprecedented closeup of the marble sculptures at 12:23. Thanks, Amazing Walking Tour. You can see the difference a good scrubbing makes. 

The barfing lion statue in Piazza Populo was cleaned before I arrived in 2024. The Fountain of the Four Lions (1828) is four small separate fountains, each lion on an Egyptian-looking ceremonial plinth, gathered protectively around the Flaminian obeslisk. Augustus had that booty brought from Egypt in 10BCE. How, exactly ?? 

2023

nice clean lion

Here are two fountains I didn't revisit this past fall. They're both so darned cute. I'll just enjoy them here. My habit is to wait until the crowd disperses before taking a photo. That might have been tricky this year. 

The oddly shaped half-sunken boat fountain, the Barcaccia Fountain, designed by a Bernini and built 1627-9, sits at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, up which you can see people trudging in the background. The inspiration, according to legend, was the appearance of a small boat in the Piazza di Spagna after the Tiber flooded in 1598.

It makes me think of a crying fish.

Here's another fountain I love, the Fontana della Tiare, with three shell-shaped basins, three carved pairs of papal keys to St. Peter's and four stacked up papal tiaras. The tiara as it was called, was used to crown popes until Pope Paul VI asked that the wealth be redistributed to the poor in 1964. 

The fountain's a bit overshadowed, literally, by Bernini's colonnades around St. Peter's Square.  Here it is on Streetview, smaller than a gelato stand, ignored unless people are looking to fill a water bottle.

Here's some interesting info on other less well-known famous fountains.