My Houghton friend Brad Wilber, who runs a blog predicting future Metropolitan Opera productions, has been asked to STOP. This is very interesting. Read more.
You may see less arts coverage in the Democrat and Chronicle. The daily paper’s classical music, jazz and dance reporter and critic, Anna Reguero, is leaving to pursue her doctorate in musicology. (You can hear our conversation about changes she’s seen in Rochester by clicking here.) She will not be replaced. In a city with a widespread affinity for music of all kinds, the decision by Rochester’s daily paper to not hire a new music writer is troubling but not surprising.
When I was in Siena, Italy last week with the WXXI Travel Club, I picked up a copy of an historical novel by Marina Fiorato. Called Daughter of Siena, it traces the fate of a young woman in the Tuscan hill town during the Palio, a chaotic annual horse race in which jockeys circle the town’s central piazza. Set in 1723, the main character watches her betrothed die during the
Three Dogs of Bologna...
After the serenity of the Italian Lake District and the leafy loveliness of Lucca, Florence was a bit of a shock to me. First of all, we walked in on a feast day with parades, games, and fireworks celebrating the patron saint of Florence, Saint Giovanni Battista. Second, it was garbage day. Refuse under the hot Tuscan sun smells like refuse everywhere.
Thank you for following this journal. The WXXI Travel Club has arrived in Tuscany, and my thoughts are spinning in a thousand directions. We’ve been on a medieval whirlwind: a few hours in Sienna, a day in Florence, a rush into the Tuscan hill town San Gimignano. My feelings trace an involuntary path that might make for more interesting reading for you than a laundry list of s
I hope you get the chance to hike the Cinque Terre someday. The Cinque Terre (“CHINK-kweh TAY-reh”) or “The Five Lands” refer to five (cinque) remote villages tucked into a remote section of the Italian Riviera on the Mediterranean coast. Until the last century, these towns were pretty much inaccessible, even to each others’ residents. Until 1545 they were regularly invaded by pirates.
As I’m writing this we are streaming through the green rice fields and farmlands of northwestern Italy, the country’s breadbasket. This would all look familiar to you, except for the centuries-old stone farmhouses, white egrets, and brown buzzards perched along the highway like red-tailed hawks. We’re crossing the Po River, headed south to the Italian Riviera.