Are “the holidays” a faint memory? In some countries, all trace of yuletide is tidied away with alarming efficiency. Trees that inspire ho-ho-ho’s one day, get the heave-ho the next.

Here in Florence, Italy, January’s air is still redolent with balsam. Fairy lights arch over streets, and by Italian cultural tradition, a feast of festivals continues. Long past December, much remains to be savored, so my friend Victoria and I go with the Florentine flow.

Il festivo is January 1. That’s Capodanno, “the head of the year.” But first comes la Festa di San Silvestro, December 31. On-the-street TV interviewers ask passersby whether il Capodanno or la Festa di San Silvestro has more significance, a friendly debate that eludes resolution.

On New Year’s Eve, per cultural tradition, Victoria cooks il cenone (“big dinner”) of lenticchie e cotechino, a soul-satisfying lentil stew with sausages. Coin-shaped lentils and rich pork symbolize prosperity.

Che Bella Notte!

If Christmas Day in Italy is a private family affair, New Year’s Eve is a nationwide block party. At 9pm, we join pedestrians of all ages in il centro storico. The night air is invigorating, the cobalt sky calm.

In the loggia, musicians warm up orchestral instruments. Victoria and I warm up with hot chocolate, an orchestrated event in its own right.

For the same cost as disposable cups of watery mix, we are ushered to a linen-covered table at a sheltered outdoor café. Amid the rosy glow of space heaters, we’re served the richest, most intense chocolate. If la dolce vita had a taste and texture, this would be it.

Momenti degli “Oh I See”

Earlier that day, we’d experienced a classic movie moment: A man carrying a precarious tower of boxes approached from the left as some clueless visitor (okay, okay, me) approached from the right. Last-second choreography by both parties and a tug from Victoria averted pratfalls.

Now we experience another such moment: When we leave a modest mancia (tip) for our waiter, he touches his heart three times. Dismiss the gesture as theatre if you must, but his smile reaches all the way to his eyes as we exchange New Year wishes.

Outside Orsanmichele, a Gothic granary-turned-church, we meet a man who is sketching the statuary. He is Taisske Kinoshita, a classically trained artist from Yokohama.

The Art of a Moment

Florence is Kinoshita’s home now, has been for 13 years. As we chat, he switches between English and Italian with the same fluid elegance we see in his sketch (and later, his sculptures and paintings).

Quasi Mezzanotte! Almost Midnight!

The concert begins. Two orchestras—one local, one that’s traveled by bus from the Ukraine—delight the audience with music from Rossini. When both conductors take to the podium, they playfully duel. Then one guides the orchestra while the other conducts the audience.

Presto ci sarà un’esplosione di baci, exclaims one conductor. “Soon there will be an explosion of kisses.” Then it happens—a chorus of cathedral bells, chrysanthemum bursts of fireworks, a mass outreach of hugs, un’esplosione di baci.

Two ladies in tea-cozy hats magically produce a bottle of prosecco, seemingly from thin air. Soon others “discover” that they too have bubbly and stemware on hand. Who knew there was such bounty hidden in the folds of coats and the depths of handbags? Che miracolo!

Solemnly, the ladies pour for themselves, then—even though we’d not spoken a word—for Victoria and me. Is it clear from our expressions how touched we are by their gesture?

Then the crowd disperses, as decorous now as they were exuberant just one moment earlier.

Too Late?

Our gracious landlady had invited Victoria and me to drop by dopo cena, “after dinner.” But dare we, we wonder aloud, as we return to Via Fiesolana. Surely it’s too late, even on New Year’s Eve.

Hurriedly—an absurdity at this hour—we trade winter gear for dresses, gather gifts, and tiptoe up the stone steps of the palazzo to listen at the keyhole. If we hear nothing, we’ll discreetly retire.

The big wooden door swings open, and Fiora’s welcome is warm. The spacious living room is made all the more inviting by book-lined walls, a Christmas tree, and children playing a board game.

The dining room table bears the elegant clutter of celebration. We meet Duccio, Fiore’s husband, and another couple. Linda and Niccolò have a farm in Chianti, where they produce olive oil and wine, La Querce Seconda.

If it sounds idyllic, the idyll is at the consumer end. Farming is constant hard work, from contending with micro-terre, multiple soil types, to vigilant canopy management, and more. One hopes for rain—just not the rains that can wash away the fruits of a year’s labor, which happened in 2014.

I soon realize that the poise of this couple signifies something more—the grace that emerges from perseverance. A timely reminder at the start of a new year.

Conversation flows, and so does ruby-dark port. We nibble mulberries from Iran and fruitcake from Siena, each slice as intricately constructed as stained glass.

Victoria and I don’t wish to overstay our welcome, a comical notion at 2am. Reluctantly, we excuse ourselves. As we murmur thanks, another guest arrives: Fiora’s aunt. Stylishly coiffed and attired, Zia Roberta looks as fresh as a daisy.

And Still the Festivals Continue

On January 5, Italian children (and two American visitors) hang stockings. It’s the eve of la Festa della Befana, when Befana flies her broomstick down chimneys.

Fear not. The world’s cheeriest witch delivers giocattoli e caramelle (toys and candies), then sweeps the floor to clear away last year’s problems.

But wait, there’s more! Every January 6, Florence celebrates Epiphany with the sumptuous Cavalcata dei Magi. In a cultural tradition from the 15th century, men on horseback portray the Three Wise Men as Renaissance nobles. Followed by 700 costumed figures, they parade across il Ponte Vecchio to il Duomo to present their gifts. Veramente magnifico!

È Poi? (And Then?)

Today it is January 7. The Twelve Days (and then some) of Christmas have finally passed.

But wait, what’s that we see? Like rose-red butterflies, sale signs flock to the city.

It’s time to don your finery, gather the family, and wander out for a look. Perhaps pause for a meal, or at least take coffee with friends.

Comment on the post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

$\"A$

Winter in the city of Dante: Florence invites reflection and revelry in equal measure.
\u00a9 Victoria Lyons<\/p><\/div>\n

Savoring the First Week of the Year
\nIs an Italian Cultural Tradition
\n<\/strong><\/h2>\n
Are “the holidays” a faint memory? In some countries, all trace of yuletide is tidied away with alarming efficiency. Trees that inspire ho-ho-ho\u2019s<\/em> one day, get the heave-ho<\/em> the next.<\/p>\n
Here in Florence, Italy, January’s air is still redolent with balsam. Fairy lights arch over streets, and by Italian cultural tradition, a feast of festivals continues. Long past December, much remains to be savored, so my friend Victoria and I go with the Florentine flow.<\/p>\n
$\"Pasticceria$
On the Via Pietrapiana,<\/em> Victoria admires edible art at Pasticceria Nencioni<\/em>.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Il festivo<\/em> is January 1. That\u2019s Capodanno<\/em>, \u201cthe head of the year.\u201d\u00a0 But first comes la Festa di San Silvestro, <\/em>December 31. On-the-street TV interviewers ask passersby whether il Capodanno<\/em> or la Festa di San Silvestro<\/em> has more significance, a friendly debate that eludes resolution.<\/p>\n
$\"Il$
Five days into 2019, festive home cooks keep business brisk at
il Mercato Sant’Ambrogio<\/em>.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
On New Year\u2019s Eve, per cultural tradition, Victoria cooks il cenon<\/span>e<\/a><\/em> (\u201cbig dinner\u201d) of lenticchie e cotechino<\/em>, a soul-satisfying lentil stew with sausages. Coin-shaped lentils and rich pork symbolize prosperity.<\/p>\n
$\"Prosecco,$
Prosecco chills, lentils simmer.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Che Bella Notte!<\/h4>\n
If Christmas Day in Italy is a private family affair, New Year\u2019s Eve is a nationwide block party. \u00a0At 9pm, we join pedestrians of all ages in il centro storico<\/em>. The night air is invigorating, the cobalt sky calm.<\/p>\n
$\"Piazza$
After il cenone, <\/em>enjoy il concertone<\/em> at Piazza della Signori<\/em>a.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
In the loggia, musicians warm up orchestral instruments. Victoria and I warm up with hot chocolate, an orchestrated event in its own right.<\/p>\n
For the same cost as disposable cups of watery mix, we are ushered to a linen-covered table at a sheltered outdoor caf\u00e9. Amid the rosy glow of space heaters, we\u2019re served the richest, most intense chocolate. If la dolce vita<\/em> had a taste and texture, this would be it.<\/p>\n
$\"A$
Bubbling like lava, cioccolata calda<\/em> is made by melting chocolate morsels
in special machines that prevent lumping and burning.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Momenti degli \u201cOh I See\u201d<\/h4>\n
Earlier that day, we\u2019d experienced a classic movie moment: A man carrying a precarious tower of boxes approached from the left as some clueless visitor (okay, okay, me) approached from the right. Last-second choreography by both parties and a tug from Victoria averted pratfalls.<\/p>\n
Now we experience another such moment: When we leave a modest mancia<\/em> (tip) for our waiter, he touches his heart three times. Dismiss the gesture as theatre if you must, but his smile reaches all the way to his eyes as we exchange New Year wishes.<\/em><\/p>\n
Outside Orsanmichele<\/em>, a Gothic granary-turned-church, we meet a man who is sketching the statuary. He is Taisske Kinoshita, a classically trained artist from Yokohama.<\/p>\n
$\"Taisske$
Italian museum curators like Loretta Secchi have praised Kinoshita’s gift
for revealing [una] visione dell\u2019animo umano, “<\/em>a vision of the human soul.”
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
The Art of a Moment<\/strong><\/h4>\nFlorence is Kinoshita’s home now, has been for 13 years. As we chat, he switches between English and Italian with the same fluid elegance we see in his sketch (and later, his sculptures and paintings<\/a>).<\/p>\n
Oh, I see<\/strong>: Such unexpected moments encapsulate life’s magnificence.<\/p>\n
Quasi Mezzanotte! Almost Midnight!<\/h4>\n
The concert begins. Two orchestras\u2014one local, one that’s traveled by bus from the Ukraine\u2014delight the audience with music from Rossini. When both conductors take to the podium, they playfully duel. Then one guides the orchestra while the other conducts the audience.<\/p>\n
$\"A$
In harmony: the Chamber Orchestra of Florence and the Ukranian Symphony Orchestra.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Presto ci sar\u00e0 un’esplosione di baci<\/em>, exclaims one conductor. \u201cSoon there will be an explosion of kisses.\u201d \u00a0Then it happens\u2014a chorus of cathedral bells, chrysanthemum bursts of fireworks, a mass outreach of hugs, un’esplosione di baci.<\/em><\/p>\n
$\"New$
Per Italian tradition, New Year fireworks repel bad fortune and attract bright prospects.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Two ladies in tea-cozy hats magically produce a bottle of prosecco<\/em>, seemingly from thin air. Soon others \u201cdiscover\u201d that they too have bubbly and stemware on hand. Who knew there was such bounty hidden in the folds of coats and the depths of handbags? Che miracolo! <\/em><\/p>\n
Solemnly, the ladies pour for themselves, then\u2014even though we’d not spoken a word\u2014for Victoria and me. Is it clear from our expressions how touched we are by their gesture?<\/p>\n
Buon anno!<\/em> we toast. \u201cHappy New Year!\u201d<\/p>\n
Then the crowd disperses, as decorous now as they were exuberant just one moment earlier.<\/p>\n
$\"Street$
Forget GPS. Follow the festive pedestrians!
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Too Late?<\/h4>\n
Our gracious landlady had invited Victoria and me to drop by dopo cena<\/em>, “after dinner.” But dare we, we wonder aloud, as we return to Via Fiesolana<\/em>. Surely it\u2019s too late, even on New Year\u2019s Eve.<\/p>\n
Hurriedly\u2014an absurdity at this hour\u2014we trade winter gear for dresses, gather gifts, and tiptoe up the stone steps of the palazzo<\/em> to listen at the keyhole. If we hear nothing, we\u2019ll discreetly retire.<\/p>\n
$\"Vestri$
Seeking gifts for our host in our Santa Croce neighborhood.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Voices!<\/em> The hum of festive conversations.<\/p>\n
The big wooden door swings open, and Fiora’s welcome is warm. The spacious living room is made all the more inviting by book-lined walls, a Christmas tree, and children playing a board game.<\/p>\n
The dining room table bears the elegant clutter of celebration. We meet Duccio, Fiore\u2019s husband, and another couple. Linda and Niccol\u00f2 have a farm in Chianti, where they produce olive oil and wine<\/a>, La Querce Seconda<\/em>.<\/p>\n
$\"Ceramic$
Ceramic plates showcase Italian landmarks, Florentine motifs, and Tuscan hills.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
If it sounds idyllic, the idyll is at the consumer end. Farming is constant hard work, from contending with micro-terre<\/em>, multiple soil types, to vigilant canopy management, and more. One hopes for rain\u2014just not the rains that can wash away the fruits of a year\u2019s labor, which happened in 2014.<\/p>\n
I soon realize that the poise of this couple signifies something more\u2014the grace that emerges from perseverance. A timely reminder at the start of a new year.<\/p>\n
$\"Restaurants$
Renewing bonds of friendship nei ristoranti<\/em> is a highlight of Italian winters.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Conversation flows, and so does ruby-dark port. We nibble mulberries from Iran and fruitcake from Siena, each slice as intricately constructed as stained glass.<\/p>\n
Victoria and I don\u2019t wish to overstay our welcome, a comical notion at 2am. Reluctantly, we excuse ourselves. As we murmur thanks, another guest arrives: Fiora\u2019s aunt. Stylishly coiffed and attired, Zia Roberta<\/em> looks as fresh as a daisy.<\/p>\n
$\"The$ A winter night’s walk offers surprises: holiday lights and a glimpse of il Duomo<\/em><\/span><\/a>.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
And Still the Festivals Continue<\/h4>\n
On January 5, Italian children (and two American visitors) hang stockings. It\u2019s the eve of la Festa della Befana<\/em>, when Befana flies her broomstick down chimneys.<\/p>\n
Fear not. The world\u2019s cheeriest witch delivers giocattoli e caramelle<\/em> (toys and candies), then sweeps the floor to clear away last year\u2019s problems.<\/p>\n
$\"Shop$
“Lots of games and little objects for the socks of Befana!”
Some Italian children wait until Festa della Befana<\/em> to open gifts.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
But wait, there\u2019s more! Every January 6, Florence celebrates Epiphany with the sumptuous\u00a0 Cavalcata dei Magi<\/em>. In a cultural tradition from the 15th century, men on horseback portray the Three Wise Men as Renaissance nobles. Followed by 700 costumed figures, they parade across il Ponte Vecchio<\/em> to il Duomo<\/em> to present their gifts. Veramente magnifico!<\/em><\/p>\n
$\"Cavalcata$ Cavalcata<\/em> costumes are inspired by Benozzo Gozzoli\u2019s<\/a><\/span> frescoes.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
\u00c8 Poi? (And Then?)<\/h4>\n
Today it is January 7. The Twelve Days (and then some) of Christmas have finally passed.<\/p>\n
But wait, what\u2019s that we see? Like rose-red butterflies, sale signs flock to the city.<\/p>\n
$\"Underwear$
Red undies and briefs fill shop windows. Wearing them is said to\u00a0 bring good fortune for the new year.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
It\u2019s time to don your finery, gather the family, and wander out for a look. Perhaps pause for a meal, or at least take coffee with friends.<\/p>\n
After all, the streets of Firenze will be so festive!<\/p>\n
$\"A$
Winter in Italy\u2014a warm benvenuto<\/em> awaits!
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Comment<\/em><\/a> on the post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n
\n
Follow the Italian-inspired artist Taisske Kinoshita here<\/a> and here. <\/a><\/em><\/li>\n
Discover the wines of La Querce Seconda here<\/a> and here<\/a>.<\/em><\/li>\n
Watch la Cavalcata dei Magi here<\/a>.<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":null,"protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":33097,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[99,215,222],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-33041","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-heritage-culture","category-italy-mappoints","category-hiking-travel"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33041","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/15"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=33041"}],"version-history":[{"count":35,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33041\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":33110,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33041\/revisions\/33110"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/33097"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=33041"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=33041"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=33041"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}

Savoring the First Week of the Year Is an Italian Cultural Tradition

Che Bella Notte!

Momenti degli “Oh I See”

The Art of a Moment

Quasi Mezzanotte! Almost Midnight!

Too Late?

And Still the Festivals Continue

È Poi? (And Then?)

Che Bella Notte!<\/h4>\nIf Christmas Day in Italy is a private family affair, New Year\u2019s Eve is a nationwide block party. \u00a0At 9pm, we join pedestrians of all ages in il centro storico<\/em>. The night air is invigorating, the cobalt sky calm.<\/p>\n

Savoring the First Week of the Year
Is an Italian Cultural Tradition