R oa d Wa rr io r
Tuscan Pentimento A getaway in Italy surprises with treasures hidden in plain sight.
Above: A terracotta angel reattributed to Leonardo da Vinci. Right: Elowitch descending from Piazza della Fontana. Background: Upper Collodi is famous for its picturesque stairs.
from top: villamelai; SCPixBit
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B y R o b E lo wi tch
rom the porch of my second home in Collodi, a medieval town in the hills of Tuscany, my eyes are automatically drawn down the hillside toward a surprising 50-foot wooden statue of Pinocchio (in his original form as Geppetto’s puppet son, before he transformed into a real boy). The towering wooden figure captivates the surrounding hills from its spot in an ancient town that is, coincidentally, also named Collodi. In the town of old Collodi lies an extraordinary garden filled with flowers,
pools, and sculptures wrought in marble and terracotta set in the grounds of a palatial villa. It was in the kitchen of this villa, as the story goes, that Carlo Lorenzini (better known by his pen name Carlo Collodi, for whom the two towns are named) wrote The Adventures of Pinocchio. Carlo’s mother worked in the kitchen and his father in the garden. Collodi is one of my favorite places in the world besides Portland. The upper town, where we stay, is mostly devoid of tourists. The road up to it is narrow, twisting, and not easily found. Indeed, parts
of the road are not paved at all. The upper Collodi has no souvenir shops or stores selling tourist knick-knacks. In fact, it has no stores at all. And no restaurants–but a lot of great cooking. The locals speak little English. The lower town, meanwhile, attracts some tourists, mostly European, who visit the garden and the famous Parco Di Pinocchio amusement park. By American standards, Parco Di Pinocchio is very simple–its attractions are rustic and centered on storytelling. Souvenirs include dolls, carvings, and other replicas of Pinocchio. Some are inspired by the 19th-century book, others by the 1940 Disney film, and still more from international adaptations of the character. Below the neck, they are all quite similar. This area hides traces of another very famous name. In 1998, a leading Leonardo da Vinci expert, Professor Carlo Pedretti of UCLA, re-attributed a terracotta angel inside the San Gennaro church from a “School of Verrocchio” classification to a genuine Leonardo da Vinci original. This re-attribution sparked an international news story, though not all experts were in agreement with Pedretti’s decision. For a short time afterward, the area was flooded with curious tourists and art historians. There was never much human activity on the streets outside San Gennaro whenever we’ve visited (albeit never in summer), and the church with the angel stands only open on Sunday mornings. One Sunday, we stood outside and waited until the service was over. The church emptied quickly, and we entered the ancient building, where we found ourselves alone. Unlike the many angels in many media found throughout Italy, the San Gennaro angel now sits behind a fully enclosed plastic box (like the shield protecting the Pietà in the Vatican, installed after it was vandalized in 1972). It doesn’t seem quite right to see it like that. But then again, even what isn’t quite right in Italy often has a rather delightful, sometimes fanciful, and often unpredictable side. Like Pinocchio and Collodi, perhaps. But also like Portland, Maine. n September 2017 89