It is time to post some photos of my days in my hometown, Cremona.
I do not have many words right now, just some photos. I left this town in 1996, and, as always, when I am back, II feel a strong mix of memories and emotions when I am here.
I walk downtown towards Piazza del Duomo. The sky is deep blue. Not a cloud. The sun sets and brushes the facade of il Duomo
I continue walking in the narrow streets of the old town centre. I remember cycling these streets and this square when I was young and living here. I was not paying much attention at that time to the old monuments, the history, or the architecture. It was the background of the place I lived in, and I was used to it.
I get to the piazza, and lift my head to loo at the tip of the famous Torrazzo. At 112.54 metres it is the oldest and the third tallest brickwork bell tower in the world.
It is the weekend and unusually warm for this time of the year. The piazza is alive. People sit at the tables of the bars around the square and sip their aperitivo. I listen to some of the conversations near me. They talk about friends. A trip to Croatia. Last summer holidays. The bartenders have many tables to mind and run around taking orders and bringing trays full of sparkling white wine (ballerina) or Spritz. Every table gets a good serving of chips, olives, and small pieces of pizza. Aperitivo without food is unthinkable.
I am with two friends from Germany. They have been here a few times, but when they enter the piazza, they stand for some minutes, their heads up to look at the Cathedral, the Torrazzo. They also watch the people having aperitivo. Some small children are running around. They take their phones to take photos of all this, but the Cathedral is quite large and challenging. Annie leans on a column of the mediaeval Municipality building and tries to capture it all.
A musician carrying a cello stops to take a call. He says: “Ciao, sono in piazza” (Hi, I am in the piazza). A minute or so later, two friends reach him. A girl is also carrying a cello a third musician is carrying what I think is a sitar. Are they off to a concert or to practice together?
The sun has set. The stone of the Duomo takes a greyer colour. For a few minutes, the facade seems in higher definition. The arches, statues, columns, and Bertazzola all seem to have a higher resolution just before dark.
It is dark now. I walk by the old newsagent stand. It has been here since I remember this piazza. I wonder at the magazines, toys, and newspapers on display and how long it will take to take it all inside. Will all this even fit inside the small stand?
To be continued…
