We start out with no expectations for the day. We are visiting the Italian city of Novara for no other reason than our wonderful neighbors’ family is from the area. We want to explore and send pictures to honor our friends since they can’t be here with us. The town has about 100,000 people and we approach through farm country. Gorgonzola cheese and milk factories line the highway.
Once in Novara, we circle the old city trying to find a parking spot. We are not allowed to drive in the inner ring. The entire downtown area is pedestrian only. Everyone obviously tries to park as close as they can to the city center. We drive past a spot unsure of where to park. The next two lots are full. In the next one, the ticket machine is broken. There is a traffic jam in the lot as the cars all try to back up in the line and make it out onto the street without the use of the exit gate. Another circle around the city center, another lot full. Full. Full. Full. Finally, 50 minutes after we enter the city we acquire a parking spot. It feels like a small victory.
Ironically, the street we use to walk into the old city goes past the very first lot we try. We venture through the lovely Parco Bambin toward the Castello Sforzesco. It is not open for tours so we take some photos and move into the Piazza Martiri Della Liberty across the street. The plaza sadly, is now a parking lot with a lovely statue. But we don’t want to be run over by parking obsessed drivers, so we move along. The competition for space spaces is intense…..even for Italy.
Inside the pedestrian zone, it is a different world. The streets are peaceful and almost deserted. We head to the Basilica San Gaudenzio, whose spire towers over the city. In the meantime, we are almost run over by a driver who apparently is allowed to drive in the pedestrian zone. Occasionally cars pass going way too fast for a road that has little room for pedestrians to get out of the way. They must have houses in the city center.
Novara is full of colorful churches, each older than the next. The Chiesi San Marco has an explosion of golden icons screening off the alter. Faint smells of incense and the candle glow warm the room. We sit for a while and then resume our trek across town.
Basilica San Gaudenzio is a surprise. Although we could easily see it from across the city, it remains hidden by the narrow streets until we are at its doorstep. The spire shoots upwards toward the heavens. Delicate and beautiful on the outside; on the inside, the cupola seems to open into heaven itself.
Several chapels, offer additional places for reflection. The frescoes provide colorful reminders of the lives of the Saints. The wooden pews are embossed with coats of arms of local nobility.
An organist is practicing and the pipes ring loud and true. A call to worship beckons, as I study the medieval art on walls, ceilings, altarpieces, screens…. I am overwhelmed... in a great way.
Reluctantly, we leave the church and walk the lanes to more and more churches, villas, and piazzas. Old buildings have new life as banks, libraries, galleries, shops, and government buildings. Down the Corso Cavour to Palazzo Bellini, Chiesi San Martino, and Piazza Marriott. History is honored. The future is secure.
We stroll up and down the Corso Cavour, an ancient trade route running across Italy to the Alps. Napoleon took this road as a guest and then as a conqueror. In this day it is full of ordinary people going about their business. When it is time for a mid day meal and we half heartedly pursue a restaurant. Mostly, I just like the excuse of looking into hidden palazzos. There could be a restaurant there….right?
Before lunch, I want to see the cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta. We walk in the direction of the bell tower. We reach a beautiful street of endless colonnades. But the church courtyard is locked with large iron gates. A sign on the church door says entrance but there is no visible no way in. I double check the schedule which assures me the church is open…except it isn’t.
I don’t give up easily. We walk around the entire church complex (not the easiest thing to do in a medieval city). While we do not find a way into the church, we do find a lovely square that used to be the canon house. A quiet walk around is as close to the church as we come. We also find an alley, a car park, a large bank, several dead ends, and construction zones. We do not find the church interior or the museum.
On the last corner, I find a small exterior chapel. It is a small consolation. I stop for a moment to reflect that life comes with no guarantees about outcomes. Instead, we have to enjoy the little unexpected pleasures. The small chapel is a pleasure in muted pinks and candle glow.
The shops close for the afternoon siesta period (Riposo). Foot traffic slows and the crowds became settled in plazas, on steps, on benches, or in cafes. School children cluster in groups, enjoying their lunch period (which seemingly is a few hours).
We also settle in a lovely cafe in Piazza Matteotti, across from the palazzo of the governor of Novara. I order a pear, Gorgonzola, and pecan pizza. It is so large I take some home with me. No rush, no English spoken within earshot, no worries. I feel once again, truly lost in Italian culture . Novara is not a tourist town. There isn’t busloads of retirees on holiday crowding the streets. There are no lines or entry tickets. Most places that might have drawn tourists are closed. Novara is a working town…dependable….bustling…quirky…solid….interesting, … A place that is not unwelcoming, but has no need to impress. It is a town that this show-me state girl can appreciate. If it weren’t for the fabulous architecture and the food, I can almost pretend I am in a Missouri college town. (I know, Mizzou grads….Shakespeares pizza is very good….but it is not in the same league. Ditto the columns…..Trust me on this one.)
After a long lunch, we slowly make our way back to the parking lot on the fringes of the city center. A friendly man greets us as we pay for our parking. The gps routes us in a different direction out of town and we come home through farm country. It seems that Novara has more in common with Missouri than I thought. I just wish we had all those wonderful cheese factories in addition to pig farms and corn fields.
