Italy 2001 – The Tour
October 4, en route to Milan.
Our flight from Chicago to Milan leaves pretty much on
schedule. Katie and I are embarking on
a bit of an experiment, since this is our first experience with a tour
group. We’re using the Rick Steves
Europe Through the Backdoor group, which advertises itself as an alternative to
the big tours, with small groups (no more than 26), and a focus on seeing
Europe as a European would. That means
smallish family-owned hotels, lots of walking and hiking, and a promise to keep
things low-key and upbeat. Their motto
is “no grumps!”. Rick himself is a
regular on our local PBS station, and Katie and I met him in person earlier
this year. So in many ways, this should
be OK, but there are some things that Rick can’t control, in particular, the
people who will be accompanying us. One
weirdo or malcontent can bring the whole trip down. So, we’re a little bit uncertain.
Katie is a nervous flyer, so she is trying out a mild
tranquilizer that her doctor recommended.
10 minutes into the flight she is out like a light, which is nice – I
normally spend a great deal of the flight making reassuring sounds. I attempt to sleep as well, but the night is
short, and before we know it, we’re landing in Milan at 9:15 AM local time
(they’re 9 hours ahead of us, so only midnight SD time!).
We meet our tour in Varenna at 5 PM, so we have some time to
kill. One of the features of Rick’s
tours is a strong emphasis on packing light; in fact, the goal is to carry
everything we could possible need in one pack or suitcase. The benefit of this is already apparent – we
did not check any luggage – so we shoulder our packs and grab a bus to the
downtown railroad station. A long hour
later, we arrive in downtown Milan.
It’s a big city, very bustling and filled with traffic, graffiti,
scooters, industry, and the usual salacious billboards. The train station was built under Mussolini’s
regime, so characteristically, it looks like something out of the Batman movies. We navigate through the crowds, trying to
decipher which line to get into for our Varenna tickets. We’re lucky the first try, and search for
the next goal, a place to check our bags for a few hours. Our intention is to grab a subway to one of
Milan’s key sights, their immense cathedral.
I finally find the checkroom, and to my dismay, the line to check
baggage is at least 50 persons long.
The long arm of terrorism has spooked Italy as well, apparently. Every bag is being screened and searched – this
is not the way to go. So, we
reluctantly forego the Duomo visit and grab the next train to Varenna.
Varenna is on Lake Como, about an hour Northeast of
Milan. The logic of starting the tour
here is to give everyone a place to unwind and overcome jet lag before the push
into busy Italy. We find our stop
without much trouble, and wander by foot into the little town, remarking on the
tranquility of the lake and how much the weather is like San Diego. The hotel we’re supposed to check into
(somewhat alarmingly a one-star) is apparently full, so we are directed
to Albergo Milano, “just around the corner and up the stairs”. The stairs in question are steep, uneven,
and endless. So this is a Rick Steves
hotel…. Actually, the Milano is a
3-star affair, all 9 rooms of it. We
get an upstairs room with a nice left-hand view of the lake off our tiny
balcony. The church bells ring out the
hour, and we share a smile. Welcome to
Italy!
Five PM finds us down in the main town area in a little restaurant with a nice tented outdoor seating area. It is here that our tour group meets for the first time. At first glance, the people all look pretty normal, so we relax and start making introductions. Eventually, our tour guide, Brad McEwen, brings us to order and we all listen up. He welcomes us, and tells us something about himself. He lives about 5 minutes away from Varenna, and leads tours about 240 days a year. He obviously loves Italy, and wouldn’t live anywhere else. He grew up in Southern California, so his grasp of American culture remains current. He clearly has a good sense of humor, and loves to talk. He introduces our assistant guide, Kathy Reno, who is in training and will take care of a lot of the behind the scenes stuff. Then each of us introduce ourselves and we start to get a sense of the personalities around us. There are 11 couples and one single traveler, and the age range appears to be about 40 to 70. Everyone appears fit and ready to roll, so Brad asks us to pick a “buddy” who cannot be our spouse. During the tour, we will often do a buddy check, which is a quick way to determine if anyone is missing without going through a laborious count each time. Mine is Jack Moody, who lives in Rochester, NY, which is pretty close to Auburn, where I grew up. Katie picks Debbie Kirsch, who lives in the NYC area. We have a little wine, some lasagna, and top it off with Italy’s dessert claim to fame, gelato. It is as good as advertised – so we climb the steps to our hotel room and crash.
Within sight of Varenna across the lake is Bellagio, forever
linked to Las Vegas in our minds, but we’re determined to see what inspired our
favorite Vegas hotel. We have two
all-day ferry passes in hand, so we head for the docks and try to figure out
what boat to take. The schedule is a
riot of color codes, times, directions, languages, boat numbers, and
types. Very interesting, but completely
unhelpful, so we just ask. “A
Bellagio?” “Si.” Moments later, we dock at the foot of this
little town, which is just as quaint as expected. We wander around town, checking out the shops, and realize that
many different cultures are represented here.
At lunch we play “guess the American” and hit about 75%. Play “guess the terrorist” and hit
zero.
We stroll off after lunch and walk to Punta
Spartivento. Bellagio is surrounded on
3 sides by Lake Como, since the lake splits into two legs, like an inverted
“Y”. This, the tip of Bellagio,
provides pristine views of the lake from a little park. Punta Spartivento means “point that divides
the wind”. Kate and I redub it Point
for Breaking Wind. Wandering back
through town, we stumble into some local culture, a local dog show. Much woofing, barking, yipping, and yapping,
and that was just the tourists. We grab
a likely boat back to Varenna and settle at our hotel for a glass of
bubbly. Unfortunately, the only English
speaking person at the hotel (the daughter) is away so we get Pop. I ask for a beer and glass of wine for Kate
and we get a bottle of each. After much
mimicking, we get the glass concept down and kick back. The church bells ring out the Angelus (it’s
late afternoon Saturday), and we are reminded that Italy is a Catholic
country. Just how Catholic is an
interesting question.
Tonight we have our first group dinner, and as the chairs
fall, we end up with Kathy, the assistant guide. She’s about our age, we think, and just getting started in the
guide biz. Not as outgoing as Brad, but
loves to travel, and knows all about Architecture. Interesting journey through life to find oneself doing guided
tours of Italy, but hey, it does have a certain appeal.
Up at 7 AM – ouch.
Katie is dragging, the dreaded second night insomnia. I slept OK, but not great, and left my
shampoo and a T-shirt at the hotel as a result. If this keeps up, I’ll be naked and dirty by Rome. Outside the hotel, we meet our bus, a
53-seat Belgian coach, and we clamber in, finding a seat on the right-hand
side. Brad assumes the guide position
up front and takes up the hand mike. He
talks about Italian history, trivia, geography, topography, geology, plumbing,
bidets, politics, and everything else.
Luckily, he’s very articulate and knows his stuff, and he can be funny,
so it’s not that bad. But I felt a bit
like I did during 8 AM Philosophy class at Santa Clara. Good teacher, good material, brain in
neutral. So unlike Santa Clara, I shut
my eyes and snooze.
Our first stop is a roadside AutoGrille, a massive freeway
exit, Ho-Jo type establishment that sells everything from food to videos to
clothes to wine to whatever. A mini
K-Mart. Since breakfast was pathetic
(an Italian constant, it seems), I buy a mixed fruit pack and a Coke. Then back to the bus and off to Verona, home
of Romeo and Juliet for you Shakespeare fans.
Verona is an old Roman town stuck out on a big peninsula formed by the
river Adige. As such it is highly
protected, needing only a wall on the land side to fully lock it away. The bus parks, we disembark, and Brad leads
us to the old Roman arena, and then on to the traditional site of Juliet’s
balcony. If you squint correctly,
ignore the graffiti, and abandon common sense, yup, it’s the balcony alright.
Since lunch time is upon us and never is lunch skipped when
yours truly travels, Kate and I grab some sandwiches (panini) and Coke Light
and eat lunch by the Arena. The day is cloudy, but just right temperature-wise,
so we enjoy the people watching. Sunday
means few stores open, so we gradually make our way back to the bus pick-up
point. The other folks are slowly
becoming individuals, and once shy smiles are now grins of recognition.
On to Bolzano, an unscheduled stop. Why?
To see the famous 5000 year old “Ice-Man”, discovered only 10 years ago
by a couple on a day hike in the Alps just a few miles away during a very warm
summer. He was initially taken to
Innsbruck by the Austrians, but once he was discovered to be so old, the
Italians asked for him back. The
Austrians resisted, and the press had a field day.
Austria: “You’ll thaw him
out.”
Italy: “Will not.”
Austria: “Then you’ll lose
him.”
Italy: “No way.”
Austria: “You’ll screw it up,
somehow, because you’re Italians.”
Italy: “Stuff it in your
lederhosen.” Etc., etc.
So after an international geologic survey was conducted to
prove that Ice Man was definitely found in Italy (true), he ends up in
Bolzano. The Italians built a beautiful
museum to house old Itzi (as he’s called here) and spent several million to
show up the Austrians. And there he is,
all 5’4” of him, laid out in a refrigerated vault for all to see, with nary a
stitch to cover his leathery self.
Cool. More critical was the
stuff found with him – actual clothes, arrows, bow, hatchet, shoes, undies,
food, all just as well preserved and show cased in the museum. To show those Austrians, they even have a
display case for two kernels of corn found in his robe. I am impressed, and I’m French.
Finally, back to the bus and off to Kastelruth in the
Dolomites. Most of us don’t associate
Italy with mountains, but here we go, climbing up and up through fog and mist
to the Alpe di Siusi, a large expanse of mountain meadow about 4000 feet up,
surrounded by some large peaks and many ski resorts. Many gasping turns later, we find ourselves at the Pension Seelaus,
a very cozy (in the best way) hotel all to ourselves. A late, full dinner, a delicious German beer, and crash city.
Despite the altitude, we slept well and greet a nice sunny
day. A real breakfast is laid out due
to our proximity to Austria, so I scarf down cereal, fruit, croissants, and
other goodies. Our good mood is
somewhat subdued however, by the news that we have started bombing action in
Afghanistan. We are perfectly safe
here, of course, but we feel our isolation.
There’s no TV, no Internet, no English newspapers – at least, not until
we get to Venice. Oddly enough, the
news brings our group together even tighter – we’re a little USA right here in
the middle of Europe.
Brad releases us to Kathy for a “moderate” hike through the
countryside. Beautiful vistas greet us
at every turn, and the hike, though long – about 6 miles – is never steep. The gorgeous scenery, budding camaraderie
among our group, and the bounding enthusiasm of a German Shepherd dog (Rex)
that belongs to the family who owns our hotel, brings smiles to us all. We eat lunch in a little village at the foot
of a steep slope. The restaurant has
outdoor seating, so we settle in some comfortable chairs and watch Rex chase
the birds around the building. Kate and
I are joined by Jack (my buddy) and Jean Moody, and we begin to learn about
each other. As we chat, Jack and I
discover that we are both involved in prison ministry, he at Attica, me in San
Diego. You have no idea how rare this
is! Most people blanch at the thought
of entering a prison, let alone getting to know the inmates. To find a guy called to the same ministry,
let alone on a tour in Europe, strikes as both as a little unusual!
Tonight we introduce our “buddy” to the group at
dinner. Debbie introduces Katie “in
rhyme”, which impresses everyone.
You’ll have to check out her diary to see what she said. Jack and I mention our prison experiences,
somewhat tongue in cheek, of course. A
little more wine, then off to bed, for tomorrow we go to Venice!
Somewhat to our chagrin, the plan today calls for a scenic
drive through the Dolomites as we make our way down to sea level. We’d rather go to Venice NOW. But I’m not driving the bus, so Katie pops
some Dramamine and off we go. Our
driver is really a master at his craft, and he negotiates hairpin turns with
aplomb. Brad gives us an ecology,
geology, skiing, mountaineering lecture which is interesting for awhile. A picnic lunch livens us up a bit, and
finally, we hit the Autostrade for the last 50 miles into Venice.
Venice is an absurd idea, born out of a need for a tribe of
people in 800 AD to escape barbarian raids by building their village way out on
a sandbar in a lagoon. To their
amazement, the idea worked. Thus
protected, the town grew, with painstaking work, built on thousands of wooden
pylons hammered into the mud by hand.
The tribe grew, took advantage of their primo location on the Adriatic
Sea, and became master traders and bankers.
From 1100 to 1500, Venice was the most important, wealthiest city in the
world. Today it is crumbling, many houses abandoned, but the absurd idea
remains an absolutely incredible place.
Kate and I are immediately entranced by the water, architecture, shopping,
and age of it all. We’re grinning like
little kids at Disneyland.
Our hotel, a small pension off the Rialto bridge, was built
in 1218, so clearly a little on the ancient side. Obviously, a couple of remodeling efforts have brought it up to
modern times. Our room overlooks an
ominous sight, a market area. Hmm. But it’s quiet now. Brad takes us down winding streets, pointing
out interesting shops and restaurants, all the time aiming for St. Mark’s
Square. Since there are no cars,
motorbikes, or scooters allowed, Venice reminds us of a huge shopping mall –
only it’s real, not Disney-real. The
little bridges, canals, gondolas, and motor boats are quaint, silly, but
authentic. “Now,” says Brad, “it’s ooh
and ahh time” and into St. Mark’s Square we go. He’s right. We spin
around like open-mouthed tops, drinking in the remarkable atmosphere. Late afternoon sun glints off the façade of
St. Mark’s Church, the bell tower, the milling crowds, the bazillion
pigeons. The sounds of lilting music, Broadway
tunes of all things, wafts from two different cafes on either side of the
square. Brad sets us free for dinner
with instructions to be back at the Square at 8:45 PM for a treat.
So we hook up with Henry and Caroline Brau, a retired couple
from Connecticut and settle on pizza for dinner. Gourmet dining is not for us, I guess. Turns out that Henry is a retired Lutheran pastor, so we had a
delightful time comparing Church traditions and experiences. Lutherans and Catholics are so close in so
many ways – we have much to learn from each other. It’s still early, so we double-track down a couple of alleys to
an Internet café I saw on the way.
These are great inventions – basically you “rent” a PC by the minute and
you can do as much Net surfing as you like.
Katie and I both have Internet e-mail accounts with Hotmail, so we
quickly log in and discover that yes indeed, we can send and receive messages
with all of our family and friends.
Immediately we feel a palpable connection with the rest of the world,
and it’s fun to send a couple of e-mails from Venice. A couple of bucks later, we head out and back to the Square for
our treat.
Sure enough, Brad has arranged for an evening gondola ride
for us all. As it turns out, it’s Malca
Giblin’s birthday, so she gets the first boat seat of honor. With six to a boat, we use up 4 gondolas
(Brad and Kathy hold back), and to top it off, a guy with an accordion hops in
with a singer. We swirl down a side
canal, the gondoliers ducking under the low bridges, and we’re all giggling and
looking around in wonder. You really
get a sense of the ancient splendor of the buildings, and the incredible
challenge of Venice. Virtually no one
lives in the bottom floors because of constant flooding, so you feel like
you’re moving through a ghost town until you realize that all of the lights are
on in the upper floors. Our crooner is
belting out Italian hits to the accompaniment of our accordionist. People stop on the bridges to watch us pass
and applaud for the singer. We enter
the Grand Canal and link boats side by side, like a quadruple pontoon
boat. To the tune of “Volare” we skull
down the canal dodging water taxis. By
a fluke piece of bad luck, a rogue wake splashes up between two of the gondolas
and douses me pretty good. I react like
it’s Alien acid blood (the water is a little bit disgusting), but what the hey,
it’s only sewage. We eventually do a
U-turn and head back to our dock, and log one more for the memory book. I squish back to the hotel with Kate, who
continues to grin like a school girl.
Well, the market under our window does indeed open bright
and early, like 5 AM, but we’re all fired up about seeing Venice, so we charge
out ready to roll. We meet up with a
local guide for a backdoor tour of Venice, and she takes us down back streets
and alleys, pointing out interesting architecture, churches, and various lines
on buildings that show how high the water rises in winter. We end up at a glass factory, since Venice
is known for its glass art, and we get the full tourist treatment. Actually, it’s quite fascinating to watch a
guy take a hunk of molten glass and whip up a prancing pony in two shakes. But the real treat is the showroom of
spectacular vases, glasses, bowls, and other beautifully decorated objets
d’art. Since Kate and I have this small
vase collection going, we opt for a nice example of the craft and stow it away
in my backpack (very well wrapped indeed!).
We move out on our own from there, and check out the Doge’s Palace, the
Accademia museum, St. Mark’s cathedral, and a few hundred stores. The crowds are building up to impressive
numbers (typical for Venice), so we dodge around the huge tour groups, and
drink in the sights. Right on schedule
(about 4 PM), the tours take off, and once again, we’re left with Venice to
ourselves. Quite frankly, Venice itself
is more impressive than any museum, so we spend most of our time wandering the
streets. You can’t get lost, really,
since you’re on an island after all. We
finally end up for dinner at a place called Bruno’s, and since it’s still kind
of early by Italian standards, most of our co-diners are Americans.
After dinner, we meet up with the Kirschs and Giblins for a
real treat, a Vivaldi concert being given at a church about ¼ mile from our
hotel. For $20/piece, we are treated to
a couple of hours of really excellent chamber music. Katie is in heaven – Vivaldi in Venice! – and I’m chuckling at
the antics of the cello player, who tosses his head with every furious scale. It’s truly a signature moment, just the same,
and we settle back in our hotel after an exhausting day, and float off to the
inner strains of Vivaldi.
Off on the early morning water taxi, back to our waiting
bus. We say so long to Venice, and we
head South toward Ravenna for our lunch in Classe. It’s a very foggy morning, so we see nothing much but the road,
so Brad launches into lessons on history, architecture, Roman war tactics,
philandering Caesars, and the top 100 Italians of all time. I drop off after 30 minutes or so, which
proves disastrous, since we are quizzed on the top 10 Italians later in the
trip for valuable prizes. My partner’s
on Dramamine, so she’s not a good person to cheat off. Why don’t I pay attention? Sheesh.
We eat lunch outside of Classe’s claim to fame, an ancient
church that has some of the best mosaics in Italy. More fun is the restaurant, which is a local favorite among the
working classes, so fully populated with dirty men munching on lasagna and
drinking red wine between cigarettes.
We eat on the patio outside (thank heaven), and the lasagna tastes just
as good out here. Just as we’re
leaving, another tour bus shows up packed with people, so we dash to the
bathrooms before things get out of hand.
One thing you learn in Italy is that if you find yourself in a place
where you can use the bathroom, you do it, whether the urge is there or
not. Otherwise, it’s the pits, and
that’s literally your alternative!
Florence comes up fast after lunch and our bus drops us off
a couple of blocks from our hotel. We
check in and, as usual, Brad and Kathy take us out for an orientation hike
around town. This is a typical approach
for the tour, and works out very well.
We get an immediate sense of the geography, and Brad points out where
the really cool sights are. Then he
leads us to a local restaurant for a group dinner that features all 6 courses:
antipasto, pasta, salad, pizza, meat, and dessert. Kate and I are antsy, since we are at the end of our suitcases,
and we had noticed a Laundromat a half block from our hotel. We’d much rather do laundry tonight then
waste time on it tomorrow when we could be sightseeing. So we beg off the continuing orientation and
dash back to our hotel.
As always, Laundromats in Europe are great places to meet
people who are likewise traveling, and we run into a lady from Australia, an
American girl spending some time in Florence, and 45 minutes later, 3 people
from our tour! Many chuckles and jokes
about clothes, styles, the weird machines, and the idiosyncrasies of
travel. We wrap up around 10 PM and
head back to our hotel, which features (gasp), a TV! CNN is in full cry about the bombing attacks, anthrax, and other
alarming comments, so we turn if off after just a few minutes. I’d rather go to bed with nice thoughts in
my head, not visions of violence.
The daylight brings us out the door in clean clothes (I know
– this is important?) and we head out to the Bargello gallery for our first
stop. This gallery features some very
impressive sculpture, and it’s not very well known, so we get a very nice
relaxed tour using Rick’s guide book.
Then we head for a look at one of Florence’s truly great sights,
Michelangelo’s David. The lines
are apparently horrendous during the summer, but we wait barely 5 minutes
before we are allowed into the Accademia Gallery. Standing on a pedestal, the statue towers above the crowd like a
huge Superman. The perfect proportions
and impeccable sculpting are apparent to even an untrained eye like mine. Without thinking, I raise my camera for a
shot, and almost get shot by a museum guard.
Oops, scusi! No flash
photography please – those light rays can actually damage the statue (in maybe
1,000 years, but hey, I’m not bitter..).
From David’s calm gaze, we head back toward
Florence’s Duomo, which features a very cool dome inspired by the Pantheon in
Rome. To my amazement, Kate agrees to
climb up to the top of the bell tower (Campanile) with me for a look around. Hundreds of gasping steps later, we are
rewarded with a 360-degree view of Florence.
The sun is starting to bake us pretty good, so we head down and into the
cool quiet of the Baptistery adjacent to the Church. This is one of the oldest standing building in Florence, and
decorated with mosaics on the inside and glorious carved doors on the
outside. Kate and I are tickled by the
imagery, since the people here clearly found Baptism as important to them then
as it is to us now, 1600 years later.
We grab a quick lunch and head over to the Santa Croce
Church square, which is ringed by upscale shops. Katie browses a bit from store to store, and in her inimitable
fashion, finally declares that this one has the best stuff for the best
price. We pick up a couple of nice
souvenirs and hightail it over to the Uffizi Gallery for a Brad-led guided
tour. Known primarily for its
paintings, the Uffizi has a very extensive collection that is logically
displayed (for a change), so very accessible.
Brad gives us a detailed one-hour tour, which is about all our wee
brains can take in before nudity overload.
Only gelato can help.
Today we head for the West Coast, not much of a journey
really, since Italy is not exactly wide as the crow flies. On the way, we’ll detour to a must-see
location, Pisa. Our tour bus stops in a
large staging area where we are further herded onto a city bus for the short
jaunt to the Tower. According to Brad,
Pisa is a 2-hour visit tops, and that includes lunch. On the walkway to the tower, we run a gauntlet of tacky souvenir
stands that are in gross contrast to the serene beauty of the Campo dei
Miracoli. The Tower, Cathedral, and
Baptistery float on a beautifully maintained grass lawn, only slightly marred
by “no football” signs. The Tower
catches the eye first, of course, since it is definitely leaning in a most
alarming way. But Italy has spent a
bundle on a stabilization project that seems to be doing the trick. Unfortunately, you can’t go up the Tower
(yet), so we ogle it from up close and then turn our attention to the
Cathedral.
Since Pisa at one time was a major rival of Florence, the
Cathedral is likewise grand in scale as befits a major city-state in
Italy. The Church is hopping today, and
we are drawn to one of the side altars where a wedding is taking place. There are at least as many tourists watching
as guests, so we enjoy the scene for awhile.
In most of the churches we enter in Italy, I’ve been making a habit of
lighting a candle (for my brother Steve, for prisoners, and world peace), so I
look for the option here in Pisa too.
To my amusement, the Cathedral has replaced candles with an electronic
candle system. For 500 lira (about 25
cents) popped in the slot, you get to flick on a light about the size of a
Christmas tree light. It flickers
realistically, but I’m sorry, it ain’t a candle!!
We wander out eventually, check out the Tower one more time,
and head down a side street for lunch.
Most of the rest of us have the same idea, so we find about 10 of us
enjoying pizza and wine in an outdoor café.
The day is sunny and warm, so before we slide off our chairs, we head
back to the city bus pick up point.
Once again, we maneuver through the tacky stands (the eye catcher you
see over and over again is an apron with David’s mid-parts displayed in all of
their glory). But we get through
unscathed and head back for the coach for our continuing journey West to
Levanto.
Well, here we are at the halfway point on our Italian
Odyssey. I’m sitting on the breakwater
looking into our little Cinque Terre town, Vernazza. No cars or scooters are allowed in Vernazza, so like Venice, it’s
simply people. The crowds are quite a
mix, with Italians and Americans predominating. Many Americans carry a copy of Rick’s Italian book, since he,
more than most, has really emphasized the beauty of this region. Last night we arrived in town by train from
Levanto, and bopped down 2 stops to Vernazza.
Our digs are up a winding staircase path towards the old town castle, a
place called the Trattoria Gianni. As
usual, our tour group takes up all available rooms (generally 14) – these are
small places – and our assignment is based on a mysterious point system so that
no one is routinely short-changed.
Alas, this is our zero-point room.
Some folks get balcony views of the Ligurian Sea, we get the alley. Some get private baths (very few), we get
the bath down the hall. Ouch. But it all evens out, and quite frankly, up
to now, our rooms have been relatively good.
So we dump our stuff and trot down the stairs to town and
buy an international phone card for $10.
As Katie looks on skeptically, I fumble with the phone for awhile, until
with the help of the local Tabachi (tobacco) shop, a staple in every Italian
town, I break the code. After punching
in about 18 numbers, I dial home and wait for Joe to answer. It is 7:30 AM Pacific time so he should be
home. No answer. After trying again, I call Information and discover
that I am using the wrong country code!
Instead of “01”, I am using “11”, which is apparently Cuba! Glad to avoid an international incident, I
try yet again and this time success.
Joe sounds sleepy, but relatively happy to hear from us. Things are under control, as expected.
At 6 PM, we take advantage of the local church in the town
square and attend Mass. It’s a tiny,
ancient, stone mishmash of a church.
Inside are about 40 middle-aged Italian women, perhaps 15 tourists, and
a couple of children. The priest
appears from the wings and with little ado, rattles off the Mass in 37 minutes,
including a 5 minute homily. From what
we hear about Italy, this is quite the norm.
I sincerely wonder how much the stone-cold edifices themselves are as
much a part of the problem as anything.
How someone could have an experience of the Divine in these dank halls
is beyond me.
After Mass we climb to a restaurant at the top of a cliff
and join our fellow travelers for a dinner out on a terrace overlooking the
sea. Wine flows freely around courses
of spaghetti with salmon pesto sauce, veal cutlets, salad, amaretto cookies, and
of course, gelato. By happenstance, we
sit with Dennis and Malca Giblin and Tracy Baynard. We discover a mutual love of books so much of the evening is
spent comparing notes – great fun.
We crash around 10:30 PM and our room turns out to be more
of a bandbox than a refuge. The walls
are paper thin and whether it is the wine or dinner or travel weirdness, I can
not seem to settle down. I hear
everything, despite ear plugs. The coup
de grace is an American kid spiraling drunkenly down our alley, loud and
obnoxious. I don’t know how much sleep
I got, but it seems way too little.
But today we decide to hike the Cinque Terre, a real
treat. The sun is shining bright, so I
shake off my lethargy and join a group of six others for a trek down the coast
from Vernazza to Carniglia to Manarola to Riomaggiore. The vistas are magnificent, one Kodak moment
after another. Since it’s Sunday,
everyone is out on the trail, and why not?
We reach Manarola by 12:30, so we stop for lunch and scarf down calzone
and pizza, with the now routine birra.
The last leg, called Lover’s Lane, is a gorgeous amble. It finishes at the train station where we
catch the 2:37 back to Vernazza. A mere
15 minutes later, we’re back at the hotel for a shower and a nap. Life looks better – and tomorrow we head for
Siena, a town I know virtually nothing about.
Our weather has been spectacular, warm and sunny each
day. Back on the bus, we make our way
East toward Florence once again, then South toward Siena. Katie’s flirtation with a cold has blown up
into a full-fledged affair, and she is struggling. I feel bad for her, but she smiles gamely through the sniffles
and coughs. Meanwhile, Brad, in his
inimitable fashion, declares that we are side-tripping to San Gimignano since
it’s a cool place. OK. San Gimignano (say that 3 times fast) is
indeed a cool place, interesting architecture and lots of towers. The Tuscany region is a draw for Germans
especially, who love the wine and the scenery.
The countryside is rolling hills, dotted with farms and wineries, with
stands of trees including cedar, carob, and so many others.
Three hours later, we continue on to Siena. Ok, what about Siena? At one time (1200’s), Siena was just as big
as Florence and actually bigger than Paris.
It is located on a major, ancient roadway from Rome to the North, and
was largely responsible for creating banks and the first true hospital. When news came to Siena that arch-rival
Florence was building a bigger cathedral than theirs, the Sienese promptly
began expanding their own. One large
wall was built and disaster struck. The
plague of 1348 wiped out 80% of her population and to add insult to injury, the
great pillars holding up the new wall began to sink – the expansion was
abandoned (but that wall still stands!).
Siena slowly repopulated and grew to 60,000 people, then they engaged
Florence in a nasty little war and got their Sienese fannies spanked. Never again would Siena rise – so the town
turned to banking and tourism and did just fine thank you, but grew to be no
bigger today than in 1550.
Siena has done a beautiful job maintaining their stone
buildings, and their central square, the Campo, is as beautiful and striking as
St. Mark’s in Venice. Katie and I are
delighted in the scenic, hilly streets.
The shops are tiny, but very chic, with lots of ceramics, chocolates,
post cards, wine, and other goodies. We
stand with our group in the Campo as dusk turns to night and the scene is
tranquil and beautiful, a rich dark blue sky. Wow. Our hotel, the Cannon
d’Or, is “centrally located”, always a euphemism for “noisy”. But since it’s Monday night, things are more
or less quiet, and we sleep reasonably well.
Tuesday is a free day, so we do what most of our travel
mates do, the laundry (thrill a minute).
Then off to the Duomo museum, where we see mucho sculpture, some of it
over 600 years old and looking like it.
My treat is a climb up to the ramparts of the unfinished cathedral
expansion wall for an eye popping view of Siena. The circular stairs with pie-shaped steps unnerve Kate, and after
several turns up, I am mildly vertiginous myself. But the view from the top is great, and after a few photos, I
spin back down and rejoin a sniffling, coughing honey. Smiling through her Kleenex, she agrees to
further sightseeing and we appropriately take in the sight of the first
hospital in Europe. This is truly an
interesting sight, with frescoes of the day-to-day happenings (in 1200) in the
hospital decorating two walls. Strong
church influence and the ready endorsement of the budding Franciscan order came
together in a unique way and a true humanitarian effort was launched and
sustained for hundreds of years.
We eat a leisurely lunch and stroll the streets, finally
ending up at the Church (San Domenic) wherein lies the head of St. Catherine of
Siena. Holy relics, i.e., special
objects with spiritual significance, were hugely popular in Europe throughout
history. Most relics were bones of
saints, and the bigger the saint, the better the relic. Why?
Because people would travel from hither and yon to visit a relic, with
supposed special blessings coming to you if you did so. For example, Venice claims to have the bones
of Mark the Evangelist, a dubious claim at best, but accepted as truth by all
of Europe. It put Venice on the
map. So segueing to Siena, Catherine, a
native daughter, was canonized in the 1400’s.
After her death, Rome wanted her bones, so Siena sent them along minus
one major one, her head. The appeal is
a bit lost on me, I must admit, and the sight of her head behind some glass
panel in a side altar tabernacle is comical, not inspiring.
The evening brings a gathering of our tour mates for a wine
tasting (we each contribute one bottle for every two couples). Brad and Kathy supplement our layout with
local cheese, sausage, cakes, crackers, bread, and fruit. Not being a wine lover, I eventually peel
off with Dennis Giblin for a beer in a local Irish pub around the corner from
our digs. Katie joins a pack of ladies for
a late evening stroll through town. Den
and I have a lot in common, although he’s a few years older. His interest in computers, books, and games
match mine quite closely.
Later that night we are awakened by an astonishing sound, a
procession of drummers marching through the streets, pounding out a distinct
cadence while accompanied by a chorus of male voices singing some kind of a
hymn. Siena, I forgot to mention, is
made up of 12 districts, truly little more than neighborhoods, but fiercely
competitive. Twice a year, a mad dash
horse race called the Palio is run – 3 laps around the Campo square. Each district enters a horse and the winning
district receives a special flag and most importantly, bragging rights. This little impromptu parade was a little
reminder to the rest of Siena that this district won – and they were simply
playing the hometown tune. Absurd,
amusing, ridiculous, and Italian.
Today we head for Assisi, one of the key look-ahead sites
for me and Katie. On the bus ride, Brad
is less than enthusiastic about the town, claiming that Assisi stole Francis’s
legacy (as well as his body) after his death to build up the image of the
town. The true heart of Francis is in
the little town near Assisi, Santa Maria degli Angeli, where Francis formed his
order, lived much of his life, and died.
We will start at this little town to put things in perspective. The Church here is rather massive, built by
the Medici family to commemorate Francis, and it contains many beautiful tributes
to him. The small grotto where he died
is enshrined as well as the famous rose garden. Our time here is brief, but I browse the bookstore and nearly
miss the bus – luckily, everyone is in a Francis mood.
Then up the hill to Assisi we go. Starting at the higher elevation side of town, we work our way by
foot toward the huge basilica to St. Francis built like a fortress on the
hillside. Many men walk the town in
the distinctive Franciscan garb, and we are struck by the odd mix of old and
new in the town. The 1997 earthquake
caused considerable damage, and we are seeing the fruit of four years of
reconstruction. The basilica itself is
daunting. Two complete churches are
stacked one on the other. We start at
the lower, and Kathy, knowing we are Catholic, suggests that we visit the
tomb. We peel away from Brad’s art
lecture in the Church (which, though allowed, always strikes me as somewhat
disrespectful), and head down the steps.
An altar marks Francis’ burial site (confirmed during reconstruction
to actually hold his bones) and the atmosphere in the small chapel finally gets
it right. Francis was a simple man with
a simple radical message – love everyone, live simply, care for the earth and
its creatures. Preach the news that God
loves you. Peace. That’s it!
Everything else, like the pile of stones, monuments, and churches above
him, is tribute he never sought.
We meet for lunch as a group at a local restaurant and then
head off to Orvieto. Outside the town
of Baschi, we go up a dirt road to a little farm that is to be our quarters the
next two nights. The peaceful
countryside and cozy, quiet room is a balm to our senses after noisy
Siena. A bocce ball court is an instant
attraction and we are all refreshed. A
big dinner, more wine, and a blissful sleep – ahhh.
Today dawns foggy and cool, which is a bit of a problem
since our tour includes the tiny town of Civita. Civita is built on top of a hill that has been eroding out from
under the inhabitants for hundreds of years.
Down to 20 full-timers, the only access is via a 6-foot wide foot
bridge. As we gaze out at this bridge
in the early morning mist, the town itself is completely hidden from view. We are reminded of the Indiana Jones movie
where he steps out “in faith” over the ravine.
So we do the same. The path
terminates in the ruins of an old convent that tumbled into the ravine many
years ago. As it looms in the mist, we
are all moved to silence at this strange sight. We stroll down the main road – no signs of life – and in a few
hundred yards, we’re at the other side.
Down a slope and around a bend, we see the reason for the erosion. Back in Etruscan times, the tribes realized
that the soft rock cliffs could be gouged into roomy caves using only simple
tools, like fingernails. The caves dot
the cliff side, and it’s clear that the honeycomb effect is doomsday for the
town.
We say “buon giorno” to some chickens penned in a cave and
head back the way we came. Well well,
our secret arrival is no longer secret.
Several shops have magically opened (“Quick, brush your teeth. Tourists at 6 o’clock!”) so we obediently
browse. One shop catches Kate’s eye for
it holds hand-made bas-relief town scenes which are truly beautiful. We buy one and boost the town’s GDP by
5%. Interestingly, my alma mater, the
University of Washington, has joined a small consortium to study the town and
find a way to halt the erosion. Sure
enough, a small plaque on the main square indicates the location of the UW
office. Very small world.
The mist lifts slightly as we exit down the footbridge and
make our way through Bagnoregio to the bus.
Brad awaits us with orange juice and water, and we feel like
civilization has returned. But why stop
with OJ? Brad is a big wine fan and
tells us that Orvieto is the epitome of Italian wine country, so we must
tour a local winery. So off we go to
Lavelleta, a family owned smallish winery that features good quality and an
English speaking manager, Cecilia.
Well, Cecilia is a real pistol, and she runs the winery with a steely
smile and a sharp tongue. She’s quite
informative, however, and we listen obediently to her spiel. Of course, once you’ve heard one wine
lecture, you’ve heard them all, whether it’s Napa or Burgundy or Orvieto. You can see everyone wondering, “so when do
we get to taste this stuff?”
Patience.
After traipsing around the grounds, an odd mixture of 200
year-old villa and gleaming wine-making equipment, we retire to a spectacular
dining room (frescoed ceilings and all) and a spread of finger foods and wines
to taste. From light, airy whites to
strong reds, we are further instructed on what foods go with what wine. The gradations in taste are subtle, which
dooms me, so I nod thoughtfully as I swirl my glass, unlock the aroma, and chug
another. By the fifth glass (not full
glasses!), we are invited to buy some if we like, and to our amazement, the
prices are very reasonable. Their top
of the line red is only $10!! So our
group ponies up the lira and even Katie and I get into the act, buying two
bottles of their dessert wine.
Staggering back to the bus, we snooze over to Orvieto for a
look-see at the most beautiful façade on any Italian church. Alas, the duomo has a chunk of scaffolding
smack in the middle of it, so the effect is ruined. Oh well, off to an Internet café for an e-mail check, and back
down the hill to our bus and farmhouse.
A little more bocce, a little more vino, some so-so food, and crash we
go into the heavenly quiet rooms.
A bit of a haul today.
Early on the bus and off to our farthest Southerly point, Sorrento. We find the A-1 and proceed to bypass Rome
and head for Naples, the most congested city in Italy. The view from the freeway is indeed bleak,
many high rise slums, but if you can look to the distance, you can see Mt.
Vesuvius. But our goal for lunch is
Pompeii, a suburb of Naples noted for one thing – the most spectacular
archaeological find of all time. But
lunch first, and we are treated to en masse selections of either pasta or
pizza, orchestrated by Alfonso, a rather flamboyant maitre’d who reminds us of
Martin Short in Father of the Bride.
What a hoot.
Rick Steves hires a local guide for the Pompeii tour of the
ruins, which is good PR, as well as a good break for Brad and Kathy. Our guide is a typical Italian guy – unruly
black hair, open necked shirt, big medallion, and full of beans. The city of Pompeii has been under
excavation for over 100 years, and we’re amazed at the extent of the site. Further amazing is the engineering savvy of
the Romans who lived there in the first century. Running water, sidewalks, pizza ovens, art work, saunas, street
signs, holy cow. Even the whore houses,
“lupanaria” or “wolf dens,” are interesting, with pornographic mosaics on the
walls designed as a universal language menu.
“I’ll take number 3, please – super sized!” Most poignant are plaster casts of entombed people caught in the
horrible moment of death by asphyxiation.
The site swarms with tour groups and tourists – fortunately the weather
stays cool. I couldn’t imagine touring
Italy in August. Ugh!
So at 3:30 or so, we find “Heidi Bloom”, our name for the
bus, which is a corruption of the Belgian bus company name on it’s side,
“Heideblum”. Proceeding further South,
we leave Naples, follow the bay and wind down a steep road to the ultra quaint,
chic town of Sorrento. It reminds us of
La Jolla in San Diego with its spectacular views and similar vegetation. Our hotel, the Lorely, is a very tired
structure perched on the top of a cliff overlooking the town and bay. Brad calls it “Faulty Towers”, and you can
see why. Our room has a balcony with an
absolutely killer view of the Bay of Naples (yes!), but the toilet only flushes
when it feels like it. The room itself
is small and a bit dirty, with everything kind of run-down. Kathy tells us that this is the last year
Rick Steves tours is using the hotel, since there are standards that even Rick
must maintain! But for now, the view
makes up for the plumbing, so we kick back and watch the sun set over the ocean
(as it should).
Dinner at the hotel is surprisingly good, and Kate and I
head into town for an evening stroll.
We spot a discount luggage shop and gratefully drop $20 on a duffel bag
for our souvenir loot. Things were
getting very awkward on the bus. So a
little repacking, and we decide to leave the balcony doors open tonight to hear
the wind on the sea…
Today, Saturday, is a free day, so we join George and
Elizabeth Denison at the ferry dock for a trip to Capri, famous for its
beautiful Blue Grotto. As we had slept
in, our boat was not due to depart until 11 AM, and we watch in horror as 1, 2,
3, 4 and more huge tour groups roll in and queue up at our embarkation
point. By the time the ferry arrives,
over 300 people are in line. As Kate
put it, our “hassle meter” is set very low today, so we decide to bag
Capri. Maybe next time! George and Elizabeth are resolute, however,
so we bid them farewell and hit the town.
We do a typical Italian day – a little shopping, a big lunch, a siesta
in the hotel, sunning on the deck, much yawning, when’s dinner? At 6 PM we go to Mass at the local church, a
very drab exterior hiding a very pretty neo-baroque interior. The priest is an earnest young man with a
good grasp of liturgy and gesture, but the all-Italian Mass is still hard to
follow. It is much better than our
experience in Vernazza, however, so that is encouraging. We eat another big meal after Church and
crash early, me with a bad head and neck ache.
Guess I’m not Italian enough!
The plan for today is a scenic ride down the Amalfi Coast
before turning North for Rome. The
prospect of this drive is anything but positive for Kate. Her fear of heights coupled with a cramped
bus is just too much. Consultation with
Brad and Kathy show a way out – if we’re willing to make our way by train back
North to Pompeii, the bus will meet us there at 11:30 AM for our push to
Rome. All heads nod and we take our two
backpacks through town to the train station, buy two tickets at 2115 lira/each
– about a buck. The train is right on
schedule and before you know it, we’re zipping along with a great view of
Naples from the wrong side of the track.
Is there anything redeeming about this city?
The bus shows up right on time, and we rejoin our tour with
much good-natured kidding. We’re on the
road again, the skies open up, and rain pelts us for a good hour. As this is only the second rainfall we’ve
seen in nearly 3 weeks, no one minds at all.
After all, Rome is next, the eternal city.
To entertain us on the way, Brad asks us to name the top 10
Italians of all time (as determined by a vote of many famous hotshots). He’s mentioned a lot of these folks on the
tour so far, so I regret my snoozing. I
guess a lot, some outrageous, and get about 4 right. Here’s the list, from 1 to 10, for you type A personalities:
Galileo, Columbus, Marconi, Fermi, Volta, Fibonacci, Torricelli, Mazzei,
Michelangelo, and Leonardo da Vinci.
Don’t know some of these guys?
Look em up! George Denison wins
the top prize with 9 right – the bus votes to toss him off.
Our first view of Rome from the A-1 is a long-distance
sighting of St. Peter’s Basilica, by law the tallest structure in Rome. Since it’s Sunday afternoon, the traffic is
light and in no time flat, we’re passing through the city walls and on to our
hotel, the Aberdeen, near the main train station. Our room, at the end of a long corridor, is spacious, crystal
clean, great beds, mini-bar, TV, air conditioning, in short, the lap of luxury
after the sad Lorely. The late
afternoon setting sun is no deterrent as Brad and Kathy gather us for a quick
orientation tour.
We stroll down the Via Nazionale drinking in the bustling
city – Katie is immediately energized by the atmosphere – while I go into
“watch dog” alert. Shortly, we hop a
bus for a few blocks and get off at the Piazza Venezia. Walking uptown, we stop at San Ignazio
church for “the best ceiling in town”.
The late afternoon sun casts a soft light on the gorgeous painted
ceiling and San Ignazio’s claim to fame, a fake dome! The artist paints an illusion that looks quite real from the
front of the church, but reveals itself as a sham as you approach the main
altar. The ceiling is indeed flat. “Now,” says Brad, “let’s see a real
dome!” Around the block we go and
there’s the Pantheon, built in 120 AD, the model dome for all great domes, from
St. Peter’s to our own Capitol. The
building miraculously escaped destruction by the barbarians, and was later
co-opted by the Church and turned into a shrine. This has preserved its simple elegance to this day, and we note
in the local newspaper that Rome will spend a bunch of money over the next two
years to clean and better protect this ancient wonder.
A brief stroll takes us to the Piazza Navona, a large
rectangular plaza bustling with locals, souvenir vendors, pickpockets,
tourists, basically a slice of Roman life.
The evening falls and the lights of the city come up, so Brad says, “who’s
hungry?” and before we can answer, he steers us to the best ice cream parlor in
town. Mad chaos inside as we’re treated
to any 3-scoop concoction we like. With
over 80 wild flavors to choose from, the combinations are endless. I choose chocolate, mint, and
strawberry. Kate has amaretto, deep
chocolate, and tiramisu. 25 Americans,
happily slurping cones, ambling across town, no one gives us a second look! Moments later, we come upon a brightly lit
scene that can only be – yes – the Trevi Fountain. Brad shows us the architectural oddities of the fountain as we
drink in the scene. Then, following
very specific instructions, we each turn our back to the fountain and toss a
coin with our right hand over our left shoulder. This assures a return trip to Rome in the future, although the
precise mechanism escapes us engineer types.
We conclude our night walk at the Spanish Steps, another mob
scene, and we chuckle at the broken boat fountain at the base. Then, mostly to show us how, Brad and Kathy
take us on the Metro (subway) back to the hotel. For some reason, maybe too many movies, many Americans avoid
foreign city subway systems, thinking them dangerous. Katie and I delight in their use, however, and aggressively take
advantage of them. Common sense, a
money belt, and a sense of purpose (act like a local) overcome all hesitation.
That evening the group breaks up into couples and foursomes
on a search for dinner, but Kate and I are full of ice cream so we
decline. But 9 o’clock hears the
stomach growling, so we quietly duck down a side street and order up our first
dinner in Rome, 2 McDonald’s cheese burgers.
The only ones in 3 weeks, I swear!
8:05 AM finds us grouped outside the hotel, once again
following Brad and Kathy on this, our last day of guided touring on the trip –
tomorrow is a free day until our farewell dinner. Today, Monday, is a challenge since most museums and shops are
closed, but not all. We start at the
Colosseum, more than anything else, Rome’s signature monument. Built in 80 AD, at Rome’s peak, it was and
is an engineering marvel. Brad suggests
that it would be ultra-cool to have someone build a replica of the Colosseum as
it was in all its glory, just to put this monument in perspective. I would agree. It’s a real rush to see this edifice, but a large part of me
wants to fix it. Guy thing.
From the Colosseum, it’s a very short walk to the Roman
Forum ruins, where we do the “Caesar Shuffle” down the Via Sacra. This, the heartbeat of ancient Rome, is in a
more ruined condition than Pompeii.
Some of our group are absolutely fascinated, but I’m left a bit
cold. It’s very hard to take 3 columns
bridged by a marble cap and extrapolate to a full-sized temple. But this is the exercise required at every
turn. It’s time, as Kate says, to check
out HQ – the Vatican.
A bus takes us across the Tiber to the right bank and we
grab a quickie lunch before our 1 PM visit to the Vatican Museum. Brad, firmly in his element, provides a
sprightly art history lecture to us weary travelers as we march down the many
hallways. It’s truly an overwhelming
collection, lovingly catalogued by the Church and beautifully displayed. The piece de resistance, however, is around
the last corner, and we enter into the room where the single greatest art work ever
is on display, the Sistine Chapel. It
took Michelangelo four years to do the ceiling, and unlike many of his
contemporaries who used students extensively, he did it all by his
lonesome. Wow. 23 years after finishing the ceiling, he did
the back wall “Last Judgment” which caused a sensation for its style and
message. The swirling bodies and
asymmetry heralded a new age in painting, the Baroque, and the optimistic
Renaissance attitude was replaced with a depressing vision of Judgment Day,
when even the saved don’t smile.
Fifteen minutes is all we have in the Chapel, and it is not
enough, but St. Peter’s calls, and for Kate and me, this is the icing on the
cake. We enter the massive doors, do
the jaw-drop spin move, and note the beautiful sights one by one. The Pieta, the Jubilee Doors (closed until
2025), Bernini’s bronze canopy over the altar, the side chapel that marks the
site of Peter’s crucifixion. The
immensity of the basilica is nearly impossible to describe, yet it feels right
– the proportions work. Well back in
the apse, seats are being roped off for Mass, so Kate and I nod briefly and
join the gathering congregation of tourists, nuns, priests, and pilgrims.
So there beneath Bernini’s glorious Holy Spirit window and
the chair of St. Peter (held aloft by the statues of four bishops), we attend
Mass the old fashioned way, in Latin, with a visiting choir and booming
organ. Our Latin is rusty, but better
than our Italian, so this Mass is ironically the best one we experience in
Italy. We stagger out at 6:30 PM,
foot-sore but exhilarated, and grab the #40 bus back to our hotel. In full Italian style, we join two other couples,
the Moodys and the Giblins, for a late dinner at a Rick-recommended restaurant. Kate and I follow our standard practice of
ordering an antipasto dish and a pasta plate only, stuffing good bread into the
empty corners. A very full tummy after
a very full day.
You bet. We join the
youngest members of our tour, the Englerts and Tracy Baynard, for a tour of the
Borghese Gallery in the morning.
Reservations are strictly controlled, so we have no more than two hours
to see the art extravaganza. Assembled
by Cardinal Sciopine Borghese in the early 1600s by any means possible and
getting away with it (his Uncle was the Pope), this collection was recently
cleaned up in a big way by the Government.
The result is the most beautiful, stain-free, thoughtfully displayed art
work in Italy (at least what I’ve seen).
The statues gleam, the paintings shine, the rooms glow with light. Don’t miss this place if you come to
Rome! Only one thing to say – Bernini
rules! (after Michelangelo of course!)
From this eye candy, we head back toward our hotel on foot
and check out the National Museum of Rome.
This little-known exhibit features a history of Rome told in the carved
busts of all of the emperors of Rome from 200 BC forward. To see the face of Caesar Augustus, Nero,
Caligula, Commodus, etc. is quite entertaining, especially as you realize that
in some cases, no sooner were these heads carved then they were lopped off –
literally.
On that note, we grab a quick lunch and head out on Rick’s
recommended “Pilgrim’s Tour”, a visit to the top basilicas in Rome. We start at Santa Maria Maggiore, which
celebrates all things “Mary”. It’s a
simple church, very peaceful with striking mosaics. Under that altar is another relic on display, the wood of the
manger(!). Sigh. But let me tell you something – the woman
down there on her knees found something in that pile of sticks. Everything belongs I guess.
From Santa Maria’s we hike South down Via Merulana to San
Giovanni in Laterano, more commonly known to us as St. John Lateran, the first
Christian Church in Rome. This is the
true seat of the bishop of Rome (St. Peter’s is reserved for who else – St.
Peter), but I wonder how often JP2 comes by for a visit. The church is unspectacular, but this
reaction could be church burn-out as much as anything. Across the street is a small chapel at the
top of 28 marble steps, which are supposedly the very steps that led up to
Pontius Pilate’s residence in Jerusalem.
Brought to Rome in 326 AD, the steps are revered for an obvious reason –
Jesus would certainly have climbed them on the night of his crucifixion. Pilgrims climb them on their knees, pausing
at each step for prayer. Sure enough,
about 30 people were scattered up the steps, all on their knees. It was moving, so we paused awhile and
watched them, and then we moved on, as well.
Back toward the Colosseum, we find ourselves at San
Clemente, a truly remarkable church built on a church built on a pagan
temple. Yes, that’s 3 stacked up. The pagan temple, down in a sub-basement so
close to the aqueduct you can hear the water run, is devoted to the god
Mithras. A small gathering room
displays an altar and some mini idols.
It’s quite spooky down here, very dark and damp, so we don’t spend a lot
of time – hope Mithras doesn’t mind.
The mid-level is the original San Clemente, built in secret during the
early catacomb years of Christianity.
This is where Christians came for Mass when it was illegal, and we see
frescoes of Clement himself saying Mass and trying to stay out of trouble. It didn’t work – he was captured eventually
and killed by the Roman authorities.
The top level church is dedicated to St. Clement, decorated with
carvings of boat anchors, since this was the way he met his end – roped to an
especially heavy model and tossed over the side.
On that cheery note, we grab the subway back to the hotel
and meet up with our tour group for one last bash. We start out for drinks at a local café where we take a few group
pictures, then we head off to a funky restaurant that features a “beach”
motif. Kind of like Gidget meets Caesar
or something. We get an upstairs room
that is semi-private, and the food, wine, music, and gab flow freely. Kate and a bunch of other hams do a little
rap routine in honor of our tour, and many laughs later, we wander down the Via
del Corso past all of the 5-star hotels and fancy shops where the non-Rick
Steves people hang out. We end up back
in the hotel eventually, and say good-bye to over half our party who leave at
dawn. We get one more day!
Yes, the tour is over, but Katie and I knew that only 2 ½
days in Rome would not be enough, so we had added this extra day from the
start. An early breakfast powered us
out the door to re-visit the Vatican, where it is rumored that the Pope will
address the crowd in St. Peter’s Square at 10 AM. We take the subway over to Vatican City, and walk into the Square
from the side entrance. A vast quantity
of chairs are set up in front of a huge dais, and we look around for some sort
of guidance, but it appears to be a free-for-all. So we pass through security and make our way toward the dais,
stopping about 100 yards away in a couple of aisle chairs. The section we’re in is apparently
unreserved seating, which suits us (and several thousand others) just
fine. Those with a Papal audience are
granted seats on either side of the dais, but I think that we can actually see
better. So feeling a bit like cats
discovering good hunting ground, we settle down and await developments.
Right on time, the Pope appears in his Popemobile, waving to
the cheering crowd as he is driven around the Square, ending up at the back of
the main stage. Moving very slowly, he
settles in a chair front and center and reads from a series of documents in
several languages. His voice is weak
and halting, and Katie and I nod to each other knowingly. We had heard that he was in poor health, and
seeing him in person just confirms the reality. Eventually, he gets around to English, and we can barely
understand him, but towards the end, he conveys his blessings on us all, and we
get the gist. We slip away after
awhile, and head for the Tiber river, mostly to see what this famous waterway
looks like. Unlike the Seine and the
Thames, the Tiber is not much more than a muddy stream, virtually
unnavigable. Not a boat in sight.
We head back into Rome and decide to retrace some of the
first night’s walk and see the sights during the daylight. The Piazza Navona was once a racetrack in
Roman times, but today it’s a slow walk around various booths and souvenir
shops. Katie stops for postcards, so I
gaze at the Four Rivers fountain and nearly get my pocket picked by a gypsy
woman and her daughter. I feel someone
close by, turn and find myself face to face with a woman holding a large piece
of cardboard over her hands and groping underneath. I dodge back quickly in alarm and they veer off toward another
man passing by. They go after him like
locusts and he swats them away in disgust.
Katie is oblivious to this little scene, and I hurry her out of the
Piazza before they come around again.
From here we swing over to the Pantheon for one more look at
the marvelous dome, and then on Den’s recommendation, check out the Church of
Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The name
means “St. Mary over Minerva”, pointing out that the Church was built on
top of a former temple to Minerva.
Happily, we find here the rest of St. Catherine (you may remember
meeting her head in Siena), so we feel a satisfying closure with this
discovery. Even more interesting
(sorry, Catherine) is a little known Michelangelo statue standing next to the
altar that is completely accessible to us – we touch it and admire it from up
close. You can’t get within 50 feet of
the Pieta, and it’s behind glass at that, so this statue called Christ
Bearing a Cross is a treat.
Angling off from the back of this Church, we head over to
the Trevi Fountain (cooler at night), and then up to the Spanish Steps. By this time, my feets are asking for mercy,
so we head back toward the hotel for a bite to eat. Many of the sights are closing for siesta, so we stretch lunch a
bit, and catch up on packing for tomorrow.
Kate wants to do some shopping, but I’m pretty tuckered out, so we
compromise and decide to see one last fairly close sight, the Cappuccin Crypt,
before turning Kate loose down the Via Corso.
So over to the Piazza Barberini we go, and locate the crypt under the
church of Santa Maria della Immaculata Concezione. For a small donation, you are allowed to see this utterly bizarre
site. The bones of over 4,000 monks who
died between 1528 and 1870 are artistically arranged in decorative motif in 4
successive rooms. Flowers made of
shoulder blades, jawbones, and fingers.
Bird cages made of leg bones and pelvises. Skulls forming beds for mummified bodies. It’s so “over the top” that your first
reaction is that this is someone’s idea of a very sick joke. But no, the Cappuccins say. A handout explains that death holds no fear
for those who love God, and our bones are nothing but natural materials much
like wood and stone. So to make the
point, the bones are arranged to suggest beautiful things of the earth. Point made, we move out, but not before
buying a couple of the most interesting postcards on the trip.
This evening, we take in our last treat, a concert of
Italian opera selections being given in a nearby Church. We attend with the Moodys, and allow the
arias to sweep over us, realizing that for most of the folks in the audience,
the beautiful lyrics are as understandable to them as American musicals are to
us. The evening closes and we walk
slowly back to our hotel, sharing a few last laughs. The morning comes early and we reluctantly say our good-byes to
Rome before heading on the long journey home.
So, did we find what we were looking for? Yes, most definitely. Italy was wonderful – sights, food, wine,
art, architecture, people, museums, and more churches than I can count. The tour fit the bill, lowering our stress
factor markedly, and although we were at the mercy of our guides, they were
well tuned into all of our needs and kept things moving along nicely. Best of all, we met 21 other people who
share our love of travel, maintained a sense of humor, and in many cases, laid
the foundation for lasting friendships.
Thanks to all of them, and to you for getting through this journal!!