Punctuating the experience and some favourite photos

I promised in Hong Kong airport, en route for Brisbane, that I would post one more blog about our six month Rome adventure.

Now, nearly eight weeks later, I sense that I am in a position to sum up my reactions to this year.

Maybe my re-orientation to Australia and the way Rome has changed some of my outlook on life is typified in my reaction to coffee. I lasted four days drinking 'ordinary' coffee before buying my own expresso machine. Now I drink but one coffee each day but that is my own version of an expresso.

The daily coffee ritual, the late night magnificent pasta dishes, the shopping in small 'bites' at grocery shops and markets, the joy of walking almost everywhere ... all these are the quintessential Roman building blocks for what is a relaxing and perhaps a slightly decadent life. We were fortunate to have had a pleasant and secure apartment with a lovely landlady; to have had an interesting work and social life that provided contacts with delightful and interesting people; and, in some respects, to have had the advantage of the knowledge that we had six months to make the most of it.

When we first left Brisbane in the 70s we went to Cairns, supposedly for a twelve month stint before moving on (we stayed for 15 months in fact). A good friend advised us that whenever we moved we should consider that we would only remain for 12 months. Then you will be, in part, a tourist and do all of the things that you should do when you are fresh. The alternative leads one to always put off things for the ephemeral future. And then you depart after so many years and have yet to do these important things.

Life for an Italian is different of course. It is impertinent of me to suppose that I know what makes an Italian tick after so short a time but I will chance a few observations.

I suspect that most Italians are conservative insofar as if something worked last year, why change it. If I worked successfully as a waiter at this restaurant last year then why do something else. If a shop paid its way last year, decorated and stocked as it was, why move or expand it this year. So the waiter works all his life in the same restaurant, with the same menu and the same tables. The hardware shop sits where it sat 30 years previously. Change is not generally valued in Rome. This is not a city prone to faddishness although fashion is an important industry and mobile phones and computers are at least as popular here as anywhere else.

Some people think that Italians are rude. Indeed, in Rome they have to put up with loads of visitors and I guess the novelty would quickly wear thin. Not that Australians are always paragons of considerateness, but they generally seem to be aware that they may be standing in a doorway that you need to pass through and will step back. Romans do not seem to have that awareness but will obligingly step back once you say “excuse me”. So I think that this is a lack of awareness, an ignorance of the problem. On the contrary, Romans seem to be very welcoming and warm.

The “not-done” items on the bucket list? Well our circumstances did not really allow me much time off to explore the rest of Italy or any of its neighbours. Although not an immediate attraction, driving in Italy seemed a possibility and we survived a three day weekend to Tuscany. So I would now be prepared to drive and explore the roads “less travelled”.

The language and cultural issues are really not an issue for us but on the contrary, something that we really enjoy.

We have been blessed in recent years with some wonderful travels and we have learnt a great deal. This particular odyssey has certainly come to an end but life goes on and we still think of Homer.

Arrivederci – cosi basta (that's enough)

Arrividerci Roma - goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!

It seems once again that my final report comes from an airline gate lounge.  In this case, Hong Kong, almost at the end of a 17 hour transit where we managed to play (very tired) tourists for as long as we could stay awake.  Home in Brisbane in around 11 hours from now, QANTAS willing.

Just right now, we can hardly wait to collapse on the plane.  But on this occasion, I promise that I will put cyber-pen to cyber-paper once more, when I am up to it, and I will try to sum up my impressions over this past six months.

The Fontana de Trevi has scored a couple more coins from us - so who knows??

Note this new record posting for shortness.

Ciao tutti amicis

Things that one brings home with one!!

It is now officially autumn here in Rome – or 'fall' as the northern hemisphere folks tend to call it.  And that seems reasonable because the leaves are starting to gather at the bases of the trees although we are yet to see the autumn tones in the foliage.

Last night it stormed and rained quite heavily for Rome and now we seem to be in for some extended cooler weather.  The ferrogosta is done!!!

The warm weather began this year perhaps at the end of June and never became unbearable.  Just a lot of warm, reasonably humid nights and bright, hot clear days.  

Now all the Romans seem to be back in town – the public transport is crowded, the traffic troublesome again,  the roads harder to cross, and the shops and restaurants are open.

So where did they all go to in the few weeks of summer?

We found out to some degree when Ian tripped to Tunisia for a work meeting involving the five Maghreb States – Mauritania, Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria and Libya.  Of these, only Libya is non-French speaking with it sharing English with the universal Arabic.  So this was a great opportunity for Ian to brush up on his French language.

Tunisia is a very popular tourist destination for Italians, Spaniards, the French and eastern Europeans – most of whom fly home via Rome's Fuimacino Airport on one or other of about five flights per day.  Our meeting was organised at very short notice and the four of us coming from Rome found ourselves delayed in Tunis for varying lengths of time.  This was the very end of the summer season and the migration home had begun.

So a two-day meeting became a 6 day trip for Ian.  What to do with a weekend in Tunisia?

Tunis itself hasn't the appeal that, say, Cairo has.  It is fairly urbane with not much conservation of the old or exotic.  We did have a delightful workshop dinner at a wonderfully restored old house (now restaurant) in the medina or old covered market.  A chap with a lantern met us at the entrance and guided us through the winding, narrow streets covered by vaulted ceilings.  Good food, spectacular surroundings and a traditional musician in lieu of the standard 'piano' made for a great night.

So with Ian's party having 'done' Tunis, they moved to the beach resort area of Hammamet, about an hour's drive east.  And there Ian discovered what many Europeans believe is the holiday to have.

The accommodations were very spectacular – a large hotel on the Corniche – in keeping with the white with azure blue trim that is the signature of Tunisia.  But surprisingly, the hotel had a guest-house feel to it with the expectation that every meal would be had in the massive, all you can eat restaurant cum cafeteria.  And as one departed the breakfast mayhem, the 'Red Coats' stood patiently waiting to arrange our day with archery or yoga classes.

Mostly Ian just went to the beach – a beach with reasonable yellowish sand and loads of thatched beach 'umbrellas' that stretch as far as the eye can see in either direction, although to the north, from sea-level the scene was complicated by a huge marina full of huge yachts about 800 metres from our beach club.  That's correct – our beach club.  This is the big, big difference to Surfers Paradise.  All of these beaches are private.  Although one is free to walk along the shore-line which is regarded as everyone's – you just can't sit on the beach.

The water, warm and soft, but effectively still and with a lot of black algae when we were there.  The trick seems to be that you whip across the road before breakfast and put your towel on a lounger so you can come back at leisure and laze about in the sun.  So the novices like us have to take what they can get – mostly right at the back.  So not a great view of the water but a great view of the tourists.

There must be some European Union directive that mandates that if you are a woman, you have to wear a bikini on the beach.  To quote Ian - “Of the thousands of women I saw, only four wore one piece costumes to my recollection (the one pieces that were only bikini bottoms are not included in that number but there must have been another half dozen of those)”.  When Ian says “the thousands of women I saw” he refers to his ability to see however the term “I saw” was often apt.  You see almost all of these bikinis, gracing people of all shapes and sizes, and ages young, mature and old, seemed to have shrunk since they were used last year.

Most tourists, both men and women, who go to such places are clearly well heeled.  Indeed they are certainly well fed.

Personally, Ian found the two days to be pretty dull with not much excitement and pedestrian 'surf'.  I think they might go wild on the Gold Coast.  But I guess the absence of a private beach and beach 'boy' to carry the lounges about, and surf that would probably kill them might be a turn-off for these folks.

So they take back with them a lot of tans and probably the memories that are identical to the memories they had at the last resort they stayed at last summer.

Ian, he brought back a special souvenir in the form of gastro-enteritis – seven days of acute awareness of self, or at least of one's digestive system.  As two in the party shared this ailment, we think it may have been a virus that contaminated some of the food they ate.  But the condition was not terminal and now Ian looks even thinner and fitter.

As this blog is published we are but two weeks away from transiting Hong Kong on our way home to Brisbane.  So sometime in the next two weeks we must decide what we will take home with us.  We have  expanded a little and set up our little home in Rome and will have to jettison much of this.  We have some more clothes and will have to buy another suitcase.

But fortunately, the most important souvenirs – memories – take up little space.  For these continue to grow, even now.  For example, we attended the Italian wedding of a staff member this week.  A beautiful and happy ceremony and a to-die-for post-wedding lunch over-looking the forum.  Very special.

The other compact items to carry home are our digital photographs.  So far in 2008, Cathy and Ian have taken 8 300 photos – mostly in Italy.  So we are so much looking forward to showing everyone of you every photo when we get back to Brisbane.  We're sure you cannot wait!!!!

Arrivederci!!!

A horse, a horse, my (medieval) kingdom for a horse!!!!

(The Grubs always seem to win)

SPECIAL NOTE – For those who like horses, and even for those who would like to hear about a very special Douglas experience – you are going to have to be persistent on this one.  There is good stuff towards the end.  PS – don’t jump to the end now – won’t work!!!

The most recent blog highlighted the value of having visitors in Rome.  And we were certainly blessed there.

After the post-wedding traffic of sons numbers two and three came Julie and Clare, and later the newly-weds themselves, Lachlan and Emily Douglas.

Julie and Clare proved themselves to be enthusiastic “Italophiles” – indeed Clare took herself on what seems to have been an ideal tour of Italy with a small (adventurous) group and spent about a week with us in a couple of stints.

Julie opted for the full-immersion, Cathy & Ian guided tour of Rome and environs, for the full three weeks and graduated as valedictorian, even eventually venturing solo to the neighbouring Testaccio to successfully joust with the marketeers.  In addition to seeing the standard sites, we were able share with them many of the local treasures and we think (hope) that they returned safely to Australia with a certain affection for this fascinating country.

Ian had a premature farewell to the girls (indeed before Clare’s return from her tour) because of a work trip to Turkey.  That trip was both a thrill and a disappointment.  The trip went really well but it was to Ankara.  Ian departed with images of Egypt in his mind but had not done his homework.  Ankara is modern Turkey’s version of Canberra – the seat of government and a purpose built city similar in age and intent to Australia’s national capital.

So expecting the archetypical Muslim country, complete with the sights and smells of the middle east, instead he found a modern, extremely well organised and essentially “European” state, desirous and seemingly readily able to join the European Union – a fate yet to be achieved.  His hotel was the most stunningly designed boutique hotel he had seen – glamour and homeliness combined and with an innovative design feature at every turn.  The Turks, at least in Ankara – essentially no different to modern day Romans.

During the Turkish sojourn, the three girls conquered Naples (Napoli), Sorrento and Pompeii.  And before that, the senior girls stormed Firenze (Florence) and other Tuscan delights (see later and discover about “the horse”).

How wonderful the visit from the newly-weds?  Again, the “Roma 101” tours but mostly just a chance for us to enjoy their company. 

Rome in August is another place!  It empties!  The locals hit the resorts.  It is considered inconceivable to stay in Rome.  Businesses simply close for a week or two or a month.  The traffic quietens; seats can be had on the metro or buses.  All of this great if you like the simple life, but with the whole malaise focused on “ferrogosto” – in one breath that “season” but more specifically, 15 August, the Feast of the Assumption (of the Virgin Mary into heaven), and a public holiday – Ian and Cathy made a late decision to join the evacuation of Rome.

With some embarrassment, we approached the office travel agent on Wednesday 13^th with the question “Where could we go to easily escape Rome this three day weekend?”.  Overcoming the “you crazy Australians” thought, and after us canvassing flights to northern European parts and trains to northern Italy, and suppressing her desires to send us to a beach or mountain resort, we eventually came to a mutually acceptable option for a renta-car trip to Tuscany with two nights accommodation at a forgettable hotel outside of Siena.

Now driving in Italy had seemed to us for five months to be akin to a death wish.  Perhaps considering that we had had good and full lives, we threw all our previous resolutions to the wind and hired a Europcar Volkswagen Golf from “near” Villa Borghese and hit the bitumen on Friday morning.  The greatest challenge of the trip was to find the renta-car office because it was actually in a subterranean car park that we had no idea existed under our beloved Villa Borghese park.

It is not easy to drive on the right (wrong) side of the road and read incomprehensible street signs and dodge maniacal Roman drivers, cyclists and pedestrians, but we persevered and headed north on the A1.  Within three hours we had found our hotel in a small town that mostly comprised of our hotel and an industrial estate, about 10 kms from the much more attractive Siena – erstwhile home of “Catherine” (of Siena).

So we visited the hill-town (hill-city) and found it – damp.  A series of storms broke over Siena, causing us to get a little wet and, when we found the famous “Piazza del Campo”, venue for the world-famous Palio, it was spoiled by stands built all around and sand (slippery sand) all around the track.  It was only then that we realised that the famous race was to occur the next day.  Duh!! Of course, this race is all about competition amongst 17 contrade (plural of contrado) or “districts” of Siena to win a horse race that has been going on since medieval times, to win a silk “flag” that includes an image of the Virgin Mary.  Taking place twice a year only, the first race is in July.  The second, in August, would have to be on the ferrogusto weekend, in Mary’s honour.

<<>   You may take a short intermission now!!!>>

We had found ourselves unexpectedly at the scene of this most famous of all horse events – even surpassing the Melbourne Cup – one of the “tick-off” items on this family’s “bucket list” and something that Ian the vet has long coveted.

We also found ourselves in the main church (cathedral), the Duomo, at the end of the day on Friday where we attended evening mass (messe) next to the Palio itself – the prize flag, while the thunder and lightening raged outside.  This is where the horses are brought into the church to be blest for the race – hence the ancient mosaic floor was covered by plywood.  [Not the same church where the Mass for jockeys and connections is held and televised on race day - we saw this on our little TV set at Hotel Ordinario].

So on race day, as well as supping from the more than generous cup of the quintessential if somewhat commercialised San Gimignano, we returned to Siena itself.  Not that a trip to San Gimignano would not have made the weekend complete in itself.  It is delightful.  It is much like its centuries-old forebears, the modern-day site of artisans and classy shops, but tidy and well arranged.  And it has absolutely brilliant panoramic views of Tuscany.  But our target for the day had become Siena and the Palio.

Not easy to find a park and a long walk but we approached the Piazza del Campo as the contrade marched past us ceremoniously to the church en route to the arena.  All so sternly to solemn drum beats – protected by the contrado’s bevy of bodyguards and groupies – not at least conscious of the contradictions of wearing tights and medi

eval garb for a 21^st century race.  But that denies the fact that history demands that this process is a modern-day link with such an ancient tradition.  It is hard to see this event ever ending.

By 3:30pm we were in the piazza, electing to stand (sit on the cobblestones for a while) about twenty metres from the starting post, with a clear view of the “bad-corner”.  An hour later a military cavalry troop entered the piazza and after a “trot” circuit, executed a thrilling if unnecessary sabre-charge for a full circuit at top speed.  We would not have thought that such could so ignite our adrenalin, but it certainly did, partly because we shared the excitement with so many others.  On the only negative note for the day – one of the horses fell 

near us and after a long period limped from the piazza.  The vet in Ian did not see this injury as likely to be treatable.

On clearance of this unfortunate horse, an explosion occurred (the finish gun) and the Town Hall’s bell commenced to ring for the next two hours, and the parade of horses began.  Each contrado and every horse paraded around the arena to the same ancient tune.  Although 17 contrade exist, only 10 horses race, so the race is, we are told, formed of the 7 that missed last time and a ballot.  This medieval parade takes around two hours to complete, culminating with the Palio prize entering the piazza on a huge wagon drawn by four white oxen with a gaggle of fanfare blowers and three distinguished “dudes” aboard.  The “Palio” is hung by the starting post for the race.

The horses entered at 7:00pm complete with medieval jockeys, bareback and colourful.  But the race took more than 45 minutes to start.  A very Italian experience.  For the first (false) start, the crowd of who knows how many thousands in the confines of the track (at least 60 000 we suspect) and at every vantage point and every balcony/window, made an absolute hush – an extraordinary experience.  But after the third false start and countless attempts to get these “full-o-beans” horses to stand in order behind the starting rope, on a slope, the mob was getting restless.

Finally, they were off.  The first of three dashes around the circuit, saw the lead horse take one of the better corners too fast to fall and dismount his mount, then to ride on and run a good third for most of the race (it is the horse that wins this race – it need not have a rider at the time).  A second (trailing) horse fell on the third circuit but probably did not affect the result.

The caterpillar contrado (“Bruco” – the grub) won and horse and rider were mobbed about 40 metres from the finish by the fans.  People went berserk and the track was a sea of people, the Palio dragged down from its post by the winning contrado and the party began.

We also jumped the fence, away from the crowds and horses, and attempted a quiet exit, but we needed to circumnavigate the piazza to get back to our car and enjoyed an unplanned encounter with the Palio being taken back to the winning contrado.  How the sombre expressions of earlier were transformed into pure joy – pressing, singing, cheering supporters crushed by us on the narrow street.  Only punctuated by the metal “pike” holding the Palio being caught up on electricity wires a few feet from us.  Numerous sparks and a little concern and then, unhooked, this piece of living history moved on.

A late return home, a lengthy drive back to Rome the next day and home safe and sound.

The Palio is witnessed by a lot of tourists, yet it is not a tourist event.  It is archaic yet strangely modern.  It has to be the ultimate in pageantry and reality.  It is definitely a “must experience” event in life.  Our travel agent didn’t realise that it was on – nor did we – but serendipity gave us one of our most inspiring Italian memories.

Lots more happened during this period and we could tell you more – but you’ve been very good to read this far – well done.  We promise a shorter blog next time and less horsing around.

Posting photos to this blog is not easy – so we have only selected a few.  But these and a whole bunch more are on Ian’s Facebook site @  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37087&id=553586403

 But maybe you have to be my Facebook "friend" to do this - the Douglases don't really understand Facebook!!!!!

 

Weddings and visitors

A very busy time of it since the last posting!!!

After much anticipation the wedding occurred and we now have three sons and a daughter (in-law) – a very nice feeling.

The wedding was delightful and very meaningful with around 40 guests, the majority of whom hold Australian passports. All of this in the beautiful northern English “Lakes District” with reasonably balmy weather and with a whole bunch of very happy guests. The bride and groom certainly made sure that the visitors were able to share their joy.

It was also something to get the five (and later six) Douglases together all at once. The new Mr and Mrs Douglas are beaming – as the photos show.

We also shared a little of the honeymoon by staying over for a while in the yurts at Rydal Hall. And while there, Cathy received surprise visitors from fellow teacher, Trish and family who travelled up from London to rendezvous. A really delightful surprise and an opportunity to get an update on the news from home in return for that from Rome.
Back in Rome, we were visited by first Tristan and then James with a brief overlap that proved that our apartment is not the biggest in Rome. We survived but there was a modicum of “dodging” to avoid serious injury. Three we can easily handle but four “large ones” does rather stretch the boundaries.


With two sons to entertain and introduce to the Rome that we have come to know and love, each with only a few disposable days, we relied heavily on the “standard tour”. Villa Borghese, the central city monuments (Navona, Trevi, Pantheon), St Peter’s and the forum/colosseum.

On the night before departing for England and the wedding we went to a performance of “The History of Rome Part I” performed by the local “Miracle Players” with the forum as a backdrop. This wonderfully witty and highly educational production was good enough to see a second time, so we took James (it plays every Friday night for most of the summer). Our “post theatre” dinners were conducted on the Tiber Island (Isolde Tiberina) in one of the temporary ristorantes that sets up for summer.

The Tiber comes alive at night with loads of bars, stalls and eating places stretched out along kilometres of the banks. The nearby Trastevere also bops late at night with all sorts of entertaining possibilities.


We have all been to the forum now. Large, mostly unrestored but fascinating, perhaps the highlights are Augustus’s house with intact frescos and the site of Julius Caesar’s cremation and associated speech by Mark Antony.

Both boys left independently, each on the sort of cheap fare arrangement that takes the “long route” home – both via Helsinki. They made it safe and sound and settle down to the good life in Brisbane. Lach and Emily hope to visit in August, so we cannot wait for that. And today we were thrilled to receive Julie and Clare from Melbourne – each so petite that the apartment will continue to seem big even with them here. So, it is great to receive visits. As for the rest of you – “Where the hell are you!!!!”.


We have travelled half way around the world to chase animal diseases and I find that most of the fun is in Brisbane with not one but two Hendra virus outbreaks in the State. My last news was that two people were also sick as a result – not good news but we trust they will bounce back quickly.



It is now high summer here and although some days and nights are hot and a little sticky, for Brisbanites this is just fine. The summer will be short and I would reckon, it will be particularly “sweet”.

I Love a Parade!!!!

June has been (is being) a busy month for us. Summer has finally arrived in Rome and the skies are blue, the air humid and the Romans in their summer clothes.

Life was somewhat disturbed in Aventino during the first week of June. First, the Italian National Holiday saw the road past the Colosseum and Forum blocked with temporary stands to facilitate a major military parade. Then, the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) hosted a major conference – A High Level Conference on Climate Change and Soaring World Food Prices. This was frequented by lots of heads of State and big wigs, necessitating lots of security. So Viale Aventino was closed off for the week, the Metro Station (Circo Massimo) closed, buses redirected and the 3000 odd staff at FAO told to work from home.The “red zone” reached almost to our unit, so Cathy could come and go, albeit she could not sleep so well for the helicopters overhead. This didn’t affect Ian, who planned to be absent all week, so travelled to Washington DC with two colleagues. A week of storms, security checks, overly large portion sizes at restaurants and shopping. We three “did the malls” at night as well as any all-American teenager.

For souvenirs, Ian returned with a jacket, two pairs of Levis and a stinker of a cold.

But parades were the norm for the month. One Sunday afternoon, a somewhat spontaneous parade went past the bottom of our street – best we could make out, from the costumes and music/dancing – this was a Romany or Gypsy event. This group of people make Rome their home for the summer, so maybe that was just announcing their arrival.

We “holidayed” to Florence (Firenze) for one weekend – a town we had briefly visited in 1997. Spectacularly beautiful! Full of renaissance charm. And a town of parades also. Mostly led by tour guides with umbrellas stuck in the air. A very dangerous phenomenon – one needs to exercise extreme caution lest a gaggle of frantic tourists runs completely over the top of you.

But the weekend of our visit was the first weekend of the twice a year medieval football competition – games on Saturday and Sunday evenings in the arena (a sand-based stadium on Piazza Santa Croce). These games are living museums but involve considerable violence and more than once the tradition has been banned because of the blood and broken bones. Having seen the players parade, we can well understand this – built mostly like brick out-houses, these guys look “tough”.They formed the focus of an otherwise gentile and colourful parade through Florence en route to the arena. Perhaps best understood by a local, hundreds participated with very serious expressions, slow marching to slow-beat drums and with some variations, including a single but very nice cow, and four ancient cannons.

So, if you like a parade, Italy in summer is the place to come.

Next weekend, we join the parade to the north of England for a very special event – but more of that on the next blog no doubt.

Getting married in Roma & other “stuff”

We have come to a close of a delightful, somewhat “laid-back” weekend in Roma.  Tomorrow it is a national holiday in Italy – the rough equivalent of “Australia Day” with the main drag past the colosseum and forum now decked out in temporary stands, elaborate enough to house the top officials for a military march past.  Our own “main drag” Viale Aventino will also be closed off for the march.

Ian is off to Washington DC for the week so he will miss the parade and the continued closure of the area for the major conference to be held Tuesday through Thursday on Climate Change and Soaring World Food Prices – hosted by FAO, with some 3 000 delegates including at least 35 heads-of-state.

So we started the weekend in style on Friday night at the British Embassy which abuts Porta Pia to the north of the centre of the city.  A concert band from the Sussex area was on tour (read holidays) and gave its third and last performance in the embassy grounds.  They were great, although we arrived very late so had a brief concert.  Then we all went to drinks at the embassy’s social clubrooms – the second storey bar effectively sits atop the ancient Roman wall (for which Porta Pia forms a gateway).  A glorious venue, a delightful, warm evening and good company.  This followed by a simple “band 

dinner” at a local but friendly trattoria.

We spent much of the weekend utilizing our new found cyber capacity, now having a wireless internet facility and Skype – what a wonder is Skype – keeps us in touch with the world.  Our Skype name can be obtained on application – email us – and we can bother you on weekends also.

And today, we walked to places yet “unwalked to”.  Including the Victor Emmanuel II monument where, for a modest fee, you can get a lift to the roof for “the view of Roma”.  Within is the equivalent of the Canberra War Memorial and around it the forum and some delightful churches.  The most interesting of which is probably St Joseph's of the Carpenters (San Giuseppe dei Falegnami) where you walk down into the dungeon or cell where St Peter was supposedly incarcerated - the Mamertine Prison.  The story goes that a spring emerged in his cell with which he baptised people.  The spring and a post where prisoners would have been chained are still there.  Although Rome is reputed to contain enough pieces of the actual cross to build an ark,

 this story is actually quite credible because if St Peter was incarcerated in Rome as history dictates, then this cell would have been a likely place to do it.

So our travels take us into many churches – and believe us, Rome has no shortage of churches.  They vary from the delightfully simple (eh! a few of them) to delights of marble, mosaic and gold.  The smaller ones are very popular for weddings, and are set for bride and grooms’ seats and kneelers with mum and dad seats and kneelers at either side of the altar – much as we experienced last year in our introduction to church weddings in Mexico.

We also see the wedding parties in parks and monuments getting photographed and leaving the churches with all their guests.

So, some differences.  First, no attendants.  We are not sure who witnesses but clearly no bridesmaids or groomsmen.  The brides are all cloned into long off-white strapless dresses.  Convertible Volkswagons are a popular “ride”.  But almost all the guests attach white poesies and ribbons to their radio aerials for the trip – they then depart the church as a pack and noisily sound their horns.

Confetti is “in” at present – but very large paper hearts and coloured rice.  I can just imagine Father Giovanni advising that this should not be used in the church precincts – but hey, who follows instructions here.

An exhausting, hot but thrilling walk, punctuated by a beer/prosecco and ice cream at our local bar and a quiet night blogging.

There do seem to be a lot of weddings going on in Rome at present.  Is it the season?  Is it the age group?  Do they do it often?  Either way they look delightful and seem to have a ball.  Their weddings must be memorable, Roman style – here’s to the marriages.

 

 

The Neighbours



As you now are aware, we have settled in Aventino. We have made a “Google Maps” map that marks our abode and Ian’s office – (apologies that earlier versions of this post left you in limbo but) the reference is:

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=115571076803304747106.00044cc76915ffaf6874f&z=17

Click that and you should go to Google Maps and to our marked map. Then click on satellite and you will get a great view.

In our apartment building there are clearly some other people but we do not see or hear from them much. A couple of people above us frequently seem to come home very late, walk around and listen to music – but they are not really a problem. A young woman and a German Shepherd reside in the basement. The other apartment on our level, owned by our landlady, is being renovated – has been for some months now. The builders have been a headache and she has sacked a few. The latest “sackee” was quite enthusiastic and made a small hole in our living room with his coal chisel – mistakes happen – “Eh!”

We look out over three sides of the building (from the first floor) – with pleasant gardens to the north and east, and a tall apartment building blocking out much of the street noise about twenty metres to the south. The western sun is blocked by the other apartment and stairwell on our floor.

To enter our flat we negotiate three doors – one to the street, one shared with the next-door unit and our own door. We don’t have a terrace but we are very secure. From the door next to the street, about ten steps down our marble spiral staircase, we can see two churches within 200 metres and there are at least another three further up the hill. Our street rubbish bins are 50 metres up the street on our side – blue for bottles, glass and plastic, white for paper and green for general rubbish. We have never forgotten to put the bin out – it’s always out.

Turning left outside our door, we walk past the entrance to the nearby apartment building, veer left past the service station, dodging puddles of oil on the cobblestones and the traffic. The servo does not have any clear start or ending and just “merges” with Via di Santa Prisca. So on weekday mornings, as the rat-runners whiz up the street, and as others jockey for a place at the servo pumps, and as the mechanics and customers wheel and deal for the day’s repairs, we blissfully stroll around and on the roadway with an eye to the on-coming vehicles.

That obstacle behind us we are then on Viale Aventino, a broad avenue that runs from its intersection with Via di Santa Prisca to the Circo Massimo (and to my office). Probably six lanes wide, Viale Aventino is in three parts. A central corridor is a busway and tramway with raised platforms where the buses and trams stop. Only two bus routes run through this centre path along with taxis and limousines and ambulances and police cars. Oh! And some Romans in a hurry and prepared to break the rules. Other buses take the two lanes either side of this central “divider”, along with the bulk of other vehicles – mostly small cars and “motos”.

At the traffic lights, the motos manouvre until they are near the front and when “the flag drops”, the throttles twist and with a massed whine, but not much speed, this herd of vespas moves in a wobbling, but unstoppable cloud across the intersection.

As a pedestrian, one has choices. Those with death wishes jaywalk. The careful and patient find the remnants of paint that used to mark zebra crossings and cross (basically jaywalk). Or there are some pedestrian lights, some automatic, some requiring a button push. The green, amber and red symbols (or sometimes the “avante” and “stop”) are interesting. When green goes to amber, the Roman gets to guess how long will elapse before the red. If misjudged, he or she finds themselves in front of the whining vespas. A lot of ineffectual horn tooting results, some uniquely Roman hand gestures and a fair amount of “Eh!”ing.

So we walk towards the city, past a small pizzeria, and alimentaire, and currently some delightful hedges of star jasmine in full perfume. Onwards are three bars (coffee and alcohol) with street-side tables, the supermercado, a ristorante, a pharmacy, two hairdressers, an antique restorer, a moto dealer, and a lot of other places that we are yet to really work out. Around the corner, with the UN flag fluttering to our right, we are on Via del Circo Massimo and we are walking along the valley between our Aventine hill and the Palantine hill, past the Metro station (Circo Massimo).

To our left is Rome’s rose garden, currently open due to the climax of this year’s international competition and looking a picture. Up the hill from the garden, we come to a road that runs past three old churches and two parks, one of which is the popular “Orange Garden” with its spectacular views over the Tiber. The most distant of the churches has a connection with the Order of Malta and a Maltese Cross flag. It also has a “spy-hole” in a gate that enables the viewer a “peak” at St Peter’s Basilica in the distance. Usually, the tourists are lined up to look through this hole. Santa Sanselmo also has a delightful gift shop with all sorts of treasures, some of which have a religious angle to them. The church is well guarded by the Carabineri due to its neighbour being the Arab Republic of Egypt’s embassy.

There a couple of very sweet (very expensive) hotels on the hill and a range of apartments, villas and convents running down to our home. The Aventine hill has an air of serenity to it, even at its base where we live. Although we tend to walk into the Centro historico, or old city, we are well supplied by buses and metros. We have been attending some great private dinners at colleagues’ apartments across Rome lately and find little difficulty in getting around, with only one cab needed.

A certain lack of clarity on our part led the driver to want to take his two “gringos” to the Hotel di Santa Prisca rather than to Via di Santa Prisca. A certain outrage on our part that we were being taken for anything other than residents, but a certain lack of enthusiasm (and Italino) to argue the point … it was a nice night so we got out and walked the last kilometre home. After all, it is a nice neighbourhood.

A somewhat unusual blog this time – we are coming to you from the north of England – northern Yorkshire in fact. We have settled into our final Rome residence, but more about that at some future blog.

My office had a four day weekend including May Day, so we took the opportunity to travel to visit Lachlan and Emily. We flew into Liverpool (John Lennon Airport) and drove a "renta" the two or so hours to beautiful Skipton. This is a significant market town, a centre for the district, not far from the well-known tourist haunt of Bolton Abbey.

Photo: The scene of a Turner painting - and reputed to be the most beautiful view in England ("and hence - the world") near Kirkby Lonsdale and "Ruskin's Walk"

Our expectations of this part of the world (given we had never before been to the north of England) were far exceeded – had a delightful time. First, of course, we saw L & M again. They are just great and seem really very happy and well settled. But we were also the tourists, on this Spring weekend that is notable for Skipton as the “water festival”. You see Skipton is connected to Liverpool (and the rest of England) by the Liverpool-Skipton canal, so this weekend the canal boats gather at Skipton and there is a carnival atmosphere with crowds of people, decorated boats and street entertainment and partying.

On Thursday night we walked through he woods around the castle with Lachlan and had our first taste of the dry-stone walls that enclose the fields, the sheep, and the wildflowers (especially the blue-bells).

Lach worked at nearby Settle on Friday so we drove him there in the early morning and went on to the Lakes District, eventually finishing beyond Lake Windermere – so many stunning views. After pick up he took us via the scenic route through the dales and moors to the “Tarn” or lake/loch.

Photo: Skipton Castle and the Keep

On Saturday we pottered about and went through the Skipton Castle before driving to Bolton Abbey for a short “bush walk”. The weather was glorious and the locals were our on the banks of the river in force, barbequing and swimming (at least the brave few swam).

The blue skies and warm conditions could not last and Sunday was cold and damp, but it did not stop us walking to church and venturing out to see the canal boats and activities. Pub food does wonders for one’s outlook on life.

Skipton enjoys street markets on four days of the week in the High Street in addition to many interesting and varied permanent shops. This is James Herriot country and it is not hard to translate the present habits with the “all Creatures Great and Small” narratives.

Photo: Bolton Priory

So, as an avid collector of peculiar hats from all parts of the world, I made some very good purchases from the market – a “county hat” (the standard peaked cap), a “trilby” and a “deer stalker”. Why would Ian purchase a deer-stalker? Elementary my “deer” Watson! One never knows when one is confronted by a stag, or a night out playing “Cluedo”.

So our photos this time are all English. Must toddle off now – almost tea time.