dal 18 dicembre al 6 gennaio 2010

TREVI
Presepi per le strade: La manifestazione, nata spontaneamente quando alcuni cittadini provarono ad allestire presepi rivolti all’esterno delle proprie abitazioni, è diventata una tradizione. Inoltre nella chiesa di San Francesco avrà luogo una mostra di Presepi. Nello stesso periodo avrà luogo “Cantieri d’artista a Natale“, versione natalizia dell’iniziativa che ha riscosso molto successo a ottobre. Il progetto è finalizzato alla promozione dell’arte e della solidarietà trasformando i ponteggi dei cantieri in pareti decorate dall’estro e dalla creatività degli artisti locali e le opere realizzate in una occasione di sostegno al Fondo per le Politiche Sociali del Comune attraverso l’organizzazione un’asta di beneficienza dedicata. Il Progetto consiste nell’ istallazione di pannelli dipinti dagli artisti su foglio di faesite, fornito dall’organizzazione, avente dimensione di cm 70×100 e raffigurante il tema della natività e/o del presepe creando di fatto un percorso espositivo tematico all’aperto. Ogni artista può aderire all’iniziativa con un’unica proposta anche non inedita da proporre in scala. Per informazioni e modalità di partecipazione consultare il sito

dal 19 dicembre al 12 gennaio 2010

SPELLO
Spello in Presepe: concorso di presepi allestiti nei vicoli del centro storico, con premiazione finale il 6 gennaio. Nello stesso periodo, dal 19 dicembre al 12 gennaio, La Natività… nell’arte contemporanea: opere in ceramica realizzate da artisti contemporanei nazionali e internazionali, verranno esposte nei siti storico-artistici del Centro Storico. Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore, inaugurazione ore 16.00 del 19 dicembre

domenica 20
SAN TERENZIANO (Gualdo Cattaneo)
Aspettando Babbo Natale

dal 20 al 31 dicembre
CANTALUPO (Bevagna)
Natale a Cantalupo

dal 21 al 31 dicembre
NOCERA UMBRA
Presepi in concorso

giovedì 24
SPELLO
Babbo Natale in Piazza. Piazza della Repubblica, dalle ore 15,30

dal 24 dicembre al 6 gennaio 2010
VALTOPINA
Presepi artistici

dal 24 dicembre al 2 febbraio 2010
MONTEFALCO
Presepe del Santuario della Madonna della Stella: nel santuario, conosciuto e venerato da una miriade di fedeli, viene allestito un presepe estremamente caratteristico

dal 25 dicembre al 6 gennaio 2010
SPELLO
Presepi caratteristici. Da visitare il presepe attiguo alla chiesa periferica di Santa Luciola a Capitan Loreto: tanti sono gli anni dedicati alla preparazione del presepe, semplice nella costruzione ma estremamente significativo (orario continuato). E’ dotato di una molteplicità di movimenti, soprattutto nella parte relativa ai diorami, lungo un camminamento cioè, che consente di osservare, attraverso una parete di vetro, panoramiche realizzate con particolari tecniche di illuminazione. Nel centro storico, da visitare il piccolo presepe nell’antica chiesa di Sant’Andrea, nella cappella del Battistero (orario: 8-12 e 15-18); nella chiesa di S. Maria Maggiore, oltre al presepe tradizionale, vengono ogni anno allestiti, su otto dei dodici altari, altrettanti presepi realizzati in vari Paesi del mondo (orari: 8.30-12.30, 14.30-18.00); inoltre, nella chiesa di San Lorenzo, presso l’altare del Riscatto, è custodito un piccolo presepe di particolare interesse storico-artistico, oltre che mistico-religioso. E’ un presepe con pastori e magi adoranti, costituito da statuine in legno con abiti d’epoca, arte romana del XVII secolo. Sempre visitabile. Informazioni tel.0742.651180

25, 26, 27 dicembre - 1, 3 e 6 gennaio 2010
MARCELLANO DI GUALDO CATTANEO
Presepe vivente: uno dei presepi viventi più conosciuti della Regione. Un centinaio i personaggi che animano la rievocazione della Natività e ripropongono scene di vita dell’antica Palestina. Ore 16-19.30. Info: tel. 0742.92941

26 dicembre - 1 e 6 gennaio 2010
CASEBASSE (Nocera Umbra)
Presepe vivente: il presepe vivente viene realizzato a cura dei giovani parrocchiani del luogo. Dalle ore 15 in poi

26 dicembre 2009 e 3 gennaio 2010
TORRE DEL COLLE (Bevagna)
Presepe vivente: “Il tempo dell’attesa”. Il presepe viene interpretato dagli alunni dell’Istituto comprensivo di Bevagna. Dalle ore 17

domenica 27
TREVI
Mercatino di Natale, in piazza Mazzini, dalle ore 9 al tramonto

Tutto il mese fino al  al 31 dicembre 2009

Mostra diffusa di arte contemporanea.

MèA, contrazione di “Il nostro mondo è adesso” è una mostra di arte contemporanea diffusa sul territorio umbro. MèA è composta da dodici mostre personali di altrettanti artisti, uno per ciascuno dei musei aderenti al circuito “Terre & Musei dell’Umbria”. La compagine degli artisti, oltre da una particolare “derivazione” dalla cultura umbra (per nascita, residenza, formazione, ecc.), è accomunata da attività e riconoscimenti che travalicano i limiti regionali. MèA, così, si propone di verificare a 360° la vitalità creativa umbra. A cura di Maurizio Coccia, Matilde Martinetti, Mara Predicatori. Nel Comprensorio sono interessati i Comuni di: Bevagna (Claudio Pieroni, al museo civico); Montefalco (Franco Passalacqua, museo civico di San Francesco); Nocera Umbra (Simona Frillici, museo civico di San Francesco); Spello (Mario Consiglio, pinacoteca civica); Trevi (Michele Ciribifera, raccolta d’arte di San Francesco).

Ente promotore e attuatore: Regione Umbria. Coordinamento operativo, segreteria generale e promozione: Sistema Museo.

Per informazioni,  sistema museo, 199.151.123

Trevi (PG)   sabato 7  e  domenica 8 novembre 2009

Trevi, tra olio arte musica e papille. Trevi e l’Olio Extra Vergine di Oliva saranno i protagonisti della terza edizione di Festivol. Due giorni in cui tutta la città sarà in festa, dove potranno essere visitati incantevoli palazzi, dove i ristoratori di Trevi serviranno piatti a base di sedano nero, e altri presidi slow food, tra cui quelli del Lazio, della Campania, e dell’Abruzzo regione ospite, dove si terranno degustazioni di Olio Extravergine di Oliva di Trevi appena franto e di vini dell’ Umbria. Momento centrale della manifestazione sarà la celebrazione del cinquecentenario dell’organo monumentale della chiesa di S.Francesco (sabato 7, ore 18).

Inoltre musica per le strade, nelle dimore storiche, trekking naturalistici, passeggiate a cavallo, trattamenti di benessere all’Olio extravergine di Oliva e anche quest’anno passeggiate con i muli tra gli ulivi.

Nell’occasione, domenica 8, edizione speciale del Mercatino delle Pulci, in piazza Garibaldi, ore 9-19.30.

Segreteria organizzativa: tel 0742.332269; 347.6882596; 328.0079662

Il Castello – Trampetti è lieta di annunciare la propria partecipazione a Frantoi Aperti (dal 7-8 Nov all’8 Dic) con degustazioni gratutite e visite guidate presso il proprio frantoio e a Festivol (Trevi 7-8 Nov) con un banchetto vendita nella piazza principale della cittadina.

Grande novità! Tutti i venerdì di novembre Aperitivolio: olio nuovo, bruschette, djset, vini, live music! dalle 19 alle 21 presso l’oleoteca del frantoio in via delle Industrie, 25 Sant’Eraclio di Foligno (Pg)

www.frantoioaperti.net

www.festivol.it

Nohát, kérem, eltelt egy kis idő az utolsó bejegyzés óta, szóval remélem, mindenki izgatottan várja az elmúlt két hét izgalmasabbnál izgalmasabb részleteit… (Na, annyira azért nem megyek bele, csak semmi pánik. )

Végre volt némi munka is a nyelviskolában – halleluja! –, történt ugyanis, hogy az elmúlt két hétben két „meeting” is volt itt. Ennyire még sosem láttam dolgozni őket…! Na, azért annyira nem kell komolyan venni, már csak azért sem, mert a két találkozó programját ugyanúgy sikerült megcsinálniuk (értsd: kicserélték a címeket, de mást nem nagyon változtattak rajta). Az első találkozó az idegen nyelvelsajátítás témakörét boncolgatta, mégpedig olyan intézmények részvételével, akik bevándorlóknak tanítják az adott idegen nyelvet. Voltak itt finnek, svédek, franciák, belgák és természetesen az olasz fél is. Csupán egyetlen szépséghibája volt a dolognak: a fogadó intézmény, konkrétan az én „munka”helyem célközönsége nem éppen a bevándorlók, sőt, ide alapvetően pénzes szülők csemetéi érkeznek főleg a messzi Amerikából… Namármost, ez nemcsak nekem tűnt fel, hanem a projektben résztvevők is többször utaltak arra, hogy nem is értik, hogy az olasz partner egyáltalán mit keres a projektben. De az olyan mondatokért azért érdemes volt végigülni a találkát, miszerint „Books are like fish – they are smelly after a while” (vagyis „A könyvek olyanok, mint a hal – egy idő után büdösek”). Csodálatos. Mindez a „naccsága” szájából hangzott el.

A második találkozó témája – nem meglepő módon – megint nem volt a legszerencsésebb: a vallás és a művészetek kapcsolata. Hogy egy nyelviskola miért vesz részt egy ilyen projektben, az számomra rejtély… Mindenesetre ezt a találkozót már én készítettem elő (fogadócsomagok, emailezés – és mint utóbb kiderült, én voltam a „mindenes” is). Nagyjából rendben folytak az események, egészen addig, amíg egyszer csak a főnökség kitalálta, hogy nem tud részt venni az egyik ebéden (egyik ember sem a háromból…), illetve utána sem tudnak elmenni a csoporttal a szervezett templomlátogatásra, mert egy nagyon fontos találkozójuk van Pratóban… Persze nagyon sajnálják… Aham. De vajon akkor kinek is jut a hálás feladat (lásd csoportvezetés)?! Talált, süllyedt: a kedves Ani mindent megold majd, gondolták ők. Na, ilyen dilettáns bandát azért ritkán lát az ember, ezt be kell vallanom.

De ha ez még nem lett volna elég, jött a szombati nap, amikor is volt egy előadás, amit egy meghívott előadó tartott. A főnökségnek hirtelen eszébe jutott, hogy ez az előadó nem beszél angolul, hanem csak olaszul, vagyis szükség van egy tolmácsra. Mintha nem ismernék már vagy negyven éve ezt az embert…! A naccsága persze rögtön rám gondolt, én visszakoztam, mire ő ragaszkodott hozzá, hogy én fordítsak, mert én aztán „molto brava”, sőt, egyenesen „bravissima” vagyok. Mondtam, hogy én azt bizony nem hinném. Ő meg nekem nem hitt. Aztán amikor az előadó megkezdte mondókáját és elhangzott az első, kb. 5 tagmondatból álló összetett mondat, akkor elegánsan átadtam a szót a naccságának és megkértem, hogy talán fordítsa le ő ezt a mondatot és az egész előadást, elvégre is ő az olasz anyanyelvű, nem én. (Zárójelben jegyezném meg, hogy még magyarról angolra sem tudtam volna lefordítani az előadást, egyrészt, mert nem vagyok tolmács, másrészt, mert olyan volt a téma és a szókincs.) Nos, a naccsága sem volt olyan bravissima, mint amilyennek engem gondolt, mert neki sem sikerült lefordítania az előadást, ezért az egyik résztvevő(!) tette meg azt. Hát, ennyit a profizmusról.

A két projekt találkozót kipihenendő, Mester Ágival nagyot sétáltunk szombaton Firenzében, ugyanis aznap érkezett meg ide. Este elmentünk vacsorázni is. Ő természetesen paradicsomos-bazsalikomos tésztát evett, mert annak szerinte itt teljesen más (természetesen jobb) íze van, mint otthon. Oké. Elhisszük. Másnap aztán 2 lakótárssal (vagyis egy jelenlegi és egy ex-lakótárssal) és Ágival kocsiba pattantunk és elmentünk Umbriába, azon belül is Perugiába és Assisibe (vannak képek is, oh yeah, de a Flickr-ön lesz több is ).

Nem tudtunk ugyan róla, de Perugiában éppen csokoládéfesztivált tartottak, aminek következtében a város tele volt turistákkal. Úgy értem, TELE. Ez azt jelenti, hogy úgy fél óra múlva elmenekültünk a városból, tovább Assisibe, ami nekem eddig az abszolút kedvencem. Nagyon-nagyon szép kis város, szóval, ha bárki tervezi, hogy elmegy oda, csak bátran, megbánni biztos nem fogja!

Estefelé Pit és Jozien, vagyis a jelenlegi és az ex-lakótárs, visszajöttek Firenzébe, mi pedig Ágival továbbindultunk Trevibe, abba a kisvárosba, ahol Ági Christopherrel foglalt le egy hotelszobát maguknak. Pontosabban továbbindultunk volna, ha felfértünk volna a vonatra. De nem (lásd csokifesztivál…). Ezért újabb óra várakozás, de közben elszórakoztatott minket egy kissé ittas marokkói, aki felvilágosította Ágit, hogy Olaszországban bizony a bal kézen hordja az ember a jegygyűrűt, és kérdőre vonta, hogy ő miért nem így cselekszik. Áginak nem volt szimpatikus ez az ember, azt hiszem. Megpróbálta kitalálni, hogy hová valósiak vagyunk, de nem sikerült neki, ezért a végén fehér zászlót (vagyis egy összegyűrt újságpapírt) lobogtatott előttünk, így hát megmondtuk neki. Erre csak azt tudta mondani, hogy „Hát, persze, hiszen itt volt a nyelvemen!”. Aham.

Mindenesetre az idő gyorsabban telt a marokkói társaságában, és szerencsére a következő vonatra már fel is fértünk. Egy átszállás után meg is érkeztünk az Assisihez hasonlóan szintén kedves és szintén úgy 500 méter magasságban fekvő kisvárosba, Trevibe. Egy gond volt csak: a vasútállomás nem 500 méterrel a tengerszint felett fekszik. Sőt, szerintem a tengerszint alatt. Namármost, este negyed nyolckor már nem volt busz, ami felvitt volna minket a városba, vagyis gyalog kellett nekivágnunk az útnak. Ez nem volt valami jó ötlet, legalábbis a kisváros kutyái biztosan nem találták olyan remek ötletnek, mert visszaugattak minket a vasútállomás irányába. Na, de ekkor megpillantottunk egy öregembert, nevezzük csak sármos barátunknak, aki éppen Fiat Pandájával (!) próbált meg kikeveredni a saját udvarából. Megkérdeztük, hogy nem felfelé tart-e a városba. Azt mondta, nem. Csodás. De azért kedvesen útbaigazított minket, majd amikor elindultunk, hallottuk, hogy igencsak lassan közeledik felénk (mögöttünk). Újra elmagyarázta az utat, mi újra megköszöntük, de azért bepróbálkoztunk, hogy egészen biztos-e abban, hogy neki lefelé és nem felfelé kell mennie. Kicsit gondolkozott, majd betessékelt minket az autóba, így 10 perc (!) alatt fent is voltunk. (Másnap egyébként újra találkoztunk az öreggel, de úgy tűnt, ő nem ismert meg minket.) A szállodát némi keresgélés után megtaláltuk, ahol is egy páncélos lovag fogadott minket. Na, jó, lovag már nem volt benne, csak a páncél állt ott. Vicces volt. Áginak ezek után még a portással is volt kedve viccelni, a hotelszoba ugyanis Mr. Walsch névre volt lefoglalva, ezért Ági közölte a portással, hogy mi vagyunk Mr. Walsch feleségei. Ő ezt nem értette. Mármint meg sem hallotta. Szerintünk pedig vicces volt.

A szálloda és a szoba egyébként nagyon elegáns volt, csak kár, hogy éjszaka a főtéren verték a tam-tamot és ezt elég nehezen viseltük. Konkrétan nem tudtunk aludni. Hogy miért kezdtek el hajnali egykor dobolni? Na, miért? Azért, mert ott meg az új olajat ünnepelték! Kiváló! Hogy ezek mindig találnak valami kifogást arra, hogy ünnepeljenek…! (De miért éppen hajnali egykor? Ha még éjfél lenne, na de egykor…! Lehet, hogy elfelejtették visszaállítani az órát?! )

Másnap hajnalban aztán Christopher is megérkezett és folytattuk a kirándulást. Spoletóba mentünk, ami egy gyönyörű kisváros, csak éppen nehéz megtalálni a dómot, és persze ott is minden út felfelé vezet!

De azért végül sikerült eljutnunk a dómhoz is, megmásztuk a hegyet is, és bár be nem tudtunk menni a dómba, élveztük a jó időt, ugyanis azon a napon 25 fokot mértek ott a hőmérők. (Igaz, az is lehet, hogy nem kellene megbízni annyira ezekben az olasz hőmérőkben. Mesélte ugyanis Ági, hogy a firenzei reptéren két oszlop is mutatja a hőmérsékletet, és ez a két oszlop egymással szemben áll. Amikor Ági megérkezett, az egyik oszlop 17, a másik pedig 19 fokot mutatott. Ehhez képest a pilóta átlagot vont és közölte, hogy 18 fok van. No comment. ) Délután aztán Spoletóban felszálltunk egy vonatra, amiről Ágiék Treviben, én pedig Firenzében szálltam le.

És ha valakiben felmerülne, hogy az olaszok esetleg mégiscsak normálisak, akkor az most jól figyelje meg a következő fotót, amit Spoletóban készítettem. Mondom: JÓL!

Nekem azóta egyébként sikerült újra lebetegednem (nátha, torokfájás, láz, bár nem magas, csak idegesítő), de remélem, a tegnapi és mai 2 liter tea, meg a pihenés, meg az Aspirin, meg a C-vitamin meggyógyít majd! A fotókurzus egyébként már két hete megy. 40-en vagyunk, de az előadások érdekesek, csak ne lennének olyan későn!

Ha valakit érdekel, hogy hogyan is alakul az együttélés a lakótársakkal, elmondhatom, hogy most már csak öten vagyunk: 4 fiú és én. A három brit és az egy dél-afrikai (Jozien, amit úgy kell kiejteni, hogy Juszín) kiköltözött, én átköltöztem Jozien szobájába, ami sokkal nagyobb, mint amiben eddig voltam. Az amerikai Daniel és a luxemburgi Pit maradt (utóbbit nemes egyszerűséggel mi (Jozien és én) csak Pitérkínek hívjuk (azt már elfelejtettem, hogy kell pontosan leírni, de az afrikaans nyelvben azt jelenti, kicsi Pit, vagyis Petike ), és jött egy olasz fiú (Nicola) és egy holland fiú is (Edwin). Meglátjuk, hogy működik majd együtt.

Na, ezúttal ennyi, bár szerintem a mennyiségre most igazán nem lehet panasz. Alla prossima!

As a little girl, I was always excited to watch travel channel. I remembered that we didn’t have cable, but some local TV stations aired some American traveling shows every Sunday after I got home from church. I almost never missed any of the episodes.
I think I have always been pretty whimsical, and dreamy. I still am. And, it kinda do me good most of the times. When I’m down, I still have my own imagination entertains me, cheers me up, keeps me going through the bumpy times.
I am led by dreams, I should say.
It is still pretty clear in my head that Sunday I watched the traveling show. That episode was about Italy. I don’t remember much, but I was so fascinated by the section of Trevi Fountain in Rome, Italy. On my non-flat TV screen, I saw how super-beautiful the architecture was, and the host of the show told you this legend about the fountain: everybody who throw a coin in the fountain is guaranteed to be back to Rome. I went crazy over it. I said to myself: one day I’m going there, I would toss a coin, and back to Rome.
If you ask my mom, she will tell you how mad I am when she travels without me, and how I keep persuading her to take me see the world. I wanna travel the world. On the next level, I wanna live for some period of times in every interesting places in this world. I wanna learn cultures.
I’m planning my trip to Europe, I’m so gonna go there. I’m so close to my dream.
I’m so excited about this trip. I hope this will be a great time of my life, things that I will remember and smile at in the future. Full of sweet memories.
I love creating sweet memories.

I used to dream to be a dancer, and I’m working on it. Let’s what I can blog about in the future. Mom always said that when I set my mind into something, I’ll make it work, make it happen, however hard it is, how impossible it may seem. I hope she’s right. I need that determination, and focus-minded.
Thank you mom, dad. I know you two have been working so hard to give us a good life. I would never have a dream without the means that you have earned. I can dream because of you, I make it come true, it’s all because of you.
When I’m fruitful, meaning earning my own money, I’ll save up for you two, so that I can make you guys happy, living in dreams, like I do now. I love you so much. It is not limited to material thing, that’s for sure.
Love you, mom, pop, and bro, and sis. =)

So, I guess I should do a day-by-day. Actually, in Scotland I made notes daily about everything I deemed noteworthy. Not so in Rome, so I shall have to rely on my sparse, holey and sadly deficient memory (and that of my travelling companion.)

Day 1 (Sunday)

So Sunday started at silly o’clock. You know it’s an early day when you get up and it’s still dark. In fact, we watched the sunrise in the car (we were in the car, not the sun) on the way for wifey to drop me at the airport (I was meeting Sparky in Rome, travelling on my own.)

I am nervous of solo air travel. It’s not the flying; I don’t mind that. It’s not the solo thing; I don’t mind that either. I just tend to forget things, get lost and go into a mild disorganised panic. I am so forgetful and disorganised that airports make me nervous in case I miss the plane. This point needs to be hammered home for two reasons (one that will become apparent on the return journey and the other…) As I’d got to the security line and made it to the scanner area, I was already mildly panicked by my lack of organisation with so much at stake and no backup plan, that I was starting to lose it. I put my case through the x-ray and prepared myself to step through the beepy machine myself. However, I’m determined never to get hauled to one side while a customs official snaps on a surgical glove, and so I removed everything vaguely metallic from my person. I got one of the little plastic trays and put in my glasses, watch, loose change, wedding ring, wallet (it has a zip on it), and phone. As I walked through, still nervous that something might beep, the security guard stared at me and said “Why did you put all that in there?” I immediately went into one of those ‘people in authority with surgical gloves have just asked me a question’ panics and replied in a flustered squeak “My wife told me to.”

I am a prat.

Panic makes you do stupid things, and not having wifey organising me does lead to panic.

Well I got to Rome (had to have a beer and a whisky on the plane to calm myself the hell back down.) I navigated Fiumicino Da Vinci airport on the way out easily. Da Vinci is the world’s least organised airport (more on that later) but even that’s easy enough to navigate on the way in. Particularly when you have only hand luggage and don’t have to go to baggage reclaim.

On the journey from airport to train, I ignored the half dozen people touting the bus transfer. ”Autobus cheaper, signore. Train not go for 25 minutes.” My arse! I said Grazie and Scusi and walked past them to the train that was the same price, actually left 2 minutes later and takes half as long, dropping me 100 yards from our hotel. I may be nervous and disorganised travelling by air, but on the ground in Rome, I’m in my element. I arrived at 12:30 local time.

I met Sparky (whom I’ve known since university and was my best man) in the Piazza dei Cinquecento outside the station. We then went to the ‘hotel’. I use this term loosely. You see, on my other visits to Rome (with wifey and/or family) we’ve stayed in a high quality hotel near Vaticano, or several times a pretty nice, but quite cheap hotel near Termini. This time I had very little money. Almost miniscule. So I went budget. We booked something that was officially a B&B hotel not far from Termini. It was on the 5th floor, with a tiny lift that made horrible noises and sometimes stuck on the fourth floor. The keyholes in all the door locks were off-centre so that you had to put the key in at a 45 degree slant. The blade of the key was a plain square, and I ask you just how secure can a key like that be? The kid who appears to run (manage, not own) the place was, I suspect, Eastern European and not Italian. He looked like a spaced out muppet. The room, which was around the size of an egg-carton, was like a slightly higher-class jail cell. There was a shared bathroom that was just about large enough to turn around in if you kept your elbows bent. All in all, not a place I would readily recommend. But hell, it was cheap, it was convenient and we were only going to sleep there after all. Oh, and the last thing was the air con. You see it was about 90 degrees and brilliantly sunny. So we switched on the air con. It made a sound like a DC10 taking off and everything in the room shook. So we switched it back off, finally understanding why they’d also given us a desk fan.

We went out to do an afternoon circuit of the Esquiline and Lateran areas. I forget how far it is, but I’d guess about 3 miles. From the ‘hotel’ in Via Rattazzi, we visited the Arch of Gallienus, and then to the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II, which contains a monument I find fascinating and impressive but is not advertised at all, and pretty much unknown to visitors of the Eternal city:

This is the Severan Fountainhead. You can get an idea of the scale from the shadow of the palm tree. Essentially, this is where one of the many aqueducts that fed Rome terminated. Alexander Severus built a great monumental nymphaeum with water basin, pools and so on, and this is it. Impressive, isn’t it. Look it up in a Rome guide. It won’t be mentioned. Every time I visit I find something new, but I’ve known about this since my first visit. Usually it’s hard to see as they screen movies in the park next to it. Round the back of it is all that remains of a 17th century villa owned by a man fascinated with alchemy and the occult. This is the ‘magic door’ that supposedly leads to a magical land. If one believes the tales, it was constructed in the 1650s to celebrate the first successful attempt to make gold from base metals. I fear if that was true, the villa would have survived and expanded. Just in case, I took some aluminium with me, but no one there (even the strange Bel-things guarding the door) offered to change if to gold for me. Bastards. Selfishly keeping the secret like that.

 On from there to the nymphaeum that is known as the Temple of Minerva Medica (but isn’t) which is also extra impressive and pretty much unknown. It is also surrounded by eletrical tram cables that make it hard to photograph nicely. I’m being pretty selective here with my 1100 photos, and only giving you the best or most interesting. If you want more info or to see shots of things I’ve missed off, you’ll find it all on my Roman Sites website (see the button on the right.) From there to the Porta Maggiore. On the photo below (only very slightly marred by tram cables) you can see the gate built by Claudius that is actually carrying two aqueducts. This area is a meeting place for several aqueducts where they enter the city, and the Porta Maggiore carried two of them across the Via Praenestina. The fascinating thing is the two water channels you can clearly see, one above the other.

Outside the Porta Maggiore is the tomb of Eurysaces the baker, once a slave, who became a freedman and apparently wealthy and important enough to have a lavish tomb of travertine right outside the city gate, covered in friezes and curiously designed with holes the same size as a Roman grain unit. It’s a fascinating tomb and is sadly partially damaged. The damage comes from the days when the Porta Maggiore was encased in massive military walls in the 3rd and 4th century, and the tomb became part of the foundations of a tower. The military gate is long gone now and the tomb and arches are among the most beautiful in Rome and, yes, among the least visited.

Beside the Porta Maggiore an aqueduct marches off east. We, however, marched off south to another aqueduct, tombs of more freedmen and finally to the area of the church of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. This church contains all the relics brought back from Jerusalem by Constantine’s mother. I think that even if you’re an avid Catholic, you’d have to admit it’s unlikely that Saint Helen, visiting Jerusalem over two centuries after the crucifixion actually managed to obtain:

• A piece of the true cross
• The finger bones of Saint Thomas
• The pillar where Jesus was beaten
• A nail from the cross
• Two thorns from the crown of thorns
• A partridge in a  pear tree
• Autographed photos of the Golden Girls
• A politician’s soul

Think I got carried away there, but I don’t think the last three are any less likely, frankly. I think of Saint Helen as a gullible tourist. I think she probably got to Jerusalem, could only speak latin, couldn’t find her hotel; some guy in a booth outside the walls shouts “Fingers of Saint Thomas… buy ten, get one free… Fragments of the true cross, two shekels a pound…”

Ok, now that I’ve angered the Catholics and the Jews (yesterday it was the knitters), let’s move on. This whole area was once a giant Imperial palace called the Sessorium. Bits of it still remain. It was built by the Emperor Elagabalus (or Heliogabalus) and later occuppied by Constantine’s family. I will lay bets that you’ve never heard of this Emperor, but he should be considerably more infamous and notorious than he is. Check him out. It’s worth reading as an eye-opener, I can tell you. Makes Nero and Caligula look straight and normal. Among the remains of the Sessorium is Rome’s other amphitheatre. Everyone knows the Colosseum, but the Amphitheatre Castrense (a private Imperial amphitheatre and later bricked up to form part of the walls of Aurelian) is, yet again, largely unknown and unvisited. Only the lowest tier of three remain:

On from there along the Aurelian walls and past the very impressive Porta Asinaria (Donkey Gate.) In 546, this gate was opened by traitors to let marauding Goths into the city. Inside the gate, standing where the Lateran Palace once stood (another palace owned by Connie’s family) is the church of San Giovanni in Laterano. This is the Cathedral of Rome and the Pope’s church. You see, St Peter’s isn’t in Rome, but in the Vatican. And the Pope is the head of State of the Vatican, but also the Bishop of Rome, and so this is his Roman Cathedral, almost directly opposite the Vatican on the other side of the city. I present here a photo of the great doors of the Cathedral. I would estimate they’re over 20 feet tall. And while they might not instantly strike you as fascinating, I will add a comment below:

While these are the doors to a Renaissance church, they were originally on the Curia, or Senate House of Imperial Rome. Yes they are original 1,700 year old Bronze doors, through which dozens of Emperors have passed. Now are you impressed? From here we visited the church of San Clemente which has an underground warren of early-Christian churches, temples of Mithras and Roman bulk housing for the poor. No photos allowed, but the place is one of my favourite spots in Rome. Should you go, it’s only 5 mins walk from the Colosseum, speaking of which, we were now at as the sun began to sink.

This is a view of said amphiteatre from the Colle Oppio park. Note the graceful curve of the stonework and the play of light in the openings. Note the lovely grading of the sky. Note the golden glow of the sun. Note the elbow of Sparky sneaking in the the bottom right. Dammit! Should have leaned over more. And so after a quick revisit to the hotel to change and despair once more at the conditions, we went out and ate, and wandered the area of the Piazza di Spagna and Trevi Fountain. It’s a buzzing area at night and a good place to sit on a fountain with a can of beer. Here’s a fountain:

Here’s the (to my mind somwhat overrated) Spanish Steps. In the early 1700s a completely unknown artist won a competition and designed a set of steps between the church and the Piazza below. If it was these days, it would have been a reality TV show, methinks. They’re world famous. They’re world famous. They’re a set of stairs. Even I can design stairs. I think I’ll have this next one go up a bit. And maybe continue the trend. I wouldn’t even say they’re particularly interesting or artistic. Would you?

Still, there’s no accounting for taste. A bit of wandering down backstreets brings us to the Trevi fountain. Now Rome’s full of fountains. There are nearly as many fountains as Romans. And it’s full of Renaissance. There’s more Renaissance than ancient even. But even I have to admit the Trevi is a little bit special…

Not a brilliant photo in retrospect. But then you’ll see a day time visit later. Both pretty tired, we returned to our hutch after this and settled in. I was tired enough that I didn’t even notice the beds seemed to have been constructed from lasagne sheets and the two towels were actually one really big towel that had been torn in half! I even slept through the helicopter like ‘whup whup whup’ of the desk fan in the stifling heat. Better than the DC10 at least. This had been a short day and I had much of Rome left to show Sparky…

As we approached Rome, I craned my neck towards the window expecting to see something “Roman”.  Nothing.  I could have been landing in the middle of the plain states.  I worried for a second that I’d gotten on the wrong plane or that I was having a nightmare.  This didn’t feel like Rome.  It didn’t look like Italy.  Only when the pilot spouted the local weather forecast did I begin to feel at ease.  I looked around.  No one else looked like they were about to panic.  Maybe we were in Rome after all.  I wasn’t convinced, however, these people could all be players in some giant ruse designed to placate my 28-year old longings.  I didn’t realize at the time that I was sleep deprived and on the verge of delusions.  I decided to wait until the we taxied to the terminal before waking my daughter.  Once passengers started gathering their belongings, I decided not to wake her until the plane was almost empty, and I could retrieve her stroller from the flight attendants.  I was the last one in line to get off the plane.  I crossed the threshold from the plane to the gate and took the stroller from the attendant.  I turned around to get back on the plane and retrieve my daughter and was immediately blocked.  I was told I was not permitted to go back on board and get my two-year-old who was sleeping.  I explained to them that they told me that they would bring the stroller to me at the end of the flight, but didn’t, so I had to come get it.  The fact that they took it off the plane and didn’t let me have it until I was off the plane was their problem.  I told them in no uncertain terms that I WAS going back onto that plane to get my child.  I was surrounded by airline staff, but I stood my ground.  They were either coming with me, or I was going through them.  As I met their gaze with the unwavering nerve of an American, one finally said “come, I will go with you.”  As he headed down the aisle and reached my daughter before I did, he waved to the rest of the crew “yes, there is a child here.”  They then offered their assistance.  At this point, I didn’t want it.

I thought the next obstacle would be customs.  I was simply hoping that I looked pathetic enough with four large bags, two check-on bags, a purse, a child and a stroller that they wouldn’t ask me to open anything.  Pathetic worked and they only looked on with sympathy.

I pushed the baggage cart and Sasha’s stroller through the halls until suddenly entering a large open area.  As people stood behind ropes waving to their loved ones, I looked for the person that would resemble the pictures of my contact, Matteo.  What I saw was this short little Italian man waving timidly to me.  We embraced, he greeted Sasha and said “welcome to Rome.”  We grabbed a taxi and he gave the driver the name of the hotel in the city center where he had booked my room.  I didn’t notice until later that I had looked so pathetic that Roman immigration officials had failed to stamp my passport.  One thing I had waited so many years to collect still eluded me.  Matteo later said that was a good thing as it would allow me to stay in the country for a long time without detection.  I wouldn’t understand the relevance of this remark until years later.

Matteo helped me load all the bags into our room, and after exchanging some currency to Lire and a short rest, he took us out to see some of the sights in Rome.  He asked me where I wanted to go first.  I said “you know.”

“Of course,” he replied.  “To the Fountain.”

*********

Pictures of the Trevi Fountain deceive the eye.  You would think it is this huge monument with a plaza in front of it, or at least a large park.  This is simply not true.  Matteo led the way through small narrow streets, turned a corner and suddenly there it was.  It felt surreal that I could be walking along a nondescript cobblestone path, and hundreds of years old monument appear out of nowhere!

The Fountain took my breath away.  I walked toward the base, a zombie.  Mesmorized by the sight my heart had longed to see, feel and touch for so much of my life, I felt nothing.  It wasn’t real to me yet. I had to really stretch to touch the waters, as the wall between the public and the water is wide.  Spray from the Fountain is everywhere, however, and many of the benches in front of Neptune and his horses are constantly wet.  No one seems to mind.

I stood for a long time, taking in the sight.  I sat.  I stood.  I didn’t want to leave.  Matteo finally asked, “are you going to throw your coin?”

“I don’t think one will be enough.  I need three.”

He looked at me quizzically, but held out his hand with an array of Italian coins.  I took two of his and one American quarter.  I turned my back and threw the quarter and thanked the fountain for calling me “home”.  I threw the first Italian coin to wish that I would become the woman, the writer, that I had always known I could be; and with the last Italian coin, I wished for my return to Rome.

Having accomplished what I set out to complete first, we walked to the Roman Forum.  When I saw the beauty of the columns, the covered archaeological explorations, the stone that was more than a thousand years old, I cried.  It’s a wonder I have the pictures that I do from this day.  I cried silently, my body trembled.  I had more of a reaction to it than Fontana di Trevi (but I believe I had been numb).  I was finally realizing that I was there…. in Rome… in Italy and that this would be my home now.

We spent the next two days seeing the sights in Rome.  Matteo was an incredible tour guide.  He said his favorite city in all of the world is Rome and that he loved showing new people around.  I loved the small hotel where we stayed.  A tiny little fountain of its own anchored the courtyard.  My daughter loved watching the coi with their brightly colored scales swimming around in the clear reflective water.

I struggled a bit to feel comfortable that I had arrived in Rome.  I didn’t expect to wake up in the country where I had longed to be living for more than 28 years.  I realized that I had wanted to live in Italy longer than I had wanted to live in the USA.  I felt guilty.  I had been schooled all my life to think that the United States was the greatest country in the world.  Brainwashed into thinking that everyone longed for the opportunity to come to the land of the free.  So, why did I rebel and want to leave?  Perhaps it was the knowledge that other countries place a greater value on family and less value on stuff.  In other countries it is more difficult to keep up with the Joneses as other countries do not have the abundance of credit available to the masses and the U.S. does.  (Keep in mind as I’m writing about the year 2000, not present day).

At the end of the third day in Rome, it was time to head north to Bologna, where my daughter and I would live for the next three years.

(Next installment:  the fateful meeting of the man who would reawaken my heart to the possibility of love – Franco)

Italy… The El Dorado of Marble

Due to some time constraints we decided to stay in Naples and not to take our connecting flight to Palermo Sicily.  We did this so that my sister Sioux could catch all of the major stuff in Italy on her first trip, and that she is booked to fly out of Venice on the 8^th of September, giving us hardly enough time to linger at any one place.  I guess we will just have to return to catch Sicily next year, darn it all!  Well we arrived at the car rental counter to pick up our car and found that the one we reserved had not arrived from Rome as of yet.  They gave us 2 cars to use until the one we ordered was ready.  This was fine except that both were stick shift cars and Tristi has never driven anything except automatics.  It was a good thing Sioux had driven sticks before.  Bad news is she hates to drive in tight, congested, winding roads, with suicide motorcyclists often borrowing your lane to pass another car.  There are no rules to driving in Italy and the signage is merely a suggestion on how to drive or where to go.  Well she did just fine, but commented later that she has never been so stressed in her life.  OOPS…Sorry Sioux!  With the above description of the roads, some of you may have had thoughts of the Amalfi Coast, and the Cliffside driving that the place is famous for.  You would be correct, we dropped our bags at our place in Sorrento and headed directly to the Amalfi Coast for a meandering look at the place.  The driving is crazy (not Rome crazy) but the views are spectacular.  There are many places where the road was built off the side of a cliff, I mean hanging on the side of the cliff, projecting out into thin air, like a cantilevered balcony.  It is an amazing piece of engineering.  What is even more incredible are the old buildings rising from the cliffs on ancient stone foundations, and the caves dug from solid rock, now used as parking spaces.  We made it to the town of Amalfi unscathed and ready for gelatos.  We took a visit to the Amalfi Basilica, which gave Sioux and the kids their first look at a real Italian piece of artwork.  Compared to the others that they will see, this is a minor sight but it was great to watch their eyes as they drooled over the marble work adorning the walls and the ornate groin vaulted ceilings covered with frescos.  It is cool to know that they get much better, but I held this a secret, so when they arrive at the others they will share the same experience Tristi and I had as we viewed these amazing buildings. 

We spent the first couple of days warming up to Italy, doing Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast, like anyone needs time to warm up to Italy.  From the moment Sioux set her eyes on Italy, she was in love.  It happens to everyone!  There is something about the old boot that calls to everyone; you must come back time and again even if you don’t throw the coin into the Trevi.  Italy has become Noah’s favorite country as well as of course, yours truly.  Ever since I visited two years ago, I could hardly stand to be away from the place.  And so goes another romantic visit to my home away from home.  From Sorrento, we went to Pompeii, the ancient city buried during the eruption of mount Vesuvious in 62 AD.  Now this is a place that even non-building freaks will be amazed with.  A complete ancient city, unburied and ready to explore.  You need days to cover it all, but one full day will give you a good sense of it’s layout and what life must have been like back in the heyday of the Roman empire.  One of the most sobering displays there is the mummified corpse of several of the town’s people that were on display.  It gives perspective to the tragedy that took place nearly two thousand years ago. 

Following Pompeii was Rome, the crazy madhouse I like to call the El Dorado of marble.  Even the streets are paved with marble (yes many are paved with asphalt and or stone pavers, but the marble is everywhere).  It is something to see, even the curb and gutter is hand carved marble, street drains, delineation markers, and the buildings, oh the buildings (can you see the lust in my eyes).  Where do I begin…  Ok, we stayed in an eleventh century castle about twenty minuets north of Rome, in the peaceful rolling hillsides dotted with cypress and olive trees.  The history of the castle is a story in itself, of which I will spare you, but the fresco covered walls, and inlaid stone floors, accent the ancient stone tower and expansive layers of stone walls added over the centuries, until you now have what is called Castillo de Castaluccia.  Needless to say, she has the attention of my affections.  Oh yea Rome, each day we took down a different piece of Rome, visiting over twenty different sights.  We are talking about Basilicas lying all over the place.  Palaces, villas, museums, galleries, ancient ruins, the Pantheon, the Coliseum, the Vatican, the Sistine chapel, the forum, and countless buildings with amazing detail.  Did I say twenty, try perhaps over thirty.  I was like a kid in a candy store, only worse, I had no parent telling me to stop, only my family’s poor little feet calling an end to each days explorations.  Oh yah, I have been to many of these places before, but they are so beautiful and so detailed that you could see them a hundred times and never get the same view twice. By the way, Basilica is short for Big ass Church, and St. Peters at the Vatican is the Crème de la Crème (my favorite is in Siena… More on that later).  In my last Blog I vowed not to go into too much detail about the buildings, so I will not tell you about the intricate hand carved marble floors walls and ceilings, the beautiful inlayed mosaic masterpieces, the countless marble carvings that artfully imitate life, mind blowing eye popping multi colored frescos offering three dimensional perspective, and the many other secrets that fill every square inch of these buildings.  There are so many colors of marble, that Crayola could double their pallet if they dared.  As I was saying, we did Rome in 3 days and headed north to visit the small hill towns of Umbria and Tuscany.

First it was off to Orvieto (in Umbria) a wonderful hill town filled with stunning hand painted ceramic pottery.  Last time I came here (2007) I saw several pieces that were perfect for my house, but could not part with the money.  These pieces are priced similar to gallery artwork, and it is hard to imagine paying that sort of price for dishes and pots.  It was interesting to note that I had many thoughts of those colorful pieces of art during the two years since I have been here last and knew that I must get something this time around.  I looked around quite a while before finding something that really caught my eye.  I looked the pieces over for some time, got the gal to give me a decent discount, figured in shipping and all, and again I could not part with that kind of money.  Granted it’s not like buying a car or anything (maybe more like a Rolex) but it is crazy money for a couple of pots.  I walked around town enjoying the wonderful atmosphere and beautiful medieval buildings lining the streets, all the while thinking about the beautiful pottery I was denying myself of.  I just hated the thought.  I wandered into another store and looked around, but didn’t like the artist’s style nearly as much as the ones I had picked out earlier.  My sister Sioux was across the way looking at some gift Items at another pottery store and I decided to join her.  I was browsing the plates and found one that I really liked.  I went thru my mind to see where I would be able to display the plate in my house (I know exactly where the pots would go).  After some concerted thought I came to realize that two pieces were needed and in differing sizes.  I looked around for a while and then the lady pointed me to a large piece she had by the same artist in the same color scheme.  Immediately, I knew that these were going to look great together.  I didn’t want to know the price so I kept on shopping.  I picked out a few things for the kitchen while I was at it, and soon there was no room left on the counter.  All the while I am still thinking about the pots I had picked out earlier, and walked away from (I really wanted those as well) but need to get a hold of myself.  Now I am not a shopper, but I must admit I think I was getting the hang of it.  I pulled out the plastic and spent some absolutely stupid money on a pile of ceramic stuff.  I liked it!  While I was in the mood (spending the kids college money) I stopped back by the other store for one more look at the other pieces I picked out.  It was a damn good thing both hands were full, because those vases were really looking sweet about this time.  Reality set in as I met back up with Tristi and the kids who saw me toting several large bags, they knew right away what I had done.  All of the stuff I bought was wrapped so they never got a chance to see what I bought, and won’t until January when we return to the states.

It was a good thing we didn’t stay any longer in Orvieto, or I might be sending the kids to Hamburger University to work at Mc Donald’s.  Well the next little hill town was not much better as it demanded its share of our money as well.  Montpulciano is famous worldwide for its wineries.  We arrived in the evening, but were wanting to walk the streets of the old city and get a feel for it’s unique vibe.  The host at the place we were staying had recommended a great little restaurant, in the old walled city, that was situated inside a cave.  The ambiance was spectacular, as was the food and of course the wine.  Housed within this cave was a wine cellar and cheese aging room, a very nice touch.  The following day we continued our sampling of the wines, cheeses and aged salamis, all of which commanded some attention from my already warmed up credit card.  We visited several wineries outside of town, for quality control purposes only, and found the wines very suitable.  In our search for great culinary delight we managed to pick up a fine collection of wines, a round of spiced and precisely aged cheese, and some “to die for” hard salami.  In this round of shopping I picked up a magnum bottle (five liters) of Sangovisi (a full bodied red – and I’m not talking Italian women here) that I had sampled at the winery only moments earlier.  This is crazy because there are six of us and twelve large bags, now ten bottles of wine plus one giant magnum, all of my ceramic collections, and what ever else Sioux and the kids bought.  We had to pack all of this in our European Station Wagon.  Tristi was the only one who had not bought anything, yet.

From Montpulciano, we headed to the heart of Tuscany, Siena.  This little hill town has it all.  The wine, cheese, salami, spices, pizza and gelatos.  It has churches and Basilicas, towers and city walls, crusty old buildings and cobbled streets, the arts and music are well represented, as is the annual horse races in July 2/August 15.  There are parades with marching bands, led by the township (17 rival townships in Siena) that won the palio (horse race) and has earned divine bragging right for the entire year.  This is the place where dolce vita (the good life – also translated as the art of doing nothing) was invented.  I love to sit in the Piazza del Campo and people watch.  It is a place where the whole world passes you by and time is of no consequence.  It is a place where you can eat, rest and even take a siesta if you please.  You can climb to the top of the bell tower and look out over the city and look at all the Siena colored rooftops.  By the way, a cool piece of trivia… The artist colors of Umber, burnt umber, Siena and burnt Siena all come from the soil colors of Tuscany and Umbria as noted by the roof tiles of the respective areas.  Oops, did I just talk about buildings again?  While I’m on the subject I did say I would mention the Basilica in Siena, just a little.  Some people are taken back by its striking black and white marble exterior, as the two tones fight each other all the way up to the top of the highest ridge.  It looks as if the church is dressed in a jail uniform.  I think we may find a piece of Irony here.  One will either love it or hate it as the black and white marble also dominates the interior including the intricate inlaid marble floors.  The contrast in marbles really accentuates the groin-vaulted ceilings and delivers an eyegasmic sense of overwhelming beauty.  The stained glass panels and mosaic works give stability to the crazy black and white striped base that dominates the structure.  There is so much going on in this one masterpiece that you need to stop every few feet and regain your composure, lest you miss many less obvious works within the body.  This place is so fairytale that perhaps Dr Seuss had stopped for prayer and found answers within.  It is hard to describe the feelings one gets while walking this place (no, not the neck-ache from looking up) but for me it evokes a disconnect from reality, a kind of fantasy land, a spiritual place but not in the sense of holy religious belief, the feeling is cool beyond description.  It is not like driving a Ferrari, or jumping from a plane, nor is it like riding a bike with the wind in your face.  It’s not like the peaceful serenity of diving, or the intimate heart pounding feeling of a first kiss.  No, it’s different, but takes elements from all of these and delivers something uniquely Tuscan.  I know already, it’s just a building!

Ok, where was I?  Oh yea, Siena, ah beautiful Siena.  By now many of you must think I am crazy, off my rocker, and a crazed lunatic building loving fanatic!  But then again many of you already know this.

Now it’s off to my favorite little hill town (well I really can’t say that for sure because there are so many hill towns that I have not discovered as of yet).  San Giminano is the home of the Smiths and Joneses of medieval Italy.  During the peak of tower building there were over 70 towers built in this tiny little hill town.  As the story goes, a family would build a tower (a fortification) as part of their home for security and protection from Invaders, as well as a sign of wealth or status within the community.  As you walk the cobbled streets you can envision the Little Fiat tower or the bold and dominating Lamborghini Tower or perhaps the sleek and sexy Ferrari Tower each competing for their slice of the skyline.  Today there are only fourteen remaining towers and one hundred percent of the original medieval charm that makes up this town.  One of the little noticed details of this city is the ornate Iron horse rings attached to many of these wonderful buildings.  I guess there is something I find intriguing about nine hundred-year-old hitching posts.  The streets whisper a thousand years of Tuscan life, and each of those buildings hold the soles of those whispers.  The past is so very present in this town of towers.

We chose to Stay just outside of town at a small winery and farmhouse.  The view of the towers from our place was great.  The guy who checked us in walked me thru the winery and gave me a bottle of his finest.  Tristi and I enjoyed a nice romantic evening at this well-appointed little villa.  In the morning we walked the vineyards and checked out all of the Prechuto on the hoof.  There were pens of wild hogs, angora rabbits as well as some chickens.  We were the only guests there and were greeted by those who tended the animals and grapes, on this peaceful Tuscan morning.  The Italians call these places Agriturismo, as they give tourists the chance to experience life in the Tuscan countryside.  We really enjoyed our stay but as always had a full plate of sights to see.  After finishing up in San Giminano we headed for Pisa to see some crazy Architecture. 

Pisa was one of those sights we had passed up on during our last trip because we only had ten days on the ground.  I felt it was a lesser sight to the others we were visiting, but this time we needed to at least see the tower.  I am glad that we stopped in to see the leaning tower of Pisa, as it was much better then imagined.  It is strange that the tower was started in the early twelfth century and soon began to fail structurally.  Instead of fixing the building foundation, they chose to leave it as it was and build the upper floors on a new basis of level.  It continued to lean thru the years and finally had to be structurally corrected in the twenty first century to keep it from reaching critical center of balance.  As it stands today, the tower is a beautiful work of art, that receives huge attention because of its off center camber, but is worthy of viewing even if it was never given its unique non vertical positioning.  The Basilica just opposite of the tower is well worth a visit as well.  Most of all it is just a fun town to visit and the kids loved the shopping in and around the piazza.  I had to pull the kids away from the shops because Florence was next on the list and offers some great shopping as well. 

Besides shopping, Florence offers some of the finest art works in all of Italy and perhaps the world.  The Uffici Gallery is filled to the brim with all of the masters of both stone and brush, and Galleria de Academia holds the David and the prisoners by Michelangelo, as well as rooms of other wonderful works not to be missed.  There are many other galleries across this great city but the buildings are calling for my attention.  The Duomo is the beautiful red dome dominating the Florence sky, which calls to you from all corners of the town.  The Basilica is one of the most ornate and beautifully decorated buildings in Italy and holds its own with Saint Peters at the Vatican and Saint Marks in Venice.  Aside from the Duomo, there are several other great Basilicas to visit while in town.  The hardest part of any tour to Florence is not getting glazed eyes from staring at all of the beauty around you.  It is easy to miss some fabulous buildings when running from one masterpiece to the next.  Along many side streets are incredible buildings with ornate details and wonderfully decorated walls and ceilings that go completely undiscovered mainly because of all of the top rated stuff.  The same is true of statues and reliefs.  While the crowds are running to the masters, there are sometimes far more stunning pieces by lesser artists that get little to no attention mostly due to the critics and guide books directing our attention to the masters.  What I am saying is that there are so many incredible pieces that many get passed up without notice.  I think all of the lesser pieces should be moved to my house where they would be admired every day. 

Florence is to art as Venice is to Architecture.  Now this is a place that gives equal attention to all of its buildings.  But here I am again exercising adjectives normally reserved only for Paris fashion runways.  I said I would try to keep the building talk to a minimum and true to my word I will not mention anything else about these timeless beauties for the rest of this Blog. 

Venice was the highlight of our trip because we had my sister visiting with us as well as our dear friends from Arizona, the Covells.  Yes we toured the B things and looked at the art stuff, but best of all we spent our sunny afternoons just strolling the streets and making small talk in a town of timeless beauty.  We took a vaporetti to Murano, caught a glass blowing show and did some aimless meandering down dead end streets.  I vowed to spend some stupid money on a gondola ride, and we found a gondolier we liked.  We wandered off to get some lunch and never returned to take the ride, something I now regret.  All of the motorized watercraft were banned from the canals after two in the afternoon due to a special parade and rowing race scheduled for the afternoon.  It is a rare occasion when the canals are smooth and quiet, and we let this opportunity slip away.  We had a nice Italian dinner with our friends and family, a fitting end to our time in Venice.

The following morning we dropped Sioux at the airport and said our goodbyes.  She hated to leave, almost as much as we hated to see her go.  It was great to be able to spend nearly a month with my sister, where work and the daily grind of life was not a competing issue on our time together.  From Venice, we headed to Milan where we sampled the city, and made plans to see the rest of Western Europe.

I marchi e le esperienze de Il Castello e di Trampetti si uniscono per dar vita ad un progetto di crescita nella produzione e vendita nei mercati nazionali e internazionali dell’olio umbro di qualità.
Trampetti azienda di Trevi con oltre un secolo di vita, da qualche anno ha puntato decisamente sulla ricerca della qualità raggiungendo un prezioso gradimento da parte del pubblico e degli “addetti ai lavori” ottendo riconoscimenti e premi. Recensita su tutte le maggiori guide dedicate all’olio di oliva extravergine è presente con crescente soddisfazione sui più importanti mercati internazionali come Nord America, Giappone e Nord Europa.

Massimo Sisani e Federico Bibi i titolari, nel loro progetto di espansione hanno coinvolto altre forze, la società si è ingrandita con l’ingresso di nuovi soci: Raffaele e Giovan Battista Tosti, Mario Petesse e Gian Marco Tosti.

La produzione avverrà nei locali di Via delle Industrie a Sant’Eraclio di Foligno.

Nasce il FRANTOIO IL CASTELLO – TRAMPETTI.

I have a method of reaching big goals. I start out by not telling anyone else what I’m doing until the plans are firmly under way. I knew I would eventually have to tell my employer and my parents. My parents found out AFTER I had scheduled the auction of my house. My employer found out 10 days before I was leaving. People often turn into naysayers when you undertake something big. No one really asks you if you would like some advice; they just give it.

So I decided to keep a few people in the dark. I had enough to keep me busy anyway. Passports, downsizing of my household, a garage sale to arrange and friends to see before I left for good.

I decided to move to Italy with the mindset of never coming back. It would be easier to stay committed to the goal if I thought I had no choice but to make it work.

“Matteo” and I quickly hit it off.  In no time, we were discussing books, our lives, our travels and most importantly, my desire to live in Italy.  We talked by phone constantly.  Yes, he was married; I was in no mood to meet someone.  We simply discovered another person who loved books, esoteric thought and possibilities.  And then, he challenged me.  He threw down the gauntlet and dared me to pick it up.  “You can live there and dream of moving here, or you can move here.”  Well that just pissed me off.  For years, it was easy to say how much I wanted to live there.  Easier to live in the possibilities and dreams rather than make them realities.  For crying out loud, I was a single, widowed mom…. what business did I have in running away to a foreign country, two-year-old in tow?!  How irresponsible would that make me?

I decided to find out.    “Matteo” and I began talking in June.  By early-July, I knew I was going to move there.  He pushed me every step of the way to set concrete goals.  Without that, I don’t think I would have had the courage to do it and live the dream as though I was determined to make it a reality.  I had lost something with the death of my husband…. my courage… my feeling of safety and security in the world.  His death had shaken me to my core and made me a scared single mother not certain if I could raise my daughter properly.

So many times I vacillated in my belief in myself.  I could be certain I was strong enough to move in the morning and by the afternoon, be afraid to book the plane tickets.  But Matteo promised he would help me once I arrived in Rome.  He promised.  Now I had met people online in the past and for the most part, had had really good experiences.  He made everything sound so reasonable.  He said “what’s the worst that can happen?…. you show up in an international city where people speak English and Italian, you find out I’m not who I say I am, and you spend a weekend in Rome and go home?  You’ll have your plane ticket, with its return.  You’ll have your traveler’s checks.  And you’ll have your hotel.  You arrive and decide you don’t want to stay and turn around anyway, so why not just get on the plane?”  “At least you’ll finally see your precious Fountain!”

What the hell, I figured.  I can always jump in a cab at the airport and say “Rome.”  It wouldn’t matter if the taxi driver didn’t speak English.  I’d been to New York.

So I set the date for arrival in Rome on September 22, 2000.

Nota di Pao: Che in Italia ci sia uno scarso senso civico, non ci piove, ma che poi ci siano vandalismi compiuti da cittadini di paesi che spesso vengono a farci la morale…

°°°

Un segno indelebile può deturpare un monumento, specie se fatto con un coltellino che incide sul marmo. Ma la turista olandese che ha compiuto il gesto seduta sul bordo della Fontana di Trevi a Roma non ci ha pensato nemmeno.

Colta in flagrante mentre incideva il proprio nome nella giornata di lunedì dagli agenti della polizia municipale, ha risposto «Non sapevo che fosse proibito». Ma la stupida frase non le ha evitato di essere denunciata a piede libero per danneggiamento dei monumenti.

Un’altra turista anglosassone, invece ha lasciato un segno meno evidente ma è stata comunque multata per 160 euro: si è immersa nella Barcaccia di piazza di Spagna per fare il bagno. Proprio come Anita Ekberg aveva fatto nella Fontana di Trevi mentre girava «La dolce vita» di Fellini.

Fonte: www.corriere.it

Those images of the Fountain haunted me as I grew up.  Everytime  I went through a rough patch, I’d remember the rushing waters, the sounds of the crowd in that movie.  The Trevi Fountain became my escape.  Rome, my imagined real home.  There was nothing I wanted more in the world than to go home.

I grew up, moved into young adulthood and subsequently moved to several different cities around the U.S.  I married and divorced my first husband and met my second.  He, the father of my daughter, told me that I needed to settle down and have a child and my head and heart would finally find the rest it had so long been seeking.  He told me to forget about Rome and all its hedonistic trappings.  I met his design for my life with the eye of someone who had grown up with a dream killer.  I had had a 25-year affair with the Fountain; he was just some guy.  He had no idea what Trevi and I had been through in all our years together.  But I knew he had a purpose in my life.

I felt in love with him because I was supposed to (some things really are written on the stars).  I married him because I knew he was the man that would bring my second most important desire to reality — my daughter.  He passed away while I was pregnant and although at the time my dream of standing in front of Fontana di Trevi was forgotten, I should have known that the Fountain would not forget me.

The next two years were spent being as best a mom as I could, but something was missing.  Yes, I was grieving, but all the emptiness in my heart was not caused by a man that I had been married to for less than a year.  I was sitting in my kitchen trolling Amazon.com one afternoon and read a review by an Italian man.  His rich prose lit a spark in my brain.  As I read review after review that he had written, I decided to pay him a compliment and thank him for such enjoyable reading.  To my surprise, he wrote back.

The Fountain had begun calling me home.

Louis Jourdan was the most suave and debonair man I’d ever seen in all of my 10 years.  His portrayal of the wealthy playboy prince wooing the American girl, set against the backdrop of the Trevi Fountain in Rome, tore my tender young heart open.  I wanted that life.  I wanted to be swept off my feet by a prince just as all those Disney stories promised.  I wanted to feel the excitement, heartache and glamour that a love borne from that Fountain and Rome would bring to me.  Rome held the key.   I just had to get there.  And so, on that very day at the age of 10, I vowed to visit the Fountain.  No, not just visit, but to live there in Italy.

I pointed to the television and proclaimed to my mother who had her head buried in her knitting that I would one day go “to live there.”

“Uh huh,” she said, seemingly nonplussed and smoothing her pattern.

I stared for a moment at her and wrinkled my brow.  How could she not believe me? I looked back to the TV.  Yep, that’s where I was headed, and I didn’t care how long it took me to get there.  I was going to see it.  I was going to toss my coins in,  and I was going to find love in Italy.

I just knew it.

Mais um dia levantando tarde, e adquirindo uma experiência muito cultural: lavar roupa. Tinha muita roupa suja, estava com apenas uma cueca limpa (e muitas meias – por que, de novo eu pergunto, peguei mais meias do que cuecas?) e faltam mais nove dias para terminar minha viagem.

O dono da lavanderia me ensinou como fazer tudo por lá: uma máquina era para comprar sabão em pó, outra para acionar a máquina que iria usar, outra para acionar a secadora, outra para pegar saco plástico de vários tamanhos para guardar as roupas, e era um pequeno parque de diversões para mim.

Essa diversão me custou quase a tarde inteira.

Como um bom filho da mãe, liguei para a cuja pedindo informação sobre como separar minhas roupas, apesar de já ter uma idéia na cabeça a respeito de roupas brancas, coloridas, jeans etc. Além de ser muito bom matar a saudades por telefone, tive as informações que precisava para continuar minha aventura.

Enquanto esperava 40 minutos por cada demanda de roupa, assistia um pouco de MTV que estava passando na televisão (talvez por eu ser jovem o dono achou que eu só assistisse isso e colocou quando eu me sentei para esperar), e notei que o formato de programação da MTV italiana (a qual não sei se é igual às outras da Europa) lembra muito a programação antiga da MTV brasileira, onde haviam programas e propagandas, mas quase toda a grade era composta por videoclipes.

Saudades da MTV brasileira dos anos 90.

Tudo lavado e um grande sorriso interno, passei em um restaurante logo atravessando a rua, e pedi um frango grelhado com batata assada. Aqui eu tenho comido muita pizza ou lanche, então pedir algo que não seja feito em demanda já significa certa saúde no prato.

Essa mesma saúde eu mandei um pouco para o espaço ao pedir um tiramissú de sobremesa (continuo sem saber qual é a graça dessa sobremesa – ou preciso comer todas do mundo para entender), e isso aconteceu um pouco antes de uma gangue de 50 jovens (tudo bem, eram menos) da Alemanha chegar para comer. Atrás de mim, estava um casal brasileiro, comentando sobre uma sorveteria que é imperdível e que fica perto do Pantheon, e essa informação poderá ser de grande valia para mim.

Passei na mesma mercearia (ou qual seja o nome verdadeiro) e comprei um doce de chocolate parecido com brownie e uma Coca Zero, e voltei para o meu hotel, onde eu pude com muita alegria e um certo senso de vitória arrumar todas as minhas roupas limpas na grande mala e ver que ainda sobra espaço.

Logo depois lembrei que dentro dessa mala ainda deveriam entrar dois pares de tênis, uma nécessaire (existe algum nome para homens? Falando assim parece que estou usando absorvente e echarpe) e uma mala fina onde estou guardando todos os presentes e quinquilharias compradas na viagem (que são bem poucas).

Peguei um taxi para o ponto de encontro da excursão, e entramos em um ônibus de dois andares, sendo o último conversível. É aquele tipo de ônibus que passa pela cidade e tem um monte de japonês gente tirando foto, filmando, apontando, usando chapéu esquisito (que apesar de ter comprado no local, ninguém no local usa). Passamos por uns lugares que não entendi muito bem da verdadeira importância (confiem em mim, não eram construções históricas como a Fontana di Trevi, era um prédio bem zuado e simples), chegamos a um ponto onde paramos, descemos, e a guia nos levou até a Fontana di Trevi.

A Fonte de Trevi, para quem sabe a história, é isso. Para quem não sabe, como eu, contenta-se apenas em achar a construção algo lindo. Uma fonte que tem dois ou três andares de altura só de ornamentos, imensa, com as cascatas e a meia lua de água onde todos sentam para tirar foto, se refrescar, admirar.

Havíamos marcado um ponto de encontro lá perto, em frente à uma gellateria (mamma mia), então eu tirei as fotos e fui para lá, tomei um sorvete (bem pequeno, no copinho – menor que de café) de Nutella (bem suave, comparado com o outro que tomei em Veneza, até a cor era clara) e fiquei olhando algumas lojas.

Algumas lojas vendem artigos medievais, como capacetes e espadas. Em uma delas eu vi uma espada linda, com cabo e bainha de madeira (não madeira de verdade, me parece uma boa imitação), lâmina de aço e era um pouco menor que o tamanho da minha perna (eu tenho 1,73m de altura – não, não é de cintura).

Comprei-a.

Com gosto.

E agora preciso me informar sobre como voltar para o Brasil com ela, sem ser preso ou apanhar da polícia, ser interrogado, revistado, investigado, interrogado de novo, e ter dor de cabeça. Mas a espada é linda, vem com suporte, mas também tem uma corrente na sua bainha, o que talvez me permita pendurar na parede.

Feliz com a espada nas costas, cadê o grupo? Eu havia chego antes do horário combinado, não encontrei ninguém, então tomei o sorvete, entrei nas lojas, comprei a espada, saí e não encontrei ninguém. Fui até onde estava o ônibus e ta-dáá: ele não estava mais lá.

Como mágica.

Então eu voltei ao ponto de encontro, voltei à Fontana di Trevi, voltei de novo ao ponto de encontro, tentei achar alguém do ônibus (como sempre, velhos e crianças – os jovens são descolados demais para fazer uma excursão turística), não achei ninguém, voltei ao ponto de encontro, voltei ao ponto onde estava o ônibus, olhei o horário e faltava meia hora para terminar a excursão, o que para mim significava que não valia a pena correr atrás do ônibus, por exemplo, indo até o Coliseu, pois eu chegaria a tempo de ir embora, então eu tive uma idéia.

HARD ROCK CAFE – ROMA

A primeira vez que eu fui eu tinha 12 anos, e foi em Orlando, quando estávamos (eu, meu irmão e meus pais) conhecendo a Disney World, encantados com seus parques perfeccionistas, quando conhecemos esse restaurante, que era também um museu da música.

Da música, e não do Rock, ou do Hard Rock em específico, pois lá eles possuem pertences da Tina Tuner (ela é do rock?), da Shakira (ela é do rock?), e milhares de outras bandas/cantores(as) de diversos gêneros (musicais e sexuais).

Hoje, treze anos depois, estou de volta ao restaurante – desta vez em Roma. Enquanto esperava uma mesa, fiquei olhando a loja que sempre tem coisas legais, tanto que eu gastei mais dinheiro em um chapéu e uma camiseta.

Agora eu tinha uma mochila (a usual de passeios, que fica nas costas), uma espada (em uma grande sacola) e uma sacola de papel com as compras do restaurante: isso chama-se comodismo.

Mesa pronta, a atendente Maria veio anotar meu pedido com grande simpatia, perguntando de onde eu era (provavelmente meu inglês-iugosvalo somado à dificuldade de falar R denuncia que eu não sou americano), das compras que havia feito na loja.

Feito (e chego) o pedido, saquei meu sagaz iPhone para tirar uma foto do prato e a atendente se ofereceu para tirar uma foto minha. Pelo ambiente ser escuro, somado com a qualidade da câmera do iPhone (que não é exemplar para ambientes escuros), a foto ficou regular para ruim.

Então ela se ofereceu para tirar outra foto, agora junto com ela.

Tá namoran-do! Tá namoran-do!

Ela estava se divertindo com as fotos, parecia mais uma amiga tirando foto junto do que alguém que estava ali para me atender apenas. Então guardei o aparelho, ela se despediu e eu parti para cima do prato. Um fato me surpreendeu: não consigo comer mais um hambúrguer sozinho.

Hoje eu fiz duas refeições, almoço (frango com batatas – porção pequena/regular + refrigerante) e janta (hambúrguer com fritas – porção regular + refrigerante refil), sendo que esta última eu precisei deixar um pouco no prato, ou eu teria que bater fotos no hospital.

Lembrei que tinha a câmera digital no bolso, o que era melhor para tirar as fotos no ambiente escuro. Pedi a conta para a atendente e, quando ela voltou, mostrei a câmera, e isso a fez dar pulos de alegria. Lembram daquela novela, acho que era Tieta, que a caminhonete (pick-up) entrava na cidade e as crianças saiam correndo atrás dela, sorrindo, gritando e balançando os braços até perder o alcance? Foi mais ou menos assim a alegria da atendente.

Então tiramos mais algumas fotos.

Paguei a conta, nos despedimos, peguei um taxi e voltei para o hotel. Experimentei o chapéu e a camiseta (achei um pouco grande, penso seriamente em voltar lá e medi-la com um tamanho médio e ver o quanto de pano que se perde e se vale a pena trocar).

Perdi a excursão mas ganhei um jantar agradável, apesar de sozinho (com participações esporádicas de uma atendente simpática e alegre). Também comprei uma espada (this…is…Sparta! E meu abdome é igual ao do ator), uma camiseta e um chapéu.

O Coliseu eu ainda posso ver outros dias de minha estadia por Roma, de manhã, à tarde ou à noite, e no mesmo dia eu ainda aproveito para conhecer outros lugares e maravilhas históricas que a cidade pode oferecer.

Amanhã tenho excursão ao Vaticano às 9h.

FALANDO EM PLANEJAMENTO

Sinto necessidade de encurtar meus dias na Itália pois, como disse algumas vezes, tive o infortúnio de escolher dias a mais do que o necessário.

Exemplo: Roma.

Escolhi passar cinco noites (seis dias) por aqui, considerando que o primeiro foi o checkin no hotel, o segundo foi ontem (lavanderia, Fontana di Trevi e Hard Rock Cafe) e o terceiro está começando hoje (com visita ao Vaticano). No dia de hoje eu ainda consigo visitar outros lugares durante o dia, e ao anoitecer volto para o hotel. Amanhã eu posso começar o dia no Coliseu e terminar em algum ponto histórico (o que significa que poderei aproveitar muito do dia visitando muitos lugares próximos). E o resto dos dias, o que vou fazer?

Outro exemplo, já vivenciado: Veneza.

Fiquei duas noites (três dias), considerando o primeiro (checkin e passeio), o segundo (passeio a pé), e o terceiro (checkout), sendo que daria para fazer tudo em um dia só e deixar o checkout para o começo da noite.

Mais um exemplo: Verona.

Escolhi ficar três noites (quatro dias), considerando o primeiro (checkin de um dia), o segundo (passeio no centro de Verona), o terceiro (passeio no centro de Verona e a ópera na Arena di Verona) e o quarto (checkout). Dava para fazer o passeio no centro de Verona e a ópera em um dia apenas, sem repetir no dia anterior.

Nápoles eu terei meu último passeio, enquanto em Palermo eu não tenho nada planejado, apenas passeios que eu montei (meia hora antes de pegar o vôo em Guarulhos) visitando alguns lugares e só.

Para quem começar a puxar os cabelos achando que estou louco, pare(m) para pensar: eu estou na Itália desde o dia 18 de agosto, rodando diversas cidades, conhecendo um monte de lugares, vivendo diversas experiências (contra ou a favor de minha vontade), sem falar meu idioma (nunca falei tanto inglês até então), presenciando construções e obras de arte históricas e maravilhosas, experimentando (tentando) algumas comidas e, como disse antes da viagem, vivenciando a experiência de passar um tempo sozinho, longe de tudo que conheço e todos com quem gosto e convivo.

Estou aproveitando muito bem, é uma experiência distinta que vai ficar nas fotos, nas lembranças e principalmente na memória, na vida, para contar para as pessoas, e até mesmo colocar no currículo (ou acham que não é importante colocar sobre experiências – profissionais ou não – no exterior?).

A viagem que estou aproveitando agora me dá vontade de viajar para outros lugares, como Estados Unidos, pois nesta viagem tenho percebido que eu consigo me comunicar bem em inglês mesmo sem ter feito aulas (apesar de ter vontade de fazer).

Agora irei preparar as fotos para colocar no Flickr (http://www.flickr.com/photos/afranzolim), os e-mails (um para a família, um para a agencia de viagens e outro para o Itaú) e me preparar para usar a internet para, além de tudo isso, também pagar algumas contas, ver notícias e logo ir dormir, pois amanhã meu dia começa cedo.

De meningen bij de vorige foto waren verdeeld, zoals deels verwacht. Door het werken met een lange sluitertijd is ghosting nu eenmaal niet te vermijden op dergelijke drukke ontmoetingsplaats. Ook in deze foto krijg je een specifiek kenmerk van de langesluitertijdopname, namelijk melkachtig water. Benieuwd of ook hier weer de meningen uiteen lopen.