Firenze

June 28 Well, Cortona is still cutesy and touristed and beautiful. We happen to be staying in the exact same room I was in before, so that’s handy in this re-built convent with a winding warren of hallways and stairs. We didn’t quite know how to act when we first got here – we have a room to ourselves? With towels and our own bathroom? We can come back anytime we want? It’s a nice break from hostelling. Yesterday we spent the morning on the train from Rome. Dad and Karen stared out the window and I finished a book. In the afternoon we trekked out to Le Celle (St. Francis’ cell) and Santa Margherita Church. It was really pretty out and not too hot, but last night (once we were all snuggled up in our beds) a thunderstorm broke out, and boy did it rain. This morning it’s clear and sunny again. We’re going to go visit the museums today if we can convince ourselves to leave our room. June 30 Our last day in Cortona had another thunderstorm in for us. Luckily, this time we had to good fortune to combine shelter with lunch at a nice little restaurant with gluten-free options for Karen. She had tomato soup, Dad had spaghetti, and I had a 4 fromaggio pizza. We scuttled home in the drizzle afterwards. Karen and I laughed at Dad, who simply galloped down the hills to get to our nice dry room. When motivated, that man can move. For dinner we returned to the same restaurant for the gluten-free goodies and friendly waiters. They remembered us. In Italy meals begin with antipasti (appetizers), continue with prima pasti (first pasta), and then secondi (second course), followed by dessert. All this adds up, of course. The night before Dad needed some dinner, and I kept him company, so I got some caprese (mozzarella sliced with tomato and fresh basil) to pretend to eat and he got a prima pasti ravioli with sage and butter sauce. The waitress asked if that was all with a face that clearly said she thought we were starving to death. We did a little better this night, Dad got a soup before his calzone, and I had gnocchi before some pork. Karen dined well on veal with mushrooms and a side of zucchini. No one worried if we were going to starve there, but we were a little worried about being able to waddle home. As Dad keeps noticing, Italy is no place for a heart patient. Everyone here walks, uphill and down, over cobbles and lots of stairs. Being handicapped here would be a huge challenge – smooth surfaces are hard to come by. We loaded up on our hotel’s free continental breakfast before taking off on the train for Florence. Dad still seems dismayed over Italians’ lack of appreciation for bacon and eggs, but he’s managing with only a little comment every now and then. We made it into Florence a couple hours later, since the bus was blessedly on time in Cortona. A nice little old man helped us despite a lack of English, and we found another helpful friend on the Florence bus. We cut it a little close, since I had reserved tickets for the Uffizi gallery at 1:30, and we didn’t get out of our out-of-the-way-hostel until 1. We did make it more or less on time though, and we spent the afternoon soaking up paintings by Botticelli, Rubens, Raphael, Michelangelo, Cimabue, and others. Karen gave each work a lot of attention, so we spent about 3 hours in there instead of the average 2. Karen just seems to soak everything in without saying much, and my Dad isn’t too chatty, so sometimes I have a hard time knowing if they like what they’re seeing. They haven’t revolted or gone into protest yet, so that’s a good sign. The Uffizi had so many works from the same period that we could start to see the difference between the masters and forgettable names – it’s not just prejudice, there really is a difference between the good and the mediocre. Maslow’s hierarchy had been put to the test for me: art or lunch. For three hours art won, but by the time we left I was pretty desperate for dinner. We walked across Ponte Vecchio, a neat old bridge covered in gold shops by the Medici to find a restaurant from our guidebook. The entire center of the bridge had been blocked off for a huge wedding of some kind. I don’t know who they were or what they did, but those people had money and wanted to show off. We filed past on the sidewalk with all the other tourists, gawking at the photographers and wineglasses and the couple. They may have been wealthy and important, but I would never want to get married that way. How showy, how shallow. They were on display like something in the shop windows, and had to have police nearby to help with the crowds. Not much fun. We saw a few other newly weds that night, walking around to all the big sights to perform the litany of the photos. That might be more fun. For dinner, Dad and I devoured calzones while Karen had grilled pork with salad and potatoes. We left satisfied and exhausted for our hostel. We’re staying in a convent-turned-hostel, with something like 300 rooms. We have our own private little room with 3 beds and a tiny bathroom, so we are quite content. We’ve found that we can walk here pretty easily since Florence is rather small. Plus, all the Tobacchi shops are out of bus tickets (as they come in on Monday), so it’s just been easier overall not to worry about schedules and routes and walk. Tomorrow we might go joyriding on one of the little electric buses, but other than that, we’ve got our daily exercise laid out for us. Florence is very different than Rome; I think I prefer Rome. Florence is a lot smaller, so it’s handy to be able to get from one side of the city to the other in almost no time (we can walk from our hostel to the other side of town in an hour – Rome took more like 4 hours). It’s also more consistent in that all the buildings and piazzas are clearly Renaissance instead of being a mishmash of 1000 years. That said, Rome is big enough to absorb the tourist crowds and still be its own city; Florence’s roads are literally crawling with tourists and little else. The scam artists have followed, of course, so Rome’s not alone in that problem. The many museums have some great art, but the reason they have it is that they have gutted all the nearby churches. In Rome you can still walk into chapels and find Caravaggios; in the Academia there’s rooms full of altarpieces from Florence, which means a lot of naked altars. It’s nice to be able to get up close to them, but I think seeing the art in situ is more powerful. This morning we hit the Academia early and spent 3 hours looking at more medieval art and Michelangelo’s David. Even though people spend hours in line, most of them just run through to David and then glance at a few other things and leave. It’s not a terribly big museum, but it has some nice things in there. Afterwards we took a picnic across the river (we got shooed away from the Cathedral. I guess picnicking on national monuments doesn’t go over well) in a little park. Tonight we’re going to try out our hostel’s buffet dinner, it sounds like there’ll be a few things Karen can eat too. Plus she’s got tuna and some other things with her that she can eat. (She’s never going to want to see a can of tuna again when she gets home, I’m guessing). She’s a trooper. She worries about whether she’s putting us to trouble with her dietary needs, I worry whether Dad and Karen like anything, and Dad tries to get the two of us to calm down. We’re all getting better at our respective jobs.Dad is also navigating for us now, plus doing some reading to help us figure out what to do. I'm grateful. I have just convinced Karen to try to eat a raw onion with a raw tomato. We don't have any silverware, and Dad is out at a laundromat. Now she is making weird faces and her nose is running. I'm going to try to help her finish it off. If you never hear of us again, you know what happened to us. Death by onion.

Head for the Hills

Today was a day of contrasts; one might say we were Baroque! We started out the day with a visit to the Cappuchin crypt, where we saw the famous chapel covered with bones as ornamentation. Karen had said something about using the human body, and I thought this might be a formative artistic moment. I think she thought it was kinda creepy. I still think it’s a great statement. Almost feels like modern art with its potential sass. In the afternoon we caught a train to Tivoli to see the Villa D’Este. We arrived just before the storm did. We ran around and looked at a couple things before the thunder and lightning and rain began in earnest, and then we spent two hours on a little bench in an alcove watching and waiting. The gardens may make it look like man has tamed nature or God, but it’s clearly a false impression. The lightning and thunder were right over us, and although we had food and good company, none of us had a scrap of warm clothing. What bad Alaskans! We shuffled around the rest of the garden in the drizzle and then marched for the station. In the train we discovered an advantage to our light clothing was that it also dried quickly. By the time we got to Rome we were simply a bit damp in places. It’s weird to be leaving Rome. I’m ready to move on, but it’s always sad to leave a place you’re familiar with and have good memories in. Ah well. Not to further stereotypes…but so far I have had great conversations with two French people here at the hostel. And both of them have spent at least part of those conversations in their underwear. As the Italians say, there are many animals in Noah’s ark. One French man is an architect, but originally started out as a designer for dental prosthetics (the dust got into his lungs and he had to switch professions). Right now I’m sharing a room with a little spitfire of a French lady who practices homeopathic medicine. I’m enjoying myself, but I’m afraid my French has decayed pretty badly. Oh la la. Off to Cortona tomorrow – Head for the hills!

Troopin'

Well, Karen and Dad and I are surviving as quasi-backpackers here in Rome so far. Our hostel has been clean and decent, but because we made reservations so late we’re doing a lot of room switches and I’m separated from the other two. It’s also hard to find a way to charge a computer with sketchy outlets, so we’ll see how much blogging I manage. Life will be easier once we get to Cortona, and then when we hit Belgium I would kiss the ground if I didn’t know what had been on it. For now I’ve got to try to finish booking everything we need. Karen and Dad are doing well, so far they’ve seen the Colosseum, the National Museum, Ostia Antica, and a few other goodies. Karen is fun to go to museums with because she stops and stares at things that Dad and I give a once over and keep going. At one point I asked about the Discus Thrower, and Karen heard “Disco Thrower.” Totally different image! Karen keeps us smiling. Dad has also done well. A young woman with a baby “bumped” into him on the metro and put her hand into his pocket. He did just what he should have: he pulled out her hand with a grip of steel and said quite loudly, “She had her hand in my pocket!” First thing she said: “Baby!” and then some cussing in Italian. The other passengers seemed to sympathize with her and then were stolidly on Dad’s side. Her cover blown, she left. We saw her on another train with her hand in another guy’s pockets later. So we have survived our first fraud attempt.

We also managed to hit the Vatican Museum on an incredibly empty day – thank the Lord. We met a friendly lady from Florida in the hour and a half line who kept us entertained for a little while. It’s interesting to talk to the upper class when you’re doing things like visiting the museum; they assume that you are one of them. She was telling us about taking off her expensive jewelry and switching it out with cheaper stuff to avoid pickpockets and such…Karen and I just kinda looked at each other and smirked. We were already pickpocket-proofed. When we finished the Vatican Museum we hit up Old Bridge for some pre-lunch Gelato. Nom. We did a little shopping and went home after that; travelling sure takes it out of you.

Another Maher tidbit I forgot to add: Whenever we see a wedding or a posing bride and groom, Fr always makes a snide comment about them doing the Litany of the Photos. Even as the bride is walking into the church, she’s got 3 cameras on her, and she stops every two or three steps to pose. It’s rather ridiculous. I guess Italians get married later in life or not at all, so there’s more fuss. Or more money is spent. I don’t know why, but it’s a lot fussier than even US weddings.

The Official End of School and the Official Beginning of Summer

Wednesday we had the morning off for the Papal audience. I stayed home for a marathon skype and some errands, but in the afternoon followed Fr to Castel Gandolfo. The tiny little town sits on the edge of an old volcanic crater and contains very little except for the summer Papal palace. Pope Francis has decided to stay in Rome this summer despite the heat, greatly upsetting Castel Gandolfo since the town was counting on tourist business. I now understand why; it’s pretty empty. It was, however, on the edge of a crater filled with a beautiful blue lake and it’s quite a bit cooler than Rome. I had some great coconut gelato and sat on the terrace of a nice little café to while away the time until the train. It was a nice reprieve from the heat.

Thursday I picked up Dad and Karen from their hostel and brought them to St. Peter’s to join our class and some Missionaries of Charity for a Fr. Maher tour. They must have brought the last blast of cool air from Alaska with them, the radiating heat is gone for now and there’s a breeze (although I hear it might be hotter in Alaska than here at the moment!). It’s great to watch Karen’s face light up and to see everything new through her eyes. I guess I’m getting a bit jaded from all the art everywhere, but not so for her. Dad seemed to like it too. Fr. took us up to the roof of hte Jesuit Curate afterwards to look out on what he thinks is the best view in Rome. It was pretty impressive. We don't feel very sorry for him when he has to live here. In the afternoon I dragged them about to show them the Catfish market and a few Asian supermarkets where they could obtain food for Karen (who has a lot of allergies). We also had a gelato stop. I gained a new appreciation for Father.

Yesterday I got Karen and Dad and headed to the Colosseum to meet up with my class. They ran late and I almost gave myself an ulcer, but they finally did show up and we had a lovely walking tour and review of Roman history. I’m sad that that is probably the last class I will have with Fr. Maher, but I guess it’s time to move on after taking 5 classes from one professor. We ended at the Spanish steps, where I pointed Dad and Karen towards Termini and the National Museum. I will find out what they thought tomorrow. Fr. had quite the evening planned for us, since it was the feast of St. Luigi Gonzaga, the namesake of our school, a Jesuit. We got all dressed up and went to St. Ignatius Church, where Luigi is buried. One of Luigi’s grandnephews met us, an elderly gentleman who tends to wink at the girls. I didn’t get any winks, but I did shake his hand. Then we climbed a little spiral staircase to see the rooms where Luigi lived. The floor was the original, plain brick, but the rest of the room had been decorated with scenes from his life and red damask. It was neat to walk on the same floor as him.

Then we ran over to the Gesu to see a light show on the tomb of St. Ignatius that they do every Friday. It was pretty neat, with singing and lights on the baroque statues, and even a retractable painting that revealed an ornate statue of Ignatius. Jesuit theatrics live, I guess.

Back at St. Ignatius we attended the mass in honor of Luigi. At the end Gonzaga’s pages (little boys all decked out in medieval garb) brought out bags of prayer requests for Luigi and burned them not outside, but right in the middle of the church. Fr. looked up at the beautiful frescoes with dismay, but the symbolism of the prayers going up to heaven was still beautiful. The Fr. took us to the culinary event of the evening: a 4-course dinner at the first restaurant he ate at in Rome. The owner is the son of the owner Father first knew, but Father is still a known and welcome guest. We had an exquisite meal of seared veggies, frittata, carbonara, ravioli, veal, salad, and finally a white cream cake. I asked Fr. about Protestant and Catholic differences (he used to teach Lutheran catechism) and told him that I was thinking of becoming Catholic. Fr. answered my questions in the most serious and honest fashion I think I’ve ever seen him use. I really appreciated his explanations, they made a lot of sense. Fr. then led us on a saunter through the Piazza Navona, the Trevi Fountain, and the Spanish steps. The Piazza was beautiful at night, the others weren’t too spectacular (remember what I said about becoming jaded?).

Today has been pretty quiet. I went out with Richard and Katherine to try to visit the Holy Stairs, but we discovered some kind of civic protest instead, and the church we wanted was accordingly closed (they were even closing down the metro station at the piazza). So we came home after a little stop in Mary Major’s. I’m kinda sad to be done with studying here, and it’s hard to realize that I will leave in a few days. On the other hand, I kinda want to go home with everyone else. Instead I have a combination of the two extremes: I get to spend time with my family in Rome and then more of Italy and then to France. People assume that because one is in exciting places having incredible adventures it must be all gay and a lark – don’t forget that traveling is hard on your feet and your emotions. I’m going to go help Katherine pack up our kitchen; farewell for now.

Heat and History

Yesterday, as the Romans say, ‘the heat arrived’. The bricks have started radiating the sun right back at you, even if you’re in the shade. It’s quite a shock for a white girl from the frozen north. I’ve lathered myself with sunscreen and I’ve caved to wearing a dress, but it is still hot. Cold churches and their incense are especially wonderful, buildings with AC are almost as good. We understand now why Fr. Maher kept gushing about the wonderfully cool spring. Warning: history and architecture stuff ahead. Skip this paragraph if you really could care less. We’re wrapping up the classes now with Neoclassical/Romanesque and Gothic Revival/Fascist architecture and history. We’ve already covered a lot of the buildings and things, but Fr. keeps adding more information. His class on the 19th century must be fascinating. Today we worked on the Neoclassical; a lot of the information was new to me, so I was excited. The Romanesque Revival brought back the heavy masonry and language of stability and strength originally used around 1000 CE to not affirm civilization against the barbarians, but to affirm the strength of the Church as the Papal states were dissolved and the Pope held prisoner in the mid 1800’s. This is also when and why the dogma of the Pope’s infallibility and the immaculate conception (Mary was exempt from original sin but still through the salvific power of Jesus) became canon law instead of just common practice; the Church was loading up her guns for battle with secular society. The Gothic Revival came a bit later, as Jesuit education and Neo Thomism charged into the Americas and elsewhere to reinstitute the Medieval Synthesis (the unity of reason and faith) that is illustrated in the upward motion and unity of Gothic Architecture. At the same time, the new middle class of Italy got sucked into consumerism and capitalism while the lower class pulled against them for communism. Both groups focused on a secular, material reality, and the church balanced the two with an affirmation of the goodness of material goods and capital while calling for communal responsibilities and the worth of unseen realities. Cool.

Yesterday we looked at the Grand Tour of Rome, the picture that English French, and German gentlemen created of Rome in the 1800’s and early 1900’s. We saw the Grand Hotel with its plush carpets and glitzy chandeliers, as well as their idea of Rome as ruins, superstitious Catholics, lazy peasants, and a lost heritage. We talked about the choice between Neoclassical and the Romantic as we walked through the Borghese gardens and looked over the city. In the afternoon we survived a sweltering subway ride to the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls. Built on the spot of Paul’s burial, it’s enormous, beautiful and cool. It also has its paradisum (courtyard) intact unlike most of the churches in Rome. Portraits of all the popes run around the inside of the Basilica like high school banners or quotes, and there are only 6 more open spots (not counting the one for the incoming portrait of Francis), so some people think there will only be 6 more popes. It was also the spot of the announcement of Vatican II, so we saw the Pope’s notes for the speech and newspaper clippings from the time. When we got home we made grillata for dinner, that is, pork and more pork. We had sausage, chops, and ribs all fried up together as the main event, with pasta and sauce and salad and bread around the edges. Fr. makes sure we never starve. He came and ate with us and told us stories about student life at GU and at Marquette U among other things. Today I also found some cheap English books. I wanted some classical literature to chew on, and happily that was precisely what was cheap (like ¼ of the price) of the Dan Brown novels they had. I guess no one wants to read the classics so they’re cheaper. I sure don’t mind! I’m excited to sink my teeth into Tess D’Ubervilles and Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. I’ve wanted to read both, so once I finish I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings I will have new pastures to frolic in. Oh boy! I have also exploited a good gluten-free selection in a nearby supermarket. Karen and Dad will be here soon and Karen will have plenty to eat! I can't wait to see them!

Harleys, Swagger, and Nuns

It’s Sunday morning, sunny and hot. ‘The heat has arrived’ as they say here. The bricks haven’t started radiating heat yet, but it’s pretty roasty if you leave the shade, and even the shade is getting less comfortable. There’s a Papal mass today, I opted to not sit in the sun for 4 hours waiting and then attending Mass, but I did take a peek around 9 to see the mass of people excitedly waiting to see his Holiness. There’s a lot of people in leather at the moment – there’s a Harley Davidson convention here this week, and they’ve brought their bikes to mass to have them blessed by the Pope. It’s funny to see all these hulking dudes in leather and cowboy hats and their wives in tight jeans sporting American flags on shirts, shoes, and bandanas walking alongside the chic Italians and through St. Peter’s. They’re not all American by any means, but America means Harley Davidson and jeans and open roads. (Fr. tells us that when Italians come to Spokane they don’t understand why we would ever come to Italy; they rent a red sports car and just drive on the interstate and think they’re in heaven. Throw in a visit to Wal-Mart and they’re over the moon). I have laughed a couple times watching a whining, modest little Euro Vespa barely keeping ahead of a pack of roaring, blazing Harleys. The Vespa can maneuver better through the little streets, but the Harleys win the swagger competition by a long shot.

Speaking of swagger, Fr. keeps surprising us. Turns out he worked as a Calvin Klein model for a while in high school. He ‘did runway work’ and explained how to traverse a catwalk (he was certainly enjoying his rapt audience). He modeled a snowsuit for Calvin Klein, apparently, before their models became mostly naked. You think you know a Jesuit… This past week or so a Marquette student died in Florence. Fr. got some emails about it, and his maxim still holds true: every American student who dies in Italy was legally drunk. Every single one. This incident has been enough to reignite his student safety repertoire of information and stories. He tells us texting while driving is actually more dangerous than driving drunk because when you are drunk you still have a connection between your reflexes and the road; drunks see the red light and still react, albeit slowly. Texting means that all your reflexes are focused on the phone and means that you don’t react at all to the red light. Fr. sees foreign countries much like phones – we have no built up acquaintance with things like 15 meter cliffs without barriers, (which are common in Europe) and we have no habitual reactions to fall back on. The kid from Marquette probably felt like he was balancing along a curb instead of along a cliff until too late. Thus Fr. gets frustrated with Gonzaga and other Universities who 1. sponsor drinking, especially in foreign countries 2. skim over or cover up the drunken stupidity of the deceased. That sounds harsh, but Gonzaga does both of those things consistently. They’re starting to clean up the foreign exchange programs, but it’s a slow process and a lot of money and rich people are involved. And as for the dead students, the cause of their death goes largely unmentioned instead of becoming a lesson to the living. Needless to say, Fr. has low tolerance for these things. Some political things he will keep his head down, but not on student safety. Yesterday afternoon I got to go work with the Missionaries of Charity to help prepare dinner for the poor people we see every day. With broken English and a few words in Italian I successfully received jobs like chopping strawberries, drying dishes, and carrying some boxes. If I could speak Italian like the other volunteers I would be more useful, but I did my best. Their house is austere, but the food is good and the plastic tumblers and mixing bowls are bright colors. Nothing goes to waste, and everyone works like they don’t have a minute to lose. They had a hearty dinner prepared, served, and cleaned up for 39 men in 3 hours; I was impressed. It was so pure and clean and honest – even after 3 hours I left with a sense that the rich, chubby tourists with cute little kids and makeupped and gold-crusted visitors taking pictures had missed something important in a very complicated and messy tangle of the outside world. I don’t know if I will get a chance to return since we only have a week left, but I’m glad to have had the chance to see their kitchen.

VIP's

I forgot to mention that we ran into Fr. Lombardi on his way to work on Thursday. So Maher has a picture of all his smiling students around the spokesperson for the last 3 popes, no big deal. He also dropped by just as we were having lunch to show the apartment to Fr. Martinez, the head of the Jesuit curia here in Rome. We talked about seagulls.

Morning March and Messy Questions

Today Rome has yet another transportation strike, so Fr. gave us a 3-day weekend. Katherine and I went on a morning march to nail down the Sistine street plan. Sixtus 4th…I think… Sixtus 5th was the one that put criminals’ heads on spikes along Ponte San Angelo, but he may have been involved in street planning too. As Fr noted, the Church’s view of Capital Punishment has certainly evolved. Anyways, Sixtus chopped straight streets through the city between the major basilicas and plopped obelisks at the end to help pilgrims make their way through the city. We started from the Piazza de Popolo, the Pilgrim entry point, and walked via the Spanish steps to get to St. Mary Major’s, and from there we took the next straight street to St. John Lateran and then to Holy Cross in Jerusalem. The next straight street took us through Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele on the way to the forum, so we stopped to see if the metro was running, and lo and behold we found a zippy little train that saved us 4 miles of walking. The best part, besides knowing that we independently understand Rome, would have to be that my legs aren’t even all that tired; Fr. has whipped us into shape.

Wednesday night we visited the North American College, the seminary for Canadians and Americans in Rome. I guess there’s also like 4 Australians, but you get the idea. A seminarian there did this same trip with Maher a few years back, so he arranged a little tour for us and got a group of a couple Gonzaga grads and Washington natives to take us around and have dinner with us in our apartments. Stepping into the NAC felt like taking a tour in the states – the fascist architecture is open, clean, and enclosed a lot of open space, which is pretty rare in Rome, and everyone spoke twangy American English. We even heard a ‘howdy’ in the halls. We got to walk up on the roof, which offers a spectacular view of St. Peter’s and the rest of Rome from the root of the Geniculum hill. We took the seminarians home and cooked up a nice veal roast, potatoes, and pasta with tomato sauce. We had a great time listening to talk between philosophy majors, complete with impressions of crazy professors, as well as horror tales from the Italian post office and an overview of Marian apparitions in Yugoslavia. All the seminarians were very personable and educated – great company. Fr. had told us that in his mother’s day women were not to even look a seminarian in the eye, and some old priests wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone at all. Times have certainly changed. Fr. took us out for gelato afterwards at Old Bridge, and our group chatted quite amiably. One seminarian ferreted me out as a surrounded Protestant and made a point to tell me that he knew and appreciated some Protestants who took their faith seriously and that he valued their perspectives. I could have hugged him, even if some of the other Catholics would sooner have hit him with a ruler.

I continue to play with the idea of becoming Catholic, but I run into a frightening snarl when I find that in order to take Catholicism strictly I must believe in my own exclusion and the devaluation of the churches that have brought me thus far. I know that people who are narrow-minded and bluntly prejudiced are in each camp, and their presence does not color the entire church, but it makes it hard to see how each church actually views the other. I cannot completely validate both currents; I have to make a choice between the two at some point. Saying they are both right doesn’t work so well with Catholic dogma (unless you want to be a Cafeteria Catholic, in which case you shouldn’t call yourself Catholic at all), but accepting Catholic authority seems to denigrate where I come from and the structures that have led me to God. To make things more complicated, how much sweat is all this worth? The important parts overlap. Theology is important, but is it also a black hole that will confuse me and suck up my time without any results? The time to choose or not choose may not be now, but the question doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon. Thursday we looked into some more Baroque churches and reviewed some facades and bridges that we’d already discussed. I’m afraid I don’t have too much to report, I wasn’t feeling my best and took a 3-hour nap in the afternoon. Dinner, however, was fun. We fried eggplant, listened to opera (Maher keeps mentioning Tosca, I feel like I need to catch up on that), and sipped wine while we cooked, and ended the meal with stories about Sicily from Michael and a nice juicy cantaloupe. Can’t complain.

PS: listening to Spotify in Italy terrified me. All of a sudden my music left and a screaming Italian woman came on in an ad for some horror movie. The only thing worse than a screaming lady in a horror movie is a lady screaming in a horror movie in a language you don’t understand. PPS: It is slow to send mail to the US from Italy, but it’s even worse from the US to Italy. The post office here has actually dumped truckloads of letters into the Tiber before, just because no one cares about their jobs. I hear the government takes 60% of paychecks…but I don’t see much health care or benefits here. Beggars and the poor are everywhere. Fr. says not to give them anything, just give money to the Missionaries of Charity who will spend the money wisely and feed the people who really need it and aren’t faking. It’s still hard to walk by. I guess this is just one manifestation of a government and economy down the drain. Corruption is everywhere, the Mafia is not from the movies, and lots of garbage men have doctorates.

Jesuits, Jesuit Education, and Why I Resent Communism

Last night we had a tour of the Jesuit Archives. From the director of the Archives. Oh. My. Goodness. There are perks to Fr. Maher knowing everyone and working in the Archives! Fr. B- led us up into the heart of the Jesuit Curate, into the new Archives, tucked into the side of the Geniculum hill. The old archives was in a different building, right over a kitchen. An insurer told them they ought to move the first draft of Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises, letters from 17th century Cambodia, blueprints of schools around the world, the death mask of Ignatius, the writings of Ricci, and everything else into a different spot.(WHY didn't people as brilliant as the Jesuits think a little harder about this?!?). So they moved it into a new building, complete with AC and plushy chairs. Fr. made sure to tell us that when he was one of the international students studying here it was NOT air conditioned or plushy. We were led past the stacks, huge rolling shelves of bound books from the Old (1530-1773) and New (1814 on)Society (there's a gap because the Pope suppressed the society from 1773-1814, so the Jesuits technically did not exist. They continued in Russia under Catherine the Great, and ex-Jesuits founded Georgetown, but that's another story). The director sat us down in the reading room and showed us a powerpoint of some of the most notable pieces in the Archives. I was riveted, and spotted a couple titles I'd had to read and write about for HIST 320. The director, bless his heart, had also set out 6 or so books from the collection for us to look at. I was afraid to even breathe too much on them, but I got to admire a book on math in Chinese by Schall, a Dutch text on Chinese culture with beautiful prints, a missionary text from California, and a few others. It was incredible to look at the careful letters from at least 400 years ago and think of their impact in Europe; this would have been the format of breaking news back then. Every text had to be copied out three times and sent to Rome 3 different ways to make sure the message made the 2 year trek back to Europe; we are so spoiled with the immediacy of the internet. The idea of researchers examining these texts first-hand, of researching them in one of the best repositories of records cultural and religious interaction in the world - my little history major heart skipped a few beats. This is what REAL historians do. And the creative possibilities to organize and synthesize all the material - it makes my head spin. I will probably never work in a situation like this, but it would be amazing.

This morning we focused on Fr.’s favorite topic: Jesuits and Jesuit education. We began at the Gesu, or rather, the building next to it that houses Ignatius’ rooms. The original house was severely damaged by the Christmas Eve flood of 1598, but Superior General Aquaviva built a wooden box around the 4 rooms of Ignatius, put it on stilts while the rest of the house was torn down, and then rebuilt a house around the 4 rooms. An awkward corridor created in the new building was decorated by Andrea Puzzo and is now worth 5 million dollars as the last surviving Baroque illusionistic room. Puzzo plays tricks with perspective to make it look like angels, etc. actually emerge from the wall – and then when you look at them straight on you can see the stretched perspective that fooled you from afar. There’s also a little fresco of Ignatius playing pool with the Spanish viceroy – Ignatius insisted on a bet, and the viceroy foolishly agree to play the ex-courtier. Since Ignatius had no money, they bet doing something to be determined by the other for 30 days. Ignatius won, and of course made the viceroy do the Spiritual Exercises for 30 days. Moral: never bet with a Jesuit unless you want your soul improved.

We walked through the Puzzo corridor to reach the office of St. Ignatius, the room where he died. I happened to sit right next to the plaque commemorating the spot while we celebrated mass. It’s also where Ignatius wrote the Constitutions and the Formula of the Institute – critical documents for the Jesuit order. We then wandered through the other 3 rooms, where we saw some of his clothing and his desk. Pilgrims had pecked away at pieces of both before the Plexiglas, but they were all in pretty great condition. We also saw a replica of the death mask set up to Ignatius’ real height of 5’3”. Pretty cool to be able to look into the ‘face’ of the man that so heavily influenced the early modern era and began the revival and start of the Christian faith in so many areas.

We then went into the Gesu, the church that set the ‘Jesuit style’ that characterized so many churches of the Baroque. We saw the hand of Francis Xavier, who wrote a letter that he felt like his hand would fall off from baptizing so many babies. So when they couldn’t bring back his entire body from the East, they chopped off his arm and brought that back to Rome. As Fr. says, it kinda waves at you from its glass case. Across the nave is the tomb of Ignatius. It was really cool to see all these people and places that we have spent so much time talking about in Fr’s classes and to see these men who led the charge in the Catholic reformation. They’re heroes. At St. Aloysius we looked at the magnificent Puzzo ceiling (again) and strolled around to say hi to St. Aloysius Gonzaga. We get to celebrate his feast, coming up on the 21st. That should be an experience, I hear we meet one of his relations. We also visited Santa Maria Sopra Minerva (St. Mary over Minerva), one of Rome’s only Gothic churches, built on top of an old Roman temple to Minerva. I was excited to visit because the only saint I know much about (besides the biblical ones) is mostly buried here. The body of St. Catherine of Siena (1347-80), woman extraordinaire, lies here (her head is in Siena). I admire her greatly; I read an excellent biography on her by Sigrid Undset and from it I learned a lot about how not only saints ‘work’ but how Catholics can revere the church and its authority even in times of corruption. Catherine is the one who scolded the Pope back to Rome when the papacy had established itself in luxurious Avignon instead of tending the Roman flock. I stopped to pray and put a euro in her collection box; I’m not willing to be Catholic yet, but I’m understanding them better. On that note, in the Gesu they have a statue of the angel of faith stomping on Luther and Calvin while a little putti rips up their books of heresy. Sometimes it’s hard being a protestant in Rome.

Our final pre-lunch stop was the Roman college. We stood across the road to get a better view of it, in the middle of the scene of a flour and egg-throwing battle that transpired earlier in the morning. This happens a lot the last week of school, apparently. The students had moved on to dumping water on each other while we were there. Fr. tried to impress upon them the sagacity of his instruction and the old home for abused women established by Ignatius that they happened to be using as their battleground and picnic spot, but it didn’t do much. They did joke a bit with him, and none of us got plastered, although we were thoroughly distracted by watching what Italian kids do. We eventually moved into a quieter side street to get the full lecture. Fr. explained scholasticism (this is the 4th time I’ve heard it from him, so although it’s a fascinating topic I wasn’t too enthralled). Scholasticism is the ordered synthesis of education that builds from grammar and logic to math and the sciences to philosophy and then to natural theology (what we can know about God by reason) and finally revealed theology (what we can know about God by faith). This changes faith from a giant, purely emotional and rhetorical leap to a reasoned and integrated jump. Galileo, Descartes, Clavius, Ricci, and so many others all went through this education system, and it served them well. Originally Jesuit schools all practiced this, and all for free. The first Jesuit school that charged tuition was St. Louis U in 1820 because the darn Americans thought that if something was free it must not be worth anything. And yet, we pay 50 grand a year to attend Gonzaga, and there’s no scholastic plan to our education – the question was put to Fr, why??? Where did the scholastic model go? In 1957 Sputnik spun around the globe. Fr. remembers learning in elementary school that the reason Americans hated the communists was because they sent up a dog into space and then left the dog to suffocate. The real reason we liberal arts students should hate communism was because Sputnik scared the western world so much that they axed traditional education and its emphasis on philosophy, writing, language, and other fields now deemed worthless. Instead, they vamped up the science programs to try to catch up; no matter that philosophy and writing and history were all part of the context of science, and that it was perfectly possible and reasonable to integrate the two. Clavius, for instance, had a doctorate in philosophy but also corrected the calendar so well that if you had given him a yard stick to measure from the door knob of the town hall of New York to the door knob of the town hall of St. Louis , he would have been 4 inches off. That’s science. People now say that science and the arts cannot overlap; God has no place in science, that existential questions and communication skills, the story of the world, has nothing to do with the ultimate knowledge, the hard sciences. And that is why I resent communism, but even more so the West – we were dumb enough to rob half of academia and knowledge of its respect and cultural worth to try to get academia to do something it was already capable of doing faster. As someone who prefers history to calculus, I find it so sad. I’ll get off my soap box now; go read some history.

Capuchins and Cappuccinos

It’s already been a month since I left GU, and we’re already starting our 4th week in Rome. I have also already used up 1/3 of my notebook. It’s sad to begin to say goodbye so soon, but it’s thrilling to see the first of the months until reuniting with home and loved ones whisk by. Yesterday we worked some more on the Sistine street planning of Rome while beginning the Baroque in earnest. We walked from Piazza de Popolo (Piazza of people or pines…depends on how you translate it), where the pilgrims of olden days began their journey through Rome. This street plan of Rome basically got transplanted into Paris and Washington D.C., so the piazza is a big deal. Martin Luther began his pilgrimage to get indulgences here in 1510, and later Queen Christina of Sweden rode through here astride a horse (not sidesaddle) after abdicating her throne to become Catholic. She is one of two women buried in St. Peter’s and one of Fr’s favorite characters of the 1600’s. I’d like to read more about her. Piazza de Popolo is also in the neighborhood where Keats and the other expats used to stay during the days of the Grand Tour. There’s still Battingtons’ Tea Room, where you pay 20 E for a cup of tea, a scone, and tradition. Fr. is not impressed. We visited two churches housing paintings by Caravaggio. We saw Saul’s Conversion and the Crucifixion of Peter in the Cerasi Chapel (sp?) – so beautiful. I love the strong diagonals and the shining realism of it. Caravaggio began the Baroque in earnest, focusing his paintings on a single dramatic, emotional moment that pushes into the viewer’s space and interacts with the environment. For example, in The Calling of St. Matthew, which we also saw, the light in the painting does not come from the painted window but seems to come from the actual window of the chapel, and in the painting of St. Matthew writing the gospel his footstool looks like it’s about to fall out onto the viewer. It was also cool to see that in the 3 paintings of Matthew in the Concarelli Chapel, his calling, his work, and his martyrdom follow the traditional Catholic process of prayer: purgation, illumination, and union with God. In the Calling, Matthew is obsessively counting not 100 dollar bills, not 10 dollar bills, but pennies – he’s still grubbing through them on the table when Jesus walks in and points to him. Peter seconds his pointing, standing between the two as the mediator of the church. Diagonals in the painting also point to Matthew. The pointing hand itself is the same as Michelangelo’s fingers in the creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel. It’s a really cool painting. There is just so much coded meaning in Caravaggio’s works. We also saw some sculpture by Boraccio in the Chigi chapel. Stories of Habakkuk and Daniel in the Lion’s den connect across the chapel, and the realism and emotion of each sculpture is beautiful. I didn’t like the Baroque before, since my teacher disdainfully described it as ‘wedding cake,’ but I really like it now. The neoclassical period called it ‘Baroque’ as a derogative term, meaning ‘misshapen pearl’ because of its movement and emotional twisting (in contrast to the neat geometrics and planes of Renaissance and Neoclassical art), but the Baroque artists saw themselves as very classical; they simply revived the Hellenistic style of antiquity instead of the classical style. Sorry if that makes no sense; if you ever want to go get coffee I’ll explain or go check out an Art History book. On our way home we saw the Ara Pacis, cased in a controversial modern building designed by a Japanese Architect that replaced the fascist museum Mussolini put up. Mussolini pretty well covered the area around Augustus’ mausoleum with fascist architecture as a statement of his identity as the new emperor, but some of it has been torn down now. We also saw Alfredo’s, the restaurant that created Alfredo sauce, and the home of St. Luigi (Aloysius) Gonzaga. Today we continued the baroque explorations with a slight detour: the Capuchin Cemetery. This cemetery and museum, built by Capuchin brothers (founded 1528), showed the austerity and fervor that marked this reformed group of Franciscans that helped the Jesuits lead the Catholic Reform in the 15-1700’s. In the 1600’s a new wave of mortality hit Europe as population outstripped resources (Malthus, anyone?) and the plague hit again for the last time in 1640. Groups like the Capuchins responded with the motif of Memento Mori, among other things. Memento Mori means remember death. In this particular cemetery, the friars buried their dead in a mixture of quicklime and earth from Jerusalem. When the bones were clean, someone (no one knows exactly who) arranged the bones into decorations. As Fr. Maher says, “How do you solve the problem of too small a cemetery? Dig up the bones and make tasteful decorations.” The first mention of the composition of the crypt came from the Marquis de Sade’s visit in 1775. The first of the little chapels has an inscription: “What you are now we used to be, what we are now you will be.” Some Franciscans ate dinner with a skull as a centerpiece for the table – this took it a bit farther. The bones of about 3,700 people are buried or incorporated into the walls here. The designs, made out of jaws, ribs, vertebrae, etc. formed surprisingly delicate traceries on the ceilings and created arches over paintings and altars. I didn’t find the crypt grotesque at all, although it was certainly thought-provoking. Even death became a beautiful thing, and the bones usually treated with such fear became a sort of mockery of death itself. The afterlife in Christ makes earthly remains simply material; bodies are just bodies, and we all die. It was also interesting to think that God knew each and every one of the bones in that building, and could have reassembled each and every dear body if He chose. It was also an unusual way to experience the beauty in the design of the human body. I could just imagine a brother sorting through piles of bones, seeing the possible shapes, gathering up the pieces he needed like lego blocks. Totally unafraid of death. I really liked it. The accompanying museum also held some interesting pieces. They had a display of St. Padre Pio, who I need to research more. He was an incredible confessor and mystic (20 hours a day spent in hearing confessions) and JPII didn’t think much of him until he saw Pio’s works, after he became pope. Pio was canonized in 1999, so he is a very modern saint. They had his briefcase and a few other things on display. They also had a couple baby dolls used a devotionals. This, being Fr’s area of expertise, promised a good lecture. Dolls of the baby Jesus or Mary were made by women for women to help focus on the humanity of the infant Jesus. When a nun joined a convent, female friends gave her a doll as a symbolic spouse and child, both found in the person of Jesus. Around Christmas women would hold their dolls as a devotion. Also interesting was a painting of Joseph with the infant Jesus. In the early church Joseph is always portrayed as an old man asleep in the hay away from the nativity because the dogma of the virgin birth was not nailed down entirely, and they didn’t want peasants to think that a virile, 22-year old Joseph had anything to do with the baby. By the 1600’s the dogma was established to the point that to suggest otherwise would mean burning at the stake, so Joseph could be portrayed with the baby. Through time Joseph continued to get younger, until he was eventually used as an anti-communist symbol as a young, muscular man with baby Jesus in one hand and an axe in the other with Mary looking on adoringly. Fr. has written a book on Joseph, it’s on amazon. I’m intrigued. The rest of the day we spent poking our noses into Baroque churches by Bernini and Borromini (talk about the possibilities for confusion…). Luckily Bernini tends to like sensual emotion and lots of color, while Borromini is a bit more academic and intellectual in all white, so we can sorta tell the two contemporaries apart. Beautiful sculpture and movement in stone. Tonight we have an appointment with the Jesuit archives to see some of St. Gonzaga’s letters and some other goodies from the archives. Fr. says all the Jesuits laughed at the Dan Brown movie and the idea that the Vatican archives are full of technology; they all knew that IF there was any technology, it would have to be the coffee machine. Which always breaks. Speaking of coffee: cappuccinos are named after Capuchins. The capuchins wear a brown habit with a white piece (I blank on the exact name of the garment) and the coffee with milk looks the same. Fr. took us for cappuccinos this morning and told me about trying to order one in the US. He told the barista, a guy with dreds, that the frothy, thin stuff he gave him was NOT a cappuccino. The waiter responded, “I’m just doing what Seattle tells me to do.” Fr. was not impressed. “That’s what the Germans said about the Nazis. Think for yourself.” The very liberal young man was left sputtering. Don’t ever mess with Fr.’s coffee, or his cutting wit.

Maherisms

This is for all the miscellaneous gems that Fr. throws our way. Take them in good humor, and sorry for any repeats. 1. "I'm a nun magnet!" 2.Student: "So...Mussolini was stupid." Fr. : "Well, he also lacked charity." 3."Some people lift weights. I go to museums." 4."I never have to make anything up." 5."Dan Brown says that that painting depicts Pope Joan because Dan Brown is stupid. He also never took first semester Latin. If you say things that aren't true you will make more money, but remember that Fr. Maher will think less of you at the end of the day." 6.As his students huff and puff up the steep cobbled streets of Cortona: "This is an Italian hill town." *insert signature grin 7."Here's 2 dollars, go buy some milk, get some calcium, and grow a spine." 8."Dumb as a biscuit." 9.As a pushy umbrella vendor tries to sell to his attentive students, and with utmost pomp: "PLEASE, I'm lecturing!" 10."If anyone has allergies or is vegetarian, I can fix you up something. Or if you're not Catholic, I can fix that too." *insert grin 11."Less leg, I have to show this to the nuns." 12."Do you Speak English, Father?" "Yes, oh good to see you again, bye!" (he actually does help people if he has time) 13.Hundreds of loud annoying Italian children in a museum – now that’s terrorism 14.Devianti a Lui trema tuta Roma! (Before him, all Rome trembled! He says this for large dogs) 15."Americans?" "No, worse, British!" 16."Jesuit. Like the pope." 17."Only thing worse than Italian school children: motorcycles!" 18."Leave room for the Holy Spirit!" 19.For photos: "Be nice, be nice!" 20."schlepping" means we're going to be walking a long way, probably loaded with groceries 21.When he sees a Dominican: “let me at ‘em!” 22.To the museum employees who follow the policy of NOT giving American students discounts, in Italian: "12,000 American soldiers died for the liberation of Italy. Pretend you made a mistake." 23. "Making noise on a Sunday is as culturally acceptable as serving mushy pasta." 24. "If you rolled it down a hill and its arms BAROQUE off, it's Baroque."

The Future of a History Major

Yesterday we got geared up to do some wandering around Termini area to get acquainted but ran into Fr. and ended up helping on grocery runs, which are adventures in themselves. We returned to the scene of the catfish attack to buy meat and fruit and veggies. Fr. struck up an amiable conversation with an enormous Italian butcher with big teeth who laughed loudly as Fr. joked and he pounded a pig’s back into pork chops. I was pretty impressed, if you couldn’t tell. I can understand some Italian if I can’t speak it, and I gathered that Fr. told him that he was a professor of history teaching art history and history to us, the students who didn’t speak Italian. The man laughed and said something about history; my mind immediately filled in that he must have said that he was a history major, and my little pansy history-major heart sank as I watched his neck-thick arms smash into the bloody meat. My life as a butcher flashed before my eyes; I might have to specialize in salami. I asked Fr. later and what he actually happened was that Fr. said that he was a professor of history and that the butcher was a professor of meat. He replied that he could tell you the history of meat, NOT that he was a history major. I was rather relieved. The butcher’s companion was from the Philippines and spoke some English; the market is pretty wild. I love walking places and hearing 2,3,4 languages rattling around at once amongst all the food. When we got to Carrefour, the tame supermarket, all the clerks hollered hello to Fr. They remember him, since he orders so much food that he was able to convince them to deliver it for us so that we didn’t have to carry it all in suitcases every week or so. The ladies call him Profesore instead of Padre because professors are considered higher ranking than priests, so it’s more polite. When he was director of the Florence program he was thus Directore, and sometimes even Reverend Director if they got really fancy. So that’s interesting.

Blur

This week has become a blur. I have seen the place where Caesar was stabbed (in a theater, not in the Senate), I’ve seen the first representations of the Madonna, I have walked through St. Peter’s piazza on the way home after a grocery run, the tombs of two apostles, and today I have a chance to breathe. It’s hard to take it all in sufficiently. I’ve also found friends here who are teaching me a lot about Catholicism and faith. I’ve gone to morning prayer with them occasionally in St. Peter’s, and in conversation with these two I’m learning a lot about my own ways of thinking and my own faith. Trying to evaluate and change how you think is much more exhausting even than walking the streets of Rome and taking notes furiously. A few highlights/sketches of what we’ve been up to. Monday we walked from Largo Argentina through the Jewish ghetto, into Mary Major’s and St. Praesede’s churches. Largo Argentina is primarily important as a major bus stop, but also as the location of the Roman cat hospital. Male cats are caught and neutered, which has made a significant dent in the stray cat population. The hospital sits down in some Roman ruins, so we spent some time taking pictures of the felines perched on crumbling columns and walls. The Jewish ghetto neighborhood still has some Jewish inhabitants, but not too many. The synagogue there is considered to be an important one, so lots of Jewish visitors come on Friday nights for the Sabbath. Mary Major’s is the first church dedicated to Mary, the Mother of God, after the council of Ephesus declared her so in 431. It contains a relic of the crib of Christ, which also makes it a big deal. St. Praesede’s was built in the 4th century, and then another church was built on top of it in the 5th. Mostly it was really pretty, and we learned some new vocab. One shining Maher story turned up in St. Mary of Trastevere’s (we went back with the whole group): Maher showed us a picture of the Church treading on Heresy, both personified as women because the nouns are feminine in Latin. Fr. Maher proclaimed, “Dan Brown says that that painting represents Pope Joan because Dan Brown is stupid. He also never took first semester Latin. If you say things that aren’t true you’ll make more money, but remember that Fr. Maher will think less of you at the end of the day.” We got a smile out of his harangue, but I also agree with him. He also told us the story of how he explained what a porta-potty is to Ratzinger in a meeting preparing for a world youth day. No big deal. Tuesday morning we toured the Catacombs of Priscilla. Our mandated, Italian guide had-uh quite-uh the accent. We saw some of the earliest known Christian artwork and wandered between empty locii (shelves for bodies) in part of the 13 km of tufa tunnels. I didn’t think it was too spooky, what with decent lighting, no bones, and a big group, but our guide still had fun with a few people by saying that some of the tunnels had been blocked off…after they had led some tourists down there. 40,000 people were buried in these tombs, and I actually thought it was rather cozy. A family could have a wall, and then you’d always be next to each other, kinda like in bunk beds. Maybe that’s weird, but that’s what I thought. In the afternoon we took the train to Ostia Antica, a Roman ruin as well preserved as Pompeii. As Fr. told us, the only difference with Pompeii is that there are no writhing figures caught in ash and nothing is fenced off. Plus you can actually get there on the Rome metro system. Sounds good to me! The town was covered with silt from the Tiber after the Romans deforested the Apennine hills to heat the baths, which caused erosion, which caused flooding in Rome and Ostia, and moved the coastline out another mile or so from the port city of Ostia. Squatters lived there in the middle ages, but the town is basically intact. It was really neat to walk along the streets and on the original mosaics and sit in the theater. The sun was shining, there were wildflowers, and we had sack lunches. We also had shade from the huge pines the romantic Germans planted around the ruins in the 1800’s. Absolutely beautiful. Wednesday we took the plunge and ‘did’ the Vatican museum. We got there around 7:45 to get in line. It’s possible to pay double price per person and have a timed entrance, but then we couldn’t get the student discount and free educational headsets for Fr. to talk into. So we waited. The place was flooded with Asian tourists. Fr. says that all of Rome is flooded with them, but most of them don’t have any idea what they’re looking at. Many westerners don’t really know either, but they do have a Christian and European historical background to compare it against. The Asians apparently look at the Vatican as something exotic, just like we goggle at the Forbidden City or Tokyo, I guess. We noticed them taking pictures of the most unusual or inconsequential things; random bits of ceiling, the hall corners. They just seemed to think the place was pretty. Which it is, but there’s so much culture and religion behind the Vatican. We survived the crowds pretty well, Fr. picked a Wednesday so a chunk of the tourists were at the Papal audience instead. We saw the Laocoon (!!!), The School of Athens, the Apoxymenos, and the Sistine Chapel. Well, those were the big names, anyway. We also saw the jeep JPII was in when a terrorist shot him (he made it, but nearly died because the people around him “had no plan” and drove him around for 45 minutes trying to decide which nearby hospital to go to. Fr. has absolutely no patience for bad discipline and planning compromising anyone’s safety, so you imagine what he thinks of those problems when the pope’s life was on the line.) There was so much to see, we spent 6 hours and Fr. kept us from getting lost or getting bogged down in detail. So you can imagine the size of the place. At night one of the girls made her signature lasagna, which was really good (cream cheese was involved, after all. Not very Italian, but hey, we eat a lot of olive oil), and we used the extra egg noodles and cream cheese to make little desert rolls with some strawberry jam. It kinda tasted like crepes, so I was pleased. Fr. came over to our apartment to sup, and he told us all kinds of stories. Some of my favorite had to do with his experiences pre-marital counseling. He told us about one engagement he broke up; it was over ferrets. The man had 15 ferrets living in the house and expected his ferret-hating fiancée to live in the other half of the house and to feed them when he was away. Fr. kept bringing up ‘the little weasels’ to get them to talk it out. The guy finally told the lady that she had to pick between him and the ferrets or nothing – so she walked out. He thought she had gone to the bathroom. As Fr. says, he never has to make things up, people are weird enough as is. Thursday was pretty quiet, we had an easy morning of Renaissance facades. At night we got dressed up and walked along the Geniculum hill to dinner in Trastevere. We didn’t know we were a 10 minute walk away from one of the most beautiful views of Rome; I want to go back tonight for a walk. The light around 7 or 8 at night is the best for photos; all the colors of the stone and trees come out. Fr. took us through the non-touristy part of Trastevere, which was also cool to see. It felt more honest and like people were simply living instead of moving through a display case. We had a dinner of carbonara and two other pastas I didn’t know, then lamb, oxtail, potatoes, and tiramisu for dessert. I sat next to Fr. and learned about Gonzaga politics and the Jesuits’ roles therein. In Jesuit history we covered up through the 1800’s but nothing too contemporary, so I was curious. He thought the current situation reflected wider changes for all religious, not just Jesuits. Priests used to be in the top 5 or 10 percent of the population ranked by education level, but now more people are more educated and they are no longer the elite. As Jesuits found their strength in dealing with education and intellectual and political elites, that changes the structure around them significantly. The other problem is that society’s notion of sacred has shifted away from religion to pop culture and sports – the priests and religious are no longer needed to access the sacred. Without a perceived need, without a strong identity, religious societies decline. Fr. thinks the anti-establishment ethos of the 60’s is fading, however, as he watches floods of nuns return to Rome. There were hardly any when he first came in the 70’s. He also has hopes for Jesuit education having a renaissance and Gonzaga coming back into more orthodox hands. So that was encouraging. Historians are patient, after all, so I guess it might be a while before any of that actually happens. Friday was one of the most beautiful days we’ve had here. Fr. took us to Tivoli, a little village about 45 minutes by train from Rome. There’s a nice cathedral we poked our heads into, as well as the Temple of the Tivoli sibyl, but the biggest attraction is the Villa d’Este. The villa, built in the 1600’s on top of a Roman villa, served as a summer house for a French cardinal. And the garden is considered THE world standard for pleasure gardens and French style gardens. Versailles looks pretty skimpy in comparison. Fr. told us a bit about it and then turned us loose to spend 3 hours walking through arbors and gawking at fountains. It was impossible to fully describe, even with a camera. I’ll give you some photos to get an idea.

Weekend: Attack of the Catfish and Venerable Colleges

Saturday only two of us accompanied Fr. on a shopping adventure for the morning. We took the metro, and the simplicity of the Roman metro finally clicked; there’s only two lines and they hit each other at roughly perpendicular angles with Termini at the center. The city is in the middle of building a third line through bedrock that will chop downtown traffic and let them excavate instead, but 3 lines will still be pretty simple for a major metropolis. We popped out of the underground at Vittore Emanuele, named for the unifier of Italy, into a downpour. We scurried into a couple trams and then made the wise choice to browse along the shady Asian stores around the piazza and under a roof. Some of these stores must be fronts for something, there’s no way someone can make a living by selling an inventory of 50 pairs of colored pants. There was a cheap little quickie store we bought some cheap scissors at and Michael bought a wine bottle opener for 1 euro. It has already broken. I would say you get what you pay for, except the next store we stopped at, “Mas,” was cheap and as far as I can tell, still decent. Kitchenware, bed sheets, rain jackets, and spoons filled the funky, 4-story building while funky music from the 60’s and 70’s played, and we stared up at huge glass chandeliers over the 1-way escalators. I found a nice lady’s blazer to replace the one I lost, and after a washing or so it suits me quite well. I was afraid I looked a little nunnish, but since people besides Fr. commented on it, I’m assuming it’s classic without being dowdy. Fr. clucks after nuns showing too much ankle, after all. Just before coming home we stopped by a REAL market near Termini. When I say REAL, I don’t really mean Italian, but I do mean old-fashioned. Asian and African veggies and roots crowded stalls next to Italian bread, and we breathed air full of the scent of fresh tomatoes, spinach, strawberries, peaches, calamari, and salmon. How fresh is the fish? One catfish leapt out of the container and tried to make a getaway across the floor. No one was too concerned except for Michael, whose eyes got bigger than the fish’s. Fr. likes to reference the catfish attack when he jokes with him now. Sunday we had mass at the Venerable English College (the Venerable is part of the actual title, I promise), where many of the Jesuit martyrs studied before defending and dying for Catholicism in England. The accents of the priests were a tad too fascinating, and I couldn’t understand them when they sang, but it was neat to see the new and old chapels and think about the Jesuits studying here. I forgot to mention it earlier, but last week, the day we did the Trevi fountain, Fr. took us in to eat lunch in the Gregorian College’s cafeteria (much more exciting than the Trevi fountain). The Gregorian College, the heir of the Jesuit Roman College, was only the best school in Europe, and the entire world during the 15 and 1600’s. Matteo Ricci, Clavius (who invented our calendar), Galileo, and so many others studied here. We got coffee and then Maher showed us one of the classrooms. It’s strictly a lecture format, and questions are absolutely unacceptable. Lectures are in Italian, but after class students go to different note-takers and translators to get transcriptions in their preferred tongue. We got to sit in the old fashioned desks with little fold-out desks and funny bench seats. Definitely better than a fountain built for tourists. We made it home in time for the Papal audience without running. I didn’t understand much, except that the Pope directed attention to the problems in Syria. I also realized the intensity of the Mediterranean sun. We’ve been very fortunate with the weather so far, it’s only beginning to hit the high 70’s this week, and we’ve only been rained on a handful of days. My nose is a freckle fest, but no sunburn yet (knock on wood). Sunday night Richard, Katherine, and myself followed Fr. Maher out for gelato after dinner, but since it was chilly he decided that hot chocolate was more appropriate. I actually wore my wildly colored wool coat out in public; it is not meant for a European milieu, I meant for it only to appear in Alaska and Chile. I stuck out like a sore thumb, but I was warm. What we thought was a short expedition turned into a 3 hour venture as we walked into Trastevere and poked our heads into various churches while we waited for Fr’s “girlfriend” to come back on duty at a little café from the 70’s. We saw St. Mary’s at Trastevere, arguably the first church dedicated to Mary and one of the most beautiful churches in Rome. At night the lights hit the gold mosaics on the outside to make the whole façade glow. Inside we caught the processional through the incense-filled air just after an hour of adoration by a religious community. The church was full of people and shining. It is probably my favorite church here so far. When we showed up at the café, Fr’s friend was so happy to see him she clacked her dentures and cheerfully made up 4 huge traditional ceramic bowls of hot chocolate. Fr. reminisced about sitting in the same chairs with his cutting-edge laptop back in the day, and we stared at the stack of fanta cans from the 70’s while he chatted with the lady. On our way home the sky had turned to a deep blue, and the lights of St. Peter’s dome reflected across the Tiber as we walked across the bridge again. I really need to go out walking more often.

Layers

Today we visited San Clemente, an 11th century church built on top of a 4th century church on top of a Mithric temple from the 1st century. Now that’s not so special in Rome, but what’s special is that the Irish Dominicans (Fr. Maher withholds the usual Dominican boo because they’re Irish) had the bright idea to excavate the entire thing. We saw St. Cyril’s tomb (yes, like the Cyrillic alphabet) in the middle section and walked along alleys and floors from the days of Paul and Peter. An aqueduct still fed through the houses with fresh, probably drinkable water. We try to emulate the Romans for a reason. Next we visited St. John Lateran, the oldest public church ever built. I kept wondering who St. John Lateran was, but really it’s called Church of Christ the Savior and to St. John the Baptist and St. John the Apostle. The Lateran part comes from the family that Constantine confiscated property from to build the church. One of 3 Constantinian basilicas, it’s the only one left in Rome (St. Peter’s got torn down and rebuilt and the other is in Jerusalem). It was incredible to think of this building as the mother of all church architecture throughout the world. It’s also where the Pope technically sits as the bishop of Rome – we saw THE chair. The baptistery, a separate building, is where every true Roman is baptized. Baptisteries were traditionally outside the church building because without baptism you weren’t a member and the church building was for members. A beautiful mosaic covered the apse with gold and bright colors, and the floor is intricately decorated with cosmatesque marble. The cloister was especially cool, with twisted columns reminiscent of the Book of Kells. The Irish had an impact here too. On the way to these buildings we walked right past the Colosseum – it’s so strange to walk by one of the largest and most famous buildings of Western Culture and not even bat an eye, not take pictures, just accept that we know what it contains and are ready to explore elsewhere. Still pretty cool. We also saw the ruins of a gladiatorial school next to the Colosseum. It’s in the same neighborhood as St. Clemente, which Nero torched to clear out the rabble and make room for the Colosseum. He blamed the Christians, of whom there were a lot among the poor living in the bad neighborhood. I wonder what he would have thought of Pope Sixtus V’s plan to cut the Colosseum in half to make straight roads between churches and city centers. Sixtus died before his plan could be completed, but could you imagine driving through two halves of the Colosseum?