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.