- smells at Campo di Fiori: mostly produce, the odor of fish in the northeast corner, smoke
- the cigar stored at the base of a column outside the Fendi store, waiting for a gentleman who went to browse with his family, and fetched after said browsing
- the advanced age of children who either ride in strollers or are carried by their mamas; the number of both mamas and papas who lug babies by hand rather than put them in strollers
- street plaques (instead of street signs)
- finding Piazza Navona by accident
- the sense of not knowing exactly where one is but not worrying about it, because Piazza Navona or some other piazza will always appear
- the "gatto" mascot kitty who lounges on, under, or near the blue SUV outside the door
- the sewer-borne odor of asparagus or broccoli that indicates the shower was used on a given day
- 2-hour washing machine cycle + drying clothes on a handy rack
- Sette Oche, my favorite restaurant (visited 3xs in 4 weeks)
- il dolce sorriso ("the sweet smile"), my favorite gelateria that is right around the corner
- the above-sink drying rack that doubles as a storage cupboard
- fountains, fountains, fountains
- the poor irritating men at Piazza del Popolo and the Spanish Steps hawking roses either by shoving them into your palm, pretending to give them to you, and then demanding payment
- couples of all ages who hold hands or are otherwise affectionate while on their passegiata
- sudden "rainshowers" at all hours from people watering their window boxes from 3-4 stories above the street
- fast, efficient trains and inter-city bus/metro systems
- faces on buildings
- Vespas
- walking into traffic confidently; i.e., finally figuring out how to cross the street (except when there's a traffic light, which begs obeying)
- the whispering wall at Piazza del Popolo
- assigned seating at the movie theater
- perpetual brilliant blue skies and the beautiful quality of light all day long (sorry, L)
- getting doused turning the fountain into a drinking fountain by plugging the main stream so that water shoots out of another little hole in the top of the pipe
- the basil that must grow in Paradise
- deciding what each day will hold after waking up
Unless you stretch the truth a bit, didn't do any of these things in Florence, but I did manage to get there. Of course, from my last post, you know things went, um, a trifle poorly at the train station to purchase the fare. Well, the next morning (Thurs?) I successfully boarded the train from Rome, and boy am I glad I didn't end up in Bologna, which is a fair distance from Florence.
See, here's what happened. In my confusion and haste, I purchased a ticket to Florence Campo Marte, which is like going to Queens instead of Manhattan. Anyhoo, figured out that I should detrain before setting off for Bologna (the next stop). After that, things improved slightly, because I was able to take an 8-min ride into the main station, Santa Maria Novella (S.M.N.), for free, plus buy return ticket from the little dinky Campo Marte station and not stand in the great big line that surely would have greeted me at S.M.N. Phew!
Some highlights/mishaps:
- obtaining restaurant advice from the friendly hotel clerk - resulting in my enormous dinner of pasta AND roast beef with French fries, most of which I ate.
- no wait in the line to climb the Duomo, though an astoundingly narrow space to climb up
- understanding Florentine Italian more easily than Roman, because when they turned Italy into a country in 1861 (more or less), they had to pick a language because all the individual states spoke their own dialects. Florentine Italian was chosen because the Renaissance was so awesome.
- ogling lots of leather and paper products because Florence is a tourist mecca
- hanging out at the Piazza Signoria at midnight, when there are still lots of people about
Aside from the actual events, there's something nice about nearing the end of my time here and being more frequently reminded of things I miss about home. Starting with yesterday, when I was pooped on by a pigeon (apparently it's good luck! oh ho! I know why it's good luck - because there are a million pigeons and people must get pooped on ALL THE TIME). But that was just a warm-up for this afternoon when I camped out in the train station.
After spending most of the month journeying to places within walking distance of my home piazza, I am traveling to Firenze (Florence) for a 1-day trip tomorrow. And it's for sure, because the hotel room was reserved this morning with no refunds. That turns out to be important simply because it means there is no turning back, no matter WHAT manner of confusion might occur at the train station. (Ahem...that's what we in the business call foreshadowing - which, by the way, gives you a curious and wacky collection of hits when googled for images). For example, and then I'll continue with my story.
Ok. Why don't I ever listen to the little voice in my head? The one that whispers the truth to me and I ignore it? Or rather, I humor it, saying "you silly, that can't be what's happening, that would be ridiculous." Today, the little voice told me about 20 minutes into my stand in the 90-minute train-ticket line that somehow, I wouldn't exit the line with tickets but instead two sore feet, a bunch of pages finished in my latest novel, and the desire to throttle an old lady (more foreshadowing).
Let's back up a bit: upon entering Stazione Termini, the main station in Rome, I observed - and turned my back on - the automated Bancomat ticket machines. (First, because anything purchased with a VISA card here incurs an international transaction fee plus a 3% upcharge from the bank, and second, because I was deluded and wanted to "experience Italy" by standing in the long line with all the other people who apparently haven't anything better to do than stand in an astounding queue and get overheated. I knew when I planned this Rome trip that most of my purchases would be in cash (euros) - people have credit cards but don't use them to buy normal things. I'm not sure what they use them for, but that's a topic for another day.) This decision was mistake #1.
Another thing it's important for you to know: I had 50 euro on me, which seemed like an adequate amount, because the ticket was 46 euro. Ah, mistake #2, though maybe it was really #1, having made that decision upon leaving the flat.
Did I mention how hot it was? And how long I stood in the line? And how there were Italian people with a divergent - that's right, I said DIVERGENT - sense of personal space around me? In particular, an older man who entered the line after me, who thought the space immediately to my right was open for his little body, and a woman who ALSO entered the line after me, who kept running into me with her blue purse, even after I tried to subtly shove her away from me. I'm not sure how you subtly shove someone but I tried my best today. (As you know) I'm American and when I stand in a line, the entire lateral space in relation to my body should be kept free, both from the people ahead of me, who are AHEAD of me, and from the people behind me, who are supposed to be BEHIND me. Here's a diagram, in case you need it.
And by the way, I'm no longer going to apologize for my desire to have a teensy bit of space between myself and the next bloke. I've spent most of my life feeling guilty for not observing the cultural/social mores of every other society on earth beyond my own, and I'm done with that; I have my own social mores and they are just as good as anybody else's.
Anyhoo, as I stood in the line, I kept telling myself how delighted I'd be with my train ticket after purchasing it, and how happy a choice it was not to be standing in the line tomorrow morning, when I'd rather be on a train to Firenze. This was not so much mistake #3, since all the fateful decisions had been made, but let's call it psychological delusion #2, after the first delusion related to "experiencing Italy".
Do you want to know what happened when I finally reached the ticketing desk? I'll bet you can guess, can't you? Well, just in case not, as it turned out, the tickets cost 46 euro EACH WAY. Which means, for the calculation-impaired, 2 times 1 46-euro tickets = MORE THAN 50 EURO. Which equals some consternation, to be sure. The lady explained to me that the tickets cost the same on the internet as in the station, and I was just relieved that she thought I has confused the magic-internet price with the actual station price, instead of failing to do the math and multiply enough. We dickered a bit while she tried to find a ticket that cost under 46 euro, which would have meant getting to Florence from Rome in 4 hours rather than 1.5. Good thing the heat hadn't entirely destroyed my wits, and I didn't go for it.
Of course, hindsight is 20/20 (though who can see it when the little voice is waving an "I TOLD YOU SO!" banner in your face?) As I exited the line, fully defeated and not yet aware of the final option, which I'll get to in a sec...this little old lady, who had been sitting on the floor at the head of the line for many minutes, addressed me in Italian. Of course I was still wearing my idiot hat and thought she was trying to share in my train-related disappointment. She said "did you get the tickets?" and I said "no" ruefully. Then, what did she do? Did she say "Oh I'm so sorry that's terrible!" or "Wow too bad you wasted all that time, that happened to me last week and I still haven't gotten over it!" No. Instead she pointed to the information booth and yelled that if I wasn't going to buy tickets I shouldn't stand in the ticketing line but should go to the information booth so I don't take up space from everyone else who actually wants to buy a ticket. Gee, thanks lady. You're so helpful. I yelled at her "Non lo sapevo!" which I'm hoping meant "I didn't know it!" followed by "Fa fa fa blah blah blah" with a wave of my hand which means "Fa fa fa blah blah blah I hate you."
After sighing for a moment, I went to the station cafe to buy a bottle of water. I must have looked pathetic because when I got out my 1.62 euro for what turned out to be a 1.70 bottle and developed a stricken look, the lovely woman took pity on me and took my change and let me have my water. Oh thank you, thank you, kindly lady who donated 8 cents out of the goodness of your heart and your till!
Phew. To wrap up the story, I realized that I could have at least gotten to to Florence for under 100 cash, but you can bet your bottom euro I was not about to get back in that Godforsaken line. So, I went to the automated ticket machine and purchased a 1-way ticket to Florence with my dandy VISA card, so that the 3% upcharge would be less, and I could still go to Florence in the morning, and I could leave the station feeling even just a tiny bit confident in my abilities to function in the world. Which means I still need to buy our return ticket upon arrival in Florence tomorrow, but it also means I didn't lose my mind. Err, maybe we'll let the public decide that one...
Today also had lovely things in store. I went to the Janiculum, which is up a very very steep hill but not, apparently, one of the famous seven hills of Rome. It should be though - I had to climb this stair to get there, and found a curious plaque on the way, which translates to "My way of seeing things is sometimes unsophisticated and immature, yet sincere like the children on the stairs at Viale Glorioso." Of course this is at the bottom of the stair - at the top is a somewhat more sobering, cautionary plaque about a poor teenager who fell down them in 1849. So the moral of the story is have fun but for goodness' sake be careful!
While I was at the Janiculum, I spent my time meandering, finding a tiny stone gazebo to rest and read, until the shade moved past me, and I, in turn, moved on. I felt a sense of peace and tranquility (and plain old joy, as shown here when I found it).
Moseying along the path below the old city wall, I encountered an elderly man walking his dog. The man - but not his dog - looked uncannily like my friend from the movie Up!. At first I thought he was tending the greenery, but I realized after passing him and noting his age, that he was just slowly making his way over a cedar tree that had fallen on the path. In my memory of this day, this man will represent my Grandpa Erv, who I blogged about before this trip, and who passed away while I was at the Janiculum. I like the idea that his spirit - so kind, so dear - was with me while the flora and breezes comforted my senses.
As I left, I climbed down many stairs, and came to a locked gate with no apparent exit. But, with patience - good for so many things in life! - I noticed an opening in the fence, and made my way through. Then, to document my journey up, and down again, I photographed this joiner. My favorite part is the way the light plays on the leaves. The thing about joiners is that you can never get them just right - it is a 3-D world represented in 2-D so, impossible to replicate. One must only be satisfied with the effect, and tolerant (even welcoming) of imperfection - another useful tool that I will stow away for my continued journey.
Yesterday I walked to the Appia Antica, one of the original highways that the Romans used to reach the port (in or near Naples, methinks). It's a few miles from my place, past the Circus Maximus (really, just a big field) and down a tree-lined avenue. Once outside the city walls, you walk or bike along an increasingly picturesque way.
Two of Rome's most frequented catacombs are located there, and I went to the one that was open on Sundays, San Callisto. It was serendipitous indeed, because I had the most wonderful, mystical tour guide in the world. I didn't learn her name, but she took her job seriously in the best sense possible.
The tour guide, a tiny woman with a poncho (it's cold underground) and a thin wooden staff with a purple fluttery topper, seemed to have the spirit of San Callisto. (Assuming San Callisto was a kindly and inspirational gentleman and not one of those curmudgeonly saints). She had a lovely accent that I couldn't place, but could have been Spanish, Italian, or maybe even Sicilian, and spoke with a light in her eyes. She drew attention to the fact that we were all pilgrims come to a holy place, and in an English-speaking group, there are likely to be people from a lot of different faiths, but it was marvelous because we all came to be there in peace. She also noted that the Christian catacombs, being as old as they are (150-320 AD) were just that - no Catholic/Protestant divisions yet. Another expected perk was that she had knowledge of the way people learn random facts, which is to say, not very well; which is to say, if you want them to remember said facts, you'd better repeat them over and over. But because of her accent and her divine tone of voice, it didn't bother me at all. Feel free to quiz me on the random facts, when I return stateside.
The tour began in a small chapel and continued into the earth - about 30 feet underground (no pictures were allowed, unfortunately). Contrary to popular belief, the Christians didn't hide in the Catacombs but rather used them as a burial site, which even the Romans with all their many and varied pagan gods respected (E!Tonight, or People magazine, anyone?). Tufa, or lava rock, is soft until exposed to the air, which is convenient if you are going to be doing a lot of digging and then plan on walking around in the area you dug. Which they did, believe me! I'm awfully glad I had a guide who was considerate and did not leave us all down there to fend for ourselves. Here is the entry into the catacombs - now imagine a flight of stairs in there going 30 feet down followed by miles upon miles of tunnels!
After the catacombs, continued down the Appia Antica and found a bike rental place, which is a dandy way to see the couple of miles farthest out. If you don't mind the original Roman stones, about the size of watermelons and sometimes quite as round. If you need to jostle a loose tooth out of your noggin', this is the place to do it. Luckily the "modern" (as in, maybe 200 years old?) cobblestones were the most common paving stones used, and I didn't fall over on my bike once, though I thought about it a lot. Here is a picture of me not falling over (see the similarities between myself and our almost-naked friend, who we must have seen 8 times on our journey):
After the ancient road, I walked along a not-at-all-ancient-road (i.e., with lots of cars) to return to the city wall. I took a bus for a couple of the ickiest miles and got to see this lovely Roman soldier show on the Circus Maximus. Notice the guy with black and white gladiator sandals - he must represent a very special type of gladiator, indeed.
Mostly, I use new technology the way old technology was used: I use my cell phones (more or less) to place calls. I read online news in the morning (usually) for a finite period of time (I can't even stand to watch news programs with all their digital ticker updates designed for a masochistic epileptic). But without friends and family in the immediate geographic area, there are admittedly fewer ways to connect to the people I care most about. And that means fewer words of wisdom filtering into my 21st century life and fewer anchors to the real world that raised me. Sounds like a good compromise is called for: I like Bob H's strategy. Let's not go back to paper-clips and floppy disks (oh, floppy disks!). But maybe be more thoughtful about all the gadgets so we don't end up like this guy?
Please don't be mad at me for being in Rome and spending the whole day inside. I'm not even sure how I managed to take up the whole day putzing, but putz, I did. My activities included making breakfast - "Italian" toast which is French Toast with yummy pane (bread) and topped with peach pieces, a little writing, recording a tribute to my grandfather, a nap, Pilates, vocal practice, sweeping the floor, and washing dishes.
But for many, including me, nesting doesn't have anything to do with wanting to spawn a little human baby (as covered yesterday). Maybe it's more aligned with wanting to establish one's place in the world. I've traveled enough that the first thing I do upon entering a new hotel room - or a nice flat in Rome - is unpack and put everything somewhere. When you travel - it's sometimes more difficult to remember lots of things about yourself, especially what "home" means. I'm not the only one to explore the options, ranging from...
Nesting might a way of creating an external place of comfort and familiarity. This seems especially important when the internal stuff is in flux. As in, "Gee, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but look at the tidy kitchen counter!" Tomorrow, I will make the city of Roma my home again, and let the dust bunnies collect until I need another reminder of who in the heck I am.
Ovid was exiled from Rome, though the reasons are unclear. In the Smiles of Rome, an excerpt from his Art of Love is included, with Susan Cahill's follow-up proposal that Ovid was too progressive for the misogynistic moralist Emperor Augustus. Ovid attended to the needs of women in his writing...what a goofy idea!
What is up with women, and men's roles in the world today? I'm not trying to whine - people are constantly developing new ways to be victimized feminists (did you think those two words were contradictory? Emily Gould explains why they are not). I'm seriously trying to figure it out, in terms of both ontogeny and phylogeny (that is, my own puny little existence and the overall trajectory of the species).
Certainly, there has been progress, in the last 50 years, particularly. What's 50 years, though? Maybe it's like the moment an infant who, after crawling in the dirt for centuries, takes that first toddling step. It's a clumsy uprightness, followed by an almost immediate return to the earth: Because when you've been crawling for so long, the effort spent walking seems ridiculous. Except, of course, when you want to make actual progress.
Like the infant learning to walk, our societies can't acquire the new skill of respecting and appreciating women's contributions by watching (especially when we're still watching mostly men, whether it's in sports, entertainment, politics, etc). Do you remember learning anything new, recently? How un-fun it was and how you just wanted to give up and go sit on the couch and eat Cheetos? That's how it feels to be figuring out how to be a "new woman" in today's age.
For a while it seemed as simple as doing like so many men do: adopt a career and pursue it single-mindedly. BUT! But: I like - and need - my social connections (see weepy, inspirational clip below). I like my community, and my thoughtfully prepared, healthy dinner, and my swept floor. I like knowing what's going on with my family, and reaching out to someone who seems sad. Without being Martha Stewart (not even close), I like making homemade birthday and holiday cards, and trying out a new recipe. I like my lighthearted, mostly-for-fun women's barbershop group.
After I realized things were going to be more complicated than I initially thought, I spent some time trying to do it all (in my head - thankfully, real children were NOT involved). My conclusion? Like Erin Pizzey: exhausting. It just doesn't make sense. Someone has to actually run the world on a daily basis, including shopping, cleaning, and feeding everybody, and someone has to dream the dreams that keep the world moving forward. For everyone to do all of everything...blech, and double blech.
At the Colosseum, I approached our guide after the tour, and asked her about a fun fact regarding the seating areas at the fights. From her telling, "women and slaves" sat in the uppermost tier - the cheap seats. I was curious about this, thinking that the wives/mistresses of the fancy Senator dudes would be allowed to sit near their mates and all the spraying blood. She replied that no, in public life, women had no influence. But then she got a glint in her eye: in private life, she said, as the mothers, sisters, and daughters of those fancy dudes, they had a great deal of influence. For example, did you know that Helena, the mother of the Christianity-edict-ing Constantine, is often credited with exposing him to the religion? Then with another glint, she added: "some things never change, no?"
So what now? Who the hell knows? I peeked behind the curtain and saw the Wizard of Oz, and he is a scared little man in a tiny narrow booth. He may think he's the boss, but he is missing out, too. A scrumptious creme brulee is a delightful accomplishment indeed, as is the act of showing up at a sad house with a hearty casserole. Maybe he and Dorothy should have a little chat?
After 2 weeks of moseying, lolling around, and general leisure, I just came off a 2-day stint of "turbo tourism". Monday was the warm-up day from 11-6pm, and yesterday was spent at the Forum by 10am and then went to Hadrian's villa by metro/buses, returned at 8:30pm and had a true Roman dinner beginning at 11pm. Needless to say I will be laying low today, apart from some necessary grocery shopping.
Here are some highlights:
- going to the Colosseum and NOT being a gladiator condemned to fight/die "damnatio ad bestia" (damnation by beast), or a spectator getting sprayed with perfume to cover up the stench of blood from all the death
- being a savvy enough tourist not to be taken by the "goofy gladiators" charging too much moola for having a photo with them pretending to stab you with fake swords, but being appreciative of the guy who did and laughing at him from afar
- watching entire families wearing the same straw hat purchased from the guys who spread out a bunch of them on sheets in the hot, hot sun
- having dirty gladiator feet at the end of walking over 6 miles on Monday
Today I gave in and bought a 2-day ticket to the Palatine, Forum, and Colosseum. I hit the first and third today and will (theoretically) do the Forum in the morning tomorrow, when the sun stays out of our business a bit. There were plenty o' tourists but not an overwhelming number, and I entered from the Palatine which is apparently what everybody skips (come on, tell me you've heard of the Palatine before just now! thought not...). Here are some pics. If you haven't heard of the teeny bathroom up a ladder that makes the Colosseum so famous, well, then, you don't know the real story.
No actually that picture is from my lunch place, a panini (sandwich) shop with a sign out front for 2.50 euro panini (less than $4). I was hooked. Of course, by the time I decided to eat there, at the little bar facing a wall, and purchase Fanta, Coke, and a bag of potato chips, it was considerably more than that. The shopkeeper gave me a convoluted story about the upcharge for each item because I decided to eat in.
In her Introduction to "The Smiles of Rome," Susan Cahill describes travel and tourism: "Travel and tourism, it must be said, follow different rhythms. Travel means finding yourself through a journey, and letting it change you. Tourism means making a journey with enough cushioning and filtering and microscheduling to assure that it won't change you."
I'd like to think that after almost 2 weeks, I've passed into traveler status, or maybe even (hope of all hope) that I never really had tourist status. Regardless, I have discovered one of the most enjoyable things about living in a new place is watching other people discover the place. First, it makes me feel like a native - and funnily, you can be a native in a city like Rome after not very long at all. I learned this yesterday when I assisted an odd couple in the Jewish Ghetto, our own little neighborhood. A middle-aged woman with a cane, and her youthful companion with "Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater" t-shirt, were entering our piazza with that desperate lost-tourist look. When I greeted them and the woman asked if I knew English, she seemed terribly relieved when I said proudly "I do!" (I even think of myself as reasonably fluent). When I told them I had been here 2 weeks and just figured out how to consistently get to my flat, the older woman said sincerely "Oh, so then you're a native." Not really, but I was able to direct them toward the river and went on my merry way. I can tell you where the water is but don't ask me for any addresses!
As a traveler, you also get to take pictures of people rather than buildings - or more specifically, people with buildings behind them. Usually, people can be counted on to do more interesting things than buildings, plus buildings pay you the courtesy of standing there while you document the people. It is possible (even likely) that I find mundane things inordinately interesting, but it is funny to watch people enter a space they've seen only in 2-D and realize it exists in the same 3-D world they inhabit. Some people like to stop and look for a minute, before walking into the space and having a family member take a posed picture of them. Others meander through, taking in the space at 2 miles per hour. Then there are the true natives, the Vatican employees, who pass through like they would a parking lot. Here is a collection from St. Peter's Square.
1. The fountains belong to everyone. The most common use is drinking, but today I saw a man wet a rag and wipe down his dusty rear windshield.
2. The coolest place in the city is along the Tevere (Tiber) River; trees line both sides and the breeze blows unfettered by the city's characteristic buildings and desultory street plan.
3. Gelato can and should be eaten at any time of day.
4. Walking safely in Rome takes an expansive attention. (Note: this is not the same as ADHD-like attention, or being so distracted by everything around you that you perceive without actually attending to anything; that is to say, anti-participation in life).
Expansive attention seems the true opposite of meditative attention, where one focuses on a single word or idea, or indeed nothing at all. In Rome, one must listen to one's walking (passeggiatta) partner, and also attend to the space on all sides. Behind you, might come a Vespa or a car or a garbage truck or a bike or a person walking faster than you are walking. It is up to you to hear them and step somewhere out of the way, usually to the side of the street, but sometimes to a stoop or the threshold of a shop (negozio). In front of you, might also come any of these. Do not play chicken and do not be indecisive; instead, exercise your power of subtle cue-reading to decide where they intend to go and where you can move your body so as to be out of the way. If both people do this properly, a successful trading of spaces occurs.
5. From a guidebook: "it is customary to let the vendor select the produce for you." At first I was uncomfortable with this, thinking they would give me the most rotten pieces. To the contrary, they want to know what day you plan to eat the item and will select the choicest selection depending on your response.
6. "Where are my keys?" in correct Italian is "Dove sono le mie chiave?" Dove = where; sono=are; le mie chiave = the my keys (feminine).
7. Formaggio means cheese; pomeriggio means afternoon. When you ask for pasta without pomeriggio you get a funny look from the server.
8. There is milk in the gelato cones, and every gelato-rista (like coffee barrista) knows this.
9. You are welcome to draw in the Maxxi Museum but so as not to impede the experience of flowing physical space, you may not sit on the floor.
10. Rome can be enjoyed in any state. If you are feeling melancholy, Rome will soothe your spirit, and if you are already happy, Rome will make you into a chortling bundle of joy.
Yesterday I went to the beach, where I proceeded to turn myself into a lobster. But more on that part later...
Lido d'Ostia is at the end of one of the Roman city transport lines, which has the funny name of ATAC. Good thing they're not English-speaking or whenever people rode the bus they would be afraid of terrorists. My friend R the Roman gave some good advice about getting off at Stella Polare (North Star) and turning right to access the free beach. The beach is very well-organized, with areas fenced off for paying beach-goers whose fee gets them a beach umbrella or a lounge chair with a sunshade, and areas for the rest of the freeloading bumpkins.
Going to the beach should be Week 1 of a meditation seminar. From what I know of meditation (and that is very little) I believe one is supposed to empty one's mind. I have tried to do this in yoga, in between thinking "you want me to put my elbow WHERE?" and it is quite difficult. But at the beach - it must be the combination of the water and waves providing the right level of ambient recognizable noise...together with a bunch of interesting individuals, couples, and families to watch...together with what my friend LL calls the ball of death in the sky...together with a vast array of Things You Don't Need But Find Fun to Buy At the Beach. Like a tattoo!
Yes, I now have a temporary tattoo. There were all these men walking around doing what seems like the hardest job in the world, selling people various items they don't need or want because who wants to go home from the beach carrying MORE than they came with? There were vendors of sparkly cheap trinkets, woven bracelets, jewelry made from poor dead African snakes and animals with bones, swimsuits (not as crazy as you would think, because I saw at least 3 people swimming in their brassieres), coconut pieces, and tattoos. I did buy some coconut, and also a tattoo.
The man selling the tattoo was from Bangladesh, as of 2 months ago, which seems like just about the biggest culture shock one could suffer. To come from a place where women walk around fully clothed and even wear sunglasses to avoid meeting men's eyes (thanks Becky from Grand Rapids, MI!) to a country where you spend all day painting on half-naked people...crouching in positions shown below.
Step 1: First you select a tattoo from Tattoo Guy's Trapper Keeper. This is how he advertises - walking around turning the plastic pages in the binder hoping that the rose with thorns or peace symbol will catch someone's eye. Step 2: Tattoo Guy traces it with a skin-clinging ink pen on a little sheet of waxy paper. Step 3: You show where you want the tattoo and Tattoo Guy rolls over it with what looks like deodorant but must be some other technologically advanced product. Step 4: Tattoo Guy transfers his tracing to your skin. Step 5: Tattoo Guy draws in the tracing with gooey black stuff they must get from BP.
I have to admit that I got uncomfortable in my tattoo-consumer position (10-15min?) - and not because I was watching this disturbing couple molest each other a few towels away (that's an in-person story, too icky to blog about). Physically uncomfortable because of holding my body so still. And then of course felt immediately guilty because I'm on vacation and this guy has to contort himself and ruin his knees on an all-daily basis.
After my tattoo I took a walk down the beach. Even though it is not possible to access the pay beach from the sidewalk, one is free to stroll down the shore. I noticed lots of families and - something rare at US beaches - older people. As in, people north of 70 or 80 years old. They were often playing with grandchildren. It felt all snuggly and family-oriented.
Then I came home and proceeded to turn bright red. Don't know what I was thinking except thankfully I didn't arrive until after 2pm so missed the worst of it. I for one was in "the sun won't hurt me, I have a tattoo" mode and also didn't like the idea of putting sunscreen over the film of sea salt from my pre-tattoo swim. Very, very silly for a pale Vampire-wanna-be like Chiara. Today I will spend indoors or covered up, like Bangladeshi women.
What does it mean to call a place home? If you grew up in Michigan (or, apparently, anywhere else in the world), you are highly familiar with squirrels. They were part of the background - something I didn't notice - until I went to college in Ann Arbor and became impressed and terrified of the gargantuan rodents that reside there. I suppose if I needed to survive a 6-month winter and ALSO lived among a city overrun by that unmatched producer of food-related garbage, the college undergraduate, I would get really frickin' big, too.
I learned other cool things from today's NY Times article on squirrels (does no one read the Times anymore? Relatedly, is this part of their ongoing plan to broaden their audience so that when they have to start charging for online news, they will be able to knock on the doors of tent-dwelling hermits obsessed with small tree-climbing mammals and say "please pay us, we know you couldn't stand to live without our erudite articles about your favorite entree"?"). Such as: even though squirrels act crazy sometimes, they are highly adapted to their environments. Much like human beings, but without such drastic and dramatic consequences.
I've gotten a lot of mileage out of the notion that creatures do things because they think it will make them better off. However, nobody said that all creatures have good judgment or access to all the information required to make a decent decision. Further, we are all members of communities that influence us in various ways, both known and unknown. Consequently, collections of members (e.g., families, classrooms, or entire societies) end up with different ideas about what sorts of behaviors seem like good decisions.
I was riding the bus home from a Words of Peace Global event yesterday and had the fortune of starting a conversation with a middle-aged, crunchy/hippie-ish woman with a medium-sized suitcase. I helped her get it on the bus, and she thanked me rather more profusely than was necessary, given the size of the suitcase. It turned out she is Greek, though I didn't learn that fact until the end of our conversation, when I also learned her name is Katherine.
Katherine asked what I was doing in Italy, and when I said "per vacanze" (for vacation) she said that Italy is good for holiday but not for making a living. I said "why?" Then we proceeded to have a disjointed conversation, her in English, me in Italian (because I still thought she was Italian at that point), about the state of the economy in various countries. She said that the middle class was shrinking and "what happened to Greece is going to happen to Italy. Do you know what happened to Greece?" (I'm pretty sheltered and don't read much news, but yes, I know what happened to Greece). I responded that the middle class is also shrinking in the United States (gli Stati Uniti or, yee STAH-tea oo-NEA-tea). Then she said, and I quote, "but you have the Barack Obama." I nodded, yes, we have the Barack Obama but we also have a bunch of corrupt people in power (like bankers), also like Greece, and definitely like Italy.
At times, though, it is awfully difficult to tell who is corrupt and who is just inordinately confused. The various systems of this global economy, as we know from our own banking crisis, have gotten a bit too big for any single mind. What is worse, complicated economic and political decisions have gotten all tangled up in the social and cultural behavioral needs of regular (or sometimes, completely narcisisstic) human beings. It makes sense to me that this combination would result in a big hairy mess. Though everyone feels better if we can blame stuff on one person, like this unfortunate gentleman.
He had the privilege of being right about most things, for most of his life, and then he came down to earth to join the rest of us bumbling stumblers. In what, exactly? Well that is a question for another day, and another blogger. I have no idea, either, but I'm usually brave enough to admit it. (Unless I'm teaching a course and then there is a need to appear informed or at least, able to obtain the answer faster than the undergraduate who asked the question).
Greek Katherine - also an engineering student in Rome - thinks that the United States is a wonderful place where people can make something of their dreams. I agree with her, and I also don't. Scott Nicholson might, but he needs a little time, to find that perfect job, and start living the American Dream. Except: like anything, dreams need to evolve with this messy, hair world. The old dream - of owning the house, having the 2.5 kids and some furry pets - bit a lot of people in the arse. So, let's make a new dream, huh? And let's not, like our friend the squirrel, bury the same dream five times in different parts of the same yard, and dig it up five times as though it will emerge from the ground somehow new.
Let's tip the world entirely over. Like in the Pirates of the Caribbean III when they reach the edge of the world, go upside down, and come out the other side. (Ok, now this is just an excuse to post a picture of Johnny Depp in a pirate costume).
watching archeologists continue to dig at what must be some of the most plundered/excavated sites in the world
hanging out at the Temple of the Vestal Virgins site which (coincidentally?) also has some of the prettiest, and only, flowers in the Forum
warnings, dogs, and turtles at Hadrian's villa!
almost getting ambushed by one sneaky statue...
...and copping a feel from another one
finding this bar which must have seen its popularity increase 500% since Twilight came out 
