Trifter

The majesty of Italy is that it fulfills dreams, even those you didn’t know to have.  Italy, I must say, is a work of art. Once you pass through the blights and filth of any city and pass into the historical centers, much of today’s world passes away. The streets are narrow, cobbled, and Renaissance lives and breaths centuries after its time.  Everything the Italian ancestors did was with beauty in mind and I found myself wishing there were a way to bottle it.  Fading, graying memories are not enough of a tribute.

My trip started with a ‘technical difficulty’ that caused our flight to leave an hour late. That’s the last thing anyone who doesn’t care for flying wants to hear over the speaker at the airport. Before you’ve even boarded. What was to keep me from running, screaming, back to the parking lot, wailing to all who would listen that we were all going to die? Oh… that’s right… Michelangelo’s David and all the men that inspired such perfection of form. Or was it the old stone humming with history, molded, carved, and wailing their own story of creation and ruination. Once on the plane, I find out that the problem was a bad wheel on the landing gear.  Oookay, I blink and think at least they found it. Bad enough, right? What would you say then, as the captain continues, and informs us that while changing the wheel, they found some brakes that were locking up as well. My inner gremlin is fairly screamingthat the only way they found one problem was they were ‘lucky’ enough to discover a first. That parking lot was looking like an Italian holiday right about then.

Despite this ominous beginning to a trip of a lifetime, I landed in Venice without incident and caught and met up with my Archers tour group where I felt very much like I had just played a rousing game of ‘Hurry Up and Wait,’ as we waited for all travelers to join us.  The next day we traveled into Venice by boat and as my first real taste of Italy, I felt a bit like I was on the outside still, looking in through a TV screen.  And not a High Definition one either, but your grandmothers black and white fifties model that wiggled across the middle no matter how long you toyed with the knobs, making you wonder if The Outer Limits wasn’t full of rubbish after all.  

Crowded canals and massive buildings lined the water, and St. Marks Square loomed vast and tall with it’s ornate palace and Basilica and bell tower. It was breathtaking, but truly, I did not feel I was in Venice until the Gondola ride. Yes, the traditional activity has become very touristy and less….well… traditional, but it was then, traveling under bridges and through the ’streets’ that I finally felt I had arrived.  That annoying disturbance in the force finally adjusting and the surreal quality vanishing with the smell of the canals in the afternoon sun.  They don’t tell you about that in the tour books. 

I walked the back streets of Venice to see the Rialto bridge, discovered my new addiction of gellato, and took a boat trip to Burano, a popular fishing village of multicolored homes. They say this was so the fishermen could actually find their homes as they drunkenly stumbled back after a late night at the pub.  What man, I ask you, drunk or sober, will admit to living in a bright pink house? 

There I soaked up the silence, a shocking difference from the busy square of St. Marks, and tried a small glass of local wine, traditionally drank with a z shaped biscuit dropped in the glass to soak in the wine. It was a lovely treat that I could have easily splurged to excess on. That night, I had a four course dinner with traditional Venetian food and free flowing local wines that was exceptional. The best Tiramisu of my life.

On our way to Rome, we stopped at Assisi, where St. Francesco built his church on top of a mountain overlooking the valleys and towns below. We couldn’t take pictures inside, but it was an ornate place rife with frescos as just about all aged churches are in Italy. The town looked largely unaffected by time, having a very medieval vibe about it.  Birds would be hard pressed to better the view of the surrounding area than from the top of the Basilica.  Spectacular three sixty view. 

After that, we continued to Rome, where rather than spending money on an excursion through the tour company, I took off with my roommate Lila (an exchange teacher from Mexico). We hopped the metro and saw all the same piazza’s and fountains on our own for 3 Euro instead of 52.  I only recommend sticking with A line rather than B.  Unless you like ghetto chic decor.   We saw the Trevi fountain which was stunning and a must see by daylight, and magical by night when we went back a couple days later to see it illuminated.

We also visited the Spanish Steps, testing our endurance by actually climbing them and not just sitting on them as everyone else did. The church at the top was another masterpiece of art. They did not believe in leaving white space on the surfaces of their walls, every inch decorated either with fresco, carved reliefs, marbled veneer or incredibly detailed statues.

In the days I spent in Rome, I saw many more fountains, many piazza’s with ornate buildings like the Pantheon. Too many to list. We saw the Pope’s summer residence which is on top of a volcano crater, Castel Gandolpho.  Another lovely quiet town, but that’s also were we saw the people necking in grand exhibitionist fashion.  One of the tour group actually started filming it with their video camera and another got a picture of her filming them. It was quite entertaining, as the louder people commented, the more the couple went at it. 

They take their local wine here very seriously as well.  They are so prideful of it they have a legend of a mother with three breasts where two give milk and the middle gives wine.  They sell cookies that demonstrate this humorous idea, a major tourist draw. We won’t even mention the wrestling matches that shortly ensued over who would get the ‘wine.’

My favorite moments in Rome, however were far too short. We went to the Vatican to see the gallery there and each section held another surprise. The ceilings were painted beautifully and the 3D imaging far beyond it’s time. Where the place looked carved, it was only flat painted, blowing your minds perception out of the water. They had a large collection of statuary as well, holding all the collections of the previous popes, who are far more worldly than history may wish us to remember.

The Sistine Chapel was at the end of this absorbing trek, and still held the power to suck the breath from your chest. Stepping into the small private chapel that held works the like of Raphael and Michelangelo really can’t be expressed in words. Of course, it’s Michelangelo’s work that truly draws you in and blows you away. Where as the previous fresco work in the gallery had been impressive, his work was astronomically more intense. I can think of no other expression for the beauty of it. We only had about 20 minutes to absorb what we could of the ceiling and the Last judgement, but it was not nearly enough. There was so much detail, so many things to draw an eye that could not find flaw, that I felt a bit let down. I wanted to sit there far longer, especially as photography was strictly forbidden, but we were rushed out.

The only consolation to not having more time within the chapel was our walk to St. Peters where the church of the Vatican is.  Every Wednesday morning at ten-thirty, Pope Benedict XVI comes outside to give a general address to the people gathered and in his preliminary tour of the crowd on his car, I got within twelve feet of him, snapping a few pictures in his passing. I’m not catholic but it is still a pretty nice bonus to be so close to a major world mover and shaker.  It is one of the memorable moments that made the trip that much more fantastic, as it was an unexpected surprise.  Our local tour guide had a crush on the Father behind the Pope in the car and demanded we all get her a clear shot of him for her.  Laughing, I didn’t bother to notice him while I was there, but afterward, I suppose for a clergyman, he’s handsome enough.  Though, having checked him out now, I suddenly feel the need to go to confession.  Thanks for that, Mari-Teresa. 

From there, we went to the roman forums and the Colosseum. The first moment I saw the hulking stone ruin come around the window on the bus, I was once again struck. This was why I came to Rome. As much as seeing the Sistine chapel was amazing and a dream come true, the older something is, the more I lust after it, and to see the majestic arches rising up high into the sky for the first time in real life, I was dumbstruck. The remaining pillars and buildings left in the forum dwarfed me, and imagining the place as it was before ‘roman recycling’ took it’s marble and ornaments away made a person feel so small. The Romans didn’t do anything in small measure, nor did they spare the aesthetics in favor of practicality. At one time, the Colosseum and all buildings built by them were lined in colorful marble, posh in ways rarely reached in our modern world. It wasn’t until later centuries when the buildings fell into disuse that future popes decided to build their own cathedrals and churches, using the materials from the ancient roman buildings. Stripping them of all their gilding, they were used in places like the Vatican floor. You can see the score marks on the massive pillars of the remaining buildings where they had once tried to pull them down but couldn’t. The Romans built for their children more than for themselves.  History came to life as I saw the places where Julius Caesar was assassinated and where he was later cremated. It is hard to wrap your mind around it when it’s always been just a story your entire life.

My last ‘wow’ moment came the last evening we were in Rome. Using the metro again we traveled back into the historical center to see some things we hadn’t found yet. In our wanderings that evening we came across a large pretty building of St. Gregorio. Outside there was a monument to Mother Theresa which we thought was interesting. This is where the story gets a bit surreal. One of the girls was desperate for a restroom as we hadn’t been able to find one in some time. Just as we were taking our pictures of the building and leaving, a couple of nuns came out of the gate and she asked where we could find one. Instead of giving directions, the nice ladies brought us inside their convent to use theirs. Already, a little humbled, being in a convent and being generously aided,we were waiting our turns when we are told that right across the hall is where Mother Theresa actually lived. They have her room just as she left it. The ladies were kind enough to let us go in and see where she had all of her notes left out, her research, her books and bed and personal possessions, though few they were. It was even more humbling and shocking to meet the women that she knew. These ladies were her friends and they treated us as if we were as well.  They offered us a medallion pendant with Mother Theresa’s words on it so that we would have a token of our visit and remember her calling and purpose.  It wasn’t until we left that it became apparent just how special the moment was. One of the girls in our small group pointed out that we had actually used Mother Theresa’s loo.  It sounds funny, and was, but it’s also true.  That wasn’t what made it special though. What made it extraordinary is that this isn’t a tourist place. They don’t offer tours of her room, they don’t advertise her residence, it’s not something every Joe Blow tourist with a map and a camera can do. It all happened because we were a bit lost and needed a restroom. It’s just funny how little things will bring you to the most unforgettable moments in your life. The Pope and Mother Theresa were unexpected extras, and ended up my favorites.

On our way to Florence, we saw Pisa where we spent far too much time doing the typical tourist photos of trying to hold it or push it back up. It had to be done. It would be rude not to. Actually, the square where it is, is walled, and so we kept looking around for this towering building, wondering where the thing was. It wasn’t until we came to the portal and entered that it was sitting there behind the cathedral. My immediate thought then was, “I thought it was taller.” It’s not as big as you imagine, but it’s still quite the oddity as it looks like it’s is seconds away from collapse.

Once in Florence we did a walking tour where I was again reminded how artful they are in everything they do. Florence was the heart of Renaissance art and I lapped it up. We saw the Duomo, a copy of David near the Uffizi Gallery, and street artists working on perspective.  I toured the Uffizi Gallery where I saw the only painting in existence by Michelangelo, three paintings by Leonardo Da Vinci, and Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Allegory of Spring. The Ruben’s exhibit was closed or I would have been all over that one too. After that, I went to the Galleria d’Accademia where they house many of Michelangelo’s carvings half finished and his crowning glory, David. All I can say about that is I stared for about an hour, looking from all angles. The sculpture was SO lifelike, you expect to see his chest rise with breath and his legs to flex as he steps off the pedestal. David, in other words, was as close to perfection as mere man can get before usurping God’s own creative power. I don’t really know how Michelangelo pulled it off, creating something so lifelike out of rock, but seeing it in front of you and off the pictures of a page makes all the difference in the world.

Florence concluded my trip and I even made it back without more flight nightmares.  All parts of my plane home were in working order, or at the very least, I didn’t know about them.  Which I must admit now, is the way I prefer it.  While most tourists remember the food, the art, or the architecture, my fondest memory will forever be a small, humble toilet in an out of the way convent.