So I'm in Rome...

I was out on a solo mission this morning and I got stopped again by somebody wanting directions. This happened a couple of days ago when I was was out by myself. This time it was an Aussie couple. Clearly, I exclude that innate sense of style that makes people think I'm Italian. They asked me how to get to Piazza Navona - one of the big squares,popular with tourists. I cocked my head and looked at them quizzically. So they said it more slowly - 'Piaaaazza Naavonaaa'. And they said it a bit more loudly. And in an approximation of an Italian accent. I furrowed my brow and said, 'Italiano?' The bloke said, slowly and loudly, 'No. Australian'. I nodded knowingly and in my broadest Aussie accent said, 'Straight down there, mate. Hang a left and you can't miss it.'
Trastevere really is a great area to stay in - ideally one lane back from the action as we are. It's full of food and life. And churches. Boy, there are a heap of churches in Rome. There are three within 200 metres of our flat. We wandered into the closest one (40 metres away) this arvo. Santa Maria del Scalla was built between 1593 and 1610. It was spectacular - there is nothing like it in Australia. There was no sign of anybody inside except for a bloke praying - or dozing. There certainly wasn't anybody official hanging around trying to recruit us. It's interesting seeing locals go into their churches. They duck in, do whatever they need to do, and head out again. They're the same with coffee places. There is none of the sitting around we do. They walk in, throw down a quick, short coffee at the counter, and bounce out. It's all very perfunctory.
We've done a heap of stuff in Rome. Covered off all the usual suspects: the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, Colosseum, Forum, a few galleries, including the newish modern art one - Maxis - and a bunch of other stuff. The thing that most impressed the kids? The gelato. We've walked more in the last week than I ever have in Rome and the kids haven't complained much at all. We sometimes catch a cab back to home base when we find ourselves miles away. Cabs here are really cheap and I enjoy being driven in that crazy traffic on the main roads and down those tiny streets. It's amazing how close cars get to eachother - and to people. Nobody pays much attention to lanes on the road - it feels like we're all really fast moving pieces of flotsam.
The Vatican and St. Peter's was yesterday. We showed up at the appointed time to meet Saint Colin who was handing us over to another guide - and hopefully getting a cut on the dozen or so people he had roped in. We were early to meet Colin and filling in time. Lulu (the 11 year old) was prancing along full of beans as 11 year olds sometimes do when she took a tumble. It was a pretty good one and she fell heavily - arm, leg and nose all got smacked. She must have got a fright, because when we helped her to her feet (possibly too quickly) she passed out and fell and the back of her head hit the pavement with a 'clunk'. It was a sound that stops the heart of any parent. She was fine in the end, but what was amazing was the number of concerned Italians who instantly came over. We were in a commuter area and these were people getting started with their day. There must have been 15 of them offering water, offering to call an ambulance or the police (not sure which police force) or just wringing their hands - maybe they were praying? I'm not sure that would happen in Sydney. Maybe it would with a kid down and out for the count?
We still managed to make the Vatican tour. Our guide this time was a bloke called Salvatore. He was a 70 year old flirt - reminded me of my dad. Being winter, the place wasn't too crowded, but I'm glad we had a guide. One thing the guides are apparently able to do is let people through a door from the Vatican museum into the forecourt of St. Peter's. Otherwise it's a long walk around and another big queue. St. Peter's always amazes me. I think even the kids were just a bit awestruck at the scale of the thing - maybe the younger one was just concussed? I particularly like the story about the dome. Michelangelo was commissioned to do it and he didn't get on with the Pope. Out of spite, he made the dome of St Peter's one metre smaller than the dome of The Pantheon - the big pagan temple in Rome. The pope didn't find out till Michelangelo was dead, and the dome was finished.
We even went to a flea market on Sunday. I had read that it was the best flea market in Rome, but it was rubbish. It's years since I've been to Paddy's Market in Sydney, but I bet it's the same - every fifth stall was selling the same stuff. And most of it would have come from China. The stalls most popular were the ones selling second hand clothes. Nothing special, just used clothes. The crowds around those stores said more about the state of the Italian economy than any treasury stats could. The market stretched for about a kilometre along a road with stalls on each side. It was pretty busy and there were a few of the Senegalese bag sellers wandering around with their stock on their arms. I saw one of them decided to construct his pop down shop right in the middle of the path. Nobody said a thing.
I got out of the market before Lisa and the girls and found myself part of what is a world wide phenomenon - blokes waiting for women to come out of a market/shop. There were at least a dozen of us. We acknowledged each others presence with set lips and the occasional eye roll. There was nothing that needed to be said. All of us were united in one unspoken thought, 'What on earth have they possibly have found in there to absorb their attention and extract their cash?'
I have a theory about the right length of time to stay in a city. It's one that just occurred to me today, so it hasn't exactly been rigorously tested. I reckon the time to leave is when the tourist map you picked up on the first day has started to get holes in it from being folded and refolded and dragged in and out of pockets and bags. My map has had it, so it's time to head to the train station to get the train to Venice.
Arrividerci Roma.
 
Great account of Rome, Depreciator. We are currently on a 3 mth trip of UK/Europe and were in Rome in November. Fantastic place. We also used the train to travel - but we went to Florence and then Venice. You will love Venice.

We were fortunate enough to see the Pope give a blessing - he does so each Sunday in 12.00 at St Peter's Square.

Enjoy your travels. We certainly are! We are currently in Amsterdam - I love this city!

Kind regards,

Jason.:)
 
I didn't catch the Pope in Rome, Jingo - being a heathen he doesn't interest me all that much. But I did go into a little neighbourhood hardware store. Standing around with other blokes in that tiny store was a bit of a religious experience for me.
We've both been to Venice a few times, but it's a good city to show kids because it's so odd. One of the times my wife went there was for a meeting. She was working as a designer in Sydney and the company was trying to get a client to sign-off on a big project. My wife was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen and this client fancied himself despite being a bit past it. He headed overseas and told her he would sign the contract if she met him in Venice - blokes, sigh. So she flew all the way from Sydney, got the signature, and high tailed it back.
 
Leaving Rome.

We're on the train now. It's a very nice train and we're travelling first class, so the next four hours are going to pass pretty pleasantly.
It was a smooth exit from our flat. Mimi and I went out looking for a cab big enough to carry the four us and our four bags - bags that do seem to be getting heavier. Well, mine isn't, but the other three bags seem to be. I have my suspicions about Mimi's bag. I think she might have some Italian in her, too. It's not evidenced in subliminal style as mine clearly is, but in something more ordinary - she told me that she has four pebbles she nicked from the Colosseum. She used to do that when she was little. I remember often being out with her and feeling a little hand in my pocket depositing some bits of gravel. (If I feel a little hand in my pocket here it will be a gypsy kid and they won't be putting anything in there.) Before we head home I had best check to make sure Mimi hasn't got a slab of marble in her bag. That could explain the weight.
There really is something approximating the food chain at work on the roads. On the cab ride to the station I didn't see one cyclist. They're not game to tackle the bigger roads and stick to backwaters like Trastevere. Buses, being the biggest things on the road, drift around with impunity. Cars come next, and then people on motor scooters. To give themselves a fighting chance, motor scooters get together like schools of fish - the logic would be that a lone scooter would be easy pickings, but a car driver might think twice about taking out a dozen scooters. As long as everybody knows their place, it all works fine and nobody gets cranky. Down at the bottom of the food chain are pedestrians. The only exception there are nuns. I had to cross a couple of huge intersections on foot the other day and worked out quickly the best way to do it was to find a couple of nuns and slip along in their wake. I saw some other drivers do some crazy things on that last cab ride. Our driver just watched them and nodded to himself as if to say, 'Nice one. Love your work.'
It's interesting the fleeting relationships you make when you travel. There was a little local cafe about 30 meters from where we were staying. It wasn't a sit down type of cafe, but more a throw down type. We went there a few times - including this morning - and Mimi was boss of ordering the coffee in Italian. The owner was very encouraging and taught her a few things. We'll never see her again. One bloke we did see again, though, was Massimo. He runs a wine bar near the Campo di Fiori. When Lisa and I stayed in Rome fourteen years ago, we ate and drank a few times there. Massimo was full of life and full of enthusiasm for Australian wines back then. We dropped in there on our last night and Massimo was still there. He was looking older - unlike us. And he'd lost his enthusiasm for Australian wines and life in general. He was full of tales of woe about how buggered Italy is and a bit despairing of the future. Sometimes it's best to not go back to places. We had a drink and bought a bottle of wine off him to leave for the people who owned the place we were staying. Ilaria had been great before and during our stay - she was as quick as me on email and happy to answer questions I had about Rome. Staying in Airbnb places really is the best way to travel. In a couple of hours time we meet the bloke who owns the next place we are staying in. Roberto will be waiting for us on the Giuglio Bridge. I don't think he'll have any trouble spotting me - with three people and bags in tow I'm not going to be mistaken for a local.
I wonder whether the Senegalese bag guys will be in Venice. And the Bangladeshis guys selling other rubbish? I wonder what the buskers will be like? The ones in Rome were pretty ordinary. There were a fair few of the statue guys. You know the ones who paint themselves and stand very still. I guess lameness is a universal thing. I've never got them. How does somebody end up doing that? Do they say to themselves, 'Hey, I need some cash I think I'll busk. But I have no talent. I know, I can stand still. I'll just do that.' There was one near The Forum who was sitting slouched against a low wall - he didn't even have sufficient talent or self respect to stand still. He looked like he had been shot - or was just utterly defeated. And incomprehensibly he was dressed like a Mexican cowboy. He had the hat, the moustache, the revolver in his hand. And an empty tin in front of him. I was going to ask him what on earth he was thinking but I might have hurt his feelings and there would have been an expectation that I put some money into his tin. The most popular buskers are the levitating Indians. They sit cross legged seemingly hovering two feet about the ground. One hand is outstretched and resting on the top of a metre high stick. They would have a metal plate on the ground under their mat, a metal pole attached to the plate concealed in the stick, and a cantilevered metal platform they sit on connected to the stick by a metal rod concealed in the sleeve of the arm holding the stick. Hard to explain, I know, but it's pretty convincing - and there would be some pretty good welding that went into the structure. We were walking in one of the tourist areas yesterday and I saw a big black shape gyrating on the footpath. It looked like two people having a slow motion wrestle under a big black cloak. I thought it must have been some sort of performance artwork until Lulu pointed out that it would be a couple of Indians getting the levitating platform thing happening. They were at it for ages. I wanted to go up to them and tell them that it would be easier if they dispensed with the 'cloak of secrecy' because nobody really believed one of them was levitating and there were plenty of new punters going past all the time anyway. But they might not have taken kindly to my advice and with the conversation there would have been an expectation of payment also and then we both would have been disappointed.
Venice soon.
 
The bags and watches a la drop down stall will be in Venice too. I haven't been to Venezia for years but I remember them clearly.

Suprisingly a colleague was in Paris last week and said there were so many gypsies there - way more than usual. I was wondering if they had scarpered out of Italy to Paris.

I love your writing style - I can read it (and Bill Bryson) for ever. Keep it up.
 
How do you like this couch I found? Made in the 1950s, the bloke reckoned. I reckon earlier. Beautiful, polished curved steel back. Around $10,000. I didn't buy it, but I'm fixating on it.
 

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Venice

Ah, Venice. I remember clearly the first time I came here. I was 20, I think, and arrived from the north by train. It was only just light. I remember walking out of the station and seeing the Grand Canal right in front of me in the misty twilight. It was like a storybook coming to life.
I read today that Venice was originally a group of 118 scrappy, low islands in a massive, swampy lagoon at the top end of the Adriatic Sea. Some of the Islands were inhabited by fishermen. The thought is that they were variously trying to get away from the Romans and the Germans - and there were probably a few blokes getting away from their wives so they could just go fishing. Then the place became a trading centre, and in the Middle Ages a maritime power, and it just kept becoming more wealthy and more established. So one thing led to another and now this place is here in all it's decaying glory. The whole city is built upon wooden piles driven down through the silt till they hit a layer of clay. Then foundations and buildings sit on the wooden piles. Imagine trying to get that idea past an engineer or a local council planning guy these days, 'Okay, so you know that swamp of mine? I'm going to whack in some wooden poles and bung a big church on top of them. What do you reckon?' I just wonder whether somebody at some time over the last thousand years ever sat back and scratched their chin and thought how nutty it was to build a city here. Given the place floods often every year, there would be people here now who would wish their forebears had thought things through a bit better. I noticed in a cupboard in our flat there are gumboots if we need them - and if we had been here a month ago we would have. Shops and houses wouldn't have power outlets or carpet on the floor or anything like that because there are often times when they have a foot of smelly water in them. I can clearly see the flood tide mark on doors. Lots of places have knee high barriers they slide into place across their doors, but I'm not sure they would keep all the water out. Google 'Venice in flood' and hit 'images' and you'll see what I mean.
The Senegalese bag sellers were here yesterday to greet us when we arrived, along with their mates, the Bangladeshi blokes selling other stuff. It was a quick walk to meet Roberto on the Guiglio Bridge. He's a very suave, good looking Venetian. I'm pretty sure he recognised a kindred spirit in me. The apartment Roberto rents out is about 10 metres from the bridge. It's on top of a bakery that his family used to own, and it looks onto the bridge - a canal view commands a premium here. The apartment was where Roberto's grandparents lived, so it's been in the family for a fair while - he remembers playing here as a kid. The family had been renting it out, but last year a tenant did a runner owing rent - another one of those universal things - so they thought they would do a reno and put it on the short stay market. It has worked a treat, apparently. I'm glad when they did the reno they kept it looking authentic and used some of his grandparents' furniture. Lots of places on Airbnb have been furnished from IKEA. I don't see the point of going halfway round the world to wake up in a bedroom that feels like one of the display rooms in the IKEA store at Tempe.
I went out early this morning to get some jam, and came back with some vongole - little clam like things. I've used them often as bait. Here I'll be using them in pasta - they're a local specialty. Around the corner from the flat was a little pop up seafood market on side of the canal. At 8am, it was just me and a bunch of locals. There were some other things I was keen on getting, but nobody spoke English so I wasn't sure what to do with them. I'll do some research and get more adventurous next time. The vongole they would dredge up from the lagoon, but given molluscs filter water, I'd best not dwell on that.
At 8am, locals are the only people in sight. Venice is a bit like a theme park. It's as if the gates open at 11am and from then on, the only people on the streets are tourists and people selling stuff to them. Before then, the locals get out and do what they have to do to live in this crazy place.
I saw barges making deliveries this morning. They toss stuff to blokes on shore with hand trolleys who then drop it off at local stores. Next time Dave, who delivers our water at the office, has a whinge about traffic and parking in the CBD, I'll tell him he's lucky he's not driving a barge and having to hoik water bottles onto the shore and then trolley them up and over the steps on half a dozen bridges.
Tradies were on their way to jobs, too. They put everything onto a two wheeled trolley - no utes here - and head off to site through the maze of lanes. They would be pretty careful to not forget anything because there is no ducking out to a hardware store if they need something. People talk about the 'elegant decay' of Venice as if it's something planned. It's really just because doing a reno would be so hard here that most people would just do the bare minimum to keep buildings limping along. I saw a plasterboard delivery come in on a barge yesterday morning. Behind them waiting to unload was a barge with bags of cement. And any building rubble leaves by water (though I bet in some of the back canals the rubble goes into the water). Garbos with trolleys also roam the lanes every morning. People put their garbage outside their front door in bags and it gets collected and taken away by trolley, and then barge. I saw a TNT Courier boat today and a few speeding ambulance boats. The main hospital is on the north side of the big island - we passed it today on a Vaporeto (the Venice equivalent of a bus). There was a dock outside with an emergency sign and a queue of ambulance boats. And right across from the hospital, on another island, is the cemetery. So bodies travel by barge, too. Having owned a few boats and knowing how much of a pain in the **** they can be, I can't imagine what life would be like if everything important depended on a boat. Having said that, if ever I have a sustained moment of madness and plenty of money I want to get rid of, I will come here and work out how to buy and bring home a Venetian taxi. They are the most beautiful boats ever made. I've attached a photo of me driving one.
By 11am, the people who keep the city going are all off the streets and tourists are out in force. The commercial barges have retreated and gondolas rule the canals. There are central areas - like huge cab ranks- where dozens of them congregate. But on most bridges (and Venice has 400 of them) there are a couple lurking. They stand on the bridge (often alongside a Senegalese bag seller) touting for business with their gondola tethered below. They're not too pushy, though. They wear the traditional striped top, and many wear that familiar straw boater. The only thing that spoils the illusion is the fact they often while away their time on iPhones. The city sets a price of 80 Euros for a gondola ride, but the other day we were offered a ride for 60 Euros. It was a cold, misty afternoon. We'll be going for a ride on one tomorrow, so the weather will dictate the price. I suspect the lower price also involves a shorter route. I read that if you want the gondolier to sing, that is an additional negotiated price. Mimi will be keen to see if our bloke can belt out any tunes from Glee.
 

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I didn't know Elton had a house here. I might drop in on him in my taxi and tell him he really should have drawn a line under the 70s and stopped making new albums. And I'll ask him who on earth thought that duet with Kiki Dee was going to be a good idea.
 
Last bits from Venice.

Saw the funniest thing all trip in St Marks square a few days ago. But first, that church at one end of the square - St Mark's Basilica. It's fantastic. I had forgotten what the ceiling was like. The entire thing is done in tiny mosaics. And it's a big church, with wings and all sorts of extra bits. Who would think of doing that in mosaics? I bet the bloke who started wished pretty quickly he had learnt to draw instead of having to do it all in mosaics.
St Marks is the big square that everybody who visits Venice goes to at least once. It's a fantastic space with a covered colonnade around the outside and restaurants selling food at tourist prices. Down one end, it abuts the Grand Canal and that's where the main gondola rank is. The place must be nuts in the summer. For some unfathomable reason, feeding the pigeons has become a tradition in St Marks square. So the horrible, lice ridden things jump up onto any empty table looking for crumbs and they land on people's shoulders and heads. The day we were there, right in the middle of the square, we saw a big seagull (and they really are big here) tucking into a pigeon. The dead pigeon was on its back and the seagull was burying its beak in its belly. It had blood right up to it's forehead. Do birds have foreheads? I guess so. I laughed and thought, 'that's one down'. Lulu has developed a fondness for pigeons and didn't think it was quite as hilarious as I did, but she's at that age where her fascination held sway over her horror at the disembowelling. She did ask how I thought the pigeon might have died, though. I'm hoping it was an airborne attack by the gull and that some of his mates might catch on. It would have to be easier than fishing, given There surely can't be many fish in the lagoon anymore.
Leaving St Marks and heading toward the Academia, we came upon a busker as incomprehensible as the slumped Mexican statue in Rome. This bloke was dressed as Charlie Chaplin, and at least he moved (probably a bit too cold in Venice in the winter to stand still). He did that familiar Chaplin waddle forward a few paces, twirled his cane, and walked backward to where he started. That was it. Then he looked imploringly at his empty coin box. I looked imploringly at him. Later that day, I googled 'Charlie Chaplin Venice'. I had to - to save you having to do it, because I know it must be troubling you, too. Maybe there was some reason he was doing it? Sure enough, Chaplin lived in California for a fair while and made a film called Kid Races at Venice. But it was set in Venice, California. Maybe that lame busker was referencing that tenuous link and I was the only person in Venice who got it? Or maybe he was a dill. They did show all Chaplin's films in 1972 at the Venice Film Festival and Chaplin showed up. But that's it, sorry.
We went out to Murano on Sunday. It's the island north of the main one famous for glass artistry. We took a vaporato - water bus - and went the long way, so we circumnavigated the whole main island, which was great. On the main island, there are lots of stores selling 'Murano glass'. Far too many for the stuff to have all come from Murano - unless there is a town in china called Murano. I reckon if I asked some of the people selling Murano glass where Murano was, they would be stumped. Even out on Murano there were some shops with signs in the window saying their stuff was all made on Murano. By inference, some other shops would be getting their stock from that Chinese town. I bet when the day trippers leave and the island is mostly filled with locals, there is some factional argy bargy in the bars. There weren't many people out on Murano the day we went - a Sunday in winter. We wandered into a little factory and a guy jumped up to do a glass blowing demonstration. I've always liked seeing glass get blown and shaped. They have to move so fast - and remember to not breath in, I guess. We were the only four people in our demonstration. We sat on wooden steps that would accommodate 30 or so people in the summer. There was a recorded voice-over that told us what the 'master' was up to as he perfunctorily pumped out a vase and a little horse. Apparently it takes 15-20 years to become a 'master'. Mimi made the observation afterwards that our guy didn't look very old. Lisa observed that he didn't look very Italian - certainly not as Italian as me. Maybe the Bangladeshis are colonising Murano by stealth through work experience kids.
We wandered into a second demonstration a bit further along and the bloke was at least a bit older. He did a vase and a little horse, too - I wonder whether there is some of non-compete arrangement where all the factories have to do horses? When the second guy finished his vase, to show us how hot it still was, he put a taper of paper into the neck of it which immediately caught alight. It was a nice variation.
After each demonstration, we were encouraged to visit their factory shop - the demonstrations were loss leaders for the shop. The stuff there ranged from fabulous to naff, and there were a lot of little horses. It's all pretty expensive out there, so I'm guessing lots of tourists are very happy to not think too hard about whether all the stuff on the mainland being flogged at stalls really is from Murano.
When in Venice, do as the tourists do. So we took a gondola ride on Monday. It was a beautiful, sunny day, but it's a winter Monday, so our gondolier was happy to accept 60 euros (about $100). It's amazing how they manoeuvre those long boats around the tight corners in those narrow canals. They slip along with inches to spare. We went down a tangle of little canals, out onto the Grand Canal for a token couple of hundred metres, and then back into the maze and eventually back to where we started. The Grand Canal was dead calm - like one of those perfect windless winter days on Sydney Harbour. It was strangely peaceful in that gondola sitting as we were below lane level. Lots of the little canals we went down had the waterlogged lower floors of buildings either side of them - they were like canyons. Only occasionally did we go under a bridge and come upon people. It's a whole other perspective on Venice, and worth the investment. Our bloke didn't ask whether we wanted the optional singing accompaniment, so Mimi didn't get to ask whether he would belt out a tune from Glee. I'm guessing not all of them are singers. They go to 'school' for 2-3 years to learn to paddle their craft, but maybe singing isn't part of that schooling.
Most days we got lost in Venice. If I ever go again, I'll take a compass. The free maps are pretty hopeless - there are too many lanes to name them all on the map and those that are named don't always correlate to the actual signs. But that's okay. Wandering around only half knowing where you are is how you find interesting stuff. Of course, the downside is that you will never be able to find it again. One day we got really lost. We had been near the train station to get a vaporato out to Murano and we noticed a bunch of people gathered. There were police there, too, with riot shields. Then everybody started running and there were a few 'thuds'. Then there were more 'thuds' - about a dozen in all. Teargas, we learnt later. Lisa hightailed it over a bridge into Santa Croce with the kids speeding behind her. I brought up the rear. It takes one careless turn in Venice to be completely disorientated. And Lisa took us on half a dozen. But we got away from the rabble, so that was good. Then fifteen minutes later, we found them again. They had crossed to our side of the canal and were breaking bricks on the ground to make more throwable weapons. We dived back into the maze. Half an hour later we saw them again. We heard them first, so we stayed in the shop we were in. They were pretty subdued when they passed because it was a small square funnelling into a narrow lane and they all had to queue to get done the lane in single file. It's hard to be an angry mob when you're forced into single file. I found out later that they were protesting about the government austerity measures. Apparently there were groups from the far left and the far right and probably a few from the centre. They all would have been chuffed to have a cause broad enough for them to coalesce into a critical mass that got them on the telly.
Leaving the theme park that is Venice, it was appropriate that we took a ride on a water taxi to the airport. I walked to the train station (10 minutes away) and grabbed a water taxi and asked the guy to head to the bridge over the canal where we were staying. Then we loaded up and headed off to the airport. Lisa and I did the same thing last time we were here. I stood up the whole way with my head out the top of the taxi. Boy, it was cold. When we arrived at the airport my head hurt and my eyes were watering, though it may have been the amount of money I was handing over that was doing that.
Next stop, Barcelona. We'll now have to learn to speak English with a completely different accent. It was easy in Italy. Just adding a vowel to the end of every second word seemed to do the trick and made us (if not the Italians) think we were speaking something approximating Italian.
 
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