Whew. Day Five in Italy was our most intense day yet. That's because we went to Rome. Grab yourselves a cup of tea, because this is a long post.
We wouldn't have made it to Rome without the efforts of the gentleman who replaced Younger Daughter's tires. First thing Monday morning, as soon as the tire shop opened (we could see if from YD's window), she brought her vehicle in for what she assumed would be a simple patch on one tire. It turned out that both her back tires needed replacement. She asked the mechanic if he could get it done within an hour so we had time to drive to the train station. He said he would. (By Italian standards, this is very fast.)
Now understand, women are used to having mechanics inflate car repairs with unnecessary fixes, simply because we're women (who, admittedly, often have limited mechanical skills). While YD was braced for this possibility, she agreed to having both tires replaced. And here's the thing: Her vehicle, which previously had been rattling and thumping (she thought the tires needed rotating and balancing), suddenly drove like a dream. So yeah, apparently both those tires really did need replacement.
At any rate, she wasn't about to quibble. The tire mechanic – an older man – got us on the road in time to get to the train station, which in turn allowed us to get to Rome for our precious one-day visit. Accordingly, when it came time to pick up her vehicle, I went with YD and made a stop at a pastry shop, where I purchased half a dozen goodies. These were handsomely boxed up.
After YD had paid for the tires, I presented him with the festive box of pastries and said "Grazie mille" ("thanks a million") with my limited vocabulary. He smiled and thanked me back. And here's what was funny: As Younger Daughter and I got into the car, he leaped over to close my door for me, smiling and bowing. I wonder if he thought I was flirting by giving him some pastries. I just wanted to thank him for letting us get to Rome.
We drove to the train station in Naples. On the way we saw many stone pines, native to this area.
Stone pines are known for their pine nuts, and which makes the ingredients for Italy's famous pesto (pine nuts, basil, olive oil) a lot more sense.
While caught in some brief rush-hour traffic, YD pointed out something she's known about since she moved here over three years ago: So-called "Naples kisses," otherwise known as fender-benders, scrapes, door dings, and every other kind of auto-body damage imaginable. YD has a healthy crop of Naples kisses on her own (used) vehicle, acquired both before and after she bought it. They're almost inevitable in the insane Neapolitan traffic.
The guard rails also reflected this free-wheeling attitude toward driving.
It's one of the reasons we saw very few elegant or expensive vehicles on this trip. Frankly, after watching the way motorcycles (which are given top road privileges) whiz so dangerously in and out of traffic, I am flabbergasted the roads aren't littered with bodies. YD says accidents are either minor and mostly shrugged off ("kisses") or absolutely deadly, without a lot in between.
Unlike so many other buildings we've seen in Italy, the bullet train's station in Naples was built to be sleek and modern. As YD observed, it sticks out like a sore thumb and has a lot of wasted interior space, but at least it gets the job done.
The train station had a huge parking lot (rather a novelty in Italy). This didn't prevent people from parking on sidewalks, no-parking zones, poking out into lanes, and other jaunty expressions of Italian vehicular skills.
After all the concern about getting to the train station on time, we were a bit early and didn't have to rush. Therefore we were able to observe one of the most extraordinary vending machines I've ever seen, right there in the train station: Underwear. A vending machine selling underwear.
I tell ya, it's why I took so many photos while in this crazy, wonderful country. Who would believe me otherwise?
When it came time to catch the train, we took an escalator down to the tracks. I thought this photo turned out very artistically.
The bullet train has an engine on both ends, so it can go either direction.
I hadn't been on a train in well over 40 years, and certainly never a bullet train, so this mode of transportation in itself was a novelty.
Of course, such speedy transportation meant taking photos wasn't really possible. I'd see an interesting sight, turn on my camera, try to zoom in, and the outcome was either seriously blurred or we had already passed it. Oh well.
The top speed of the train was 300 km/hour, or 186 mph.
It took only an hour to reach the venerable city of Rome, and Younger Daughter had none of the hassle of driving or navigating or parking.
The station area was well-patrolled by members of the Italian military, which YD says often act in lieu of police in providing security.
Our first major stop of the day was going to be the Pantheon, but we wanted lunch first (since we hadn't eaten yet). We meandered our way deeper into the city, and passed a bas-relief of La Lupa Capitolina ("the Capitoline Wolf") depicting Romulus and Remus, the mythical twin founders of Rome who were raised by a wolf.
Tourist shops – and believe me, there were a lot – often carried calendars depicting "The Hottest Priests of Rome." I genuinely have no idea how these priests' superiors feel about this honor.
We passed nuns and priests from every part of the world.
In one amusing incident, we passed a street vendor displaying some art work, and without missing a beat he said in excellent and almost (but not quite) American English, "Good afternoon, ladies, Are you enjoying Rome?"
"And how did he know we spoke English?" I chuckled, loud enough for him to hear, as we walked by. In fact, we realized by now the Italians in general have a very distinct look, and we don't fit that physical profile. Speaking English was a good bet.
Everywhere we went – every street, every corner, every alley – had remarkable architecture.
I mean, look at this. This is carved from stone!
Rome was much cleaner than Naples. We saw very little garbage or graffiti. Don't get me wrong, I found Naples' "dirty feet" rather refreshing, but there was no question Rome's beauty was better framed by its relative neatness.
At one point I heard an unexpected bird call, and was puzzled. "That almost sounds like a parrot," I observed.
We stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall establishment for lunch.
It was truly an Italian experience. We descended below street level and were seated elbow-to-elbow with other customers at tiny tables with a coziness that would never be permitted in American restaurants (due to fire codes). We loved it.
The one dish Younger Daughter encouraged us to try was carbonara, Rome's specialty.
It was outstanding, and I could see why it's famous.
Meanwhile the two men sitting at the tiny table inches away from us finished their after-lunch coffees and departed. Somehow the small coffee cups, too, were symbolic of Italian life.
We finished our meal and stepped outside the restaurant. Younger Daughter paused to get her bearings on her phone to take us in the right direction. While we waited, Older Daughter said, "Did I just feel a rain drop?"
Yes, she did. And then another. And another. And then the heavens opened up and it poured.
This wasn't altogether unexpected, and YD had tucked one umbrella in my backpack. Older Daughter and I ducked into a little tourist shop and purchased two more cheap umbrellas, and it's a good thing she did, too.
(Interesting side note: The umbrellas came wrapped in thin plastic sleeves. We couldn't find a garbage can to dispose of these sleeves for several blocks. When we finally found one, I noticed it was full of ... plastic umbrella sleeves.)
We were able to see the famous Baroque Trevi Fountain. It was glorious.
Once again, I found myself fascinated by the detailed ornate stonework.
Now that we were protected by our umbrellas, Rome in the rain was charming.
We traversed narrow streets and made our way through crowds of other people wearing rain ponchos or scarves or hats or carrying their own umbrellas.
We passed one little intersection crowded with parked motorcycles. It's impossible to underestimate how popular these vehicles are in narrow crowded streets, or how reckless the drivers can be.
Ornate and beautiful churches were everywhere.
And then something extraordinary happened. We had been navigating through a series of narrow streets without much by way of wider views. We were tucked under our umbrellas and watching our footing on the uneven cobblestones. And then ... we stepped into a plaza and saw the Pantheon. It was so vast and huge and magnificent and unexpected that we literally gasped.
The scale of this building is absolutely off the charts.
The portico columns are 40 feet high, made of stone specially shipped in from Egypt. The arched "capitals" above them are almost eight feet high.
The history of the Pantheon is lengthy and can be read here. Originally built as a temple to Roman gods, it was taken over in 609 AD as a Catholic church and renamed the Basilica of St. Mary and the Martyrs.
The doors are massive. According to the Wikipedia article, "The large bronze doors to the cella, measuring 14.6 ft. wide by 24.7 ft. high, are the oldest in Rome. These were thought to be a 15th-century replacement for the original, mainly because they were deemed by contemporary architects to be too small for the door frames. Later analysis of the fusion technique confirmed that these are the original Roman doors, a rare example of Roman monumental bronze surviving, despite cleaning and the application of Christian motifs over the centuries."
Then we stepped inside the rotunda, and gasped once again. You can't help it.
The most noticeable thing, of course, is the dome. After two thousand years, it's still the world's largest unreinforced concrete dome.
The oculus (hole) is 30 feet wide. In sunny weather, the oculus acts as a sort of reverse sundial in which the time can be told by the position of the sun rather than a shadow.
But of course, when we were there it was raining. And what happens when there's a 30-foot-wide uncovered hole in the roof? That's right, rain falls into the building. (That's rain falling through the oculus, if you can't otherwise tell what the photo below is showing.)
The Pantheon's builders planned for this by installing a slight incline of 12 inches toward the center of the floor, with a drain in the middle. It made for slippery footing, however. The center area had been cordoned off.
We started making our way around the room. It's worth noting that the only natural light inside this massive structure comes from the oculus and from the open front door – and during the day, it's enough.
Several famous people are buried in the Pantheon, including the Renaissance painter Raphael, Victor Emanuel II (the first king of Italy), and King Umberto I and his Queen Consort, Margherita (of pizza fame – the best-loved pizza in Naples is called the Margherita pizza in her honor). "Not everyone could earn a place in the Pantheon," notes this website. "Being buried here meant one thing, you were part of Italy’s soul."
This is Raphael's tomb:
This is the altar. Church services are held here regularly.
Needless to say, the building has undergone extensive looting, stripping, vandalism, and other changes since its construction two millennium ago. Nonetheless, "the building's consecration as a church saved it from the abandonment, destruction, and the worst of the spoliation that befell the majority of ancient Rome's buildings during the Early Middle Ages," so there's that. However even popes weren't above removing the bronze panels that used to clad the dome and melting them into war cannons.
Still, the Pantheon holds sensational art.
Because of the sheer number of tourists from all over the world who visit, the Pantheon had a number of "Bob the Bad Tourist"-type rules for the building.
In fact, we passed a young man getting his photo taken by (presumably) his father while giving two thumbs up. Both were being quiet and respectful. They were conspicuously not being "Bob the Bad Tourists."
We spent half an hour ogling the entire building before emerging into the rain. I took on last photo of the building's back before we headed off for our next destination.
Just as we left the Pantheon, Younger Daughter had a business call she had to take, so she suggested Older Daughter and I explore a church just around the corner while she talked to her coworker. This turned out to be the Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, and – as with almost every other Roman building – it was stupendously, jaw-droppingly beautiful.
The ceiling was particularly noteworthy, described as "a celestial blue ceiling adorned with stars, creating a heavenly atmosphere."
Vast swaths of the front part of the church were wrapped in scaffolding, with many restorationers at work, which was nice to see.
To the right of the altar was the tomb of Saint Catherine of Siena.
To the left of the tomb – no kidding – was Michelangelo's "Christ the Redeemer" sculpture. I didn't find this out until later, and I was staggered (and bummed) to realize I missed it. It wasn't until I downloaded my photos and peered verrrrry closely that I realized the sculpture had either been removed during the renovation process, or it was hidden behind the scaffolding. In other words, I didn't "miss" it, it just wasn't visible.
This beautiful side chapel was to the left behind the altar, and it was darkened as if to discourage visitors (I lightened it up considerably in the photo). I would love to have seen it, but as a stranger in a strange land, I didn't want to trespass where I might not be welcomed.
This, apparently, is the bust of Giovanni Vigevano. According to Wikipedia, it's "a marble sculptural portrait by the Italian artist Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The bust was produced between 1617 and 1618, and was then inserted into Vigevano's tomb after he died in 1630." If anyone can translate the Latin inscription and tell me who this dude was, I'd be grateful.
The reason this monument caught my eye is because of the real human skull embedded in it. Was this Giovanni himself? No idea.
In this beautiful gated-off side chapel...
...a Holy Land diorama was set up, consisting of the magnificent figurines we had seen in Christmas Alley.
Turning to make my way back toward the church entrance, this beautiful hanging lamp caught my eye.
By this point, Younger Daughter was finished with her phone call and came to fetch us. I fished a two-euro coin out of my pocket and dropped it into the hat of an elderly man who was begging by the church entrance, and we went on our way.
We passed through another narrow street, this one specializing in shops featuring ecclesiastical vestments, chalices, candles, and other altar adornments.
We headed in the general direction of the Colosseum, agog at the beauty we saw at every turn
We passed this enormous monument.
And when I say enormous, I mean it. Look at the size of that staircase. And the balcony on which people were observing the city.
This turned out to be a relatively new structure, the Vittoriano (or Victor Emmanuel II National Monument, "Altar of the Fatherland"), built between 1885 and 1935 to honor the first king of a unified Italy.
I wish we'd had time to explore it further, but clearly we couldn't. So much to see, so little time!
We passed the ruins of the Roman Forum (plaza). This was another spot we had to content ourselves with just passing rather than taking the walking tour.
It was amazing to see in person so many things we'd only seen in photos.
Look how beautifully these marble steps have held up after thousands of years.
This huge structure is the Basilica of Maxentius.
As we continued on our way toward the Colosseum, we heard church bells from this tower. Lovely. Church bells are less common in the U.S., which is a shame because they're beautiful to hear.
We finally approached the Colosseum. And here's the thing: Honestly, I thought I would be underwhelmed. I thought having seen and explored the Flavian Amphitheater the day before would be sufficient to satisfy my interest in this type of structure. I thought a lot of things ... and then I saw the Colosseum.
It. Was. Stupendous.
From a distance, I admired the glorious statues installed in the niches on the second level. It wasn't until we got closer that I realized they were just printed posters.
No matter. The closer we got, the more we were blown away by the sheer scale and beauty of the structure.
In some ways, it was almost a mental adjustment. This wasn't a model or a photo, it was the real deal. I mean, we were standing in front of the Colosseum. That was such a mind-boggling thing to grasp. We were standing in front of the Colosseum. We wErE sTaNdInG iN fRoNt oF tHe CoLoSsEuM!
We gaped and gaped (or at least I did) for a good long time.
There is a reason the Colosseum is one of the most famous tourist attractions in the world.
We peeled ourselves away from the building and went to view the nearby Arch of Constantine. This was also an amazing structure, though unfortunately fenced off.
We turned to make our way up a ramped road toward the Basilica di Santa Maria Nova. On the way, I passed a young man wearing a laurel wreath on his head. At first I thought it was just an amusing souvenir, but Younger Daughter said they now issue such wreaths during college graduation ceremonies in Rome (rather than graduation caps), which I thought was pretty cool.
The Basilica di Santa Maria Nova – also called the Santa Francesca Romana – was the church with the bell towers whose chiming we heard earlier.
To Rome's credit, many of its historic churches are open to visitors, and we took advantage of this one to glance inside.
The interior of the church was, predictably, stunning.
The ceiling was amazing.
Interestingly, I saw a fair bit of deterioration in some of the side walls.
It was a reminder that these magnificent treasures don't last forever unless they are maintained and/or restored on a regular basis, hence the scaffolding in the Santa Maria Sopra Minerva church we had seen earlier.
This is the Basilica of Maxentius from the other side.
We walked back down the sloped roadway. Once again I heard that same distinct bird call, and quickly looked around. Yes! It was a parrot! In Rome!
Apparently Rome has two varieties of invasive parrots (or more accurately, parakeets). What we saw was the rose-ringed parakeet. The other type is the monk (Quaker) parakeet, just like Younger Daughter's parrot Lihn. We didn't see any of these.
We tore ourselves away from all the wonders around the Colosseum...
...and back-tracked in the general direction of the train station.
After all the rain, the afternoon sun broke through and lent a beautiful glow to Rome's narrow streets.
I bought a gloriously cheesy Rome refrigerator magnet for one euro (ironically, made in China and purchased in a tourist shop run by a nice elderly Chinese couple).
The reason for this silly purchase was to complement the refrigerator magnet we have from Rome, Oregon.
At one point, as we approached an intersection, we heard a car horn (not uncommon) and then a screech of metal (highly uncommon). "That did not sound good," I observed.
Sure enough, a motorcyclist had apparently become over-confident in his ability to zip between cars, and got hit. You might say this was a "Roman kiss."
At first Younger Daughter was concerned that the motorcyclist was pinned under the car, but thankfully he was able to climb to his feet. We left the scene before we were witness to any flares of temper.
We poked our head into one last church. Unfortunately I didn't catch its name.
Yawn. Just another ornate, jaw-dropping, sensational interior. Ho-hum.
We meandered our way toward the train station, taking a different route than the morning, passing more intriguing streets and buildings and hidden staircases.
I fancied I might be able to poke into a second-hand bookstore and find an old Italian Bible to take home. Younger Daughter obligingly found a used bookstore conveniently on the way back to the train station. When we finally got into the hole-in-the-wall establishment, the nice lady who worked there (and whose English was excellent) explained that even if she carried such a book, she couldn't sell it to me ... directly.
Apparently any foreigner trying to purchase a book older than 50 years is subject to an application inquiry and a delay. The bookseller can sell the book, but the buyer can't take possession of it until an inquiry is sent to a government office for investigation. If the purchase is approved (a process which takes about a month), the bookseller can ship the book to the buyer. If the purchase is denied, the bookseller refunds the buyer's money. "It's why I can sell older books online, but not in person," she concluded. This process is done to prevent "looting" of valuable tomes from Italy.
The explanation was very interesting, and in some ways it was more interesting than if I'd been able to find an older book anyway.
We continued on our way. In passing the window of a tiny shop, something nicked our gaze. It was a place giving mosaic lessons, with several people inside giving attention to their projects. Whether or not this was geared toward tourists is immaterial. I was impressed that someone wasn't letting this art form die.
We all paused to admire this corner building, and spent a moment or two debating which balcony apartment we would want to live in.
This was my choice.
We passed this magnificent church and were somewhat shocked to see a massive billboard covering one end of it.
I snatched another photo of a rose-ringed parakeet entering a nest-hole in a tree. Apparently this invasive species is elbowing out the native woodpeckers that would normally inhabit these tree holes.
And this, dear readers, concluded our exciting day in Rome. Considering our limited time, I think you'll agree we saw a lot in the six miles we walked. We rested on the train ride home, but were still fairly wiped out when we returned to Younger Daughter's apartment.
For this reason, YD planned a more relaxing trip for the following, and final, day in Italy.
