Inconvenient deaths, Runification, and back to square one

Tuesday, 1 May 2007


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Italy part deux.

We commence, yes commence, with another Tuscan town - Siena.

Siena, Italy. Population: 54,500. Elevation: 1194 feet. Average Annual Rainfall: 29.5 inches. Main attraction: My friend Briana.

So Nick and I arrive early in Siena and find our way onto a bus towards the city center. We did some good gesticulating and charades, even mime acts (white face and all) to succeed in finding the correct bus. It also involved broken English and a bare slather of Italian. In town, we drop our things off at our B&B (the cheapest lodging we could find), a pleasing little joint with painted bedroom ceilings run by Antonella.

Unstrapped of our luggage, we start walking towards the Duomo, Siena's main attraction. On the way, we pass the town baptistery and decide to go in. Inside, as our eyes adjust to the dim light, we see that we are in a small religious building, more cozy than normal, covered head to toe in painting. Rich colors and shiny marble filled the room like balls fill a ball pit, or more simply, all over. The baptismal font glistened with golden bas-reliefs including the noted 'Feast of Herrod' by Donatello.

We had planned to go next to the city's main attraction, not the lion jumping through the hoop of fire act, but the Duomo (a church. a BIG, FANCY domed church). Sadly, we had to annul those plans. You see some guy had to go and die. Some big, somehow-important archbishop had to go and kick the can just in time for me and Nick coming to Siena. The Duomo was closed for his funeral or something of the like (I hear it involves crazy rituals with all the most well-known Italian spices - oregano, basil, pepper – being thrown all over the Duomo). But seriously, Mr. Archbishop, thanks for picking the wrong day to die. Couldn't you have croaked the week before? Seriously not considerate.

We met up with Bri at 11 AM and had some delicious gelatto and hiked up to this old fortess with views over the valleys. We later went into Siena's 'big' museum and then to their old hospital. Bri played tour guide for us at the hospital (she'd had a class there) and showed us around the underground labyrinth explaining that those big empty cylindrical rooms were where they used to store thousands of fluid liters of olive
oil. Contrary to common belief, they did not use the olive oil for its supernatural powers, but instead used it for cooking all the food for the hospital workers patients and ye olde visiting pilgrims.

The biggest event in Siena is Il Palio. It's some crazy horse race they have in July, and it is their life. I mean it. That's the only thing they learn about in school. There is no creation vs. evolution debate but rather it is widely excepted that the world was created after the first Palio in 983 BCE when the first 7 Palio horses suddenly morphed into the 7 continents. AMAZING! Kentucky school boards, there's your answer - it's not creationism NOR is it evolution. It's Paliotionsism! Moving on... we ran across 2 contradas (neighborhoods of Siena each with a mascot - not normal mascots either... snail, giraffe, fish...I don't know where they come up with these) practicing their drumming and flag throwing for the July race. You had every generation there from age 5 to 75 (men only may it be noted) drumming or learning to flag throw. They evidently started practicing in February.

We ate a dinner that deserves note. A deliciously sauced and cheesed and/or vegetabled pasta- the best one we ate in Italy. This place evidently grows their pasta on the highest quality pasta trees in a small, nearby farm where they hand water every leaf.

After running across a high school band show (let's not talk about how the singer sounded, poor fellow) we went to a really great tea room.

The next day was off to Rome after our short 'sejour' in the 'countryside.'

After our early morning departure, we arrived at 4:30 in Rome. If you know anything about Italian geography, that should seem bizarre. Let's not discuss how infrequently Italian trains run on Saturday. Once in Rome, on our post luggage drop-off wanders - in one church out the other, just like ears - we found the Trevi Fountain. The fountain is a billowing, pompous mass of sculpted marble featuring Neptune at the reigns of his horses and it is 'impressionant.' Tradition says that if you throw a coin in the fountain that some day you will return to Rome. I threw in a one cent piece. Do you think tradition is kind to misers?

Later on in our wanders we had one of those moments where you say, "Hey I know that building I've seen that a million times!" The Colosseum. The old arena was lit up against the night sky like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the sky. (Kerouac. What did he do in that book anyhow? With him getting on the road so much and doing nothing, I decided to hit the road in the middle of his "travels" and not come back no more no more no more no more. At least he wrote poetically.)

The next morning we did the obligatory tour of the Colosseum. By tour I mean we listened in on as many French or English tour groups as possible. When looking at the Eros (the Roman's cupid) exhibit on the first floor, I wandered up to a look at a sculpture only to feel the old man next to me fondle my "fez" aka "derriere." aka butt. "Oh wow. I'm being molested," I think. We both turn to look at each other and I'm amused to see him even more shocked than I was when he saw that I wasn't his wife. She'd moved on to another display case, and he had thought, without looking, that I was her. (Or so I hope).

Then we continued our runification and went to the palatial hill where some king took a village and turned it into his palace. I'm an old pro at that, taking villages and turning them into personal housing. I do that allll the time. Afterward, we took a tour of the Roman forum. Impressive: what them Romans used to do. Not so impressive: the guy on the tour who kept asking questions trying to stump the guide. "So people leaves flowers on Constantin's grave? Who leaves them?" Guide: "I dont know, I've never met one." Guy who's been doing this the whole tour, continues asking questions about it and then asks "So do these people have some sort of feeling for him, I mean do they love him even after all this time?" At which point, I tire of his millions of obviously answerless questions and turn to him and say "How is she's supposed to know, she's never seen anyone do it!" Aie aie aie.

Afternoon we met up at the Pantheon with some other friends who were in Rome. Paris's Pantheon is bigger and better, but I suppose Rome has that whole originality claim. It's some feat of architecture I guess, but not too much to see. It, unlike far too much of Italy though, was free! Next finite destination was this castle, where instead of having to pretend I was a French EU member to get a discount, we, in talking with the cashier,
found out art history students get in free. I KNEW there was some reason I chose this major. The castle had some nice overlooks on the city and, surprise, more frescoes. I saw so many frescoes in Italy that they're painted to the ceiling of my brain. The evening we ate at a pizza joint where the pizza ,in their good, Italian way, were falling off the edges of the plates in a Dali-melting-clock sort of way. That night we went to
a jazz club and were cultured like good young'uns. A neat little joint with writing all over the walls from every musician who'd played there.

Next day, up early for the Vatican. We went to the first line we saw and ended up in St. Peter's. Ok, I admit, it was pretty astounding, head to toe, corner to corner, lavished with elaborate decoration. The podium had columns painted in black and gold that, like gnarled old fingers, twisted their carved way up to the golden and frescoed dome above.

Then, after a one hour wait in the sun being chased by men handing out restaurant flyers, who were attracted to the tourists like bees to honey, we made it through the grueling line to the Vatican museums. Room after frescoed room danced through our eyes. Not one inch was left uncovered. We saw old sculptures and Rapheal's famed "school of Athens" fresco. After a few hours, we wound up at the final destination, the Sistine chapel. You walk in and the first thing that strikes the eye is the sea of heads attached, evidently, to bodies squished together in the small chapel. Despite the constant multilingual announcement not to take pictures, flash bulbs went off left and right like paparazzi with Brittnay Spears. Yes, yes, it was impressive. However, after so SO many frescoes in the preceding rooms, I honestly thought to myself, "Self, well this is pretty, don't you agree? ""Yes, self, I agree, but really, it's just another fresco." "Mmmm. Quite right, quite right." What makes it more special than the next, I'm working on figuring out. After the half hour we passed in there that eventually I felt like I'd come to appeciate its beauty... somewhat.

Afterward, Nick and I met back up with Dana and her travel buddy at Piazza Pupolo. We all wandered to the Spanish steps, covered in blankets (or rather pots) of fuchsia and white buds. I bloomed with the flowers and walked with the steps, and we sat out and baked like browning marshmellows in the golden sunshine.

The last day, Dana and her friend had left and it was down to two again, just like monkeys jumping on a bed. Nick and I went to the synagogue in the late morning. The only way to get in was to take a tour, so we did. It too was, like Florence's synagogue, pretty and a nice change of scene. Next, ate our last gelatto, and used a whole box of tissues to mop up my tears resulting from the devestatin event.

We tried to go to the Capotoline museum, only to find it closed for some workers' meeting. Actually, they selectively staffed ONLY the parts that no one would really want to see. We said no Grazie to paying 8 Euro to see an 8th of the museum and wound up in a different, free museum highlighting Italy's independence and unification and famous generals and wars. Inspiring. They kept such lovely souvenirs on display as the bandage that wrapped Garibraldi's wound when he was injured in such and such war. Tasteful. My life is complete now that I've seen that.

Late afternoon and we were off to the airport, where things went a lot smoother than the Paris-Venice leg of the trip.
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And so I'm back in P-town (blamsphomous nickname, eh?) which is burning with the inflammation of the impending May 6th elections. Today is the EU equivalent of Labor day and I will be joining some friends for a picnic in the Bois de Boulogne. The Bois de Boulogne is evidently quite pretty, but not to be gone to at night, lest you be accosted by a stark naked prostitute or money-wielding pimp. At our picnic, we will sit in grassy green fields
and eat "fromage" before the fields are copulated upon during the evening hours.

French culture note. Glasses. Some french people seem to be in some unwritten contest to find the ugliest, most bizarre or nerdiest glasses possible. I bet they have clandestine meetings where they take their odd-spectacled faces to secret places and have votes on who has the ugliest glasses of the week.

Also, in the supermarket this week, I discovered that you can buy horse meat. Who wants to eat Black Beauty? Takers? Anyone? Anyone?

That's what its all about, just like Looney Toons.

A bientot,
Hannah