Just walking along the river...
Just getting into trouble...
Five towns on the Ligurian Seacoast
Cinque Terre is a cluster of five towns near the sea in Liguria, right? I mean, does anyone know anything more than that? I didn’t. I still don’t. I just knew that they were pretty and I want to go there.
After Kyle and Elsa Ermer (brother and sister NOT husband and wife) spent a few days with me, I trained up to meet a few girls in Florence for the night and then we were off to Cinque Terre. It is Spring Break. Lots of students in our program are on jet-set adventures of a day trip to every European capital. Sarah, Lisa, and I wanted something a little more low-key. Also, we all wanted to hike along the seashore. Lisa and I both hail from SYV and Sarah goes to UCSB so ‘mountains along the beach’ is a concept that makes us feel right at home.
If you plan on going to Cinque Terre any time soon, let me know and I’ll give you a full itinerary. Otherwise, these next few words should be sufficient introduction. We stayed in Riomaggiore, town number one. It's a fishing village on a steep hill with wooden boats whose hulls are blue, where cats graze your ankles if you dine on the patio and where dogs flop down in the sun and don’t seem to notice you. Pausa (siesta) is a practiced with vigilance. Old women who look like my neighbor Edna (a Brooklyn Italian) talk to each other from across the street through their open windows. Just like in Bonefro, the women here wear black for the rest of their lives if their husband or child has died. The matrons of Rome don’t do that, though they always wear fur. I was again reminded of the differences, not just between the cities in Italy about which I will write at some future date, but the huge mistake it would be to say that you knew anything about a country by visiting just its capitol. Sacramento is not California to me...
There are coastal trails that lead from town one, Riomaggiore, all the way to town five, Monterosso. There are also mountain trails, bike trails, and horseback riding trails. When one is lazy, there are trains. All forms of movement are acceptable as all forms offer fantastic views. But I prefer a coastal trail above all other travel and the trail from town one to town two, Manarola, was amazing. It is called Via dell’Amore but one needn’t be put off by such a revolting name...with views like that, I couldn’t have cared less what it was called.
Manarola seemed to be the smallest of the towns. And I thought nothing could have been smaller than Riomaggiore. It is upsetting, gastronomically speaking, to visit a town that is too small to have a bakery. The trail between town two and town three, Corniglia, was ‘interesting.’ It featured more cliffs, more broken railings, more abandoned and random cabanas, storm drains, and one simple wood/rope suspension bridge. Corniglia is the only town that isn’t directly on the sea, though it is directly above the sea. Since it began to POUR during our hike from town three to town four, Vernazza, and because the rocks were incredibly slippery, and possibly because one of us had no umbrella, we decided to take the train to Vernazza. Vernazza is more reasonably-sized. That is to say that its breakwater is of poured concrete, rather than just many huge chunks of rock. It has bustling little restaurants (still observing of pausa), and a tiny toddler practicing his soccer skills in front of the church, just like any self-respecting Italian male between the ages of one and fifteen. The trail between town four and town five, Monterosso, was closed for repairs. The coastal trail, I mean. I don’t care about other trails...
It would have been quite easy to miss, and by that I mean that I completely missed it, the colossal statue in Monterosso. The town is split in two and the train station dumps you out on the large beachwalk. At the far end is il gigante who currently holds up not a lot. Beside a purpose, he is also missing arms. On the opposite end of the beach, around the corner, easy to skip if you don’t know it’s there, is the historic center of the town. We climbed up the cliff just as the sun really started to reveal itself. The water suddenly turned azure. I believe I squealed.
I am from Santa Barbara. I’m always in search of a good view. I spent a whole summer with Landon, on our scooters, devoted to such research. But there was nothing to compare to the end of a longish week, some trying times, resolving in the contemplation of the clearest and bluest sea, a hilltop, the sunshine after a rain, and cinnamon gelato. Throw in some purple wildflowers and you’ve got Cinque Terre.
Monterosso, the old part of the town, is simply charming. I could write for hours about pink-washed bricks, lemon trees, tiny doorways, green shutters, the sticky heavy salt air, and the plate of fried seafood, whole fish, octopus, calamari, whole prawns and requisite undetectables that fed us for days.
I think I’ve had opportunity to mention this before but I don’t always like to photograph every place I’ve been or every thing I’m doing. I want to enjoy the actual experience whilst it is happening. I don’t want to live my trip through a tiny rectangular viewfinder. I’m including some photos but despite what some of you may be receiving in the mail, Cinque Terre is an experience, not a postcard.
Rome with the 'rents
Me and Mum looking at the Theater of Marcellus
Mum and Dud at the Flavian Amphitheater...sometimes 'people' call it the Colosseum.
Father
They snapped this photo at the Janiculum Hill...it's not every day one sees this sort of rainbow over Rome.
The Palazzo, cont...
Some houses are very grand. I've seen them in books and Shelley's copies of World of Interiors. There are lots of neat houses in Santa Barbara, cool houses in California in general. Some fancy ones have been made into museums like Hearst Castle.
Palazzo Massimo is really still a house. It sits on a prominent stretch of Corso VE II and has a history that I can't even begin to describe. I stood in line, waiting for the doors to open. It was not yet ten o'clock. Several clergy came to the gate and were admitted immediately. A taxi arrived with three well-dressed personages, who were clearly invited, not simply gawkers like the rest of the crowd.
Sometimes it is easy to forget that the huge Renaissance palaces, with their immense facades and seemingly impenetrable walls, almost always open directly into a sun-filled courtyard. This courtyard has a fountain, some greenery, and in the case of Palazzo Massimo, several cats. It was a small, intimate courtyard with silly little garden pots of uninteresting plants, the kind that people keep without knowing why.
The staircase and landing were open to the courtyard for at least four storeys. But when one is allowed to enter such a house, given the circumstances, it is hard to know where to go, how far to go, and how to stay as long as possible without being intrusive. The corner staircase, the cold grey stone, the tiny double doors that were thickened with years of paint; they captivated me and I almost didn't want to ascend to the next storey.
On the third floor, the hall wasn't open to the courtyard air but was windowed and paneled in wood. The floors were polished wood and decadently trimmed. Sofas, which were really divans, were striped in heavy silk or silk velvet. Oil paintings and sculpture, both Classical and Contemporary, filled the rooms. I walked through, conscious that I didn't belong in this world, my bookbag over my arm. Two girls about 11 or so, twirled around one of the salons as their nanny watched. These girls were obviously used to the annual intrusion of strangers and took absolutely no notice. It was as if we weren't even there. We were simply traipsing through their living room.
Up the stairs was the chapel. I've been instructed not to call it a chapel, but I don't know another way to describe a church in someone's house. The walls of the anteroom were tromp l'oeil to look like sumptuous curtains with medallions and rosettes. The paint had worn through to the plaster in many places, giving that nonchalant air to a grand house that could otherwise have been pompous and austere...I mean really, it has it's own chapel. The chairs in the anteroom looked as though they were from the Renaissance as well. Worn linen velvet, faded into pinks, high-backed, and undoubtedly uncomfortable, even if they didn't break if sat upon. This anteroom was separated from the chapel only in this aesthetic regard. The ceiling of the chapel was gold mosaic. Marble columns trimmed the red velvet walls. The inlaid marble floor was carpeted. Candles were lit and two separate services in this tiny space were being performed, and I do mean performed. This was clearly an occasion and there were literally clergy waiting their turn.
Costumed footmen ushered the distinguished guests from the taxi into a side room where I was able to just briefly glimpse a reception. The cognoscenti were sipping flutes of prosecco whilst a string ensemble played softly enough to keep the hush of the house intact.
I wanted to stay, to drink it all in. I am not the least bit Catholic and somehow I am mesmerized by the decadence, the pageantry, the excess and the ritual that is now so ingrained in the idea of this religion. I left, reluctantly, knowing at the very least that I had never seen anything like it before. This was one of those days, those priceless days that make me think, "So this is what it's like to live in Rome..."
Since no photography was allowed, you'll have to make do with the few (very few) links I was able to find. Remember, if you are ever in Rome on March 16th, you are to make this Palazzo priority ONE!
Palazzo Massimo and the feast day of St. Fillipo Neri
You know how the story goes, I’ve got much to say and little time in which to say it. Technically, I only have three things to recount but I want to recount them in detail and with photographs. Since I have midterms this week, now is really not the time.
There is one story that I just must, at the very least, begin to tell:
I’ve noticed that on almost every trip I’ve taken, there is one moment that stands apart from all the others. An intensity, a vividness that doesn’t fade. Sometimes it is a shared experience with a close friend in an unusual or improbable occurrence, like the time in 2007 when Jessie and I met in Rome, sat in Piazza Navona directly in front of a classical guitarist and I said, “This moment could only be better if he started to play my favorite piece.” Of course, that’s exactly what he began to play. There is always a moment like that. Sometimes it is a quietness that can only exist when you are all alone in a beautiful city. Years later, you can quite easily look back and say it was the highlight of your journey.
One of the things I love about Rome, and Italy in general, is that there is always some newly discovered bizarrity, which ends up being an unforgettable experience. Today was no exception.
Some of the finest Renaissance palaces are still intact as they were 500 years ago. One such palazzo is Palazzo Massimo on Corso Vittorio Emanuele II (not to be confused with the Museum of Rome with the same name). I’ll be telling the full story later but for now, I’ll leave you with this:
The palazzo is still inhabited by the Massimo family as a private residence. But for one day every year, they allow visitors. That day was today. Like Rome, the experience involved history, religion, family, community, tradition and art. If I see nothing else for the rest of my time in this city, I would still be full of the richness of the few minutes spent in that house.
Ciao a presto...
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