Frustrations

Rome is culturally rich and efficiency poor. Undermining daily life here are persistent frustrations, tied mainly to transportation and bureaucracy. Getting around the city is difficult, whether you're driving or using public transportation, as we do. Last Sunday, for example, we attended a church banquet at the Mongolia Barbecue, a restaurant in an unfamiliar area. As he always does, David had mapped out an elegant bus plan for us. We took the first bus to the depot, where the second bus was waiting in its stall. The bus' route number was not lit, however, signaling a problem. We inquired, and a lady asked a bus driver about it. Turned out that a whole quadrant of the city was restricted to bus traffic then and we would have to find another way. The driver suggested we take a certain tram to a certain spot, then hop across the street to wait for another tram, which would put us in the vicinity of the restaurant. So that's what we did. After the banquet, we needed to figure out the way home. It was dark and we saw no buses anywhere. This is not an uncommon scenario, and sometimes it's dark, desolate and even raining! You then face a number of options: 1) wait for your first-choice bus no matter how long it takes; 2) jump on the first bus that comes along, hoping it will carry you somewhere busier and at the same time keep you warm and dry; 3) start walking. (If it's really, really bad, like the night we were very far from home, it was very late and not raining, but hailing, we flag a taxi.) I tend to like options 2, 3, preferring to keep moving. David is more inclined toward option 1 but can be talked into option 2 or 3. When someone makes a decision and it turns ugly, the recriminations fly--"if we had done it my way..."--which is understandable but pointless since success is largely a matter of chance and we all take turns being right and wrong. But much time is wasted waiting for buses and sitting on buses. The Italians wait patiently, while I pace and sigh really loudly and want to scream, "Do you realize how inefficient your country is? Don't just sit there and take it!" The post office is another source of exasperation. Each month I need to wire rent money to Giovanna. Last month, on my third try and with the help of a nice English-speaking man, I managed to get in the correct line, fill out the complicated form and send the money successfully. I carefully saved a copy of the form so I wouldn't need translation help the next time. That time came and I took my form to the post office, and grabbed a ticket for the correct line (there are P, C and A lines I think, depending on what you want to do). I was #190 and the teller was helping #160. These post office lines are incredible--they remind me of those gloomy photos of bread lines in Soviet Russia that ran out the door and around the block. Finally my number was called. My teller did not speak a word of English, but I proudly presented the form, used the Italian word for "same," and showed her the cash. Speaking rapidly, she pulled out her own form and pointed to a particular line. Seeing my confusion, a customer volunteered his help. I explained, I just want to do the same thing I did last month--all the info is right here on my form. Oh no, he tells me, the form has just been changed. You now need to include your codice fiscale, the tax number that all Italians have. I don't have a codice fiscale, I say. I'm only here for four months and all I want to do is send money to this lady. The nice man starts talking about bank accounts and such and I'm completely dejected and don't know how I'm going to send Giovanna her money. The man apologizes, I say, it's not your fault and leave. I'm convinced there would be more great, accomplished Italians if they didn't have to spend so much time on buses and in post offices.

Having Fun at Dinner with the Gormans

A Word from David

Someone recently asked what I do all day while we're in Rome. From 10:30 a.m. or so on, I'm up to the same things as Sharon and the boys (though Sharon's the only one who mops floors with her watch). But every morning except Sunday, I wake up an hour or so before the rest of the gang and walk to a neighborhood cafe four or five blocks away. For the next three hours (I usually begin with a caffe Americano and a cornetto pastry-- don't tell the boys about the pastry-- and order a second caffe a couple of hours later) I work on a book manuscript on my laptop. The book is a memoir about myself and two friends from college (don't worry, they're both a lot more interesting than I am). My "office" is an octagonal wood booth, where I set up the laptop, and arrange several old journals and a few books (most days: Robert Lowell's poems and memoirs by Vladimir Nabokov, Mary McCarthy, Loren Eiseley and Lauren Winner), and I watch the other regulars filter in. The setting is perfect for the kind of writing I'm doing. With the Italian music and conversation swirling around me, I feel as if I'm in a kind of cocoon-- thinking about the early 1980s, when Reagan had just taken office and (of particular relevance to the chapter I'm working on) people still hitch-hiked. For the first two months, I worked in anonymity. But yesterday one of the baristas and a woman who meets with a group of thirty-something mothers at the cafe every day after they drop their kids at school asked if I was working on a book. They each have interesting stories themselves (the barista is an aspiring singer, it turns out, and one of the women apparently is an actress). But that will have to wait for another book.

Maybe I need to learn Italian...

My watch broke and I needed a haircut so I set out one day to accomplish two tasks. At the corner is a pharmacy that also carries such things as dog supplies, shoes and small kitchen appliances. A cursory look around the store did not reveal any watches so I asked a clerk whether anyone there spoke English. She took me to a young woman behind the counter. During our brief conversation, this woman was rather snippy and when I asked her if there were any watches for sale, she asked, "What do you want it for?" (I want to mop my floor with it, of course!) I couldn't bring myself to say "to tell time" because it seemed so obvious and maybe we had a miscommunication, so I pointed to her watch and said, "I just need a watch." She said, "What do you want it for?" In the meantime, the first clerk brought over several others to help, so in short order there were five people speaking rapidly and at length in Italian. Can all this be about a watch I wondered? The first clerk kept trying to tell me that they sold only medicines. But you sell dog products and toaster ovens, I wanted to say but couldn't. They collectively concluded that I couldn't buy a watch in this store or anywhere else in the neighborhood. Later in the day I found myself in an ultra-chic hair salon. I am uncomfortable in these venues in the U.S., and here, where women invest considerable time and money in looking good, I am even more out of place. Nobody spoke English and the owner--a young man--brought photos to me so that I could select a style. Immediately I could see trouble, because these hairstyles, not to mention the clothes and make-up were bizarre, the sort of thing you see on runways in Milan, Paris, etc. This young man never smiled and seemed to take himself very seriously, perhaps as an "artist of the hair." All I could do was to write "not strange," "not weird" and "I need to see" (many styles had hair completely covering the eyes) on a piece of paper and point to the most "out there" pages and shake my head no. He got the idea and directed me to the most normal haircut in the book, perhaps the only one suitable for an average citizen. I nodded yes. He worked silently and without smiling. In turn, I couldn't express my opinion about what he was doing. In the end, however, my hair looked exactly like the hair in the photo except that mine was shorter over the eyes. So, it was an awkward experience (the second of the day), but at least my hair looked good. And in Italy, that counts for a lot!

With the Baggs in Rome, the Martins in Bologna

A Report from Carter

Much of the greatest art of Rome is seen in churches. Raphael, Michelangelo, and especially Caravaggio contributed their talent to these churches. Caravaggio displays numerous paintings in churches. Perhaps the greatest of these is the "Madonna of the Pilgrims" in the Sant'Agostino basilica. The painting includes the Madonna, Jesus, and two peasants. Caravaggio's masterful use of color and positioning shocks the spectator. One famous aspect of this painting is the dirtiness of the peasant's foot. Traditionally everyone in Madonna paintings was portrayed as clean. Another beautiful aspect of this painting is in the positioning of the figures and background. The figures in this painting form a diagonal line. However, the pillar is straight and the peasants' staffs point diagonally the other way. As usual, Caravaggio's paintings display deep emotion and drama. This painting and many others have convinced me that there are indeed good artists, but I believe that there are only three: Raphael, Michelangelo, and Caravaggio.

Goodbye to the North, For Now

Dinner with the Martins and their small group was a feast for the body, mind and spirit. For the body, of course, since we were eating in Bologna. Conversation with Tom and Bonnie and Tom's sister, Helen, is never dull nor trivial. Helen regaled Stephen all evening with science facts and stories. We also learned that Tom used to play cello. After they departed in taxis, Carter said to me, "Mr. Martin is really smart!" We enjoyed talking with the six others in their party as well, thoroughly enjoying our evening of Christian fellowship. Thursday we spent in Ferrara, where David spoke to a class of law students. He was very impressed with their insightful questions. Our host, Andrea, took us to a restaurant where we enjoyed the best bread of the trip so far. We took two loaves back with us to Rome.

A Report from Stephen

Over the past four days my family has been in the beautiful city of Bologna. After about a three-hour train ride from Rome, we unpacked our baggage in the hotel. We had two rooms, one for the parents and one for the kids. Ironically, the room for the kids was about twice the size of the adult room. On the day that we arrived, after unpacking, Dad had a talk so Mom, Carter and I walked to a restaurant called Tamburini's. On the way, we passed by two leaning towers side by side. The one leaning tower used to be bigger than the other but it leaned so much people were worried that it would fall so they took the top off. Now the second one stands taller. After window shopping and chatting we reached the restaurant. After a nice meal (that was cheap) we trudged to our hotel.

Birthdays, Baggs and Bologna

Birthday greetings to Memom, Pop and my girlfriends at Tenth (you know who you are--happy 21st birthday to all of you!). Carter celebrated his birthday in Rome on March 2 with a small rectangular cake topped with an enormous white chocolate butterfly ornament. I had my birthday yesterday here in Bologna, where David is giving a series of lectures to law students at the university. His friend Luca and Luca's wife, Claudia, took us out to dinner and we talked Italian politics, a subject Luca knows well because his father is a senator. His great-grandfather was an internationally known mathematician specializing in geometry. Today, I took a quick train trip to Faenza, a small town specializing in ceramics. I spent most of my time, however, in a fabric store. There I bought a few remnants and am hoping that my more creative friends at home can help me turn them into something wonderful. Speaking of wonderful, the food stalls here in Bologna are unbelievable. They spill out into the streets--gorgeous fruits, vegetables, mozzarella, hams, sausages. Finally, before we left we had a joyous dinner with Jim and Dori Baggs, who were in Rome for several days. What fun it was to see friends from home! Tonight we're looking forward to dinner with Tom and Bonnie Martin.

There are kids in Rome!

We enjoyed stunning weather on Sunday and after hearing a 60-voice choir from Georgia and joining them in "Holy, Holy, Holy" at church we strolled through Borghese Park. We saw more children in a few hours than we had the entire month previous. We searched for a flea market that we never found but had a happy encounter with an American couple as they paused for lunch from their daylong bike ride along the route of a certain aqueduct. She is a fellow this year at The American Academy in Rome but normally works in historic preservation in Manhattan. He's lived in Rome for 45 years and teaches architecture for Penn State's Rome program. He did his graduate work at U. Penn in the late 1970s. On Saturday we visited the San Clemente church, which actually is a series of churches, one on top of the other. At the highest level is a Catholic church with beautiful mosaics in the apse, very much like those in Ravenna. In the courtyard you see mismatched columns, obviously taken from other buildings (there are parts of the Colosseum in structures all over Rome--an early example of recycling). You descend down into what is an active archaeological site to make out parts of earlier churches, sarcophagi built into the walls and such. Finally at the very lowest level sits an altar to the Persian god Mithra. It's very dark and spooky and a girl holding flowers was there with us. I was afraid she was going to put the flowers at the altar but fortunately she didn't. Thanks for the comments on the "Sacrifice of Isaac" entries. Ghiberti's entry won the competition and he went on to design the doors. His work was considered more balanced in terms of space, with the curve of the bodies, the rock's surface and Isaac's torso beautifully rendered. Brunelleschi's entry was notable for its sense of urgency, the angel darting in at the last minute to stop Abraham. Despite this loss, he became one of the most important architects of the Renaissance and designed Florence's signature dome.

Ghiberti's entry

According to my art history text, the history of the Early Renaissance in art begins with a competition for a design of the north doors of the Baptistry in Florence. Each artist had to submit one entry depicting the sacrifice of Isaac. The submissions for the two finalists--Brunelleschi and Ghiberti--survive and we were able to see them in a Florence museum. (See previous posting.) Both are extraordinary but in different ways. Which do you prefer and, more important, why? Click on the images to observe in greater detail.

Brunelleschi's entry

Brunelleschi's "Sacrifice of Isaac" entry for the competition to design the north doors of the Baptistry in Florence.

Anticipating visitors

We are looking foward to visits from American friends this month, some from Tenth Church and some from Lower Gwynedd Little League. Dori, you had asked what sites to see in your short time here. I'm no expert, but certainly the Sistine Chapel, the Colosseum and the Pantheon are not to be missed. Whatever precious minutes you have left should be spent in a church on the Piazza del Popolo (Santa Maria del Popolo), which houses two extremely moving paintings by Caravaggio--one the Conversion of St. Paul and the other the Crucifixion of St. Peter (don't know exact title). I can't remember if y'all have been here before but I imagine Dori that as an artist you will love observing the colorful buildings, intricate fabrics and arresting images--people included. This of course is free and you can take it all home with you in your mind's eye!