Posted on 08/14/2005 12:28:27 PM PDT by NYer
From Thursday, August 11th:
So finally, I had a meal today.. And I'm not within yards of any "famous site". NYer's advice to avoid eating near any famous sites had me chuckling yesterday. It's all relative. You can't walk a few meters in this city without hitting an historic ruin or a major work of art? ,P. I've heard it said before that Europe is America's museum. Of course, this was intended as a bit of an insult to the "Euro-weenies" (not saying they are all weenies, just explaining the quote's context)-- but there is some truth to this. Rome does seem to be a giant museum. And they obviously know exactly which country's tourists butter their bread. They seem to be especially accomodating to Americans. Signs appear in English and Italian with the English part often just as large and prominent as the Italian. However, the hotel I'm where I am staying (by mistake!) does not appear to be a favorite with Americans. Most of the guests --at least all that I've encountered appear to be German, British, and Eastern European. I don't mean to slight the Eastern Europeans; it's just that I can't distinguish the various dialects other than to note that they sound Slavic. And BTW, I just knew I would offend somebody on FR with my aside about not knowing where the Slovak Republic is, but I honestly didn't know! What can I say, I'm a dumb Yank; and I think I'm the only one presently staying at this hotel. I can understand why. You will too when you see my review of it on Expedia.com!
I never did get around to explaining how I ended up in Hotel Barton Fink. After arriving in Roma at last, my slipshod packing came back to haunt me. I forgot to pack my hotel itinerary from Expedia. I couldn't remember the name of the hotel where I was supposed to be staying. But no problem! I have my blackberry cell phone and can call Expedia's 24 hour hotline. Only one problem, my cell phone doesn't appear to be working. I keep getting a "vodafone" message. Vodafone is the wireless carrier here. This vodafone recorded message has been branded on my cerebellum. I expect it will pop up in future nightmares. I've heard it so many times these past two days that I can do a pretty good imitation of the syrupy female Italian voice followed by a British woman translating this "free vodefone message" in that classic "graaacefully and graaahndly" British BBC Correspondent voice. Together they explained to me gleefully, graaacefully, and graaahndly that I am barred from using their wireless network because my Blackberry has not been correctly programed to work on the international networks..
But what am I supposed to do? I can't call Cingular to clear this up because my Cingular cell phone isn't working. And I can't call them from my hotel because I can't remember the name of my hotel. And I can't call Expedia to find out the name of my hotel because I have no phone. Keep in mind I haven't slept in over a day and am not quite thinking rationally. I still kept thinking that maybe my phone would work if I got out of the airport area. Maybe this was some sort of a "wireless free" zone (again, keep in mind--very tired, not thinking straight). So I wandered out towards the taxi stand area. As I said earlier, it is immediately obvious that the Italians know which tourists butter the bread in their big boot. Everyone speaks at least broken English, but most speak it quite fluently. The Romans in general seem relatively fluent in French, German, and Spanish. But I've noticed that if they are speaking to a non-American whose native tongue they don't speak, they will automatically default to English -- not Italian! Think about that for a moment and you'll realize the extent of American influence. And truly, this English language phenomenom is the result of American dominance more so than the other Anglo-sphere countries. Case in point: the hotel's room service menu lists the translations as Italian, German, and "American" -- and as I said earlier, this hotel doesn't even appear to attract many Americans. It does attract a number of Brits. I can only imagine how they feel about having the very name of their language usurped by their younger cousins. Poor Professor Higgins, eat your heart out!
But getting back to the airport... Standing right by the exit is a young Italian porter/chauffer about my age. He spots me and asks which hotel I need to get to. I explain my situation as best as I can. I even let him try on my new Bluetooth wireless earpiece so that he too could listen the Vodafone ladies (I was hoping the Italian lady was saying something the BBC lady wasn't; like a coded message just for Italians, saying "Psst, don't tell the Americanos that they can use our wireless, otherwise they'll hog it all." But if Fabio, the porter/chauffer is to be trusted, the Italian lady said the same thing as the British lady. So Fabio pulls out his own little cell phone and offers to call for me. He's never heard of Expedia and has no idea how to dial using letters for numbers, although letters do appear under the numbers on his particular phone (I've noticed since then that a lot of the cell phones here only list numbers). I manage to get Expedia on the phone just long enough to get the hotel name: Morgana Panama Hotel. My Italian guide nods, "sure, sure. Morgana." We agree on a flat rate fee for the ride there, and I get into Fabio's towncar. I'm so tired that I'm trying not to nod off. He on the other hand is more than willing to chat. He asks where I'm from; I say LA, and his reaction was a polite mixture of recognition of "what" (rather than where) LA is and an admirable attempt at concealing dislike of LaLaLand. He initially had the radio set to a music station (playing--you guessed it, American pop songs interspersed with Italian ones here and there). He sets it to a nice classical station and says nothing until we get within sight of the Palatino and then pass under the Arco di Constantino and drive right by the Colosseo.
And, no, I don't think this standard "drive pass the Coloseum" scene--which is, of course, in every movie set in Rome--looks anything like it does in the movies. It's much more beautiful. This is one instance in which the movies do not suceed in their attempt to airbrush reality into perfection. They don't capture how lush the vines and greenery appear on the ruins. Or how the ancient and the modern seem to compliment each other--neither one overpowering the other. Or how as you turn each corner, you can see the remnants of the art and architecture from the various centuries this Eternal City has seen and survived. There's a Swatch shop on one street and then turn the corner and you see the ruins of the baths of Diocletian. One minute I'm staring at the Coloseum, but then a few streets later I'm looking at Santa Maria Maggiore.
As we pass Santa Maria Maggiore, Fabio tells me with obvious pride in his city, "You must go inside and see it; even if, you know, you are not a religious person. You must see the art." I tell him, of course I will and mention that I want to see the Caravaggio paints. He's always been my favorite.
Just I'm expecting to sit back and continue to enjoy the ride because even though I couldn't remember my hotel's name I did remember that it was a smallish bed & breakfast located in a restored historic building all the way on the other side of Rome and not far from the Vatican. But a few streets away from Santa Maria Maggiore, Fabio stops the car in from a hotel on fairly ordinary street with restaurants and shops, not far from Termini Stationi
"Ah, what are we doing? This isn't the hotel."
"Yes, yes," he says, "This is the Morgana."
"No, Fabio. I said the Morgana PANAMA Hotel."
"Is the same thing!" he says. " Here, I show you." He opens the door to the hotel and escorts me in, askes the reception desk something in Italian, then frowns and turns to me and says, "Ah, the other one is called the Panama. Owned by same company though."
"Yeah, that's what I told you all along."
" Hey, don't" Fabio says, "they said you can stay here. They calling the Panama now and switching it all over."
"But I already paid for the Panama through Expedia."
He asks the clerks about this; they say, it's not a problem. The room here is for the same price, and as it's owned by the same company, they can easily transfer the credit to this hotel.
I'm still not sure if I should. I picked out that other place carefully and I knew nothing about this place other than it's owned by the same company. Fabio says he'll take me to the other one if I want, but convinces me that this one is better because it's around the corner from Termini. And, hey, you got Caravaggio around the corner!
I say okay to staying here. He gives me his card and tells me it's half price for my ride back to airport and then lower for each subsequent ride. I tell him I'll call him for my return trip.
So, I enter the hotel lobby again. One good sign is that the staff speaks English. I'm soon escorted up to my room by a short Italian man who looks suspiciously like Steve Bescemis' (sp?) character in the movie Barton Fink, "Chett the bellhop". He escorts me around the corner and into this claustrophobic elevator that' half the size of my shower. It's got mirrors for walls -- just in case you want to actually see how ridiculous you look in this clown car/elevator.
We go to the fourth floor and that's where the Barton Fink analogy really starts to set in. The hallways and sitting room is decorated in this heavy red velvet Victorian style, but everything looks kind of stale and in need of repair. The wallpaper is scratched here, torn there, stained a little here, etc.
After winding through a maze of hallways, we make it to my room. "Chett" opens the door, and I step in and as quickly and politely as I can, I push my jaw back up to Be with the rest of my mouth and try to keep it from falling open again at least while Chett is here.
The room is about the size of my walk in closet. The bathroom off to the side, admittedly is a normal size. But the bedroom itself is a square room with a little bed, a little nightstand on each side. A narrow little desk in front of the bed. A tv the size of my Blackberry screen on the table. And all this facing a big window that looks out to a building across the street.
The room is hot and smells kind of old or "stale". Chett turns on this air conditioning unit that looks like R2-D2. Either that or something out of "2001: A Space Odyssey". I decided to call it Hal. Whenever I would try to change the settings it would say in so many words, "I'm sorry, Dave. We simple cannot do that."
I suppose I could have marched back down and demanded I be taken to the Panama, but in truth, how was I really to know if that would be any better. Sure there are the Expedia reviews, but I think the reviewers were British and they appeared to like this place too.
So I decided to wash up and go to sleep. The next morning, as I have already related, I woke up to a call that my bus is here--and I was off to see Benedetto.
It rained all day in Rome today (Thursday, August 11th). It would stop for a few minutes and then the humidity would descend like a heating pad. I now understand why this place is empty in August. The santa ana winds are air conditioning compared to the heat anbd humidity here. I hung out under the canope of a little restaurant and cafe on a busy corner --not near any major sites--but within walking distance of Termini. So I got to people watch the locals who've remained despite the heat and the European tourists on their way out. The waiters were hilarious. Yelling at each other one minute, patting each other on the back the next. Then the chef/owner would come out and yell at them for something. Then the wife of the chef/owner would come out to calm him down . We even had an ambulance and then a running pick-pocket came flying by. The waiters made a "manly" (but truth be told, pretty flabby) effort to try to catch the guy. The food was cheap (saw lots of locals there) and ! okay. Nothing special. But the coffee and cappuchino were I think the best I've ever had.
Tomorrow I will set out for Germany. I'm checking out of Hotel Via Hades tomorrow at noon and will get my train tickets at Termini station. Depending on when the train leaves, I might have some more time to explore Roma. I'm kind of strangely excited about the prospect of making my way by myself over to Germany and then down to the Rhine. I kind of feel the strange thrill that impressionable boys felt during the world wars at the prospect of going "over there". Or perhaps a better analogy with be the Crusaders and pilgrims setting out across Europe for the Holy Lands. I feel like I can touch and feel the weight of history here in a way that's unrealized in our young country. But one thing I have already learned -- as if I there were every a time I didn't know it--is that I love being Yank. Europe's nice to visit; but the USA is the place for living.
PS - I saw a bill board here for a night club that read: "Quo vadis, baby?" For some reason I still find that hilarious. That and the Niccolo Machiavelli state department building! I kid you not! I kept trying to get a photo of it because I knew no one would believe me.
To get you the short version of my situation thus far. Yes, I am enjoying myself. No at the moment I am not with the magis group. I will be with them for the boat ride and WYD. Yes, the Italian night trains are utterly ridiculous. If it weren't for everyone speaking Italian. I would have thought I was in Cairo. Yes, the whole ride was so strange that even I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. And, yes, I decided to bag the camping trip part when I huffed it up the hill, looked around at the tents and army like atmosphere and suddenly felt as if I'd walked into a bad epoisode of Hogan's Heros. I am now at a delightful bed and breakfast on the Rhine. It's raining something fierce (boy, I bet it sucks to be camping in this... muh-wha-ha-ha-ha...suckers! I know, I'm cruel. Hehehehe...)
About to have lunch in a bit. Totally different from Roma, which by the time I left on Friday, I came to love. All they like here is sausage, french fries, and beer. In other words, I love this place too!
Personal comment on the Italian rail system.
Many years ago, I had to take a train from the Adriatic to Rome, IOW, across the Appenines that divide the Italian peninsula. Looking over the train schedule, I noticed that the trains are organized by "type". There was the 'rapido', the 'accelerato' and something that sounded quite slow. The pickins' were slim on that particular route and I chose the 'accelerato'.
It was one of the longest short range train trips I have ever taken (I spent years riding the Long Island RailRoad ... so there's sufficient experience right there). I later learned that the tern 'accelerato' refers to the fact that these trains stop at every town between Termoli and Roma, 'accelerating' after each stop. Lesson learned!
NYer, thanks for posting these for GG. They are exciting, interesting, informative, chatty, personal, and generally delightful! What a fabulous thing that she got to go - and is able to share this with us!
I too have been a guest of the Italian rail service. Once you realize that you're not going anywhere "rapido," settled down and enjoy your travelling companions and the scenery, all is well. . . . :-)
Here's another look at the pilgrimage, from my 16-year-old yiddle tiny baby dotter on her first trip ANYWHERE without mom and dad (snif...)
Hi Family!!
I tried e-mailing you earlier but it didn't quite work. So here I am in Germany sitting here typing you a letter.
I'll start from the beginning, I suppose. I only have 20 minutes before we leave to go hiking on the Alps. That should be fun. So the first day on the airplane I didn't get any sleep because everything was so distracting. Then we almost missed our plane from Madrid to Munich. Oh boy! But they held the plane for us so we got on safely. I slpet on that plane ride but it wasn't comfortable at all. I think I only slept because I needed the sleep to keep living.
So then we arrive in Germany and it was a while before we actually got to our hostel. But when we got there, the rooms were rather nice. The shower wasn't pleasant but whatever...
So we leave to go to Mass after a quick nap. We walked through the streets. And it was alll so beautiful. And almost everywhere you turned was a massive Catholic Church. So we went to a Church (I never caught the name) and took pictures. The adults attended Mass while the others (us kids) walked around. We went back to one Church called St. Michael just to look and let me tell you it was it's own site to see. It was amazing. It was 100 times prettier than the Church where the adults were and Mass was going on so we couldn't take pictures. I plan on trying to get a picture later.
So then we ate dinner at a rather nice restaraunt and I got some vienne saugages and a potato-cucumber salad. It was delicious. And after that we saw the Glockensphleigh (I don't know how to spell it) and it was huge. We were looking around at some buildings then we went to the most famous beer house in the world called The Beer House, I think. [Aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!...dad/editor/ninenot]
But us kids only looked because we wanted to go sleep.
So the next morning (today) we went to the concentration camps. It was so depressing. I don't know about the others but I got goosebumps. Some of the adults and a few kids stayed and watched a video in the museum but I walked with the other kids to the barracks and the memorials and get this, I was inside the gas chamber and I saw the ovens. It was so scary, but I took pictures.
Well that's it. I got about two minutes left on this computer. I need to go hike up the Alps now.#
Love you all so much,
Sorry, but the first post sounded a lot like the plot summary of the movie "Moonstuck." If GiGi said she'd heard "La Boheme" playing in the background the entire time, I'd have shouted "Look out for Nicholas Cage! He's in the next scene!"
Mama mia!
Ciao bene!
Francesco
So what is this thing about people visiting Europe who begin sentences with "So?" Gipper Gal is doing it too!
Travis Bickel
"You lookin' at me?"
;-o)
So I think it's a "yout' thanggg'
Which neither of us could understand.
I have reminded my daughter on innumerable occasions that "so" will be worn out by her utilization--but I'm not there...
Time to start plotting my next trip. All this European diary stuff has me yearning to go back.
I'm SO jealous of my daughter getting to go to Spain. Haven't been there since '68.
I found Dachau very scary and depressing too, when I was there.
Ahhh .... home!
Geez, why do people ruin a spiritually uplifting pilgrimage with a sidetrip to an Abatoir? The continued fascination is almost macarbe. Its like going to the Museum of Torture (I think that was the name) in Rothenburg ob der Tauber, or the Gestapo Museum in Berlin. Yuck.
We were looking around at some buildings then we went to the most famous beer house in the world called The Beer House, I think. [Aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!...dad/editor/ninenot]
LOL!
Didn't you teach her even a few basics before leaving?
My in-laws now distribute again the world famous beer from "The Beer House" in Pennsylvania. The brewery is even building a nice big "The Beer House" in Pittsburgh.
LOL!
My daughter's tour-leader is an interesting character, which accounts for their specific routing and sightseeing twists.
However, were I near Dachau (or Oszwiecym) I would make it a point to look, too. Remember that the people who conceived these are (not-too) distantly related to the New Iconoclasts who also demolished the Roman liturgy.
After all, Life and Beauty are inextricably related. Destroying one is destroying the other. Conversely, an understanding of those who 'choose death' will serve these children well in the future.
Think about what you are sayign for a minute. This is like claiming that your children would be well served for future matrimony to go and spend some time watching the people of the Castro District or Greenwich Village carry out their perversions, so that they will know what to avoid and why our way is better. Surely you wouldn't say that?
Ugliness is not necessary to appreciate beauty, because ugliness has no real existence, it is just an absence of beauty and goodness.
Links to the other threads?
Ugliness is also the presence of evil, or absence/defect of good.
In high school, children are not necessarily possessed of excellent judgment. Knowledge of the evil, obtained (in this case) by observation and with foreknowledge of the fact that it IS evil, is not a bad thing.
Helps them to choose their friends and their 'hangouts' with a bit more discretion.
Your analogy is not quite accurate; watching people carry out perversions is not the same as touring Dachau.
HC,
Go here: http://www.youngandcatholic.com/2005/08/st-edith-stein-pray-for-us.html and take a look at the picture.
Taking a tour of a Bathhouse would be.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.