Rome, Ruin and Rain.

This place, holy God.  Where to start on this one...  I realize that other people may have had a different experience with Rome but I can only report my own.  So here it is... We arrive late in the evening from Paris on a quiet, sardine packed budget flight that reeks of B.O.  There is a man who puts his sock clad feet up on the back of someone's chair.  I took a pic to shame him.  We arrive from an overpriced taxi to our nearly unmarked bed and breakfast, well it really was just a hostel, with four keys for four doors that spilled out onto the busiest street in the world.  At night, when we didn't hear the horns and the honks, we heard women screaming.  The next morning, we partook of the continental breakfast and set out to adventure!  Oh and boy did we get it.  We walked ten minutes to the colosseum and witnessed the grand spectacle that was Rome at its most violent and brilliant.   We strolled the ruins and gardens outside the colosseum and truly there is history EVERYWHERE.  Take a walk to an ATM and you'll see 2000 year old baths, a frieze and column the same age.  Rome is a wonder, a place where the 21st century slams into the time of Christ, except there are gangs of feral cats that lounge about on the ruins sunning themselves.

We lunched on loads of pasta and risotto and marveled at how much more affordable it was than France.  Later in the day we went to the Borghese gardens and museum to find the museum sold out sadly.  We strolled the gardens and to our delight we found them full of incredibly beautiful sculptures, buildings and fountains from the ancient Renaissance.  We topped the evening off with some more pasta and Gelato.    It's going to be hard not shooting a photo of my food before every meal.  I've become a tourist in the grossest sense.  We've all gained a bit of weight on this trip, even with the miles and miles of walking.  We've also become acutely familiar with each other's toilet schedule, a most intimate group indeed.  

The Italians are beautiful people, especially when young.  Like wow.  Is it in the water?  I drank quite a bit of it and am still waiting.  Groups of teenagers that look like Renaissance beauties.  Not a zit or awkward kid in sight.  Most Italians are smartly dressed and no nonsense.  Cool as hell.  Great hair, great style, men and women.  

The next day we awoke early to rain, and not just a little spit of it.  Rain, pouring, ALL DAMN DAY LONG.  We hoped on a metro, slurped a quick cafe latte and pastry and stood in line for two hours to get into the Vatican museums.  Again, all in the rain.  It's amazing how the cruel bitch of Mother Nature can quickly diminish your spirit.  The Vatican was truly a who's who of the Renaissance.  Raphael's frescos including the "School of Athens" and the Hellenistic sculpture the "Laocoon" were some sincere highlights amongst the slow moving and clueless tourists.  Thousands and thousands of tourists also diminish the spirit...  The Hellenistic sculpture though alone was worth the trip. The Sistine ceiling was awe inspiring for most but I found it busy and overwhelming, the same brown skin tone throughout the entirety.  The feeling was also dulled by the guards screaming at the tourists at the top of their lungs, "NO PHOTOS!!!"  When they didn't listen, their cameras were snatched away.  We went into the Vatican walls and viewed Saint Mark's square where folks collect to hear news of the new Pope.  Then we jetted out quickly because it was atrociously filled with tourists and they close for three hours at lunch.  We walked to a small restaurant and yet again enjoyed a delicious pasta menu del dia, followed by yet again more Gelato.  I don't know why it isn't more of a thing in the states to be honest.  We were out of steam and soaking to the core by that point.  One of the students Clay, started to take pictures documenting our meager spirits and wet sadness.   Looking back though I think it hysterical. One umbrella broke after the next until only two of us had ones that weren't turned backwards.   Dark comedy at its best.  A young lad np named Matt referred to his an "unbrella".   We trekked back to the hostel and dried out while napping.  In the evening, I introduced the kids to Indian food.  They seemed to like it, especially the samosas.  Now I'm on a train to Florence!  I am looking forward to a change from Rome and even more art.  And hopefully my shoes will dry out but it looks like more rain is on the way.

Purge of Roma

 

1.You stand in a line forever here.  Buy tickets in advance to everything. For real.  Hours and hours in line.  Now I know.  

2.  You must watch your person and your belongings like it's prison.  Crooks are everywhere ready to pounce on you the moment your guard is let down.   Piper Chapman would have been sold on the black market in 20.  I'm grittier now.  A young woman and her two mates tried to pickpocket one of the chaps in our group.  He caught her and announced loudly what was happening.  They scattered like the rotten flies that they were.  We were incredibly rattled after that and the news of a downed flight in the Alps.  It was difficult to recover.

3.  The people hawking their wares on the street will abuse you if you don't fall for their schemes.  I may have spit a most foul thing right outside of the Vatican at one who threw a terrible comment my way.  I may not be proud of it.  Outside of the holiest of places, a most foul thing.

4.  Nothing is marked.  There is no signage anywhere for anything.  Hardly any for monuments, streets, transit and protocol at intitutions.  No platform marked on train tickets, no gate on your airline boarding pas.  Good luck y'all!  You don't speak the lingo?  Ask directions and hope for the best chump.  They assume you are a local and will just adopt a "when in Rome" policy. For a city that depends on so much tourism, they sure do know how to pull a cruel joke.  

5.  Crosswalks?  Good luck with that.  I played Russian roulette at every single crossing.  You just walk straight into traffic and hope you aren't paralyzed after.   Good fortune smiled on us, this time.  A little agility training three months prior to the trip would have helped everybody out.  American Ninja here I come!

6.  Rome is the loudest, dirtiest city I've ever been to.  Graffiti, trash and pee everywhere., even at the ruins.  When we arrived in Paris there was graffiti on the walls and the students said that they enjoyed it, thought it was "neat."  I smirked.  Then we got to Rome.  I think they fell out of love with the novelty.  I hope they did at least.

7.  Those Romans love to shop.  Bargains and street vendors everywhere.  Want a purse?  Size 42 Nike high tops, backpack with ears, a scarf, an antique camera lucida, some used tea bags, a broken wheelchair?  You got it.  And haggle it down to nothing.  They depend on it.  They expect your abuse.  Thank you sir, may I have another.  Just don't expect a smile when you walk away.  Whatever you want, they've got it.  Except for galloshes.  Nope.  None of those.  Not one in sight.

8.  There are tourists crawling over everything worth doing.  It's swarming with Japanese tour groups of 100, beautiful little French and Italian school kids of the same size, and Brits.  If you're a cluster phobe or have a crowd anxiety, prepare for a panick attack.  I've been moved and touch by so many from so far.  

9.  Restaurants and cafes will charge you more if you sit down for your coffee and pastry.  Again, no signage on this one.  Sometimes they charge you on the time that you sit there.  We almost fell for that one more than once.  It's why every European is standing while slurping an Espresso.  

10.  Romans can be helpful, truly.  We were aided by servers, drivers, concerned Romans eager to give directions, and we even saw a poor woman pass out on a subway escalator.  A crowd of concerned and well meaning Romans flocked to her aid.  So many in fact they the escalator almost turned into a people crushing disaster as we couldn't get off.  

11. The countryside is beautiful here.  A taste of Tuscany is filled with green pastures, ancient villages, foothills and sheep flocks.  Take the train if you can.  

12.  God.  The Italians know how to make a good cup of coffee, best I've had yet.  Espresso, latte, cappuccino?  Whatever your fix, it takes your appreciation to new heights.  I have a guy that hooks me up if you are OK scoring on a street corner with screaming women and traffic.

13.  You like cats?  Rome's got cats.  Everywhere.  They love to lounge in the ruins.  It seems delightfully quaint at first but I think they may be diseased.  

14.  Figurative statuary are around every corner, every bridge, every corner fountain, on tons of buildings.  This place is a sculpture lovers delight.  I've never really appreciated it until now.  Why isn't there this much public art in the U.S.?  It must be the puritanical fear of buns and boobies.  Europe is a place where a good pair of buns doesn't go unnoticed.

15.  What the hell?  Why are restaraunts in Europe so damn stingy with tap water?  Can I just get a glass of water please??!!!

We're in Paris Y'all!!!

      

      We arrive in Paris on a late evening flight after having spent the entire day in Malaga.  It rained the entire day in Malaga but overall it was a great day even though we were all terribly drenched.  We visited two art museums, the Picasso Museum and the Thysen Museum, all staples of Spanish Painting from the 19th and 20th centuries.  Not bad but not great.  I knew what I was soon in for!

We stayed at a large, fairly central hotel right off of the metro in the Port de Clichy.  Starting the morning early with an English breakfast at a French Corner bar (they are everywhere and this should be a much bigger thing in the US) we headed excitedly straight to the Eiffel Tower.  For the three days we visited, Paris had a high pollution rating and offered free metro rides, which benefited us immensly.  The metro is clean, safe and incredibly easy to figure out.  It's also a fabulous opportunity to scope out the locals and their fashion flare.  Our first ride however started on an irritating note when a seemingly nice man told us about the pollution clause entirely in French to save us from buying tickets.  We understood his statement but he continued to insistently speak at me in French even after I informed him that I only spoke English several times.  Over and over I apologized for my limited ability to communicate and he yammered on and on.  Finally after three minutes of insistent French I realize that the joke is at my expense and he states in perfect English that he does understand it and speaks it fluently.  He thought himself clever but then I remembered that the French think Jerry Louis is a comedic genius and that the rat tail is still a thing there.

      The Eiffel Tower was crowded even at the early hour but it struck me as surprisingly ornate, with iron ornament in the most unexpected of places.  Every walk on our commute in Paris was laden with statuary and commemorative monuments to France's empirical exploits.  We walked the bridge where every inch is covered In locks to represent a lovers binding love.  It struck me as romantic, even though half had recently been cut off due to extraneous weight.  Art is everywhere.  Although Paris is incredibly clean and architecturally beautiful, every walk out of a metro station looks oddly the same.  We lunched at another corner brasserie where I enjoyed roast chicken and pom frites.  Next the Louvre!  Holy heaven and earth that place is huge.  It was beyond belief in both its' expansive collection as well as the overwhelming size.  I managed to get through most everything hustling ass for a little over two and a half hours.  Highlights include the Hellenistic sculpture, Dutch still life, Delacroix's "Death of Sardonopolous" and the Rubens room.  It was overwhelming as there was way too much to see, one could easily spend several days roaming the galleries.  But I felt numbed by the end.  We waited two hours in line to get tickets and must have walked 15 miles that day.  We stalked the streets for macarons and Paris obliged.  We eagerly collapsed into our beds that night high off of the bounty of Paris.  I don't remember the last time I had been that excited to be somewhere.  It was incredibly clean and safe but equally expensive.  I kept repeating my worst French laugh and "WE'RE IN FRANCE Y'ALL" in my most irritating backwoods accent.  Some thought it funny enough to repeat, others not.  I suppose it's yet another symptom of not fitting in well, laughing at my own expense.  I may have hooked young Clay on coffee while there.  I ushered him into a right of passage (and regularity) I'm proud to say.  

      The next morning we headed out to the Musee D'Orsay, a 19th century extravaganza of French art.  Hollaaaaaa.  Good stuff.  Walking along the Seine we stumbled onto the start of a marathon where Latin American drummers pumped up the crowd with a pounding primal performance.  I think that is one of the best things about city life, you never know what you'll stumble onto.  The Musee D'Orsay was a real power house of art history and what's odd is that the heavy hitters aren't isolated on their own.  The blockbusters live amongst the other, quieter gems, one treasure after another.   Manet's "Le dejeuner sur l herbe" and Courbet's "Origin of the World" struck a high note for me.  There were these large leather resting couches that had tourists splayed out like hookers.  I gave them the stink eye, scorning them for their lack of manners until I laid in one.  I may have looked like a seal sunning itself.  Good thing seals don't wear red Pumas.  They don't have a great fashion sense, seals.

      A note on the food.  Those French?  They know how to make a proper salad.  I mentally noted how expensive they were at first but when I finally got one, it wasn't messin' round.  Cheese is like nothing else here too.  And croissants?  Yeah, I know what all the fuss is about now.  Young Angela kept complaining about how croissant flakes kept getting into her passport.  What a first world problem if I ever heard one.  Eclairs, tarts and macarons got my engine running too.  After a literal marathon of walking every single day, we shed any sense of guilt like heathens.  

   We hit up Notre Dame (those doors, ooh la la!), stumbled into a small little known gothic church right around the bend that slayed us with its' stained glass beauty, and later walked the catacombs in silent awe, after waiting another two hours in line of course.  Millions and millions of bones piled on top of each other to create a maze work of morbid architecture.  AND, no stink!  There were momento mori phrases scripted with the dates at every turn, a sort of macabre status update for the living- "hey ya'll, you gonna be dead and whatnot! #deathinparis #gonnadie"  I witnessed a dolt of a mother encouraging her little children to scroll graffiti on the ossuary walls.  I had the urge to shake her but I didn't want some French cow screaming at me so I thought better of it.   Then onto the Champs Elysees and walking past luxury shops I had no interest in, but a good place to scope out foolish heals on questionable stone walkways.  Boy I love me a near ankle fracture.  We topped the night off with cafe lattes and some Japanese food and me painfully trying and failing at chopsticks, and with noodles no less. Why is it I can paint with such intricacy and control but I can't handle a damn pair of chopsticks?  I stayed in that night with the kids out.  

     Our last day in Paris and we get duped into paying way too much for a continental breakfast.  We can argue but what's the point anyway?  The waiter will just pretend to not understand.  Oh well, off to an old cabinet of curiosities called Deyrolle.  The collector of oddities is catered to at this joint. It's the most extensive menagerie of taxidermy that I've ever seen in one place, and not some lame steam punk, sharp canine wearing, goth crap they celebrate on the Discovery Chanel.  I'm talking some real deal, 19th century French naturalist works of art kind of curio cabinet here.  Lions, tigers, elephants, ostriches, insects, snakes, you name it.  If it can be killed and preserved, it was there.  Drawers and drawers full of metallic scarabs and butterflies from far off lands to gawk at.  I'm glad we didn't have any vegetarians on the trip.  Awkward.  Setting out for the famous Pere Lachaisse cemetery we lamented at both leaving Paris and being ready to go to Italy.  The cemetery was as beautiful as expected, with family crypts that displayed both the reverence for the artistic tastes of its inhabitants as well as the lives they led.  Without really knowing who Oscar Wilde was, the kids insisted on hunting for his crypt, eager for a challenge.  We found it finally after listening to "what'd he write again?" There were lipstick kisses as far as height would allow.  My cherry Chapstick left nothing behind but admiration.  I'm sentimental thinking of it now.  It didn't occur to me how much of our visit to Paris centered around death. 

      A word on fashion:  EVERYBODY has a unique look here.  Chicks, dudes, old ladies WERK IT.  It seems that Parisians avoid athletic wear at all times.  Foreigners stick out because they wear labels in which the brand is plastered loudly all over everything.  Parisians seem to have an eclectic mix of fabrics but not print.  Very classic hair that is incredibly well groomed and sprayed but no real trendy cuts.  I didn't see an ugly, un-tailored coat while there at all.   No loud colors but always classic.  Lots of wools and cashmere.  No street athletic shoes either, sadly.  Boots are all the rage.  Paris struck me as very young, very fit and hardworking, reminding me a lot of Manhattan.  I didn't see that many people smoking.  I didn't find them too intimidating either.  I kept getting checked out by older men on the metro which lifted my insecurities a bit.  Hey, every little bit counts.

    On to Roma!

No Mas Jamon Por Favor

    This weekend our adventurous spirits took us to the city of Barcelona.  We take public transport here which can be a mixed bag.  It's very affordable, reliable and easy to navigate but inconvenient as we spend a lot of our time waiting.  I've never given a name to my vehicle and now I understand why people do.  I took her for granted.  I shall name the Malibu "Sheila" after the eighties pop song.  Look it up for a worthwhile throw back.  Barcelona is the largest metropolitan city I've been to on this trip so far.  It struck me as a very typical large city with every language spoken, gum in the sidewalks and very pretty men.  I mean, macho is not a thing here.  Quaffed hair with a bouffant, heavy cologne, scarf and gonad strangling pants are the uniform standard.  Even babies have skinny jeans or fashion tights and a pompadour here.  The people were very beautiful and fashionable in Barcelona.  Let's just say I feel very out of place and it's starting to affect my confidence.  I am going to take up running when I get back.  I've committed.  Either way I digress.  It was a very young city with lots of students and tons of tourists.  I was confused for a French woman twice, which I was seriously into.  Let's keep that going.  

     We started out our day from the Best Western Hotel and hopped a bus to the city center.  Our ride was fart filled, with some Spaniard storing up a weeks worth of farts to pass on our trip alone.  I thought it was an anomaly but later learned that it's a thing in Barcelona.  Lots of serial crop dusters on the metro, buses and taxis.  What a perfect opportunity to gas it up?  A small confined space where no one knows you?  Let it all out, all of it.  Every last bit. Can't beat three euro though to get from our door to the city center.  I'll endure six noxious farts for that any day.  We walked to the coastal entry and scoped a large pillar monument beautifully adorned with statuary (statues are huge in Barcelona- covering most buildings with figures which delights me to no end) where we took pictures and started a lengthy stroll on the famous Las Ramblas, a promenade that allows a middle steet view of day life in the city and apparently has a night life with lots of hookers.  I missed out on the hookers sadly.  PDA is also a thing here.  Long lingering tongue kisses and butt/booby/ham gropes are everywhere.  It's a very performative thing that makes all of us gawk but judge puritanically.   Fun stuff to watch the students grow accustomed to.  We stumbled into the most amazing open air market with absolutely spectacular arrangements of everything your heart might desire.  We snacked on fresh juices while gazing at fish, butchers, candy, fruit, tapas bars and everything else it had to offer.  My inner twelve year old kept repeating, "coooooool."  Actually, I probably said it out loud at least ten times.  Little things put me in awe here, not so much the big.

    Strolling the Ramblas we spied Art Nouveau buildings when I spotted a beacon that called to me.  Starbucks.  Holy God I miss my dear Starbucks.  I ordered a disappointing and flavorless mocha.  Sadness.  But any Starbucks is better than no Starbucks.  It was the first I had here.   I'll stick to the cafe con leche.  I'm a convert.  For lunch we munched on tapas that were overpriced but enjoyable while we hashed out a plan.  We decided to make way for the contemporary art museum and follow up with a trip to the aquarium.  We took at least an hour and a half to find a building a quarter mile away, but we stumbled into both the Arab and Asian neighborhoods which provided interesting visuals and a bit of that familiar frustration.  When you don't really speak Spanish or Catalan it's especially intimidating to ask for directions.  We found it hidden away on a side street though.  The contemporary art museum was an exhibition that simultaneously irritated me and perplexed my students.  I won't get into a diatribe about it but it did end on a good note with a compelling and beautiful video focusing on the life of shadow in the city and in 3D!  There were even those glasses.  Gotta love it.  We gassed up with some cafe con leche, hummus, pizza in an upstairs cafe near the university and had the most lovely server who we all fell quickly in love with.  It's always funny to see the impact of a kind and understanding face on the group.  They become a beautiful unicorn for us to dote over.   I vow to be equally helpful and patient to every foreigner in the States upon my return home.   Think I was before, but now I REALLY know why.

      We gathered our wits about us, lifted our sore feet and carried our heavy legs all the way to the aquarium.  The docks were littered with gorgeous sailboats and had the most pedestrian friendly promenade with outdoor art and palms.  I love that about Europe, so very walker friendly.  What can I say, the aquarium was full of fish.  Fish, fish and more fish.  But the Sharks didn't disappoint.  It was relaxing and intriguing.  I've never been to an aquarium.  We ended the night fairly early taking a taxi back to the hotel, the cabbie getting lost along the way ending the evening in the hotel restaraunt with seven Euro whiskey sours that were so strong we had to choke it down in shot form.  We struggled through it because damn it, that thing cost seven Euros.  Seven freaking Euros.  No waste in Europe.  No sleep til Brooklyn.

    The morning led us back to the bus and more fart filled adventure to the National Museum of Art of Catalunya.  That building exemplified the cultural accomplishments of the Western world.  What a building.  I've never had to walk up more steps or seen a more amazing facade in my life.  The fountains had a waterfall feature that dropped in tiers at least two hundred feet.  It seemed like an absolute beacon, an emblem of the triumph of Western art.  Like, beat. Us. Over. The. Heads.  This museum collection though?  Something else.  The Medieval, Renaissance and Baroque dropped the mic.  I was satisfied and my students really enjoyed it I think.  It made up for the dissapointing art experience of the prior day and then some.  From there the students spotted a mall across the street and God does a mall call to them like a siren.  So, we went to the mall.  THE MALL.  Here I am in EUROPE, and I've been to several malls.  Like three so far.  It's like crack to them.  We look for comforts that are familiar I guess.  For me?  It's a Starbucks and English speaking TV.  They love malls though.  The food court, the people, the clothes.  I'm a good sport, let's just end it there.  I suffer through it quietly before I write about it on the blog in judgement.  Thankfully though, the several hour experience led to viewing the diverse cross section of locals, a great fresh pasta lunch with a Nutella crepe and a human body exhibition.  Yeah, a real deal plastination cadaver exhibition in a mall.  Boy, those folks shrink right up like raisins.  It's jarring to see the little hairs on the eyelashes and genitals.  The folks who prepared the bodies are very considerate of what hair they choose to leave behind and to great effect.

      We hopped on the underground metro being warned about pick pockets from a proactive and concerned Spanish woman (thank God for these Angels btw) and headed to see a Gaudi church.  It was spectacularly ugly, sorry Gaudi fans but it's true.  I mean, wretch... What were they thinking?  I popped into a cafe when it started to pour rain and had the most delicious chai latte I've ever had.  I think I'll just move to Europe and write a guidebook for coffee house lovers.  No tenure for me.  Become the Sister Wendy of the Cafe world.  We took a taxi back to the hotel where a few of us stayed put having dinner in the restaraunt and hitting the sack early.  I spent both evenings chatting about life and friendships with easy, eager to laugh students.  

I write this as we descend on the beautiful city of Granada on a flight where we are packed in like sardines.  I look forward to a three euro, fart free bus ride back to my comfortable bed in Lanjaron.  

P.S. 1.   I've had so much ham on this trip I don't think I'll partake again back in the States for a long while.  The potato chips are even ham flavored.  I've started to think of human flesh every time I nosh on a tough piece of Jamon Serrano or Jamon York.  

2.  Trendy showers without curtains or doors should not be a thing.  I flooded our bathroom the first day with my jeans on the floor.  I had to walk around with soaking wet pants for a day.  Curse that.  

Burn Everything.

     Burn everything.  It's a plague.  It's like the 19th century round these parts and those with a weak constitution get left behind.  This week, Spanish influenza blew into the Hotel Espana, not really but I'm into sounding exotic these days.  But truly yes, the stomach flu hit a few of us hard.  First it was Trent who proclaimed with zeal early on in the trip that he never ever ever takes medications, even aspirin.  Poor chap.  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks Monday evening, after having some questionable stomach issues for the prior two days.  A terrible fever inflamed my body for about 15 hours, thankfully breaking later the next morning and enough violent expulsions to drop ten pounds easily.  Joe said that my sharp jawline could peal an apple.  God I love that man.  Now, we have a few with a weak-ish version of the illness and one student that has it pretty badly.  I've planned to burn everything in a bonfire when the tides turn.  Hopefully townsfolk don't turn up thinking its an old fashioned witch burning party.  We've seen a few places where that stuff went down, so truly, I'll keep the flames down so as not to entice.  

    So there it is.  My adventure for the week was spent making quick trips from my bed to the bano.  The only real Spanish I spoke was when I was yelling at the maid, sans bra and pants by the way, from my bed wailing "Soy enferma!"  and "No molestan!," with her insisting in Spanish something not as important regarding toilet paper.  Man, I really wish I'd have let her change the toilet paper.  

   

 Thoughts for the week.  

1.   I really appreciate internet accessible television series.  I have to buy them as I can't access my Netflix in Europe.  So praise the Goddess for iTunes.

2.  You never feel as far away from home as when you get sick seven thousand miles away from it.  Joe makes the best chicken noodle soup I've ever tasted.  A few days couch bound with little Frank on my lap, some bad TV and my husby attending to me would have made my year.  I'm a lucky woman.  

3.   Life goes on.  I missed two friends giving birth (sort of) while preparing for and coming out here.  My department is fighting for our viability in the dreaded college mergers.   And my husband is showing in a blue chip gallery in NYC.  And snow days.  I hear a lot about those this week.  I still listen to the dog bark and the birds chirp and the students laugh.  It's just that this week I did it from room 119, a room that De Lorca or Salvidor Dali might have stayed in.  

Next week?   Barcelona on our own!  Lots of travel coming up that I am looking forward to.