Unlucky for some
Apr. 13th, 2007 02:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mistletoeOOOooo Friday 13th is upon us. I'm superstitious but I can still type with my fingers crossed. It's unlucky for Ireland who are currently getting thrashed by Australia. Men against boys poor souls. It's not worth giving a score because it's changing by the minute. 12 for 4 anyway at the moment.
Now, where was I?
Off to the shops now to put some pics in for developing from my other camera and to get a new watch battery. Tomorrow: Good Friday and the journey home.
Now, where was I?
Maundy Thursday and the Pope is washing feet at the church which is his seat in Rome, St John Lateran. But we are at breakfast getting the low down on the shocking scenes at the Stadio Olimpico the previous evening from a Norwegian Man Utd fan who was there with his girlfriend. He pulled no punches, nor apparently did the Italian police. He had come out at half time with an escort and was going to protest to Uefa about what had happened to the fans. He's on firm ground as one of his friends is the Norwegian representative to UEFA (that's the governing body of European football.) Anyway we told him what Italian telly had shown.
Incidentally, how crap is Italian telly? Nothing but game shows, news and dubbed films. Telly Toscana was great in comparison with an hilarious news anchor wifey that looked like someone's grandma, sub-titled films like National Velvet and South American football.
Onto the Metro and a bit further afield to the Pyramide and the Protestant Cemetery. We found the Pyramid, a bit hard to miss really but we were off our map now and so had to guess where to go from there. We walked around in a bit of a circle before we spotted a local. 'Cemetery?' Pat enquired. The woman looked bamboozled. 'Protestanti' I helpfully added and she pointed to the big brick wall 10 yards behind us. That was easy then. 6 words in Italian so far and they've all proved key!
Inside was a bit problematic as we were only looking for two graves and the place was massive. Who knew there were so many Protestants in Rome? Actually it's a bit of a misnomer as people who are buried just aren't Catholic; they could be anything else, even atheist. The signs weren't very helpful: one pointing to the left for Keats and one pointing up for Shelley. So we wandered aimlessly for quite a while until we decided to just look at Shelley's. He was right at the top, next to the wall. At least, what was left after the cremation on the beach and a few years in storage was. Mary wanted him buried beside their son but the grave couldn't be found so they put him in this bit.
Quote is from The Tempest and quite appropriate for someone who drowned. He was identified by his socks and in his pocket was a copy of Keats' poems turned to The Eve of St Agnes.
Coming back down I went into the Visitors information Centre which only had guides in German but Pat had spotted an archway, and several cats, through which the little sign pointed. This part was much more sparsely peopled with graves and Keats was along at the end with his friend Joseph Severn, an artist who looked after him in his last illness when they lived in the house by the Spanish steps. People had left things on the grave like a Grecian urn with 'In Truth lies beauty, Beauty truth' on it. It was quiet and very moving. Only two other people were there. Took some pictures and rested on the handy bench for a cigarette and contemplation.
This is me and Keats. The epitaph was all that he wanted to be written on the stone but Severn added the rest. He lived for another 50 years but was buried next to his young friend because that is what he wanted.
Nice, if cheesy, acrostic plaque on the wall.
The other people were an old American guy and his Italian friend. We got talking when he asked me how old Keats was when he died. '25' I said. The guy was surprised that one so young could have produced such poems. He also revealed he recognised us as he was staying at the same hotel. His friend had come to take him out for the day and he kept getting quite teary at the kindness of this old friend. He had also visited Keats home at Hampstead Heath and was obviously quite an Anglophile. He was really nice.
We eventually wandered off, and I forgot to take a picture of the Pyramid (sorry). It was built for Gaius Cestius who had spent time in Egypt. He promised his slaves their freedom on his death and they built it in 330 days.
Out of the cemetery and now an attempt to spot how to find the Trastevere district when we were off the map. We set off and found a street guide which showed we were heading in the wrong direction. So we turned round and walked along a very long street, passing another map that confirmed we were going the right way. Sure enough a bridge appeared and we managed to get across the road with great difficulty. After getting lost and ending up back where we started for the only time on the holiday even though we were now back on the map we eventually found the main street. Our plan had been to eat here but by now it was after 2 and everywhere was shut. Fortunately, we crossed the road and found an open trattoria. I had some very nice canneloni and a beer. Pat had lasagne. We sat there for a bit deafened by a cd of the Italian version of Barry Manilow. Other diners turned out to be off duty policemen having lunch as we discovered when they got into their cop cars and drove off.
Then, up the street beside the trattoria where we stopped for delicious ice cream. I had a tub of crema and limone. Divine. On up the street and there was a small piazza featuring Santa Maria in Trastevere. It was shut till 4 but we didn't have long to wait, so we sat on the fountain steps and watched the world go by. This included a funeral, some carabinieri and assorted tourists. We spotted a memorial on the wall with a laurel wreath and the Rome colours on a ribbon. This turned out to be for inhabitants of the area who had died fighting as partisans in World War 2. Pat, who collects war memorials, took a picture.
The church was built here as the result of a miracle. A spring of oil burst out when Christ was born and a religious building has stood here ever since. The interior is 13th century and here is some of it.
I liked the sheep paying homage to the lamb of God. A bit blurry because of the zoom shake effect.
Most of the mosaics are scenes from the life of Mary.
Very nice church. We stopped off at a couple of souvenir shops and Pat got some postcards. Now to find our way back to a Metro station, hopefully Colosseo. Crossing the double bridge at the Isola di Tevere we had a disaster. Checking the map at a road crossing that was actually controlled by a policeman, Pat failed to see a giant kerbstone and went full length onto the road, giving herself a tremendous shaking up. The policeman was very solicitous but there was nothing to be done about severe bruising. To cap it all it started to rain. We tried to go into St Bartolomeo church but they were just about to start the 6 o'clock service so we came out. On up the road, limping and a little hazy on direction especially as several roads were blocked off by digging. So we cut our losses and headed through an archaeological site. As a result we saw several very nice arches and the Marcellus theatre.
A bit further on we passed Santa Maria Commedin and I was able to take this photo to go with my fridge magnet that I bought at the Spanish Steps. The gates were locked hence the dodgy angle.
It's actually a drain cover as the cloaca grande (ancient giant sewer ) is nearby
Up the hill and there was the Circus Massimo. Ben Hur wouldn't recognise it as it is just a grassy arena with a few big stones. What a shame. This provoked a discussion about the name of the Welsh actor who was the Arab horse dealer in the film. We eventually remembered Huw Griffiths as we trudged up the hill. At last, the red M hove into view and we finally boarded the Metro which was heaving.
At our end we stopped off at the supermarket for supplies of salami, bread and cheese for tea. What an exhausting day. Pat's bruises were already spectacular.
Here's a shot from the telly gantry that I forgot to put in the Colosseum bit.
Incidentally, how crap is Italian telly? Nothing but game shows, news and dubbed films. Telly Toscana was great in comparison with an hilarious news anchor wifey that looked like someone's grandma, sub-titled films like National Velvet and South American football.
Onto the Metro and a bit further afield to the Pyramide and the Protestant Cemetery. We found the Pyramid, a bit hard to miss really but we were off our map now and so had to guess where to go from there. We walked around in a bit of a circle before we spotted a local. 'Cemetery?' Pat enquired. The woman looked bamboozled. 'Protestanti' I helpfully added and she pointed to the big brick wall 10 yards behind us. That was easy then. 6 words in Italian so far and they've all proved key!
Inside was a bit problematic as we were only looking for two graves and the place was massive. Who knew there were so many Protestants in Rome? Actually it's a bit of a misnomer as people who are buried just aren't Catholic; they could be anything else, even atheist. The signs weren't very helpful: one pointing to the left for Keats and one pointing up for Shelley. So we wandered aimlessly for quite a while until we decided to just look at Shelley's. He was right at the top, next to the wall. At least, what was left after the cremation on the beach and a few years in storage was. Mary wanted him buried beside their son but the grave couldn't be found so they put him in this bit.
Quote is from The Tempest and quite appropriate for someone who drowned. He was identified by his socks and in his pocket was a copy of Keats' poems turned to The Eve of St Agnes.
Coming back down I went into the Visitors information Centre which only had guides in German but Pat had spotted an archway, and several cats, through which the little sign pointed. This part was much more sparsely peopled with graves and Keats was along at the end with his friend Joseph Severn, an artist who looked after him in his last illness when they lived in the house by the Spanish steps. People had left things on the grave like a Grecian urn with 'In Truth lies beauty, Beauty truth' on it. It was quiet and very moving. Only two other people were there. Took some pictures and rested on the handy bench for a cigarette and contemplation.
This is me and Keats. The epitaph was all that he wanted to be written on the stone but Severn added the rest. He lived for another 50 years but was buried next to his young friend because that is what he wanted.
Nice, if cheesy, acrostic plaque on the wall.
The other people were an old American guy and his Italian friend. We got talking when he asked me how old Keats was when he died. '25' I said. The guy was surprised that one so young could have produced such poems. He also revealed he recognised us as he was staying at the same hotel. His friend had come to take him out for the day and he kept getting quite teary at the kindness of this old friend. He had also visited Keats home at Hampstead Heath and was obviously quite an Anglophile. He was really nice.
We eventually wandered off, and I forgot to take a picture of the Pyramid (sorry). It was built for Gaius Cestius who had spent time in Egypt. He promised his slaves their freedom on his death and they built it in 330 days.
Out of the cemetery and now an attempt to spot how to find the Trastevere district when we were off the map. We set off and found a street guide which showed we were heading in the wrong direction. So we turned round and walked along a very long street, passing another map that confirmed we were going the right way. Sure enough a bridge appeared and we managed to get across the road with great difficulty. After getting lost and ending up back where we started for the only time on the holiday even though we were now back on the map we eventually found the main street. Our plan had been to eat here but by now it was after 2 and everywhere was shut. Fortunately, we crossed the road and found an open trattoria. I had some very nice canneloni and a beer. Pat had lasagne. We sat there for a bit deafened by a cd of the Italian version of Barry Manilow. Other diners turned out to be off duty policemen having lunch as we discovered when they got into their cop cars and drove off.
Then, up the street beside the trattoria where we stopped for delicious ice cream. I had a tub of crema and limone. Divine. On up the street and there was a small piazza featuring Santa Maria in Trastevere. It was shut till 4 but we didn't have long to wait, so we sat on the fountain steps and watched the world go by. This included a funeral, some carabinieri and assorted tourists. We spotted a memorial on the wall with a laurel wreath and the Rome colours on a ribbon. This turned out to be for inhabitants of the area who had died fighting as partisans in World War 2. Pat, who collects war memorials, took a picture.
The church was built here as the result of a miracle. A spring of oil burst out when Christ was born and a religious building has stood here ever since. The interior is 13th century and here is some of it.
I liked the sheep paying homage to the lamb of God. A bit blurry because of the zoom shake effect.
Most of the mosaics are scenes from the life of Mary.
Very nice church. We stopped off at a couple of souvenir shops and Pat got some postcards. Now to find our way back to a Metro station, hopefully Colosseo. Crossing the double bridge at the Isola di Tevere we had a disaster. Checking the map at a road crossing that was actually controlled by a policeman, Pat failed to see a giant kerbstone and went full length onto the road, giving herself a tremendous shaking up. The policeman was very solicitous but there was nothing to be done about severe bruising. To cap it all it started to rain. We tried to go into St Bartolomeo church but they were just about to start the 6 o'clock service so we came out. On up the road, limping and a little hazy on direction especially as several roads were blocked off by digging. So we cut our losses and headed through an archaeological site. As a result we saw several very nice arches and the Marcellus theatre.
A bit further on we passed Santa Maria Commedin and I was able to take this photo to go with my fridge magnet that I bought at the Spanish Steps. The gates were locked hence the dodgy angle.
It's actually a drain cover as the cloaca grande (ancient giant sewer ) is nearby
Up the hill and there was the Circus Massimo. Ben Hur wouldn't recognise it as it is just a grassy arena with a few big stones. What a shame. This provoked a discussion about the name of the Welsh actor who was the Arab horse dealer in the film. We eventually remembered Huw Griffiths as we trudged up the hill. At last, the red M hove into view and we finally boarded the Metro which was heaving.
At our end we stopped off at the supermarket for supplies of salami, bread and cheese for tea. What an exhausting day. Pat's bruises were already spectacular.
Here's a shot from the telly gantry that I forgot to put in the Colosseum bit.
Off to the shops now to put some pics in for developing from my other camera and to get a new watch battery. Tomorrow: Good Friday and the journey home.
