Roma.

We're preparing to head out tomorrow, after having spent our last days in Rome.  It's been raining on and off, but without great consequence -- we've been here before and seen most of the tourist destinations. Apart from some walks near the Colosseum and Forum, we've been visiting some of the quieter museums with art and antiquities of special interest to us.  The Galleria Nazionale D'Arte Moderna is a place of special interest, encompassing as it does art from the early 1800s to the present, and therefore has things of interest to every working artist.  One can only take so many crucifixions and Madonna-and-childs at a stretch, and we've seen plenty during the trip.

Fortunately Nancy found us a very good deal on our rooms here in Roma.  I say fortunately because most everything else here has proved quite expensive, especially the taxis and restaurants.  With the latter we've had to be vigilante for over-charging, both the integrated variety and the covert, and every meal out with a bill under 30-35 euro has been counted as a small victory.

Nancy and I think that this may have been our most enjoyable trip to Italy thus far, and I am confident it has been the most productive for me in doing research and photography for my work.  Our Italian skills have served well, perhaps apart for a few instances in south of Napoli where we were a bit flummoxed  by some local accents (and dialects?),

We think now that we have touched enough of the bases on the Italian peninsula, and assuming we can return in the next two or three years we will be happy to spend the entire visit in Lucca, in an apartment.  Apart from the savings of having a kitchen and a washing machine, and perhaps not renting a car, we felt most at peace in that situation.  It is a conceit, perhaps, but living in the guise of being residents --trying speak Italian as much as possible, eat local food, and dress and behave in a manner so as to be (we hope) inconspicuous -- is very gratifying to us.

Villa Adriana.

Heading for our final hotel stay, in Rome, we go for an overnight stay nearby to visit Hadrian's Villa. These one or two nights stays are getting old, like any "road trip" inevitably seems to, and we look back fondly at our calm, quiet weeks in the our apartment in Lucca.

I have seen these ruins once before, as a child, but it's another first for Nancy.  It's impressive in scale, of course, but we are again reminded of the poor state of Italian museum-craft.  There is usually now an English translation of signs and labels at major sites, for which we are grateful... but there is also a dogged refusal, apparently, to allow any native English speaker proof-read any text.  We assume is an result of some policy to employ only government-certified people for such tasks, who are likely local graduates of English programs who have passed exams scored by other Italians.

The text at Hadrian's Villa is particularly vexing, as it consists mostly of laundry-lists of architectural features, badly composed and overly-detailed, and almost nothing about how human beings might have utilized the buildings.  Perhaps this is intended to create revenue at the bookstore.

Paestum.

On our way back to Roma and our eventual departure, we made a rather involved side trip, partially along the coast, to spend two nights by the ruins at Paestum.  A site which is on the UN list of most important historical places in the world, has been occupied since prehistory, and features three of the most intact classical Greek temples existent, is managed by Italian authorities as if it were a cast-concrete dinosaur statue in the desert.  The cryptic entrance, parking facilities and ticket booth are staffed by (now, in the off-season, at least) a handful of locals in street clothes who seem to be anxious for their next chance to slip off for a coffee.  Neither the ticket office or the museum could break a fifty euro note, we had to resort to the nearest bar.  Despite an abundance of refrigerator magnets, reproduction urns and garden statues, beads and snow globes, no one had a decent tour guide in English to sell us.  The museum presentation, while undeniably filled with significant artifacts, had the look of having been put together quickly for an inspection a decade ago, and immediately begun to come unglued and unassembled, housed as it is in a building with a bad roof and intermittent climate-control.

The temples are amazing.  They might rival the Acropolis in Athens.  We were glad we went.

Filogaso.

We spent a few days in Calabria (toe of the boot of Italy) in and around my maternal grandmother's birthplace of Calabria.  It's on the ridge of a hill among olive groves and sheep pastures.  It's an ancient place, but on account of being leveled by earthquakes every century or so, there aren't a great number of old buildings.  In fact, the two addresses I found in old family birth records seem to be fairly modern buildings -- assuming the house numbers haven't been switched around in a 100 years, or the buildings completely remodeled, neither of which isn't a safe bet.
What we did find were friendly people, after a point.  We stood out here fairly obviously -- too tall, too pink, Nancy blonde -- and we attracted attention. On the main street, at the cemetery (looking for names) and at the church, people just approached us and asked who we were.

Our answer was well received: long conversations, handshakes (rare in the north) and even hugs and kisses (never, except from family, in the north) from old ladies.  Everyone wanted to know my family's surnames, everyone knew someone by that name.  The archivist at city hall was a bit more analytical, he quickly printed out all the records he had in his stacks and opined on other places to look.  "LaPiana," he said, was a name from Filogaso, but "Manduca" was from San Nicola di Crisso, the town on the next hilltop.

Our main obstacle was not cheats, or thieves, as people in Lucca had warned us about, but the falloff in our language comprehension.  What would have been a walk in the park north of Napoli became a rollercoaster in Calabria.  Our school Italian was always understood, but the other side came in many flavors.  Clerks and shopkeepers generally had an accented Italian available for us, but the old folks on the street could run on with very heavy accents and (we thought) some words taken from the regional dialect.  English was never on the table, except at our hotel in Vibo Valencia, the nearby city.

The land was much more verdant that we had excepted, at least at this time of year. Thunderstorms came and left, leaving sunny and warm, humid days.  We didn't see much abject poverty (like in Naples) but people did complain about a lack of jobs, especially for young people.  Many of the local business making building materials had shut down, and we saw an unusually large number of unfinished houses and apartments.

Sketchbook.

FYI, on my painting-related Facebook page I've posted some drawings from my "sketchbook."  I don't think you need to be a FB member to look.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/James-Crandall-Paintings/216511562090?ref=ts#!/album.php?aid=243219&id=216511562090

Pompei.

We arrived at our pre-booked hotel in Pompei (the town, not the Roman ruins), and soon after the Casali's would arrive to share a few days with us.  Not as soon as expected, though, as Vivienne's train was stopped just outside of Napoli by garbage-collection/disposal protesters looking to create a problem during rush-hour traffic.  She waited in a rather uncomfortable part of town, as we contemplated various rescue schemes -- negotiating a taxi ride for her, or taking our car to retrieve her.  In the end she was brought to a nearby station by bus.  Roland arrived from Roma in time for pizza.

The next day was dedicated to exploring the ruins at Pompei.  I had seen it as a child, Vivienne also, but it was a new experience for both Roland and Nancy.  It was huge and impressive, of course, and relatively few visitors.  We didn't see every significant building but we walked until our feet gave out - several hours.  At breakfast the next day we learned that one of the buildings at the site had collapsed in the early morning hours.  I swear we had nothing to do with it, despite the fact that I seem to have taken photos of the building just hours before...



Next on the agenda: a drive along the Amalfi coast, which I would classify as an once-in-a-lifetime experience - because it only needs to be done once.  Even with the somewhat shortened route we took, it was hours of tortuous driving for Roland.  Towards the end we had an expensive but good lunch in Amalfi itself.  The place was brimming with shops and restaurants for tourists, but also seemed to be full of everyday local activity as well.  And it was extraordinary setting.
Roland tipped a local elder in the main parking area by the harbor for advice on a good place to eat, and was a bit chagrined to see this same fellow bussing tables at the designated restaurant when we ate there an hour or so later.  This was chalked up to the customary guile of the Neapolitans.

Next day we're on the train into Napoli to see Herculanium.  There are some marginal neighborhoods to walk through, but the site itself is impressive, with more of a sense of being a "dig," below grade, than in Pompei.  The famous tangle of bodies we remembered from Nat'l Geo, however, had been removed and stored away.  On the promised of seeing more artifacts we boarded another train to see the archeological museum in the heart of Napoli/Naples.

The subway stop left us off blocks from the place, walking through largely-deserted streets on a Sunday afternoon.  Litter and garbage are everywhere, Italians seem to have been largely supplanted by Russians and Sri Lankans, and the grand Neoclassical buildings around us seem to be shedding plaster and stone as we watch.  When we arrive at our destination we find that half of the exhibits in the museum are closed, including most of the ones that would have interested us.  There is no food or drink available for blocks around.  By general acclamation we decide to call it a day and plan on a nice dinner out back in Pompei.  We have long since lost track of how many times Roland has referred to this entire metropolitan area as a sh-t-hole (a judgement, which, in fairness, he has asserted from the beginning).

We get on almost the right train to Pompei, and are 2 stops down the line towards Sorrento before we think to get off.  Unfortunately we find ourselves on a bare landing, not a station, in a marginal outlying area 5 km from our hotel (thanks iPhone Maps).  We contemplate hoofing it, but just as darkness is falling a kind stranger joins us and informs us that we are better off waiting a few more minutes for the train going in the opposite direction.


Photos:
Pompei: Roland, Vivienne, Nancy walking towards the Forum area:
Pompei: I am fairly sure the tall building to the left is the one that would collapse several hours later - I bet this woman would like a copy of this!  Compare to:
http://napoli.repubblica.it/cronaca/2010/11/06/foto/pompei_crolla_la_domus_dei_gladiatori-8816475/3/

Vivienne and Roland, a rest stop on the coast drive;
Jim in Amalfi; Amalfi near sundown: Naples above, Herculanium below; Roland retreating through the streets of Naples (B&W, street photography style)

Landed at Anzio.

We are preparing to take Naples tomorrow.  Our original plan called for us to bivouac at Lido di Ostia, outside Rome, but we met with some resistance and decided to drive south along the coast.  Late in the day we established a HQ at Hotel Lidogarda, near the beach.  Not as luxurious as Villa Ilaria in Lucca, but still with cable TV and free internet.

A couple more nights in Lucca.

After Jeanne caught her plane for home, we came back to Lucca -- just and hour or so away -- for a casual pizza night with Gabriella and Vivianna.  When we arrived, it had blossomed into another fairly large gathering: Gabriella and Pietro, Vivianna, Manuella and Mario -- and Luanna, dressed to the nines!  We suppose now that we are liked rather than just tolerated as visiting relatives, and it's a good feeling.

We got such a good deal at the Villa Ilaria, and feel so comforted to be back in Lucca and away from the throngs of tourists in Florence, we decided to stay an extra night.  Just two days to drive to Napoli to meet up with R. & V. Casali, but things will slow down again once we are there.  I am anxious to see if they have snow globes of Pompeii.

Fiesole.

Back at Fiesole, we have a very good meal at a recommended restaurant.  The staff is not quite charming, but they're very busy.

The next morning, at our hotel on the hill, the rain has begun in earnest.  No one is inclined to go to the big town in a downpour, and we instead check out the Etruscan / Roman ruins in Fiesole, and visit the associated museum.  The excavated amphitheatre, baths, and temple ruins appear to do double duty as community concert venue and outdoor gallery, and are festooned with many modern sculptures by the same artist.  They're nicely done, various torsos, heads, and hands artfully distressed, pierced, disarticulated, and with vaguely homosexual overtones.  We admire them but don't quite understand why they're here.

 The expensive museum tickets  (10 euros a head)  and a mediocre lunch with rude service (pasta, glass of wine and coffee costing each of us about 17 euros) leaves us thinking that this little town on the hill, formerly a "secret" refuge for savvy travelers, has now taken it's place as a full partner in the tourist trade of Florence.


Photos: The Roman amphitheatre, sporting a giant metal hand at its focus (just because); A gauntlet of hands leading a large head (what better to relate to an excavated bath complex); Two figures, two heads, that makes sense (point of view chosen to retain "kid-friendly" rating).

Florence / Firenze

We backtrack to Florence, where we'll be staying a couple of nights in anticipation of Jeanne's flight out of Vespucci airport on Monday.  Rain is threatening, so we take the bus down form our hotel in Fiesole to take a walk around.  Despite it's being late October, the historical center of town is still crowded with tourists, throngs around the Duomo, shopping on Via Roma, a packed mass shuffling across the Ponte Vecchio.  A passing American woman squarks in a loud voice "...and I simply MUST have my roasted chestnuts before we go..!."  It's a bit overwhelming.  We split up for a while, then meet up on the steps of the church in Piazza Santa Croce, which is somewhat less crowded but incongruously filled a collection of "bounce house" type amusements with their growling generator-inflators.