Today’s blog was supposed to be about history. You can’t walk through the streets of ancient Rome without thinking about history. But like most things in Italy, the schedule changed and yesterday became "Art Day". So sorry folks. No “History Day” today. Here’s what happened to change the schedule.
My friend Pasquale’s sister Antonietta in Torino (Turin) had a friend Loredana in Prato (near the other ancient city of Florence which the natives call Firenze) who was coming to Rome with her friend Stella (finally a name I can spell) to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at Scuderie del Quirinale. (Quirinale as you might remember from your Latin is one of the seven hills of Rome. Of course you don’t really get a feel for the hill until you walk from the MAXII Gallery on the other side of Rome in 90 degree heat, on crooked black cobblestones that look and feel like shiny charcoal rocks,
up the Quirinale Hill, until you finally reach the 100 stairs that lead you to the top of the Piazza Quirinale—where there were more people waiting in line for the Kahlo exhibit than there were living on the Island of Tiberina in the Tiber River where Rome got started around 500 years before Christ.) Whew!
up the Quirinale Hill, until you finally reach the 100 stairs that lead you to the top of the Piazza Quirinale—where there were more people waiting in line for the Kahlo exhibit than there were living on the Island of Tiberina in the Tiber River where Rome got started around 500 years before Christ.) Whew!
It’s easy to see how someone could hallucinate in such heat. Legend has it that Romulus and Remus were two lost children who were cared for by a she-wolf and a woodpecker before founding Rome. They must have been two tough kids. But alas, that’s just so much coffee Gelata plopped on the cobblestones. Turns out some Greek people emigrated to Tiberina after they got away from all the fighting between Troy and Sparta. It was the usual squabbles: The Trojans and Spartans were trying to steal each other's stuff and women and enslave the other guys. So a Trojan guy named Aeneas (ya I thought so too) went to the Island (Isola) of Tiberina in Italy. Living on an island was a good idea in those days. It provided water, transportation for trade and protection from attacking barbarians. There were nasty Etruscan to the north of Tiberina who kept trying to steal the Roman's stuff and their women and make the men slaves. Come to think of it, if you read my Paris blog last year, that's exactly what the Romans did to the Parisi’s living on the Île de la Cité in the Seine River in France hundreds of years later. Border fences work only so long, and if you develop culture, you tend to institute spear control legislation, relax the alcohol laws, and become sitting ducks for takeover. But enough of that. This is no longer History Day. So don’t even ask what the Romans did to their kin in Florence, what the kin did to each other and why we were bombing the Germans there in 1943. The big mafia bombing in Florence in 1993? Don’t ask I said. I told you. History day has been cancelled. A "Power to the People’s Day Blog" is scheduled for Wednesday, if there is no strike.
Back to Art Day. What’s the MAXXI Gallery you ask? It’s a play on words. It’s a modern art museum. (21st century, you know, the Roman Numerals XXI? Never mind.) How did we get there? I’m not sure. It was lost in the translation. Turns out a modern architect named Gaetano Pesce had an exhibit there
and that’s where Pasquale was to meet his sisters’ friends Loredana and Stella. It was Ilaria & Tullio we were supposed to meet at the Kahlo exhibit. Kahlo was a pre-feminist feminist painter, hopelessly in love with her painter husband Diego Rivera. Her stuff was just sad. Of course she spent a long time in a body cast and lived in Philadelphia. That would depress anyone.
I missed that schedule change. Thus the long walk to Quirinelle and the huge crowds. Miraculously, Ilario and Tullio were in line already and we snuck in with them. It all felt like a divine plan. One of those Renaissance paintings where the saints save you, rather than one of those post-modern novels where everything is confused in the end. Speaking of confusion, they say "All roads lead to Rome," but when you’re in Rome, they either go up and down or around in circles. On my first day in Rome, I visited Piazza Navonna three time on my way to the Pantheon.
Turns out Pesce is a cool guy. As soon as you enter MAXII, you see a big stuffed couch with fluffy tentacles instead of cushions, so when you sit, you get engulfed by soft, warm hugs. It’s easy falling asleep on a regular couch while watching baseball. If you are watching soccer, you need more of a caccoon to induce sleep.
and that’s where Pasquale was to meet his sisters’ friends Loredana and Stella. It was Ilaria & Tullio we were supposed to meet at the Kahlo exhibit. Kahlo was a pre-feminist feminist painter, hopelessly in love with her painter husband Diego Rivera. Her stuff was just sad. Of course she spent a long time in a body cast and lived in Philadelphia. That would depress anyone.I missed that schedule change. Thus the long walk to Quirinelle and the huge crowds. Miraculously, Ilario and Tullio were in line already and we snuck in with them. It all felt like a divine plan. One of those Renaissance paintings where the saints save you, rather than one of those post-modern novels where everything is confused in the end. Speaking of confusion, they say "All roads lead to Rome," but when you’re in Rome, they either go up and down or around in circles. On my first day in Rome, I visited Piazza Navonna three time on my way to the Pantheon.
Turns out Pesce is a cool guy. As soon as you enter MAXII, you see a big stuffed couch with fluffy tentacles instead of cushions, so when you sit, you get engulfed by soft, warm hugs. It’s easy falling asleep on a regular couch while watching baseball. If you are watching soccer, you need more of a caccoon to induce sleep.
That’s pasquale in the Soccer configuration and me in the Baseball one.
That wasn’t the only cool chair there:
There were a bunch go other nice exhibits too.
A mobile to die for:
Some weird looking guys.
Some playing with heights:
Some playing with heights:
All in all it was a busy Art Day. Here’s Pasquale’s gang of friends after the exhibits, Boy-Gargoyle-Girl-Boy-Girl-Girl-Boy at Piazza La Rotunda (The Pantheon), before they all jumped on trains home (except of course the gargoyle and two of the boys).
Still to come in future Blogs: What amazing thing happened on the streets the last night we were in Rome that involved a German-Italian, a Neopolitan-Italian, a Roman-Italian, an Italian-American, a Guatemalan femme, a waiter, a restaurant owner, a guitar, singers, spaghetti Pomodora and free Lemonciello drinks all around until the streets closed up outside Piazza Navona.
Not to mention "Arriving in Naples." (Mentioning something after you profess not to mention is is little like punching someone in the nose and saying "Would you like me to not give you one of these?" But only a little. because you could duck the punch. What are you going to do now, forget i said it? Fugghettaboutit. It's out there in the either. Put something cold on it and maybe it won't sell in your mind.
The worst part (If anything can be worse than being accosted by a not-to-mention) is that I arrived in Naples, stayed a while and departed, but i haven't written the blog yet. I may never do it. And now your stuck with the info you didn't get. Your life will never be the same. it's as if Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon, fell off his horse and drowned. No more Caesar. No brutus to spit on (You know et tu Brutus, sorry for that) and no more Marc Antony. You buy a free Blog, you takes your chances.
The worst part (If anything can be worse than being accosted by a not-to-mention) is that I arrived in Naples, stayed a while and departed, but i haven't written the blog yet. I may never do it. And now your stuck with the info you didn't get. Your life will never be the same. it's as if Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon, fell off his horse and drowned. No more Caesar. No brutus to spit on (You know et tu Brutus, sorry for that) and no more Marc Antony. You buy a free Blog, you takes your chances.
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