I have a confession. Despite having lived in Italy for nearly three years and having studied Italian off and on for a number of years, I have a long way to go before I can consider myself fully fluent in the language.
There has been one time, however, when I felt really confident about my Italian skills. That was the time I took an Italian immersion course.
To ring in the New Year, my family and I rented a farmhouse for a few days on the outskirts of Ferrara. Thinking back to the trip, the timing wasn’t ideal. Ferrara was freezing and on New Year’s Eve, the fog was so thick on our drive into town to watch the fireworks over Castello Estense that we wondered if we should even go out at all. Continue reading Five Favorite Flavors From Ferrara and Modena
You can visit Torino without tasting a Bicerin, but then you’d be going against the advice of noted gastronome Alexandre Dumas.
The writer who was best known for his novels The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo was also publisher of L’Indipendente, a Neapolitan newspaper that supported Italian Unification, as well as the compiler of Le Grand Dictionnaire De Cuisine, an exhaustive compendium of recipes, ingredient definitions, and food anecdotes published posthumously in 1873.
Dumas, who visited Torino during the Risorgimento (early 1860s), said:
“I will never forget Bicerin, an excellent drink consisting of coffee, milk and chocolate that is served in all the coffee shops.”
The grey felt cap adorned with a black raven feather worn by old northern Italian men and some modern-day camouflaged troops is known as the Cappello Alpino. This recognizable cap signifies that the wearer is or was a member of the Alpini, an elite corps of the Italian army that is most closely associated with World War I and is the oldest mountain infantry in the world. Continue reading Italy’s Alpini Corps: The Traditions Beyond the Feathered Cap
Reflection is part of the prescription for moving from one year into the next. So while I wanted to write a year-end round-up a month ago, I realized that such an article would not fully capture the joys, sorrows, and idiosyncrasies of being an expat resident and traveler in Italy.
Five is an arbitrary number, of course. I’ve learned far more than five lessons learned while living in Rome and traveling throughout Italy. But here are a few of the important ones:
If you tell a Roman that you are going Paestum for the weekend, invariably he or she will tell you: “Make sure you pick up some mozzarella di bufala.”
Paestum is a sight to see without the culinary pit stop. A city known as “Poseidonia” when it was part of Magna Grecia, Paestum is home to three extraordinarily preserved Greek (Doric) temples that date from 600 to 450BC. The two temples to Hera and the temple to Athena sit on a wide, grassy plot of land that is much easier to navigate than the not-too-distant Pompeii, the more famous ruins an hour north of here. Continue reading A Little Greek / Yogurt in Paestum
Since ancient times, man has been interested in anatomy — how muscles and bones function and fit together and how the body works. But it wasn’t until the Renaissance that the study of anatomy really took off, thanks in large part to the printing press, which helped anatomists, illustrators, scientists, and physicians get on the same page (pun intended). Continue reading A Special Harvest: Anatomical Theaters in Italy
When you are the parent of young kids, you often find unusual things in your pockets. After a while, you get used to sticking your hand in your coat and finding a toy car or an action figure. For the past several months, I’ve been carrying around an unopened tube of Veronese Green* paint.
Back in the fall, I bought a tube like the one above for my six-year-old son, who draws (mostly animals and Marvel superheroes) first thing in the morning and first thing when he gets home from school. Leo usually uses markers or crayons and has only used paint a few times. Still, I bought him the Veronese Green because it was such a complex shade to be included among the simple reds, yellows, and blues.
For some reason, I never took the tube of paint out of my pocket. Rather, on walks during the grey days of winter, I would pull out the tube from my pocket to spot-check things that appeared to be the same color.
Trying to decide if a travel experience is authentic or not is like trying to separate “travelers” from “tourists.” That debate separates those who travel along class and age lines, with travelers proclaiming their experiences better, richer, more true than those of the tourists. There’s even a famous quote by G.K. Chesterton that delineates these two types of travelers: “The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.” Labeling travel experiences as “authentic” works in the same way.
A quick Googling of “authentic Italy” returns 90,400,000 results as of this writing (that’s almost twice the entire current population of Italy) and ranges from recipes (lots of recipes) to group package holidays to farmhouse retreats. I could even find a few bus tours that peddled in the words “real Italy.” The point is that “authentic” and “real” are buzzwords, especially in these days of online trip advising, when the right words will bring more visitors to your website. (I would say that we writers of the Roundtable are guilty of this with this month’s topic. The term authentic Italy comes up too often for us to ignore it.)
So what does make a trip to Italy authentic? How can you make sure that you are living your best travel life, making all the right moves, and doing as the Romans do? I don’t think you can — and that’s ok!
I’ve traveled through Italy in all sorts of combinations: alone, with American girlfriends, with my boyfriend, with my mother, with Italian friends, with my husband and two kids. I’ve lived here twice, first as an au pair with an Italian family and now with my own Italian-American family. Along the way, I’ve explored the “hidden” villages and backstreets, dined at holes-in-the-wall, and immersed myself in the local culture. I’ve also made a lot of mistakes and eaten at plenty of crappy restaurants. Those things happen even when I’m stateside.
While I haven’t, like a few of my Roundtable colleagues, married an Italian and/or started and inn, I have felt that each of my experiences here have been both touristy and authentic. Recently I’ve even turned the concept of authentic on its head, as I’ve become a regular at a very touristy pub that’s near where my son takes weekly music lessons. The bartenders – a young Bangladeshi guy who moved to Rome at age six and speaks flawless Italian and two twenty-something Italian guys who run beers and glasses of wine to British, American, Australian, and German tourists all day – seem delighted to see a familiar face each week. Those three are as hospitable and as “authentic” a representation of Rome’s modern demographics as anywhere else in the city. I’m not saying that you’ll have the same experience. But I am saying that authenticity can encompass a lot.
I think one of the problems of expecting authenticity when we travel is that we are wrapping it into a fantasy of what our trip should be. Rows of Tuscan cypresses, singing Venetian gondoliers, and picture-perfect Amalfi Coast sunsets all figure into our Italian travel dreams or they do at some point. For those who want to delve a little further, there are the Agriturismo (farmhouses) and Airbnb contacts that allow you to live a little bit more among the locals. But make no mistake: you are in Italy to see things and to feel things that you can’t at home. There is a fantasy. While fantasies can become realities, they dwell in a space that is the opposite of authentic. Like the Chesterton quote above, we are, like tourists, coming to see what we planned to see. “Authentic Italy” is all of that but more.
As Robert Reid wrote recently, “No one agrees what’s truly ‘authentic’ about a place. But if you’re near fudge or taffy, you’re probably not where it’s at.” While I do believe authenticity is everywhere in Italy, there are definitely ways that you can travel here and miss it. Try as they might, huge coach tours that whisk visitors around from place to place to show them what they came to see are not where to find authentic Italy. You have to get down on the ground and do some of the seeing for yourself. Seeing what you see, not just what you came to see. That also means stepping back from the camera viewfinder or iPhone to soak in the atmosphere. Look up, look down, look across the horizon. Try to chat with people, even if you can only muster a “buongiorno” or a “ciao.”
I recently stood in a spot that overlooked the Forum, in the Tabularium that connects the Palazzo dei Conservatori and the Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums. It was quiet there until a young tourist walked up next to me and aimed her camera. Click click click click click click click. She did a machine gun burst of photos of the panorama that lay before us then walked away. She’s going to see what she came to see when she gets home and edits all of her photos. I just hoped she took the time to enjoy herself and Rome before she edited out the parts that didn’t fit into the narrative of her trip.
This month the Italy Roundtable is publishing posts on authenticity in conjunction with COSI, another group of Italy-focused writers. If you’ve ever wanted to read a lot of takes on “authentic Italy,” here’s your chance!
The first time I realized that my obscure knowledge of Rome had really sunk in was in the early to mid-aughts. Friends of mine had returned from a family wedding in the Italian capital. Specifically, the ceremony had been held at San Silvestro in Capite.
“That’s where they keep the reliquary of the head of John the Baptist,” I said, gleefully. I had most certainly been drinking but I was still impressed with my recall. My friends and I had a chuckle over my delight as we talked more about Rome and its macabre monuments.
For as long as I’ve been attracted to Rome and Italy, I’ve been interested in some of the more gruesome aspects of its history: its slaughter of animals during Colosseum spectacles, the chapels that contain body parts and whole bodies of saints. When you walk into Rome’s churches, you are literally walking on graves. And when you stroll through any part of this ancient city, you are stepping on top of sites where many people, from gladiators to Christians to non-believers, met their ends. Images and reminders of death are everywhere here, which is probably one of the reasons Rome’s citizens have developed a coping mechanism – a zest for life – over the years.
These are heavy things to think about. But Rome’s past is especially fresh in my mind these days when it is hard to turn on the television or open the paper (or browser tab) without learning about the latest horrible way that a human has died at the hands of another human or group of humans. There is no need for me to provide a link to any of these news stories; everyone knows what I’m talking about. But still it has been hard to square my interest in the minutiae of Rome’s destructive past with the horrors of today.
Just a visit to some of well-known tourist stops in Rome remind me of current events. San Silvestro in Capite has the head of John the Baptist in a silver filigreed reliquary. Santa Maria del Popolo has an exquisite and well-known Caravaggio that depicts Saint Peter being crucified upside down. Saint Agnese in Agone, the large church fronting Piazza Navona, has a side chapel with the head of Saint Agnes. She was 12 when a Roman prefect sent her to a brothel (for refusing to marry his son); she was eventually burned at the stake then beheaded. In the upper church of San Clemente one finds the chapel of St. Catherine, which contains beautiful Masolino frescoes of the life of St. Catherine of Alexandria and the life of St. Ambrose. Catherine’s beheading is depicted on the left side, a calm, colorful, 2-D rendering of a heinous act.
I could go on and on with the lovely art that depicts Christian martyrs and their horrible deaths. The crucifixions. The beheadings. The eventual saints who were drawn and quartered or buried alive or stoned to death. Of course we don’t have as many works of art showing the torture that the Christians, once they came into power, inflicted on the non-Christians. But there are a few. The solemn statue of Giordano Bruno in the center of Campo de’ Fiori is a powerful reminder that there were men (and women and children) killed for putting forward ideas that were not in line with the church doctrine. Bruno was burned alive for suggesting that the universe is infinite, that stars are distant suns.
Likewise, the Stolpersteiner, those tiny bronze pavements embedded in the ground outside homes of those Jewish citizens who were deported by the Nazis on October 16, 1943, memorialize those who were rounded up, tortured, and killed for being Other, for being powerless in the face of those whose power made them forget their own humanity.
I believe art and memorials are important. But the more that I see them around Rome – a city that has thousands of years of history painting on its church walls, engraved in its ancient buildings, and chiseled into statues – the more I am reminded of how torture and death are lost in translation from the stories we tell and the images we create of those stories.
Many of us up until this past year have been able to live with a sense of detachment from death. This is not to say that we have all had it easy and that we have not experienced the wrenching sadness of knowing death on a personal level. But death of the nature that is often depicted in art and enshrined in memorials around Italy has always felt like something that only happened long ago.
I still look at religious relics – the arms and doubting fingers and disembodied heads – with a sort of fascination. But while my thoughts used to be, “Look how barbaric humans once were,” I now think about how much further we – as a society, as humans – need to go.
A final note: as a quasi-agnostic, non-practicing, non-denominational Christian, I wish it were as simple as eliminating all religions. Humans get too exercised over beliefs that other humans have codified, no matter how absurd they may be. But I didn’t want to write this piece as an assault on religion. I’ve lived in majority Christian, Hindu, and Muslim countries and have known most people to be smart and kind and loving, in spite of or because of their religions.
Please read these other posts on “Lost in Translation” from the ladies of the Italy Blogging Roundtable. Note that we have a new lady, Michelle from Bleeding Espresso. Welcome!
You hear those phrases around Rome all the time these days. Crime, corruption, unemployment, immigration, unreliable public transit, trash collection, the euro – Italy is in crisis and the prevailing mood among its citizens is one of resignation and exhaustion. This was most recently expressed cinematically with La Grande Belleza, which plays like a more mature sequel to La Dolce Vita. Romans are no doubt still enamoured with what Rome represents. Today, however, when Romans hold up a mirror to the city, they are more likely to see Jep Gambardella’s malaise than Marcello Rubini’s confident swagger.
As part of the renewed writing initiative of the Italy Roundtable, I wanted to write about the mood of Rome and Italy and how it has changed since I last lived here. But I realized as I waded into my commentary that I was not qualified to talk on such complex socioeconomic issues. This month’s unifying topic is “change” and, well, I changed my mind.
While I am neither an economist nor a historian, I am a travel writer who has been lucky enough both to visit Italy on numerous occasions and to live in Rome – twice, during two very different life stages. So I want to discuss some things that have changed in Rome but also how my approach to seeing Rome has changed.
I’ve seen Rome change, for the better and for the worse, in numerous ways since I first began writing about it more than 15 years ago. In those first years, it was free to wander inside the Forum and up onto the Palatine Hill. The site has charged admission since 2008. The Ara Pacis, the ancient Augustan altar to peace, was once exposed to the air and practically abandoned; I remember a friend and I walking right up and into it in 1999. Work on the swanky, controversial Richard Meier building that now surrounds the altar had yet to begin.
Rome has become even more popular and crowds seem more numerous than ever. I have been inside St. Peter’s only once since I arrived six months ago as the line to get inside, even on wintry days, extends from the entrance and curves around to at least the top of St. Peter’s Square. In some ways this is heartening, as I lamented many years ago that the security process to get inside such an important landmark was too lax. But still, I groan when I think of travelers who only have a few days in Rome wasting time standing in that line, especially when the rain is heavy or the sun is strong.
Two other sites, the Pantheon and the Bocca della Verità, are more popular with travelers today than they were 15 years ago. Going inside the Pantheon, one of the few remaining ancient sites in Rome that doesn’t charge an admission, can be stifling because of all the touristic milling about and the loud speaker repeating on loop in several different languages that visitors be quiet. Nevertheless, I still recommend a visit if you’re never been inside of it; such ancient architectural mastery, particulary a glimpse at the coffered ceiling and oculus, is astonishing up close.
I am not sure why the Mouth of Truth has surged in popularity, as it has been there, free of charge, for years. Has there been a renewed interest in the film Roman Holiday? Oh, I know what it is – camera phones and selfies. At any rate, the recent line for a photo op with the Bocca drove me inside the church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, which I had never fully explored.
It is not lost on me that my job as a travel writer has contributed to this mess. I am sorry.
Meanwhile, the Colosseum and the Trevi Fountain, two of Rome’s most popular attractions, are undergoing needed changes. Both are under scaffolding and are both undergoing privately-funded restorations. The Colosseum renovation has meant little to zero inconvenience for those who want to tour it. And its cleaning has also led to new discoveries at the ancient site. On the other hand, the Trevi Fountain area is going to be unappealing for the next few years, as it has been drained of its water (and grandeur) and scaffolding obscures most of it. There is a walkway that allows visitors to get near the marble statues in the fountain – who knows when you’ll get to do that again? – but there is also a designated spot to toss in your coins like a good tourist is supposed to do.
A photo posted by Melanie Renzulli (@missadventures) on
My approach to seeing Rome has also changed over the years. When I first started writing about the city, I saw it as no challenge to walk from Trastevere to the Spanish Steps, for example, or to see site after site with no time for rest or reflection. I was in my mid–20s and knew little about what it meant to travel as a parent or as a person with finite stores of energy or low thresholds for noise or crowds. Sitting in Piazza Navona recently, it occurred to me that my favorite places in Rome had changed, either because I have learned more about their history (see the Turtle Fountain) or have grown weary of the hordes.
Rome has changed. But so have I.
Luigi Barzini noted in his 1964 book The Italians: “The Italian way of life cannot be considered a success except by temporary visitors.” Rome puts on a beautiful show for its guests. And the longer one lives here, the more one learns about the façade and how it’s held up with equal parts of pride and necessity – as well as a few dashes of contempt.
One of the reasons I wanted to shift gears on the direction of this piece is because I rediscovered this Barzini quote and realized that even though as a current resident I can understand the modern challenges that Romans are facing, I still have the mindset of a temporary visitor. Having the opportunity to see Rome evolve – ever so slightly – over multiple visits and stays is a privilege I am grateful for every day. However, I often feel I need to conceal my naive optimism about the city for I know that I am experiencing a far different Rome than most Romans.
But maybe Rome thrives on the wide-eyed optimism of its tourists? I often hear complaints that Rome neglects the needs of its citizenry in favor of maintaining the parts of the city that only travelers see. Tourists are disruptive, sure, and a burden on infrastructure. But what would Rome be without its visitors? Beyond the monetary reasons and the impetus for maintaining its ancient structures, tourism helps Romans remember what is beautiful and special about their city. As a writer specializing in Rome and Italy, I want to continue to hold up that mirror and hope the city (and my readers) see what I see. It is all I can do.
So, yes. Rome is changing. Rome has changed. But it has always been in flux. Rome will weather this storm as it has countless others. Change is eternal and so is Rome.
The prevailing travel wisdom about Italy has always been to avoid going to the country in August as it’s hot, many shops and restaurants are closed, and the cities are emptied out of residents and replaced by other tourists. All of this is quite true. But if August is the only time you can take time off to see Florence, Venice, Rome, or any number of cities or villages, then you should go.
Visiting Italy in August is better than not visiting Italy at all.
But you are going to need things to make your August jaunt to Italy a successful one. Here are a few that I suggest.
1) Church appropriate clothing. The time that you really run into the strict dress code in Italian churches — that of covering bare arms and legs for the sake of modesty — is in August, when it’s too hot to want to wear anything more than a tank top and shorts. If your itinerary includes lots of time visiting churches, make sure you pack a longer-sleeved shirt (linen shirts are ideal) or a wrap/pashmina and bring a pair of lightweight pants or a long skirt. My recommendations here are for women, but men, too, need to be considerate of the dress code.
2) A friend with a beach house. You are going to ask yourself, “Self, where are all the Italians?” Well, the Italians are likely at the beach or in the mountains (but mostly the beach) during August in order to escape the heat and also, dear traveler, you. While it’s hard to score an Italian friend with a beach-side home, you would do well to find out which beaches are closest to your preferred destinations. For example, Romans head to nearby Fregene for summer fun, but also to Sperlonga and to the coast of Tuscany (e.g., Ansedonia).
3) A water bottle. Pack an empty water bottle in your luggage if you haven’t thought to do so already. One of the joys of traveling around little towns in Italy is that most, if not all, have at least one “nasone” or nose-shaped faucet in their downtown which residents use for a pure source of aqueduct water. Fill up your water bottle before you leave your hotel in the morning. Then, once you have depleted your water stores, you can use a nasone to refill your bottle. Of course, you can also purchase bottled water or other beverages along the way. But this is an economic and environmentally-friendly choice.
4) Lodging with air conditioning. Air conditioning is not a given at hotels in Italy, particularly if you’re staying in budget or religious accommodations. If you prize cool air in the summer, check to make sure that your hotel has AC before you book. Be advised that some places will charge an extra supplement for air conditioning.
5) A wine key. My less obvious choice among August in Italy travel accessories is a wine key. As more restaurants and bars temporarily close or relocate to the beach in the summer (and in August especially), you may find yourself unable to wine and dine where you wish. Consider shopping in an alimentari or local markets for picnic provisions and pick up a few bottles of vino to make your own lunch or dinner. Having a wine key, particularly one that you are comfortable using, may turn a frustrating mealtime into a memorable one. Some enoteche (wine stores) sell wine keys, too. Side note for American travelers: the TSA allows corkscrews on domestic flights, but not international ones. So you’ll have to pack a wine key in a checked bag if you wish to bring one to Italy.
6) A sense of humor. Above all, what’s important for a successful vacation to Italy in August is a sense of humor. Restaurants you have been researching for months may turn out to be closed for vacation during your stay; restaurant owners and hotel workers may be grumpy having to deal with the likes of you while their friends and family are off galavanting on the coasts; or other tourists may start to make you crazy, crowding you out in the Sistine Chapel or blocking your view on guided tours.
It may be hot in Italy in the summer. But there are many ways to take it in stride. Enjoy yourself. Eat gelato. Get lost. At last — you’re in Italy.
The promise of “another day” is the key to the word’s origin. It derives from the Latin verb procrastinare, combining the prefix pro- “forward” with crastinus “of tomorrow”—hence, moving something forward from one day until the next. [source]
I frequently like to joke. I love a good play on words. And a chance to match wits with someone, in person — or, more commonly, online — is great fun to me.
I write this “grab bag” post for the Italy Blogging Roundtable as a bit of an inside joke, as I am frequently the late-comer when it comes to posting my thoughts on the month’s topic. The Roundtable is a labor of love, one that we all put time into when we can. But life sometimes get in the way. We have all had to take a break at some point, whether for career, children, traveling, or something else. Still, Rebecca, Alexandra, Jessica, Gloria, Kate, and I all depend on one another each month to get our “work” done, so I hate the feeling I get each month when I inevitably have to tell the group, “I’m going to be a little bit late.”
The guilt that is hanging over me as I write this post at the eleventh hour is what has led me to write, in tongue-in-cheek fashion, about the thing I know best: writer’s block (blocco dello scrittore). Only, instead of writing a piece on how to cope with it, I’ve decided I’d provide some photos of actual blocks with writing on them. Call me lazy. Call me crazy. I call it delivering what I promised.
The Pantheon in Rome has one of the most famous inscriptions from ancient times. Translated, it means “Marcus Agrippa, son of Lucius, Consul for the third time, built this.” What he should have had inscribed was, “Ego M. Agrippa, non ipsa struit – puerorum aedificaverat” – “I, M. Agrippa, didn’t build this – my slaves did.” (Thanks, Google Translate!)
Another well-known ancient ruin in Rome is the Arch of Titus, located near the Roman Forum. The inscription is dedicated to Emperor Titus (of course): “The Roman Senate and People to the Divine Titus Vespasianus Augustus, son of the divine Vespasian.” The Romans considered Titus a “good” emperor. But if you look closely at the carvings on this triumphal arch, you’ll see it depicts Titus’ role in the destruction of Jerusalem. The Arch of Titus is a good lesson in how history looks different from the eyes of the conquerors versus the conquered.
Emperor Titus ruled during the time Pompeii was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. But before that event, a Pompeii resident scrawled this graffiti on a wall in what is now known as the Villa of Mysteries. Odds are, the graffiti artist was illiterate. But I like to think this was his (or her!) version of writer’s block (worth 1,000 words, right?). If you’re into this kind of thing, 10 Pieces of Crazy Ancient Graffiti is a fun glimpse into the past.
The winged lion is the symbol of Venice. It is an icon you will see everywhere, but nowhere more prominently (and beautifully) than on the facade of St. Mark’s Basilica. The lion is resting his paw on the so-called “Motto of Venice,” which has been shortened. “Pax – Evan, Tibi – Geli, Mar – Sta, Ce – Meus” is short for “Pax tibi, Marce, Evangelista meus. Hic requiescet corpus tuum” which means “Peace to you, Mark, my Evangelist. Here your body shall rest.”
In the late winter/early spring of 1948, American playwright Tennessee Williams arrived in Rome in need of a change of scenery. Williams, of course, is known for his writing set in the American South, including “A Streetcar Named Desire” (written in 1947) and “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” (1955), both of which earned him Pulitzer Prizes for Drama. But few people know – or, perhaps, they have forgotten – that Tennessee Williams was also inspired by his short stay in the Eternal City.
“As soon as I crossed the Italian border, my health and life seemed to be magically restored. There was the sun and there were the smiling Italians,” Williams wrote in his Memoirs.
The Seven Hills of Rome mark the traditional boundaries of the city. It was on these seven hills – Aventine, Caelian, Capitoline, Esquiline, Palatine, Quirinal, and Viminal – that the first settlements of Rome began and these seven hills were the ones protected within the Servian Walls.
The foundations, gates, and ruins of these 4th century-BC walls can still be seen in some parts of the city. Subsequent builds of fortifications in Rome, such as the Aurelian Walls (3rd century AD) and the Leonine City (9th century AD) included other hills (Janiculum, Vatican, Pincian), but the original Seven Hills are the ones in bold above and included within the red border in the map to the right.
Now that you’ve had a short history lesson, you may be wondering what you can see today on Rome’s Seven Hills. Rather than tell you, I thought I would use the power of Google’s Street View to show you.