St Peters, The Museums, Tuscan MEAT

Today we would visit the Vatican. A visit to the Vatican is absolutely positively required when one is taking a Roman vacation, whatever your views on the iron fist of Catholic authority (or the shining and brilliant light of God). The Vatican is a giant immensity that can be seen from pretty much everywhere in Rome: the Catholic Church's awe-inspiring/distressing power can really only be grasped within the confines of the Vatican City, an entire country unto itself. (There is a little papal railway beneath the city so I'm told, that leads to the central rail station - what are they doing under there?!?!)

The Vatican is not unpopular, so a visit entails getting there early. Thus we somewhat complainingly wolfed down the ten-different jams breakfast at the Hilton. Since we were moving into an apartment near the Spanish Steps for the remainder of the trip, we caught a taxi and lugged all our bags into it. We moved into the apartment (homey and nicely located, if very brown) and were immediately off to the Holy See on the subway. We were booked onto a group tour, which I was immediately unhappy about, because if there is one thing I despise it is group tours. Something about shuffling around and looking at things that someone who is (often) not that informed themselves fills me with bile and irritation.

I also hate the headsets. I often forget I am holding them and drop them, for one thing, and when I am attempting to conjure up some sort of a deep thought about a Roman antiquity, hearing a guide screech into my ear THIS IS FROM ROME AND IT IS QUITE OLD is unwelcome and irritating. However, a guided tour through the Vatican museum does offer you an easier way into the Sistine Chapel, and everyone really likes the Sistine Chapel quite a lot, and standing in line for it with a bunch of sweaty and jostling penitents can fill you with feelings that are anything but Christ-like. So make your own choice regarding the group tour, dear readers.


One of the Vatican City's lawns. Where the Pope hosts wet t-shirt barbecues, I guess. Well, some of those popes anyway.

Being a jaded douchebag, I have been to the Vatican and the Vatican Museum before. The Vatican Museum is comprised of the papacy's incredibly vast holdings of stuff, amassed over hundreds of years and by hundreds of kleptomanically inclined popes. It is an incredible collection and it is housed in an incredible building, winding room and ornately decorated hallway (complete with endless masses of simpering, overweight cherubs) filled with the wonders of the past, stuff like that. I like Roman art a lot, something about the martial immensity of it, all that promise that was destroyed by the Dark Ages and (whoops?) the rise of the church (whoops?) and enjoyed seeing the tremendous and pupil-less heads on the marbled floors of the gallery.



I am also partial to the Laocoon with the Snakes, possibly because the concept of someone being devoured by snakes is endlessly appealing, and also because Laocoon's face displays a startling amount of emotion and pain for someone who has been carved out of marble. Unfortunately the guided tour hustled us through the museums at break-neck speed, as the guide treated us to gems like "This is Venus" as if I did not already know. I went to a Waldorf school and received a semi-classical education and I suppose I am more up on my Greeks and Romans then most people, but for christ's sake, for christ's sake (taking the lords name in vain, also).
Dal Toscano


Some golden gentleman. Could be a girly Hercules. Could be David. Don't ask me.

My favorite part of the Vatican is the map room, which has a series of topographical maps of Italy, created by the very patient friar Ignazio Danti of Perugia. It took him three years to bang them all out and they are great little works of geographical art, representing all the cities and kingdoms of Italy that the Pope considered to be his holdings - spiritually, anyway, and as everyone has figured out by now that counts for a hell of a lot more then political power in most situations. As for the tapestry section, I am left cold by Flemish tapestry, I suppose, although having a carpet of the Killing of the Innocents in ones anteroom could brighten up any dull and depressing space.

I enjoy the Raphael rooms, but I found myself liking the work by his students in one of the Pope's apartments even more - though I cannot imagine going to sleep or reading a book or simply passing the time in a room so aggressively, fearsomely, decorated. To have a cavalry charge of awesome proportions leaping out of the walls at you when you are scratching your ass thoughtfully and looking out the window. I could not live up to the pressure.

The Sistine Chapel. To get there you must pass through the church's emotionally disturbing collection of modern art , down a few flights of stairs, and into a side entrance. Therein you pass into the Chapel admist a sea of tourists who are taking pictures and talking about things mostly unrelated to fine art (there is also a coke machine). There is an attendant who sits in a chair at the end of the gallery and shushes people every five minutes. I am hedging on describing the actual contents of the Sistine Chapel because everyone else has done it before and I have nothing new whatsoever to say on the matter, other then that one of the apostles (Isaiah) looks exactly like Jon Stewart. Observe.


Jon Stewart's day job.

I believe Michelangelo's inclinations are apparent by his portrayal of women, namely that there pretty much are none on the Sistine Chapel, including Mary, who to my eyes resembles merely a burly and imposing male with a pair of unimpressive knockers tacked on. This is not to discount the quality of the work, mind you, which is the most powerful and burly expression of the majesty and ambivalence of religious fervor. But, readers: lady looks like a dude.


Ceiling in St. Peters. It is very gold.

Next stop after the Chapel was St Peter's basilica, which may be directly reached from one of the chapel's doors, something my mom and I did not know last time. This forced us to wait outside in the baking hot sun in the tremendous piazza of the holy see and it was very unpleasant so remember that. The route to the Basilica takes you through the basement where many a pope is interred, including John Paul II. I was rather intrigued by the variety of people pausing at various tombs and offering prayer - a sort of understated religiosity that I don't come upon much. It is interesting to observe the behavior of tourists at the Vatican and try to pick out who is a gawker (us) and who is a person on a religious holy-journey - small behaviors can be observed, people cross themselves at one moment or another.

A thought: bodies are often interred in churches. All well and good, but is there, well, a smell factor? Do stone crypts successfully prevent the problem? Can anyone help me out here?



In any case, we walked around the place (huge) and into the basilica (very huge). The sheer scale of the place still is hard to fathom, a tremendous beast of a building, all gilded in black and gold. They could have gone the frothy cherubim way with the thing, but this is powerful religion here, this is the symbol of the still-awesome power of the Catholic church, this is a building meant to remind you of a thing or two.



No matter how many tourists roam around the center of the marble floors, it always feels relatively empty and quiet - you are a mite before the feet of the apostles, you are a tiny speck beneath the tremendous bulk of Michelangelo's dome, you should probably repent now because we are definitely watching you.


The dome in question.

I would love to see an incense burner swinging through the center of this thing - it would be on par with various ancient and mysterious rituals. It does not do to spend too long in there as an unbeliever, though, I think. If you are an agnostic the power and intimidation the place emanates becomes oppressive, reminds you of the machinations of the church that molded the past millennia and are working (with less efficiency) to mold this one as well. You find yourself in the position of being impressed but not reverent or even (in my case) all that respectful, in which case you rather desperately want to get out and find yourself a restaurant wherein you can think about asses without the sense that a lightning bolt will strike you. There was a beam of light coming in with perfect precision from when of the windows when we there, probably was engineered that way. I didn't jump in the middle of it.


From there to lunch. We wandered outside the Vatican for a bit and stumbled upon this place:

Ala Toscano
Via Germanico, 58
00192 Roma (RM), Italy
+39 06 97615872



A Tuscan centered restaurant, this eatery focuses on good meat and lots of it. While walking to the bathroom immediately upon being seated, I found myself in a veritable gallery of cut, aged, and hanging dead animals. It made my heart pitter-pat with anticipation. The Europeans are much more realistic about the consumption of meat then we are in the Americas, are okay with window tableaus of hanging and flailed rabbits and lambs, do not become distressed when confronted with hocks or other unpleasant details. I like it.


A simple starter of prosciutto (thicker cut then what I'm used to, but good) and some figs. The figs are notable in that they are golden and very large, different from what I've had before. And expensive. Everything in Rome is goddamn expensive.


A prehistoric-type veal chop. Veal is cheaper then beef in Italy, which always amazes Americans. This was delicious, tender, and slightly primal. My mom grew more possessive of it then she usually does.


My dad ordered a simple steak. Steaks in Italy are usually thinner, rarer, and more flavorful then what we eat in the USA. This was delicious down to the beef-fat. Good Italian restaurants can truly do justice to a side of cow.


I ordered beef with porcini mushrooms, a sort of Tuscan stir-fry with rosemary, fresh and meaty porcinis, and cuts of thin steak. I really enjoyed this - rich as hell, would have been delicious on some sort of chewy bread as a sandwich. Fresh porcinis are a delightful thing in Italy, vastly better then the reconstituted ones.


As a side dish I had some very nice leaves of broccoli rabe, or at least that's what they told me. Whatever it was, it was a slightly bitter leafy green, one of my favorite things when cooked in a little olive oil and garlic. Could eat this all day.

Sweaty and tired, we headed back to the apartment for a nap. Being in the presence of awe-inspiring spiritual power can take it right out of you.

For dinner, we decided to hit up one of the various trattorias near the Spanish Steps. There's a profusion of them and most of them are at least okay. This one was vetted as acceptable by the faceless internet food authorities and off we went.

Otello alla Concordia
Via Della Croce, 81
00187 Roma (RM), Italy
+39 06 6791178

A laid-back place with its own courtyard and an indisputably old school Italian feel, Otello alla Concordia is a decent choice near the steps. The food is not spectacular, but is simple, well executed, and a nice feed when you'd rather not drop a mortgage on haute cuisine for the fifth night in a row. Nice al-fresco dining too.


A simple caprese salad. Good tomatoes - surprisingly hard to find in Italy. Mozz was also on target, though as I have mentioned before, I have been ruined on the stuff due to Umbria.


An antipasto plate - good selection of meats. The butter, believe it or not, is a traditional accompaniment to prosciutto. I don't get it, but whatever makes you damn Italians happy.


I went for a classic: chicken cacciatore. This was pretty good, if a bit oily - reminded me of what I make at home from Marcella Hazan's invaluable book. The meat was tender and the peppers provided some good flavor.


Another Roman standby: a half chicken cooked under a brick. Good and juicy, although a bit basic - but that's what Roman trattoria food is, meaty and simple. I like the style. Couldn't find any chicken alla diavola on the menu in the places I went, which depressed me, but so it goes.


My mom had a seafood risotto. Nice flavor, slightly chewy and al dente rice (way I like it) and plenty of aquatic friends. Could have been a spot warmer but otherwise nice.

We headed to bed. Forum tomorrow.

Rome Day Three: Villa Borghese, Colline-Emiliane, Spanish Steps

A view up the Spanish Steps.

It was my parents first full day in Rome, so we decided to keep the schedule relatively light. Our only plan for the day involved a visit to the Villa Borghese, with a detour to the Spanish Steps area. We awoke late - those blinds at the Cavilieri Hilton shut crazy tight - and then caught the shuttle to downtown. The shuttle dropped us off at the Piazza Barberini (which features one of Rome's many fountains that involve naked guys,) and we headed off with intention towards the Spanish Steps.


The top of the Spanish Steps.

The Spanish Steps region is one of Rome's most pleasant - think cobble-stone streets, extremely classy shopping emporiums, and hordes of women in lucite heels looking pissed off. The Steps themselves were built between 1723 and 1725 by one Étienne Gueffie, a French diplomat. The Steps were designed to link the Bourbon Spanish Embassy to the Piazza Spagna below, and incidentally came out extremely attractive indeed, especially when the sun is going down and you are not one of a million sweaty people muscling painfully up them. We were in the sweaty tourist camp. John Keats lived right next door to the steps and passed on to the eternal realm there in 1821 - presumably he was not constantly bothered by troupes of American students taking pictures of one another grinding outside his house. (Though I doubt such behavior is anything new.)


Some sort of official building near the Steps.

The first McDonalds in Italy is located near the Spanish Steps. It is notable because 1. good god it is huge, a marble lined palace to hamburgers and soggy french-fries, the bathrooms are open to the public but horrific to behold, you should go look and 2. This McDonalds provided the bug up one Carlo Petrini's ass to create Slow Food. You therefore may blame this McDonalds for the loc-avore types giving you judgemental looks when you eat a factory-farmed cheeseburger next.

According to Wikipedia:

On June 13, 2007, a 24-year-old Colombian man attempted to drive a Toyota Celica down the Spanish Steps. No one was hurt, but several of the 200-year-old steps were chipped and scuffed. The driver was arrested and a breath test showed his blood alcohol content to be twice the legal limit for driving.[8]

I cannot provide any commentary on that other then awesome.

Enoteca Antica
Via della Croce, 76
00187 Roma (Latium), Italy
+39 066 790896

For lunch, I decided to return to a place I'd been with the Tulane group. Enoteca Antica is a very pleasant wine bar and eatery on Via della Croce, close to the Spanish Steps and in a delightfully atmospheric alley. (You will hear accordians, be solicted to purchase pizza, and witness Italian women with dynamite boob jobs during your time here, consider it a culture experience.) The restaurant itself is pleasant both inside and out, and is a good place to cool off from a smack-yo-mama hot Rome afternoon.


I had a salad with the usual excellent European tuna fish, mozarella, egg, potato, and tomato. Do not know why potato is considered a bizarre and nightmarish thing to put on a salad in the USA, unless it is a warm potato salad, but that is the nature of human existence.


My dad had the eggplant parmesan, which was a nice specimen of the genre: good marinara sauce, roasted instead of deep fried, a reasonable quantity of cheese. Eggplant parmesan is usually a horror show in the USA but may be safely ordered most places in Rome.


Whacking the heads off statues: everyone's favorite free-time game.

We headed back up the Spanish Steps again: we had a reservation at the Villa Borghese gallery. The walk to the Villa Borghese was pretty pleasant, as we ambled through the large park and looked at various seen-better-days statues and dodged people riding Segways.

The Galleria Borghese is a small gallery as these things go and requires a reservation, but it is absolutely worth it. Some backstory. The collection was begun by one Cardinal Scipione Borghese, the nephew of Pope Paul V. Scipione was a fervent art lover and was also a stone-cold asshole: he was known for using intimidation, violence, and black mail for acquiring the art pieces he loved so well. The Galleria has a considerable collection of famous works, but Bernini, Caravaggio, and Titian are best represented, although works by Raphael and other notables are present as well. Some works that are sort of interesting:



Here's Caravaggio's Boy with a Basket of Fruit. Of note is the sensual come-hither look in the boy's eyes (homosexualists, all of them) and the curious assemblage of rotting and fresh fruit in the basket. It's a gorgeous painting, full of longing and psychological and physical realism - no idealism here, nothing being brushed over or concealed. Caravaggio is also worthy of note for being such a grade-A badass: a "difficult" man, he enjoyed squandering the money he made on commissions on drinking, carousing, and getting into dashing sword fights. He killed another man in a brawl in 1606, causing him to be exiled from Rome to flee to Naples. That particular spot of trouble didn't slow him down any: he was booked for a few more fights soon after. A few attempts were made on his life, but it is presumed they never succeeded: he is thought to have died in 1610 of a considerably less romantic fever. \



This is Pauline Bonaparte as Venus Victrix, a rather scandalous-for-the-time sculpture in the Roman tradition. Completed in Rome from 1805 to `1808, it is not known whether Pauline actually sat for the nude bits of the portrait, although she said she did: when asked how she could pose while wearing such little clothing, she replied, "There was a stove in the room, it was quite warm." Her husband commissioned the portrait, the dog.

Beside the amazing artwork, the other nice aspect of the Villa is the decor and architecture. It is the equivalent of a Renaissance Graceland to me, utterly and completely over the top, it is difficult to imagine anyone tolerating living in all this junk day to day. It is tacky in a totally delightful way - what fun it must have been to be a ridiculously wealthy Cardinal with the resources and personality to scare the shit out of a healthy percentage of Europe. Of most interest is the "Egyptian" room, featuring semi hilarious presentations of what Renaissance artists thought Egyptian art must have looked like. Unfortunately, the Galleria does not possess half the delightfully over the top stuff that it should: in 1808, Napoleon forced his brother law, Prince Camillio Borghese, to sell the Borghese roman sculptures and antiquities to him. The once-beloved Borghese Gladiator is now parked in the Louvre. Love ya, Napoleon, don't ever change!



We spent the afternoon relaxing back at the hotel, which has a very nice view of the city, as you can see up here.


The hotel also has a marauding pack of lions to devour slow and weak and foolish tourists. Does the heart good.

Colline Emiliane
Via degli Avignonesi, 22
00187 Roma (Latium), Italy
+39 06 4817538

For dinner, we had reservations at Colline Emiliane, an extremely well reviewed little joint vaguely near the Trevi Fountain. The restaurant specializes in home-made pasta from Emiliana-Romagnola, and hews carefully to the traditions of the region. A tiny and no-frills place, it seems to be beloved by locals, filling up with happy eaters by 8:30 or thereabouts. Make reservations later rather then earlier to avoid looking like a total tool to the locals. The menu has an excellent assortment of pasta selections (not to be missed,) plenty of veal, and some excellent examples of Colline-Emiliane's cured meats - don't miss the culatello di Zubello.


My dad had the penne pasta with porcini mushrooms and tomato sauce. These were very nice: the earthy and delightfully complex flavor of the mushrooms melded well with the tangy and fresh tomato sauce. The pasta were, as expected, perfectly al dente and fresh.


A classic veal bolognese for my mother. My mom is a bolognese snob, and she makes an excellent version: she uses Marcella Hazan's recipe and it has never failed us. This was excellent, with fresh pasta and complex flavors. Even better for my mother's ego - it tasted just like what we make at home.



I had one of my all-time favorites: pumpkin ravioli in brown butter and sage sauce. These were really excellent, just what I'd been looking for in a dish I rarely have - the perfectly smooth and buttery filling was juxtaposed perfectly with the slightly chewy pasta. The butter sauce was also subtle and gently sage-infused: the combination was perfectly sweet and savory. I would very much recommend this.



I had veal with porcini mushrooms and tomato. I loved this: it's a dish I like to make myself, and the combination of tomato, tender meat, and funkily delightful porcinis is one of my favorites.


My dad had the roast veal, with what appears to be a little bit of sage and plenty of olive oil. This was tender, flavorful, and good, although I suspect he wished it had come bone-on. Who wouldn't?


A fried veal chop stuffed with spinach and cheese - hard to beat. This was quite tender and had a good, rich flavor. It's a good example of how hearty and earthy Italian cuisine can get. The Germans do not have the market cornered on fried veal cutlets.

We passed on dessert, being stuffed and tired - although the various fruit tarts in the window did look excellent - and headed back home.

Rome Day 2

My parents were going to meet me at the Cavileri Hilton today, so I sprung out of bed in an excellent mood because I would be sleeping in a real actual hotel room and not a dorm that night. I quickly packed up my things, and was immediately confronted with the reality that their plane would be delayed. Mildly depressed, I hung out on the internet upstairs until I could call a cab up the hill to the hotel.


Some scooters near the Steps.

The Hilton is placed up on top of one of Rome's hills - not great for downtown access, but excellent when it comes to the view. I was there far too early to meet my parents, so I planted myself in the plush lobby, accessed the Internet, and spent yet more time nosing around on Encyclopedia Dramatica. I have stayed at this Hilton before and I like it very much: it is luxurious and has a pillow menu and a breakfast featuring at least 15 kinds of jam. 15 goddamn varieties of gelled fruit. It's a modern miracle. Hostels don't feature any jam at all.

They finally arrived from the airport - apparently the Italians temporarily lost their bags in the dark entrails of the handling system, go figure. We checked into our room and hung out for a while, enjoying the view. Since it was getting on to 3:00, we decided to go take the shuttle into downtown and grab some lunch.


An obelisk near some administrative buildings.

The shuttle bus dropped off us at the Plaza Dominini, wherein we walked in the general direction of the Trevi Fountain. I was about to die of pure unadulterated hunger, so we stopped in at the first pizza place we saw. This proved to be a poor idea, as it turned out our waitress was 1. American and 2. had begun roughly a minute before and 3. food was taking a few centuries to actually emerge from the mysterious kitchen. I was unhappy to find my antipasto plate involved cheap salami and ham and some bad mozzarella, though admittedly I have gotten real spoiled about mozzarella. We ate some acceptable pizza and skedaddled. Off to look at the Trevi fountain yet again - the hordes of tourists had not diminished any at all. All the Romans presumably had decamped for less crowded climes.


Statue of a witch with an extremely depressive pair of boobs.


A yellow villa near the Colosseum.

We wandered around downtown for a decent amount of time, checking out the sites and popping in for drinks in a few different locales. We finally made it down to the Colosseum, which we ogled for a decent amount of time until some incredibly black, pissed off looking storm clouds rolled in. Roman summers seem to include a daily thunderstorm, and we jumped inside a bar just before the skies opened up. Trapped inside by the monsoon-level rain, we ordered coffee and beer and watched horrible Italian TV for a while until we could escape. If you are visiting Rome in summer, for christ's sake, bring an umbrella.

My mom decided to pass on dinner as she'd rather go to bed, so my dad and I headed off to find dinner. The concierge had recommended a place near the Pantheon to us, so we headed in that direction. The directions he had given us and the map we had were, however, really craptacular, so we ended up ambling up many a back alley and side street until we found our destination - inadvertently walking by an impressive number of cafes, gelato shops, and other tasty destinations.

Ristorante Clemente
# Piazza della Maddalena 4
Rome, Italy
(06) 683-3633

The restaurant is apparently helmed by a female chef, and has a nice salubrious location on a square right off the Pantheon. The menu isn't terribly long and has a nice focus on fresh seafood - always a plus for me.



We began with a salad of squid, octopus, mixed greens, and grapefruit, which was quite nice. The squid was cooked perfectly and did not turn into vaguely seafood flavored rubber as it is wont to do. I also enjoyed the acidic turn of the grapefruit. Could have been prettier but not looking a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.



For my entree, I selected the grilled tuna with tomatoes, caper, and vinegar - a very simple dish. This was well executed, though I had been expecting something perhaps a little flashier. It was simple, light, and not over-done.



My dad had a pasta with octopus and tomato. The pasta was nicely al-dente, and the sauce had a good marine flavor, with tender bits of invertebrate included.

We passed on dessert, and walked by the Pantheon at night for a bit - the tourists hadn't cleared out much at this hour, and horse-carts and others congregated around the square. I did, however, spot a promising meat-market type shop, which we walked into. The owner turned out be very friendly and very large, working amidst a panorama of hanging pepper-corn encrusted hams and other meaty things, and we struck up a conversation. He ended up giving us a big chunk of roasted pork complete with crackling for our troubles, while informing us seriously that he intended to move to San Diego. We knew we would return.

Rome Day One

I arrived into Rome from Bern at an eminently reasonable 9:15 in the morning - about when most Italians are just contemplating the day ahead. The train station was packed as usual, and I ambled over to the Autogrill outlet to fetch a yogurt and a couple of cappucinos. That done, I headed to the ATM to pull out some cash and was unhappy to find the terminal within the Rome train station wasn't playing nicely with international cards that day. An English lady who had inserted her card into the machine ahead of me had the same problem. We conversed briefly, and decided to join forces in finding an ATM that actually would work. After convincing myself she had no bad intentions towards my bag (and who would want a bag of sweaty nasty clothes anyway,) I searched the downstairs mall area for an ATM - no dice. We ended up hauling down the street and finally did find one. I enjoyed a cappuccino with the English woman (who turned out to live in Geneva) and we exchanged numbers - she was good company.


More of Trajan's Forum.

I had developed some sort of fell illness on the train, no doubt from the countless muddy European kids at Open Air St. Gallen, and to my dismay, it hit me hard immediately after breakfast - stuffed up nose, scratchy throat, lightheadness and so on and on. I fought back and managed to find my hotel a few blocks off the train station (or hostel, rather). At 21 euro a night it was a pretty sweet deal, but it turned out I had booked a day ahead of the day it actually was. The front desk man took pity on me and didn't charge me, and I stowed my crap in the locker behind the desk and away I went to enjoy Rome, me and my virii.


Bits of Trajan's Forum.

I had no particular objective in mind, but decided to shoot for the Forum and Palatine Hill in lieu of any better ideas. I bought a subway pass for the day, ambled below ground (good god it was hot and stuffy down there, to say nothing of up there.) Although the Rome subway is not as new and spiffy as it could be, and you are vaguely aware that you may be carried off by gypsies at any time, it is at least efficient, and I was at the Colesseo stop in no time at all.


The Arch of Constantine, dedicated in 315 AD and beloved by tourists ever since.

I do love the Roman forum - have been before - and I like Roman history. Something about all that martial and eminently reasonable bloodlust, destruction, and fearsome powers of engineering appeals to me. Perhaps the report I did in 10th grade about the excess of Emperor Nero has something to do with it as well - spending time as a young teenager reading about history's most disgusting acts of hedonism will cause anyone to fall in love with an especially vibrant culture. But of course the Colesseum is marvelous, worth seeing - gigantic and unteardownable, somehow surviving since 72 AD without too much damage (beyond various attempts at converting it into a church). Lions never actually ate Christians here, but far nastier things occurred- griffon vultures used to live fat and happy lives in the awnings, feeding on the eyeballs and other bits of fallen gladiators and far-flung (doubtless confused) wild beasts. The bloodlust instinct has been sated in modern humanity with stuff like football and cleats-on rugby matches - nothing like the spectacles of the Romans - but you can be sure that if they began staging these again, attendance would be epic. I like to say I would not go but of course I would, especially if they (as was supposedly done) flooded the whole damn thing to stage naval battles, an interior Carthaginians against Legions battle, hours of fun with the loss of a few hundred expendable slaves. No, I wouldn't like to see that at all. Yes.


Vittorio Emanuele II's heinous pile from the side.

I walked by the Forum for a while, navigating around frightfully sunburned tourists and scrawny, hairy men posing as gladiators - but the heat and sun got to me, and I decided that sweating through my already sickly pores in an attempt to access Palatine Hill - I would be heading back later -was unwise and foolish. I beat a retreat towards the Vittorio Emanuele II monument, the heinous pile erected in honor of the first King of Unified Italy. (Let's see how well all that worked out).


Another view of the Pile.

It's only merit is its disgustingly huge size, which can be viewed from pretty much anywhere in the city - to construct it, various priceless monuments and edifices (including the house of Michelangelo) were whacked down to put it up from 1911 to 1935. Romans don't like it much either, and the signpost explaining it is almost entirely sarcastic. It is often called "the typewriter". It does serve a purpose in providing a handy meeting point and orientation tool for tourists, but beyond that, I believe it should be torn down and forgotten about forever and ever. Vittorio Emanuel III was roughly 4 and a half feet tall and ineffectual, which is a sort of revenge - he supported the Fascists and was eventually kicked out of Italy by popular referendum in 1947. Go look at a photo of him: he resembles a leprechaun.


Some pillars. I will not ID them individually for you.

I did take some photos of the always nice to look at Trajan's Column, finished in 113 AD. The bas-relief documents the awesomeness of Trajan himself in his military career - I wish I could have a column documenting my own achievements put up when I pass on, but it wouldn't be half as exciting, would feature a lot of computers and whinging about inadequate food. The statue on top is one of St. Peter because Rome's Catholics feel a burning need to plop something Christian on top of a healthy majority of Roman monuments to prove they can.


Some details of Constantine's Arch. There's a menorah being carried off from the Holy Land with a little bit too much pleasure somewhere in there.

After the Forum, I made my way to the entirely too-hard to find Trevi Fountain. On the way, I bought some cold pills from a Roman pharmacist. After popping them, I realized I had no idea if they were the non-drowsy variety, and they probably were not, and I was probably going to have a fairly interesting evening as a direct result. Whoops. I did see the Trevi Fountain and it was very large and magnificent and packed with Japanese tourists taking photos of one another, so I didn't stay long. I headed to the Spanish Steps. In route, I had lunch - I am falling in love with Italian tuna fish.


The cold medicine kicked in around about when I was ascending the Spanish Steps to the Villa Medici, which was sort of delightful. My forehead ascended somewhere about 10 feet above my body and I wandered the park in a sort of haze, nearly bumping into pissed off looking busts of eminent Romans and trying not to laugh at the Segway tours that passed about me like schools of lame-ass fish. I found a comparatively non-trashed piece of grass to lie on and had an invigorating two hour nap, and the gypsies didn't even carry me away and sell me to Romania in the interim. It was great.

For dinner, I walked to the Pantheon. The Pantheon, built in 125 AD, is one of my favorite Roman monuments because it is so startlingly modern, beyond modern- it baffles the mind how anyone could have built something that mathematically perfect. It has been converted into a church and Vittorio Emmanuel II was stuck there. Royalist Italians still hold a vigil over his tomb and provide a guestbook to sign. I managed not to write something about how YOUR MONUMENT SUCKS in it, and merely stood about in the middle of the building and looked out of the hole in the center, a doped-up smile on my face. I am a credit to my country.

I had dinner somewhere nearby: antipasto with a fearsome but tasty quantity of eggplant, and a large and delicious Roman-style artichoke. Growing somewhat bilious and fearful of what might result, I headed back to the hostel to get a full night's sleep. All the kids in the Hostel were planning to go out and drink like six bottles of vodka (which they had already bought) and do exciting things, but I felt like three week old ass and was not able to join them. Damn this European cold to hell. Also: sleeping while sick in hostel's is difficult and I would not recommend it. But at least there were no bedbugs.

Bern, Switzerland: Paul Klee, Disappointing Clocks, Dancing Fountains

My last day in Switzerland. I had booked a super-excellent train trip from Bern straight through to Rome with no stops, which I was thrilled about, but that meant getting to Bern from Wil. As everyone says Bern is excellent, Maria and I decided to head up there after lunch and do some touristing. So we did.



Our first stop was the Paul Klee museum, devoted to Switzerland's most famous artist and an architectural marvel in its own right. Which I don't have a photo of. Sorry. (Excuse me, the Zentrum Paul Klee, for christ's sake do you expect me to have learned German during this trip, fluent high German, I can tell you all about snot in German and that is about it.)

To my Asianophile delight, the museum's current exhibits focused on Klee's time in and travels through the Near East. Klee fell in love with the colors and images of Tunisia and Egypt and incorporated many of their aspects into his work - drawing on rugs and Islamic art for his own visual motifs, and developing a unique "picture architecture" from Moorish left-behinds. I have to admit that I am not wild about Klee's work, but I did like some of his watercolors and his profoundly bizarre, possibly haunted, hand puppets. The best part of the exhibits was the stuff by other people if you ask me - particularly enjoyed the turn of the century photographs of Egypt and Tunisia, which are windows into an entirely different world (that lasted longer then we think it did, these harem-ish fantasies of repressed Victorian gentleman types). There is also a collection of mildly porny photographs accumulated by contemporaries of Klee - young nubile Tunisian girls draped over fabrics and looking with self-aware intent towards the camera. There's also excellent art deco posters advertising Asian travel to turn of the century bon vivants, yellowing travel brochures, and art by Klee's traveling companions - August Macke and Louis Moilliet. August Macke's forceful and excellent watercolors are particularly poignant because the young artist was very close to the end of the road indeed - he would die in the First World War a few months later.



The downstairs hosted an exhibition of modern art from the "near east" with a particular emphasis on video. Great amospheric videos of sites in Egypt simply portray the ambient noise and sounds of a day going by - a woman wanders into the desert landscape and begins vacuming. Other videos feature recitations of the Koran in Egyptian, animated and bizarre drawings by Amal Kenaway, and eerie cut-out and thick carpets in the shape of airplanes. We particularly enjoyed the plastic chairs: an artist had compiled photos of the jury-rigged plastic chairs that populate the streets of Cairo (for a plastic chair is a valuable thing and must not be thrown away but endlessly fixed) - the artist implores the viewer to sit in the plastic chair so that it too must warrant repair in the environs of Bern.



After the exhibit, we headed to downtown Bern for a looksee. The entire city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site because it so perfectly preserves medieval modes of architecture in a distinctively Swiss style.


Dancing fountains in front of the Swiss parliament.

Begun in 1191 and allegedly named after a bear the ruling Duke had killed, the city joined the Swiss Confederation in 1353 and quickly rose in prominence. Switzerland's federal parliament meets here to have extremely neutral meetings, or at least that's what they say.




Bern's most popular landmark is the Zytglogge, a moving clock tower complete with puppets. We waited for the clock to ring and were pretty profoundly unimpressed with the show. Guess medieval era special effects just don't cut it anymore.


Bern used to feature 16th century bear pits, which were a source of great fun for everyone because goddamn son a pit full of bears. Unfortunately the last bear passed on just this year, and there are no plans for replacements.




Bern also features the big pile of a cathedral that every European city by mandate must contain. But it's actually quite attractive, although it was under construction (as all foreign things must be) and I could not actually go inside.



Maria had to head on back to Wil, so we parted ways in the super modern train station. I decided to entertain myself by eating Thai food. The Swiss seem to absolutely adore Thai food, and a Thai or Lao restaurant can be found pretty much everywhere. I suppose it's the antithesis of cheesey stuff and thereby alluring.


I wandered out to the bridge and took some photos. Bern is not un-attractive.


I waited for my train to arrive in Bern's humongous train station. There's a nice cafe inside the station with a vegetarian buffet, fancy coffee drinks, and a good wine list, so I logged onto the internet and messed around. My train would arrive at 11:00. I paced around (for waiting on trains makes me nervous for no particular reason) and was happy when my chariot did (finally) arrive. It was a six berth to a compartment sleeper and exceedingly hot inside, but I knew I would endure. Everyone else in the sleeper was from California. Go figure. I'd wake up in Rome.

Swiss Food

Swiss food incorporates considerably more then fondue and raclette. As Switzerland functions as the crossroads of Europe, its cuisine features influences from France, Germany, Italy, and other areas further afield. Traditional Swiss food is simple, filling, and very good: food designed to keep you going up that rocky mountain pass or down that ski run. The tenets of Swiss cuisine are cheese, potatoes, and meat (generally beef) - these basic elements can be tweaked to produce up market treats, or can be consumed by the side of the trail during ambitious tramping trips. Cheese is perhaps Switzerland's most impressive export: everyone knows Emmental, Gruyère, Vacherin, and Appenzeller cheeses and for good reason.

Raclette and fondue are Switzerland's most famous imports insofar as cooking methods, but there's more to be had. Rösti , a dish produced of grated potatoes and served with various meats, is one of Switzerland's favorite eats. Birchermueseli - you may know it as granola - is another beloved Swiss treat, and seems to turn up just about everywhere. (Birchermuesli, incidentally, was invented by one Dr Maximilian Oskar Bircher-Benner (1867-1939) - you may blame or thank him depending on how your preferences sit). Far as meats go, the slightly pale but good sausage called Cervelat is widely adored (and is often tossed into salads with strong cheese,) as well as brundnerfleisch, a savory and extremely good sort of dried beef.

My host in Wil, Vreni, is an excellent Swiss cook, and I enjoyed quite a few Swiss specialities during my stay in Wil. Here's an overview.



This rosti (a dish made of pan-fried shaved potatoes) was served with Vreni's take on Züri gschnätzeltes, a traditional dish prepared from meat,often veal but in this case chicken, red wine, cream, and mushrooms.



This is a leek tart, prepared with leeks cooked in cream, onions, and bacon, then put into a puff pastry crust and baked.



Milk rice is a common Swiss treat, and is often served as a hearty and sweet dinner time dish. It's prepared rather like a sweet risotto - milk is cooked with rice for a long time, necessitating a lot of stirring. There are huge quantities of sugar put in near the end of cooking, making this delicious indeed. To accompany the rice, cherries are stewed with more sugar for a while, producing an excellent compote.



This is a delicious dish of baked Spätzle, a traditional dumpling produced of flour, egg, and salt. Although they are associated primarily with Germany, they are eaten with gusto in Switzerland, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, and France/Alsace. Vreni prepared these with some boiled vegetables of various varieties and some cheese (tasted like Emmentaler). This was baked in the oven for about 20 minutes or so and served. Delicious.



One night we dined on meat and cheeses - just about the perfect spread for Switzerland. Here are an assortment of cheeses. I particularly enjoyed the sort with the dried fruit in the middle and the slightly reddish one - this is prepared with rosehips.



A very fetching meat plate. The dark colored stuff is Bündnerfleisch, Switzerland's beloved dried beef. There's also salami and ham, which are popular in Switzerland, with some varieties produced in-country.


Other interesting Swiss food things -

Ovalmatine is the same as America's Ovaltine, a kind of malted chocolate drink popular with children. It's delicious sprinkled on a cappuccino. Incidentally, the reason we know this stuff as Ovaltine in the USA is because a spelling error occurred on the packaging of the first imports many moons ago. Go figure.

Aromat is a beloved Swiss seasoning, often sprinkled on cucumbers but used on pretty much everything consumed by hardcore fans. (Probably would suck on ice cream). Aromat tastes to me sort of like a more complex celery salt. The ingredients include salt, MSG, dried porcini mushrooms, dried onions, turmeric, caramel color, and lactose, and tastes much better then that combination sounds.

Rivella is a curious beast indeed: a soda pop made out of milk whey and infused with delicious lactose, lactic acid, and minerals. It is definitely an acquired taste but I liked it: a soda with an almost cheesy sort of undertone. There are four varieties: red is classic, green has green tea in it, yellow is produced with soy, and blue is low-calorie.

Welcome to Wil

After Venice, I headed back into Switzerland and to Wil, a small town located near St. Gallen, in Switzerland's northeast corner. Our friend Judith is from Wil and her family still resides there - I was going to stay with Vreni, her sister, her husband Iwald, and her niece Maria. While there, I intended to get some sort of feel for everyday life in Switzerland (it is orderly) and consume lots of cheese (a given) while taking brisk semi-mountain air (of course). Wil is not on the tourist track but is an eminently pleasant place to live - located in the "semi flat" part of Switzerland, it does not possess chamois, ski lifts, and funincular railways but does have much in the way of natural trails, wooded tracts, and a very old and very German downtown. It is worth a visit.

I took the train from Venice to Arth Goldau to Zurich to Wil, which was a haul thank you very much but at least a scenic one. The weather was a bit cloudy and rainy, which actually led to tumbling mists and one helluva rainbow around Zug. After a mad dash in the Zurich railway station (where I was assisted by a friendly guy from Frankfurt with the steep stairs,) I was on the train to Wil, zipping through Switzerlands aforementioned Relatively Flat part. I arrived in Wil an hour late due to a hold-up in Milan - Italian's inability to run trains on time generally fills the Swiss with a sense of superiority. They deserve to feel superior - some of the delays up on the board at Milan's fascist old pile of a station were about three hours long.

I stumbled out of the station into a slight drizzle in Wil and was met by the lovely Maria, Judith's 18 year old cousin. She's just graduated from Swiss high school and will be visiting the USA soon. In any case, we hopped in the car and headed up the hill to their house, which is located on the side of the hill. Their house was designed by a friend of theirs and is incredibly modern and attractive looking - it's almost vertical and covered in interesting artifacts from Vreni's and Iwald's travels. They have been almost everywhere.

We had dinner - Vreni is an excellent cook - which featured meatballs in tomato sauce, couscous, and a great salad made out of lettuces from their own garden. (By the by, the German word for lettuce is salat which leads to various comical misunderstandings). Maria and I would be heading to St. Gallen the next day.