Via Appia…
Monday 23 September
We were up before sunrise preparing our bikes and bags for the train we had to catch at 9:53 for Roma Termini.
At 7am we were in our saddles and said goodbye for now to this beautifully enlivening place of Orbetello, although Lisa keeps calling it Ortobello (pretty garden) which wouldn’t be wrong given the spectacular positions of these many vege patches between the mountains and the sea. It should be called Ortobello. As we road along the thin stretch of land to the city centre of Orbetello the sun rose. With the beautiful soft hues of orange in the sky overcoming the dark grey of the distant storm clouds we rode along beautiful marshland that reminded us of the Lido. We saw many different birds including kingfishers and much to our surprise pink flamingoes. We were also making sure that as we rode we didn’t run over the pretty brown shelled snails trying to get from one side of the path to the other. We had our ‘passports’ stamped in Orbetello at the Ufficio Parrocchiale and caught the train to Roma Termini after Xavier fixed another flat tyre on the platform as we waited.
What an extraordinary delicious feeling arriving into Rome. It was crazy. Bustling. Full of life. One of the first things we did was have a gelato. Another excellent gelato – uva, fragole e cioccolato con arancio. We rode up a nondescript road only to realise that the Colosseum was getting larger and larger. This monolith of ancient Roman culture.
A beautiful, even if crumbling colosseum surrounded by luggage heaving tourists from all over the world. We made sandwiches in the park next to the colosseum and finally found a city where we can drink potable water that doesn’t taste like shit. The boys ate their lunch up a tree. People were so unsure about us. Not knowing whether they should call the police because we had our serious Swiss Army knives out to slice tomatoes, cheese and pancetta. Xavier is certainly starting to look otherworldly with his fabulous salt and pepper mane and growing goatee and moustache. The only thing that makes us tolerable for many is that we are a family. After watching the behaviour of Russian tourists taking high class model shots in front of us for a good 20 minutes, we decided it was time to move on from this fairytale and get to the family and so made our way to Castel gandolfo. We rode along the mythical Via Appia Antica, marked by chariot wheels from 312BC. It was lined with statues, museums both operational and long defunct. It was green, muddy and bumpy. It’s rawness immediate. As we reached the end this stretch of the Via, we were forced to go through a narrow tunnel as a last gesture at the end of this road. It was such a strong reminder of La Pierre des Fou in St. Dizier L’Eveque.
From Frattoccchie we rode a very steep 400 metres up to Castel gandolfo. Not for the faint hearted. Arrived finally. At Maria and Umberto’s place. We were warmly greeted, just like being at home although treated like royalty. Maria made a delicious and hearty risotto. We enjoyed Umberto’s pure elixir of red wine which over the years he has mastered to perfection without any chemicals to preserve it.
Joined by their daughter, the gorgeous Tiziana for dinner. Some adventure stories were shared in amongst the catching up and of course hearing about Zia Almerinda’s last days. All up, it was a big day of 90kms and we are so very grateful to be able to feel so comfortable with family. It’s been a while since the last time we felt this in Vienna with Norbert. That already feels so far away, but our adventure is far from over. In some ways, it’s only just beginning. The boys were also overcome with this sense of comfort and after a shower, passed out without a peep.
Tuesday 24 September
The day started, quietly, peacefully and slowly. Maria and Umberto had an appointment to get to this morning and when we walked into the kitchen there was a generous spread on the table. In amongst the cups and saucers, the teaspoons, the forks, finely sliced lemon and tea bags (they know we don’t drink coffee) was a beautifully prepared breakfast consisting of home made ‘crostata’ and a ‘ciambella’ cake. It was so nice not to have to roll, to pack, to sort. When Maria and Umberto returned, we went to the cemetery to visit Zia Almerinda but to our surprise, it was closed. We made the most of the walk however and could see Rome and the sea from up here. Close enough yet far enough. No wonder the summer residence of the pope exists here. The air was fresh this morning. We can feel the change in season has reached us here too. Time to move further south again. With Umberto we went to Tiziana’s palatial apartment over a couple of floors with beautiful views in an area where the sense of community was solid.
Umberto spoke to everyone that passed as though they all lived in the same apartment, sharing the latest update about the broken fountain and when its supposed to be fixed. In the garage we were able to find the tools we needed to fix the poles for the tent and when we returned, we put the tents out to dry before the mould starts growing. They were still wet from the storm in Orbetello.
Maria prepared another lovely pranzo of pasta with a sauce made from home grown ‘rio’ tomatoes, home made olive oil and Umberto’s home made red wine from 2017. Umberto has his vineyard that his grandfather started. It’s the reason we couldn’t come later in the week because they are collecting all the red and white grapes this weekend in Frosinone where the vineyard is. We learnt that he doesn’t put a single element of any artificial enhancers into the wine he makes. No sugars, no stabilisers. It’s well rounded, light on the palate and full tasting fermented grape juice. If we didn’t have the baptism to go to this weekend, we would have jumped at the opportunity to help collect the grapes and start the wine making process with everyone.
Lisa’s cousin arrived before lunch and we learnt about her current projects including keeping bees in Via dei Corsi, her homeopathic of sorts process to cure her severe allergies to bees – seems to run in the family – And of course her mother’s passing.
After lunch we piled into two cars to go to Il Rocco del Papa and Latvia Santa.
When we got out the cars, we went up another ancient roman road built in the same style as the Via Appia Antica to go up to Jupiters temple which no longer exists but the exceptionally beautiful view does. A few stones were overturned, illustrating how these boulders were turned into pavers and why the road was still there, pretty much intact. The diamond chiseled base functioned as a mini footing to hold it into place then jammed into place by the geometry of the cut. Simple, but heavy work. We finally reached the top after stopping to visit the figurative boulders, the shrine to Santa Rita and the caves in the Pozzolana rock that the Romans quarried to make their renowned concrete. On reaching the top we saw Jupiters eyes and learnt that the third water filled volcanic crater was emptied out and turned into farmland.
On the way home, we went over to visit one of Lisa’s favourite little towns, Nemi. The perched up castle overlooking the Lago Di Nemi, where you can enter a little rabbit warren of narrow streets across the road, buy freshly picked strawberries, eat freshly hunted game and wild mushrooms, all of this while licking a gelato as you look out onto the lake in which they found boats belonging to Caligula in its deep, dark, murky depths.
We came back just before sunset and prepared our bags for our departure tomorrow. Antonello, the other cousin, came to pay us a visit and shared stories of his mother and his dangerous life as a shop owner which includes being held at gun point often.
We had another lovely big family dinner which included Claudio and Claudia, their son, and Tiziana. The great crazy noisy family vibe. Several conversations going at once. Fabulous pizza. Fun. After dinner Maria and Tiziana packed us a huge lunch for our trip tomorrow consisting of all the leftover pizza. We won’t starve tomorrow!
A late night. Feels like we’re starting to get into the Spanish rhythm.
Wednesday 25 September
Left Castel gandolfo with another step climb out. The middle aged man and his wife watching us push passed their front fence made it worthwhile. As we got closer so too did they, spirits outstretched telling us if they could help push us up, they would. But they were struck by bewilderment at the sight of us and didn’t know if they should. So instead, they shared words of encouragement and congratulations to these travellers, three of which only seemed just out of nappies. Their actions and words were exchanged with inspired and grateful smiles and words of thanks.
Before leaving we went to the cemetery and laid flowers on Zia Almerinda’s makeshift grave and her husband. It was the first time Claudia had been back to the cemetery since the funeral so it was a tender moment for her.
Afterwards Claudia drove Lisa and the boys through the very narrow streets of Castel gandolfo to arrive at its central piazza where there was a beautiful church with sculptures by Bellini holding the central painting. Inside Claudia and Claudio explained all the different papal emblems that were represented in the church including the bear of the German pope, the Florentine fleur de Lys floral pattern and the tower for another, perhaps Lorenzo Di Medici from Tuscany. As a local with a shop in the piazza, Claudio then took us to the papal parochial office to get our pilgrims card stamped. A very formal and important moment in this part of the world given the pope’s proximity, even though I learnt that the current pope Francis renounced his use of the Summer residence in Castel gandolfo because he preferred to turn it into a museum which has resulted in greater tourism in the town.
We returned to Maria and Umberto’s place, loaded our bikes and said our goodbyes for now. It was an emotional moment. Our family is great at saying hello and being very hospitable but become so sad when it’s time to say goodbye. We all had lumps in our throats, holding back the tears.
Arsène came off his bike as he was looking back and waving. He clipped his brother’s back wheel and luckily for him came out fairly unscathed. He could have broken his collar bone and scraped his face.
On the road to Montelanico we rode past Claudia’s bees and passed the infamous stretch of road that is a conversation point for many locals. We can definitely confirm that the optical illusion on the road to Montelanico is indeed an optical illusion. It seems the road is going down but in fact it is completely flat. Being on bikes was a perfect opportunity to test it.
We made it to Artenna where we enjoyed the left overs from dinner last night. We were all very happy to eat the pizza, remember the time we had with the family, their kind heartedness and generosity. It’s such a shame we couldn’t spend a few days extra. The only consolation is that we will see Tiziana again in Rome when we come back for the baptism.
We arrived in Montelanico and Lisa remembered where the main points were … Zio Enzo’s house which is now where Lucio and Claudio live with Lorella, Sylvana and Enzo. Then the Fontana, and while nobody washes there anymore, they now go to the fountain with large bottles to collect water.
We arrived at Ermete and Rosa’s place but they weren’t there. We then heard the familiar voice of Maurizio, Lisa’s tall, thin cousin. He was on the phone but on seeing us he raised his arms and announced to whoever it was that we were there. Such a warm beautifully welcoming embrace. We chatted for a while and then when Maurizio said that Zia Gertrude was at home, we went into the home where Nonno Franco used to live and said our hellos. Although in fine form she has definitely become shorter, although always the same Gertrude. Ermete saw our bikes outside and heard the commotion coming out of the house. He and Rosa joined in and all of a sudden it became the big family noise of happiness that engulfed.
We eventually made our way back to Ermete and Rosa’s place, where we will stay. We got comfortable, had a lovely shower, enjoyed Ermete’s Matriciana and then watched the Lazio-inter football match. What a treat for the boys.
Thursday 26 September
Today we crammed in a full day of visiting family. We’re just not here long enough. We’d need at least 2 weeks to do the rounds properly. It feels like the wrong approach and that we should be spending a bit more time with the older ones because we know that the likelihood of them still being here the next time we come back is slim.
We started with Zia Maria Morelli/Onorati. We pleasured her by staying for lunch which wasn’t planned but she was so happy to be with us and we didn’t want to disappoint her. She was clearly loving the company, something she misses since Stefania moved to Rome. We silently acknowledged that there may not be a next time so we made the most of life now. While we were waiting for the pasta to cook, Zia called her sister, Lisa’s mum to check in on her as well as invert the novelty of distant relationships. After lunch we dropped in on Claudia, Francesco and Riccardo and we’re planning on seeing Roberto later tonight, if not in Rome.
We made our way down to Zia Maria Corsi, who became Onorati. That is, Lisa’s father’s sister married Lisa’s mother’s brother. We made our way up the cold, sterile marble stairway and met with Lisa’s cousin Sandro and his hyperactive, melodramatic, Felliniesque daughter Vittoria who was squirming, almost aerobically, on the couch the entire time we were there. We saw the other Zia Maria who at 97 is looking every bit her age, although she retains a sharp conversation style, although Laura suggests her memory is failing her.
It was then a sprint down to see Giulio before he had to get back to the farm. It was excellent timing because we also got to spend time with Lisa’s cousin Maurizio, the youthful Aléssia, her mother Sylvia, who both came to Australia in 2007 with Zia Maria Morelli/Onorati. In fact, they left Sydney the day Arsène was born. Seeing Giulio was such a treat. A gentle giant with a heart of gold and hands like spades! Everyone says he has the gentle character that Nonno Giulio used to have, unlike his wife Pasqua who was said to be austere. We sat under the grape vines, in the company of the antique war time chair that is in a photo that dates back to Santoro. It became a place to exchange stories, learn about Alessia’s scholarship, share drinks, play with the dogs and catch up with people as they passed by.
Before heading over to see Claudio and Lucio, we passed by the cemetery. There are more people that we knew in there now than in the village. Time has passed so quickly. We said hello to the wonderful Pepe, whose presence we have really missed this time around. We took photos of the family we know we have direct links to although no doubt, there are many that we missed. At the cemetery Lisa stumbled across a photo that was not marked but that she recognised instantly as her great great grandfather, Santoro who ran the oil business with his brothers and later sons. Out of the cemetery gates crowned with skulls at the entrance, it wasn’t long before we reached Claudio and Lucio. A large corner block of three units with a common garage underground, we happened to arrive at the same time they were returning from the vineyard. The apartment Lisa’s uncle Enzo and aunty Angelina lived in back in the day has been transformed for Claudio and Lorella’s daughter Sylvia. We weren’t meant to eat at their place because we were meant to go and meet Roberto who we didn’t see earlier because he was at work, but it didn’t turn out that way. A few calls were made and we stayed for a big family aperitivo! Which included Claudio’s son, Enzo. It was great for Xavier, because for the first time in a few days he was able to have a meaningful conversation with someone else. Lucio’s English is excellent, despite his health being in tatters after military service. This meant that by the time we got to “Il Frantoio”, we weren’t very hungry, but we wanted to support this newly started restaurant that is so strongly tied to the family history and where Riccardo works and Claudia helps in the kitchen.
The restaurant used to be the place where Lisa’s father, uncles and grandfather used to make olive oil. The fitout has been respectfully and beautifully done. The great big stone crusher that was churned by horses was still in prefect condition, the cobblestone ground around it likewise. The two presses, one hydraulic which was the more modern one and the other hand operated press, displayed modestly and respectfully.
We left Claudio’s and Lucio’s place later than expected so we were running up the hill when we stumbled across Eloisa hanging out from the window. She didn’t recognise us and after taking us for who knows who, Sandro quickly rushed down to let us in. We went upstairs and spoke briefly with my other cousin Laura and her husband Cesare. Meanwhile we had a wonderful Fellini moment with Vittoria stroking and hugging Arsène like a puppy proclaiming that he is her preferred and that she wanted to keep him. Arsène was so tired that he almost started to fall asleep in her bosoms. Sedated he was.
After a very brief moment together, we said farewell and made our way up the street to meet Roberto, who was hiding from our clear site. He was a large dark figure that came out from behind the wall with a huge big smile and exceptionally warm embrace. He looks so much like Lisa’s maternal grandfather who was so very gentle. The boys wouldn’t have known him from a bar of soap but in his embrace, they had known one another for millennia. It was another brief but memorably warm embrace. We were hoping that he would join us for dinner in the family’s old oil service quarters but it was already late and he had to wake up at 4am to get to work.
We ordered a very light dinner that was delicious, particularly the sardine pasta and then made our way back to Ermete and Rosa’s place. Ermete returned home shortly after us and told us a few more stories, including his memory as a young boy of the night before Lisa’s dad left Italy.
Friday 27 September
Before leaving Montelanico, we went and did a few more rounds. On the way into the main piazza, we passed by what used to be the house where Lisa’s mother grew up. Now derelict. What would have, could have been, a charming three story home. We went to pick up Zia Maria Morelli/Onorati from the hairdresser then walked her to the post office so she could pay a few bills. We parted ways in the intimate grocery store while she was waiting to be served. It felt like a nice place to say goodbye, she was in good company with her village friends.
On the way back to Ermete and Rosa’s place, we met with Sandro in the piazza. Rosa and Sandro got into a debate about Vittoria’s decision to go to Rome for the Climate Strike. Rosa held her ground and made sure this father took responsibility for the reasons why his daughter was having to assert her position in this world that has and will fail future generations. We went into Ermete’s garage, pulled out our bikes, saddled them up and said more goodbyes, although it didn’t feel like a definitive goodbye because there is a higher chance we will see them in Australia soon when they come and visit their son Stefano.
We made it to Colleferro, had a quick lunch of various tramezzini – tuna, ham, egg. Tasty but moorish. We got to the train station and when Lisa went to buy the tickets, the lady was very curious about what we were doing. She had plenty of questions and was surprised to hear about the family connection to this place. Shortly after we arrived in the fabulous madness of Roma Termini. An explosion of attitude where anything goes. Figure it our yourself, but together, in a weird way. It only keeps working if we’ve all got attitude together! So strange but so refreshingly liberating.
We zig zagged our way on bumpy cobblestone streets to the hotel, had a shower then went to meet Lisa’s cousin Stefania for dinner with Marco and Nico in a trattoria where Arsène and Oreste had their calzone pizzas ripped away from beneath their fork and knife just as they were about to start eating. With a shout out from the waiter ‘Ragazzi’! the boys turned their heads, looked at him by which time he had already ripped the pizzas away from under their noses. The boys were left with fork and knife in hands and mouths wide open in shock. Before going to dinner, we got to do a load of washing at Stefania’s place and met Marco’s love parrot who has eyes only for Marco, is not at all approving of Stefania and masturbates on his hand whenever he comes home.
After dinner we strolled the busy streets, admiring the dramatic image of antiquities all around us, dramatically lit. The underground walk way was a museum exhibiting in glass vitrines the ancient Roman ruins found on the site. We went to Stefanie’s favourite gelato bar and didn’t hold back. We are so going to miss this quality of divine gelato. On the way back to their apartment, we walked by the Achbasilica Di San Giovanni in Laterano, the oldest public church in Rome and the oldest basilica in the western world, directly under the jurisdiction of the pope, houses the cathedral of the pope and is the mother church of the catholic faith. This is as pointy as Catholicism gets. Stefania said the internal decorations are incredible and if we have time it would be well worth a visit. From the outside, the lights accentuated its unshakable verticality, unmistakably declaring its significance. Experiencing Rome at night is like moving through a dreamscape that initiates an out of this world sensation.
Saturday 28 September
An incredible day. Struck between the eyes by human ingenuity, swept off our feet by the crashing wave of time, buoyed by the weight of history in this ocean filled with relics, taunted and enchanted by the secrecy captured in each piece damned to remain forever silent. Holding onto the thick chain of today’s wrecking ball we smashed through the eras … and then … celebrated the manifested intensity of the layered, significant and unique power of Rome, with those that stoke the fire of curiosity, dare to live an unbridled life bathing in its beauty.
The magic was let loose when we met Tiziana. We only had a short time with her and with a wish, she took us to the Basilica Di San Clemente – the site of three layers of deep history. Deep beneath the streets of contemporary Rome, we walked through the 70 cm wide streets of ancient Rome that were used by the one million inhabitants – that figure doesn’t include women and slaves, who weren’t counted in those days. The next layer up was the 4th century basilica that was originally the home of Titus Flavius Clemens, one of the first Roman senators to convert to Christianity and be executed for it. It is said that the basilica is named after Pope Clement I, however it could also be named after this Clemens or the relics of Saint Clement housed in the basilica that the creators of the Cyrillic script carried with them when they arrived in Rome. On top of that layer, piled up to today’s street level, the medieval basilica built in 1100s. A fresco dedicated to the brothers, we learnt about the origins of the Cyrillic script, the lead role Saint Cyril and his brother played in its creation who made Rome his home when they were warmly supported on arrival. The most incredible overlay to this entire site is however the secret place of worship for Christian paganism, which later became one of the most important sites of the pagan cult, Mithras. As we descended the stairs, each step down accounting for a century, our bodies passed a threshold, were cloaked by dampness and our superficial everyday visibility was turned inward and we arrived into a mystical dreamlike world. Voices silenced, wonder captured, rendered without resistance. This vaulted room – small, dark, closed, secret. The blocks – imposing, central. The relief – presents as a riddle to decipher. This cave-like temple of Mithras was a place where the initiated witnessed sacrifices and dined. A few doorways away, were school rooms where future disciples were educated. Tiziana explained that the demise of the Mithras was its purely male domain, unlike the quickly rising Christian religion which was open to both males and females. We continued our passage in this underground labyrinth and just as baptisms are remembered by the young, with every step, the dampened air removed any memory of the path travelled. Floating in this dreamscape, Tiziana presented us another fresco where for the first time, vulgar language is captured in a scene where a pagan thinks he has captured St. Clement but when he realises that he hasn’t he insults his servants by calling them sons of sluts and so on. This is a place on earth where the human spirit’s necessity to share its symptoms with others through narrative is given life, spoken through multiple realities and flows just like the water. We continued through to yet another mind blowing collision – The water.
The water that still today runs underneath the city and pulled from aqueducts built around 600BC, are in the basement of this site. Pixie like sirens, chatter and chortle drawing you into a corner. Luring you, you find yourself leaning over the handrail wanting to climb down, through the grill and touch this flow. This is the infamous Cloaca Maxima, one of the world’s first sewage systems started by the Etruscans. This water washed and continues to wash out Rome and tips it into the Tiber River, a place you don’t want to swim in. The chatter of the water running over coins from all over the world, awakened us to the chatter of the tourist groups entering the area. It was time to leave Etruscan Rome and climb back up to the height of the Middle Ages and the 11th century basilica with its exceptionally dazzling display of Cosmatesque tiles. A pattern that is reminiscent of a moorish style. The dazzle and the height of the ceilings of the basilica seem distant, not as immediate as down below. The body wasn’t as implicated, only the mind, which created a void as large as the basilica itself. More than fully charged we re-emerged into Rome today, although, just to the left, Tiziana explained how the life and training schedule of the gladiators played out before we looked ahead towards the Colosseum, but there we were reminded of the flowing water beneath our feet. On the road that leads to the novo forum or amphitheatre as the colosseum was originally known, Nero had extended an aqueduct to build a man made lake on the site after the fires of 64. Tiziana likened Rome to a lasagna of history. We said our goodbyes and are already so looking forward to seeing the gentle, intelligent, graceful Tiziana again.
We rode through this superficial layer of the lasagna and came back to our very trashy hotel, which is so trashy, it’s fascinating. We are in one room of three that gives on to a common reception like area with a coffee table in the centre with magazines, tourist guides, books, some more chewed than others beneath the glass; couches draped in white bedsheets and a window giving out to a wall opposite with a clothes line running between the two buildings. Another Fellini film set in the making, starring the tired looking, yet still believed edgy middle aged Spanish guys on a dirty weekend with their mistresses; the young tattooed guy that gets around in undies alone while speaking with minimal words quietly into his phone in either code or a foreign language; the Anglo tourist who shows up with carabinieri trying to recall an event that clearly went beyond the bounds of the law, even in anarchic Italy.
We showered, got changed and were on our way again. This time over to Basilica di Santa Maria in Domnica alla Navicella to meet la famille Jardini en masse, all the way from Strasbourg. Strangely, we have passed this Basilica on several occasions, which became memorable for the marble fountain in the form of a Roman galley out the front of the entrance – «La Navicella». We passed it on our way from Termini to Castel Gandolfo and on our way to/from Stefania’s place. We marked the coincidence by having our pilgrims card stamped here as our proof of having travelled to Rome. This was a most unusual and unique gathering in Rome for the baptisme of the little Anna, daughter of the stylish Sébastien and his Roman soul mate, Jessica. It was the first time the boys had been to a baptism and the first in decades for Lisa and Xavier. It was so wholesome to be in their company. We missed them so much since last seeing them in Strasbourg a few months ago. We were so excited at the prospect of them popping up in our continuing travels. We savoured every moment. Jean told us the wonderful story of how he managed to touch the flowing water of the Cloaca Maxima beneath the Basilica Di San Clemente, in which Ferdinand lost his glasses and Claire descended into the pit to collect them out of the water.
After the official baptism we walked over to the Lay Centre at Foyer Unitas for a delicious banquet of the finest fried vegetables including zucchini flowers, a very angry but creamy Arrabbiata pasta and an onctueuse tiramisu. The boys enjoyed a game of football in what used to be Nero’s garden, while others strolled arm in arm with the sunset through the gardens offering a unique view of the amphitheatre. It became clear why Nero took over the low lying land and turned into a lake extending his already sumptuous garden perched up high on this hill. After night fall, those that remained, migrated a few blocks offering gelateria on one side and wine bar on the other. We relished in the wonderful company of family in this magical city. It was late by the time we left, but our hearts and bellies were full. The night ride home was glorious. Again, Fellini’s vision there for the drinking. The play of light, shadows, texture and colour was like swimming through the fine threads of the fabric of a vastly extending public artwork. There is nowhere to escape from the formidable tension that oscillates between beauty and disgrace.
We returned to the hotel and found one of the overweight mistresses lounging invitingly on the couch dressed in a transparently thin nightie. The door to their room was open and one of the Spanish guys was sitting up in bed with a naked torso staring into his phone. It was difficult to know what had happened or was going to happen. Perhaps it was the beginning of a ritualistic love call, perhaps it was the other side of a failed or unsatisfying one. We went to bed knowing that we only had a few hours left before waking up and experiencing this city in the early hours of a Sunday morning as recommended by Marco.
Sunday 29 September
Up at 5:45am and did Rome on the cue of sunrise. The boys were in deliriously fine form. Tonight we will have to be in bed early.
In the cool crisp air, we rode on empty roads. No traffic. Just quiet. Peace. Through the leafy green streets around Villa Borghese and eventually into Il Pincio. Our tyres crackled through the pebbly ground as we rode through the park. We didn’t feel like we were alone. Each statue, each bust was so very present. In our sleep deprived states we were certain that when we turned quickly, the statues had snapped back into stillness. We had the impression that we had gate crashed their daily, maybe weekly get together. What fascinating people they would be to talk with. If only they would break their silence … We soon found ourselves on an open platform, la Terrazza del Pincio with a group of young people who were still out from the night before.
The sunrise behind us was changing the colours of the sky as we overlook la Piazza Del Popolo, ironically a public execution site until the 19th century, marked by the Egyptian obelisk Augustus had brought to Rome. We continued on our way and visited la Fontana Di Trevi which was almost empty, la Piazza Di Spagna: empty, Piazza Navona: totally empty, via il Mausoleum Di Augustus: deserted, the Jewish quarters, busy with bakers and breakfast at 9am. Followed by the Pantheon, Capitoline Hill museum, then for a look into the Archbasilica Di San Giovanni in Laterano on Stefania’s advice, via Circo Massimo.
After lunch, we went to meet Marc and Françoise at Piazza San Pietro via Piazza Venezia … on bikes! What a ride! It was great and we didn’t feel threatened at all. They must have thought us as mad as they. We stopped on the roadside to take in the epic hommage to Vittorio Emmanuelle and then bumped into Marc and Françoise as we were heading for San Pietro. We saw a beautiful young Italian girl rushing, streaming down stairs with a gorgeous elaborate silk bridesmaid dress juxtaposed against the formal hard imposing gigantic columns of San Pietro. We moved on to gelato. We were fading fast. We tasked Marc and Françoise to take a few things back to Strasbourg for us, which we’ll collect in December – at the other end of the final leg of this trip that will take us through Spain and Portugal.
Went back to the hotel. Organised ourselves for our departure from Rome in the morning but not before Xavier had a run in with another Italian so called manager who ordered Xavier to move the bikes from where they had been the last two nights. No reason. Just do it. So we took them into our room because we certainly weren’t going to risk having them stolen two nights before having to get on the boat to Barcelona. We went out for dinner and were in bed relatively early given the late nights we were having. Wrote to Lisa’s sister Rita tonight who was starting to get worried by the silence.
Monday 30 September
Xavier woke up early to go and do a wash and dry before leaving Rome. Dodgy characters outside the hotel this morning circling around cars nearby. We rode along the Tiber river out of Rome. Perhaps fittingly, we had lunch on the steps nexts to the Tiber river alongside, Ponte Rotto, where the Cloaca Maxima gushed forth into the Tiber. The boys managed to make the most of it by testing their vocal chords underneath each echoing bridge, adding another eerie dimension to an already sombre ride.
We eventually made it to the outskirts of Rome and there was a sense of grittiness, edgyness that was bordering on the feeling that we entering dangerous territory. The ride itself was starting to test our endurance as we progressed up hill, then down, then up, then flat, then down and so on. We took a few minutes break when we reached a goat farm. It was crawling with very vocal goats – young and old. We rode through beautiful landscape, perfumed with a musky powdery scent and when we stopped for a toilet break realised that the grass was actually not grass but oregano. The most perfumed roadside pee so far.
Made it to Bracciano on a very bad road with awful drivers. We had three big trucks come very close. Arrived at the first camping spot it was closed. Arrived at the next and while she was processing our stay, she was trying to convince us that the refugees are a real problem. Complaining how unfair it is that she pays her taxes and ‘they’ get 25 euro a day. Lisa reminded her that these people are fleeing war but she argued that the war only affected 5% of people in Syria. We are pretty tired tonight. It’s been an emotional roller coaster.
Tuesday 1 October
This morning we woke up next to the lake of Bracciano. One of the last camping grounds in the area still open. That’s one of the things that stands out about Italians they make things difficult but then come across as so can do and willing to facilitate. It’s a real skill – telling you that they will open the campground for you although they’re living in it. The Machiavellian spirit continues to expose itself every now and then.
After the usual routine – getting dressed, going to the toilet, packing the bedding, having breakfast drinking tea which Xavier makes first thing in the morning while the rest of us are still sleeping or at least stirring, brushing teeth, packing bags, sorting and disposing the rubbish, mounting bags on bikes and getting ready for the next destination – we headed to the cerveteri necropolis via the town centre of Bracciano, which is a very quaint town with a very large castle perched up high, reminding everyone who can be bothered of the old power days of the Orsini-Odescalchi families.
The road seemed long to Cerveteri. It was supposed to be mostly down hill but it didn’t quite feel like that. The steep ascent that was perfumed with the smell of freshly made pasta. We visited the ancient necropolis – a real labyrinth. Arsène got lost in it on his way back from the toilet. All these mounds looked the same, as did the passages. He was looking up ladders, down ladders into caves. Calling out. Going around in circles only to find himself in the same spot. Or was it? He started running, but it all still looked like he’d just been there. Crying he thought of a back-up plan. He’ll go to the bikes if he couldn’t find us. Overwhelmed by fear he started panicking about what would become of him if he couldn’t finds the bikes, or worse still, if the bikes weren’t there anymore. That we’d abandoned him. In a parallel world, Xavier searched far and wide for Arsène while Lisa and Léon stayed where they were in case he hovered over thier way. After what felt like an eternity for Arsène, Xavier finally found him completely disoriented and on the verge of hyperventilating. The idea of staying in a field dedicated to the ancient dead was too much to bear, particularly given we had a boat to catch tonight that we absolutely can’t miss.
The video explanations were excellent. Images accompanied voice overs that captured the essence of that particular necropolis and its features while being wholesomely educative for all. We all really enjoyed it, in between checking out the local wild life which included many wonderful green skinks that dropped their tails the moment they got scared, crickets, butterflies, frogs and huge earth worms. The mosquitos go without saying. Some of the tombs were flooded with water and made a perfect nest for mosquitoes and of course frogs.
The excitement of today has been building for many, many months. Tonight is the night we catch the boat to Barcelona. After Cerveteri, we rode to the nearest train station to get to Civitavecchia and we passed some of the lovely spots we all noticed on our way from Grosetto which had waves. Civitavecchia itself but also some other areas along that particular coastline such as San Marinella. Lined with a mixture of old villas and new apartment blocks, its is an area that we really liked.
We had a fairly disappointing gelato which we all really wanted before we leave Italy, followed by a disappointing but good enough small dinner. We rode to the port to board the boat. We were all so excited. Everyone was feeling like this was something new and it was. We continued our acquisition of Italian playing cards so we can continue our re-invigorated love for Scopa, Briscola and Sette Mezzo.
We stared the boarding process. There was a chatty first door experience – the operator lived and worked in Montreux. At the next gate, the guy at the x-ray machines put us in the ‘too hard’ basket with all our bikes and bags, so told us to just go straight through. At the third gate there was a freeze on the small talk when they saw Lisa’s Australian passport. The whispering, discussion and the questions followed. “You landed on 1 July in Europe on an Australian passport?”. “You don’t have the same surname?” Even after showing them the visa and demonstrating that it was for 12 months, there were still a few checks to be made.
We were eventually given the green light to proceed onto the boat, but not after several huge semitrailers boarded and made their way at full speed to the front of the very large boat which was out of sight. We were given a small area for our bikes right next to the main entrance. We passed through a small door and were thrust in another world.
The cruise world, although it was just a ferry. The long corridors of doorways, the internal stairs. Memories of a four year old being replayed through the eyes of a 47 year old made it a difficult moment to reconcile for Lisa. But the biggest and deepest memory jolt was looking out into the pitch blackness. After dinner we went out to say “Arrivederci Roma”. Italy – Loved it. Hated it. But so beautiful even in all its dysfunction. We could see the coastline of Italy getting smaller and on the other side, pitch blackness. A deep, deep black. We could have been in outer space, but for the sounds of the water, swishing, swirling, whispering. Amniotic, dreamlike. The boys were completely freaked out by the entire experience. Lisa encouraged them to scare themselves even more by blocking out the lights of the boat using their hands as blinkers and just looking out into the sheer blackness. Scared but excited. Lisa again thought of what it must have been like for her father to watch his country be consumed by the blackness. It really must have been a journey to the unknown.
Wednesday 2 October
It was 3am when the sirens called. Lisa woke with a desire to see absolutely nothing. Half asleeep she quietly snuck out the cabin, made her way up to the spaceship blue of the deck and went to the edge of this world. The wind blew savagely and she quickly had to catch hold of her glasses before they flew off her face. In the distance she could see some lights flickering like far off galaxies in the blackness.
Lighting illuminated a third dimension. A storm in the distance defined the black plane. The smell of thick paint layered by months of sea salt on the metal railings triggered memories of holding onto the arms of her father as he held her up to look into the nothingness. She remembers this smell, just like the smell of burning oil. This is no fantastic time machine. It has been an incessant churning of thick black smoke from three large pipes spewing over the sea. The pollution we’ve contributed to makes you want to cower. And what’s worse is that the boat isn’t even full. Just like the one car, one driver equation on the streets.
By the time lunch came around we were starting to get cabin fever. We were itching to get off and back on our bikes but there was no escape.
After a large lunch we all decided to go back to the cabin for a siesta because tonight will be another late night and there really isn’t very much to do. It’s like a floating prison. We emerged to feel a volatile sea which threw the boat around a little more. The boys had been gone for a while and given the conditions, Lisa and Xavier decided it was time to go find them. Doing the rounds of the deck in dangerously windy conditions. Opening the door to get on deck was an effort in itself and once out, you had to latch onto the railings otherwise you’d be literally swept off your feet. We made our way around the deck with the help of railings and some upright panels but then, neither were available and we had to get from one protected spot to the next protected spot but traverse an open area of several metres. All of this while looking for the boys. Xavier found his feet and steadily made his way across. Lisa set out but felt like a sparrow in a cyclone. A guy on the deck was nervously watching as she made her slow way across trying to be and feel as thick and as heavy as she could. The boys were still no where to be found. Back inside, we continued our search and of course, they were exploring the various nooks and crannies of the boat and finding the best vantage points. They were thrilled by the windy conditions.
Xavier and Lisa returned to the cabins to start packing our bags when the boys came in to announce that they could see Spain. Spain was on the horizon! They were so excited and had a real sense of exploration in their voices. We left the cabin to find that the sea had calmed and passengers were now allowed back on deck and indeed we could see the Pyrenees in the distance.
We disembarked on sunset and it was total chaos. The Italians seemed to be in a hurry to get everyone off given we arrived an hour late. They were telling the truck drivers of big semi trailers to hurry up and get out while there was only a few centimetres between cars, and us waiting for them to pass so we could go out. A reversing forklift almost rolled over Oreste, which none of us saw but thank god a worker on the dock did. We were trying to get out quickly but León hadn’t strapped the tent to his bike securely so we had to find a spot – next to the dwarfing monster wheels of a parked semi – to quickly do up the tent and get the hell out of there. Semi trailers, motorbikes, campervans, cars, they were all streaming out of the hull at top speed.
Then we were on a bike path and wow! There was calm. What an entry into Spain. The ride from the port to the centre of Barcelona was so easy. It was a bike route the entire way and Christopher Columbus pointed out the direction of the New World. We were heading in the opposite direction.
What a city. People out after dark, a dynamic energy, heaps of people using the bike paths, fabulous roads. No potholes, no roads left to fall apart, patient and courteous car drivers – so far in any case. We seemed to have left the chaos of Italy behind at the port and found this ordered, beautiful, lively city. As we rode, the beautifully lit Gaudi Casa Mila building appears out of no where. Loud protests demanding freedom for political prisoners. The girl on her bike who passing through raised her arms and chanted with the protesters. The warmer air. We’ve gained an extra hour of daylight. Arsène’s response: “sexy”.
We all noted the absence of mosquitoes when we arrived at the mesmerising Arab inspired youth hostel tonight. What an entrance.
