The farming life

We live on the outskirts of the village, next to a farm.

Yesterday, all afternoon, the young farmer ploughed his field.

He went up and down his paddock, stopping at our boundary to turn around and go again. Behind his tractor a line of curved steel blades sliced through the dung-brown clods and a roller of sharp-toothed discs broke the soil down further.

A flock of egrets followed the tractor, in a feeding frenzy.

They rushed forward and plunged their long, yellow beaks into the dirt, then scattered in a flurry of wings as the tractor turned. They regrouped, rushing in again, then took flight to catch up to the tractor once more.

The farmer worked til early evening, and resumed after dinner, the lights of his tractor we could see through our french doors.

Harbingers of winter

Our liquid amber has been the first to turn.

Its living leaves are the colour of a sunset, or a fire.

The fallen ones form a carpet of gold on the ground below.

Worried by the wind, they rustle and shift, while in the foliage above, around an abandoned nest, spiky green seed balls hang like Christmas decorations.

A chill is in the air and the first rain in months drizzles from an oyster sky.

Thousands of swifts have left their twilight perch

On the high-voltage line above the farmer's field

to make their long journey south, I presume.

the restaurant at the foot of the steps

Alla Rampa is a restaurant at the foot of a steep ramp near the Spanish Steps, a stone's throw from the Piazza di Spagna.

It came highly recommended.

We walked from the Villa Borghese, a longer journey than anticipated.

We were hungry and thirsty.

The restaurant was like an oasis, it had an attractive terrace and a wonderful interior.

As you would find in all good European restaurants, the serving staff was ranked in order of seniority. The older men were in white coats and black bow ties while the younger waiters wore black coats and white bow ties.

The murals and fittings had turned this eating house into a romantic opera set, reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet, or a street scene from Napoli.

It almost didn't matter what the food was like. But the food was great. Alla Rampa had the most amazing buffet selection of anti-pasta. Their house wine was superb.

We were thrilled to have found this place. What a great way to end our Roman sojourn.

Roman doors

I am fascinated by the wooden doors in European cities ...

Villa Borghese

The first part of our last day in Rome was devoted to the Villa and Gallery Borghese.

Here are some photos which I hope do justice to the masterpieces we saw.

ceiling panting in the central hall

the beauty of marble

Caravaggio's Madonna with the serpent

David by Bernini

Floor mosaic from 300 AD

A Roman Emperor

Apollo and Daphne

Piazza Navona

Another great day in Rome. 

We were exhausted from two days of sightseeing, having walked more than 15 kilometres, so today we got up late and took the bus to Piazza Navona where, two thousand years ago, chariots raced around a dusty, elliptical arena to cheering crowds. Now the stands are gone, replaced by tenements and restaurants. Huge stone fountains and an obelisk occupy the centre of the square.

We had just ordered our lunch in a tiny trattoria on a narrow, cobblestoned street away from the square, when an elderly, well dressed man came up and asked us something in Italian. His angled dark eyebrows and stubble of grey beard gave him a stern look. He had large, black-rimmed glasses, was bald on top but wore longish grey hair over his collar.

I said “I’m sorry, we don’t speak Italian,” and he said in English, “There is sun on those other tables, may I sit next to you here in the shade?”

“Of course you may.”

And so he asked where we came from and I said France, and he was surprised by that, but then started speaking to us in French so I explained that I was an Australian now living in France.

I asked him how long he’d been in Italy and he said 70 out of his 81 years and then, just as our meal arrived, he pulled out a cigarette packet and asked me if it would be a problem if he smoked. I said yes it would, but thanked him for asking, it was very considerate. I politely suggested he could move to another table that was now in the shade and he seemed happy with that.

He had a well-educated, urbane manner, perhaps a little distracted, perhaps a tad off-centre mentally. While he was waiting for his meal he was reading a book by Andrea Camilleri, titled La Mossa del Cavallo.

I know this because he got up and disappeared into a doorway just as his coffee was brought out, leaving the book open on the table. I had to satisfy my curiosity.

There was something slightly melancholic about this old man, as if he had lost his wife and now lived a lonely life. Yet he had a scholarly air and carried himself with dignity.

The old man came back after about ten minutes and we said goodbye.  We walked back to the square and stopped for coffee at the Bernini café on the edge of the piazza, now half cooled by shade and half bathed in warm sunshine.

Keats and Shelley

The highlight of Day 4 in Rome was a visit to Keats and Shelley house, abutting the Spanish Steps.

This beautifully restored lodging house, in which the English romantic poet John Keats died of tuberculosis in 1821, is now a museum. The walls of its main room are lavishly appointed with bookshelves donated by the US Stock Exchange.

These bookshelves of warm, American walnut contain hundreds of precious volumes by and about the great poets. They fill the place with a musty, redolent odour, showcasing the rich heritage of English literature.

The room in which 25 year old Keats died was cleared of every article and stick of furniture. Everything was burnt in accordance with Vatican law.

The floor tiles, the ceiling and the small fireplace are the only original features of the room remaining.

The walnut boat bed is from the 1820's and is of the exact style of the original.

Whilst Shelley never lived in or visited this house, the museum honours his deep friendship with Keats and his exalted place in the pantheon of English romantic poets.

Shelley loved Italy, but tragically drowned off the Tuscan coast a year after Keats' death. He was 29.

Images of antiquity

The Roman Empire may have fallen 1500 years ago, but evidence of its grandeur are manifest in parts of the city.

Battesimo a Roma

We attended the baptism of our friends' son in a side chapel of St Peter's Basilica today.

It was a wonderful occasion in an awe-inspiring location.

The beauty of the Basilica's interior is almost too much to take in.

It was an honour to be invited to little Julian's baptism. Eight years ago, we attended Allesandro and Claudia's wedding in Adelaide.

Later, at midday, the Pope appeared at the window of his lodgings overlooking St. Peter's Square. He blessed and addressed the adoring crowd.

Here are some pics from today ...

Two sets of parents await the baptism of their children

Claudia, Julian (with priest), Allesandro holding Isabelle

the awe-inspiring opulence

exquisitely carved mahogany confessional

Another Michaelangelo masterpiece

top floor, second window from right, the Pope makes an appearance

Rome Day 2

The obligatory visit to the Colosseum began with running the gauntlet of touters, hustlers and bullshit-artists.

Once inside though, the awe-inspiring scene made the trip worthwhile. Two thousand years ago, in an arena that was laid over a labyrinth of holding bays and passageways, gladiators slaughtered gladiators, gladiators slaughtered animals and unpopular Christians were turned into martyrs.

We then walked around the evocative archaeological site that is the Roman Forum and the Palatino. Here Caesar copped it in the back and unmentionable things happened in the House of the Vestal Virgins.

We got to the top of the Venice Museum in Venice Square, via a vertiginous lift, to enjoy a stunning 360 degree view of the city.

We were very close to those grandiose statues of four-horse chariots that sit atop the building.

Last night we walked around looking for a recommended restaurant, only to find an abandoned, graffitied shutter where it once used to be.

The one we finally chose was stifling inside, so we ate on the terrace, at the foot of a dimly lit stone staircase where two young men sat drinking and smoking.

The veal scallopini in lemon sauce was brilliant.

Here are some pics of old stuff ....

Side-trip to Rome

Day 1

At a food court in the Termini railway station last night, young men in white chef's coats laughed as they worked dough deftly.

They bantered with customers and each other as they casually shovelled pizzas in and out of wood-fired ovens.

So far, in our dealings with people, everyone has been able and happy to speak English. Thank god.

I've been carrying around a piece of paper on which is written, "Mi dispiace, no parlo italiano.", 
but I haven't had to use it.

Rome has changed since I was here 30 years ago. It is much more cosmopolitan today.

So, on our first outing, we visited Rome's Jewish ghetto, a labyrinth of ancient streets dating back to 1555.

Maybe this was an unusual first choice in a city of famous temples, monuments and archaeological ruins ... but we ran out of time to visit the Jewish quarter in Vienna in May and regretted it.

Near the Via del Portico D'Ottavia I took a photo of a plaque on a wall that read Largo, 16 October, 1943.

This is where about 1000 people were rounded up and deported to Auschwitz. Apparently, only a handful returned home.

We had a great lunch in the koscher Ba Ghetto restaurant, ducking inside just as a fierce thunder storm broke over a parched city.

We almost went into the local synagogue/museum but were too Jewish to pay the 11 euro per person entrance fee.

Below, a cursory selection of today's shots  ... I cannot believe I have been 24 hours in Rome and not had a gelati.

Piazza Venezia

A cute little trattoria in the Jewish quarter

pretty old pub

not the Colosseum

old door with brass knocker

the cool, leafy forecourt of our lodgings

taverna antiquia