First visitor from Toronto

This morning I went to say a rosary at Santa Maria Maggiore for day two of the novena for our Lady’s birthday.

After school ( I am being moved to the advanced class on Monday) I went to Santa Maria in Via.

In case you are not familiar with the legend: in the 13th century, a well in the palace of a Cardinal (where the church is presently) began to overflow abundantly, and the waves of water brought to the surface a stone, on which was an image of our Lady. The whole thing being miraculous, (stones do not normally float on water,) droves of people flocked to see it, and soon enough cures were reported. The contemporary Pope approved the whole business, the Cardinal was out of a home, the palace was demolished, and the present church was built. It was later rebuilt during the early 16th century.

The well is still active, and the image of our Lady has been enthroned above an altar. It is the first side chapel on the epistle-side as you come in. Little cups of water from the holy well are offered to pilgrims. It was very cool and refreshing. I must declare that I really enjoy this earthy sort of Catholicism I’ve discovered in Rome. Where ever one goes in this city, magnificent churches, relics, legends, and cups of water (or similar things) are found to inspire devotion. I don’t think I could ever go back to the insipid Canadian version, with our sterile churches, and general incredulity even towards the de Fide articles of the Faith.

After Mass at San Gregorio I met up with a former professor from U of T, Dr. Toporoski. He invited me to have dinner with him, (which was frugal, well in keeping with his character,) but the conversation very abundant, very pleasant as always. I took a picture right before we said goodbye as proof of the chance encounter.

Feast of St. Rose

Today there are several things to talk about.


First, the Italian word of the day is: "Boh!" Almost identical to the Anglo-Saxon shrug of the shoulders or "I dunno", it runs the risk of becoming my favourite Italian word.


This morning I went to St. Mary Major for the start of the novena for the feast of our Lady's Nativity. I said a rosary before the Salus Populi Romani.


In school I had to write out a joke in Italian, because I am constantly finishing my assignments before everybody else, and the teacher doesn't want me to twiddle my thumbs. Not being a funny person, I had to rely, instead, on a joke that Noel told me once before. If you are curious ask him to tell you the Angelus joke. To my relief, almost everybody laughed, which means that Catholicism is not yet dead everywhere and some people out there still know this great prayer. The teacher also said I might be moved to the advanced class. We'll see what happens.

After school I went to and prayed at the altar of St. Rose of Lima in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, because August 30 is the Feast of St. Rose both in the old calendar and, more importantly, in Lima and Latin America. I was saying the office, trying to mind my business, but an old fool who thought that the south aisle was his office decided to make a very noise call over his cell. A bleary eyed Dominican sitting by the bookstall neither said nor did a thing.

Now, don't kid yourselves. The only reason why I restrained myself from verbally trussing, skewering and slowly roasting the man for so long is not that I have recently received some special grace, but that my command of the Italian language is not yet sufficient for me to say all that I would have said in English in Toronto.

But when the man's odious gurgles had reached a crescendo, my eyes fell upon the following verse in my breviary: "Tabescere me fecit zelus meus, quia obliti sunt verba tua inimici mei," and leaving aside all shame over my defective command of Italian I looked straight at the man and hissed "Basta!" and I know not what else, and then gave the placidly-bovine Dominican staring into outer space a piece of my mind also.

I finished my office as well as I could, and still in quite the mood, no doubt adding years to my purgatory by the second, I went to look for a MacDonald's so I could do there the only thing that the place is good for....(I have been warned by a friend that his mother might read this so I trust the reference was sufficiently oblique.)

Then Mass at San Gregorio, which was offered for my mother. Here is further proof that our Lord indeed is merciful and treats us not according to our deserts: after Mass I was asked if I wanted to learn how to serve in the old rite, and I hope my smile was sufficiently demonstrative of my joy and gratitude welling up inside.

Decollation of St. John the Baptist

After classes were over at 4:30, I took that newly discovered bus back to the centre of Rome. I paid St. John the Baptist (‘s head) a visit, and prayed for a bit. Then it was Mass at San Gregorio. Unfortunately, my camera was not cooperating when I got to the church, but I was indeed able to take some pictures of the “gardens” about the university, which I think of as my consolation.

Feast of St. Augustine

Classes today. Not much free time. I discovered an alternate route back to the city from the university; in half an hour a bus takes me to the Piazza San Silvestro, a 10 minute walk from the frat church. This is much better than the bus that takes me to Termini, the central station, because from there it takes me much longer to reach San Gregorio.

It is all quite providential. As you may know, tomorrow we celebrate the decollation of St. John the Baptist, and it so happens that the church at Piazza San Silvestro, San Silvestro in Capite, has the head of St. John the Baptist! I already payed him a visit, but it will be extra special to sing the "Ut queant laxis" (sotto voce of course) before him tomorrow.

Today I had so much free time before Mass at San Gregorio that I went to the Church of Saint Augustine (which is also nearby) and I prayed at St. Monica's altar (her relics are in a sarcophagus under the altar,) and I lit a (real) votive candle. There were many people doing the same. Many religious in their habits. Most conspicuous of all were the Bridgettine nuns, who have a very unique veil.

On my way out of the church I noticed that the altarpiece of first side altar on the Gospel side as you come in is by Caravaggio! A painting I have studied before but I had no idea it was here. 'Twas a very happy reunion, like meeting a long lost friend.

If I remember my camera tomorrow I might take some pictures of the university....I might even quickly snap a picture of St. John the Baptist, (for your religious edification of course.)

Short journal entry.

Today was a school day, so I did not have much free time. In the evening I went to the frat church. I must say that I am very greatful that I can attend the "extraordinary" rite of holy Mass every day. Tomorrow is St. Augustine's feast day, so I plan to pop on by his church after Mass. How is everybody else?

Summary

The following is a summary of the past week. I failed to keep a journal because I was very busy with finding a place to live. I fail to mention that I am, in fact, very thankful to be here, and that there are many beautiful things to see. I have visited many churches and other sites already, and will surely revisit them again. You can wait for my opinions and impressions at that later date. Since I now have a place to live, and regular access to the net, I should have no excuse to update my blog/journal.

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Hello, anybody out there? I finally found a place to live, after a very difficult and exhausting search. A friendly suggestion: don't come to this city unless you are very rich or are a priest/in a religious order.

Classes started at the university on Monday, after a test was administered, and I was placed in the pre-intermediate class. We do a lot of talking and not so much grammar, which is practical I suppose. At any rate, I can speak enough Italian now that I feel comfortable walking about the place.

My new "home" is nice enough, about 15 minutes away from downtown Rome, but one hour away from school. Believe it or not, I have been getting up at five in the morning every day since I got here, so I don't believe that getting to school on time (for now) will prove a problem. My room is bigger than the one I have at home, it has a private bathroom, and it is air conditioned. How very important are the last two! The heat is insufferable, but I manage to put up with it somehow--especially in my air conditioned room. As for the private bath, I don't ever want to share a bathroom ever again with random people I don't know. Especially in Rome. It was one of the most disgusting experiences in my life.

I am only paying 440 a month, which is very good. Everything is horribly expensive. I can only afford to eat once a day and breakfast, but I don't think I am loosing weight.

Ok, enough about my problems, "where are the pictures?" you ask. Well I don't feel like taking any. I want to disassociate myself as much as possible from the ubiquitous horde of barbarians politely referred to as tourists. My goodness they are a plague, and they do nothing for the city. Not even help the economy since the fact that they are willing to spend lots of cash on bad food and cheap trinkets is probably the reason why this city is so expensive and makes it almost uninhabitable for the people who actually have to live here for more than a week.

There are places where I will simply not return to unless I have a very important reason. The Trevi fountain and St. Peter's basilica are at the top of my list. What an odious circus of mostly ignorant tourists whose only need is to snap a picture, (as if that will somehow make up for the fact you didn't even look first) gesticulating, and babbling nonsense, not to mention the vendors with their crap for sale (why would anybody buy a 10 cm. plastic statue of the David?? WHY???), and the omnipresent con-artists begging (or stealing) money.

I helped out at the Frat church last Saturday. The light bulbs above the altar had to be changed, so that meant we had to climb up ONTO the altar, put a ladder on it, and climb, and climb, and climb…..I politely offered to hold the ladder. Once thing is certain, only the brave or the saintly dare to tread in those high places.

Well, what an unfortunate rant this has turned into. I'll try to be more cheerful next time, and maybe have a picture or two.

First Sunday in Rome

I woke up really early today after I had a pleasant rest. The heat is indeed insufferable, but luckily, there is a fan in my room. Got showered, dressed, etc, and having said the Angelus at the usual hour (I was rather surprised and disappointed not to be greeted by a full choir of bells when the hour came, for there are at least 10 churches in the immediate vicinity after all, including our Lady's temple,) and off I went.

I had Rome all to myself! Not a soul was about, and the sunlight was that glorious early morning golden hue, that made everything look warm and better than it already does. My first task for the day, was to find the Frat parish in Rome. I had no intention of taking any sort of public transportation (certainly not the Metro) so I walked. I chose to take the road that runs from the apse of the Basilica of St Mary Major, that was laid out by Pope Julius II and formerly named after his daughter, Felice. It now has all sorts of names, including Julia near its terminus at Santa Trinita dei Monti at the top of the Spanish steps.

Let me explain why I have not taken any pictures. I am enjoying myself too much, and there is simply so much to see that, that it is simply impossible to photograph anything. How can I chose one thing over another? It is all good, so you will just have to come down here and see it all for yourself.

The first interesting building I came across belonged to that fiction commonly referred to as the Italian Sate. There was an inscription in Latin, to the effect that number is what binds all things together, and I have a suspicion this might be some sort of Pythagorean quotation. The building was a statistical office, from what I could tell, and so the inscription was very apt. I went by the Piazza del Viminiale, pretty because of some very tall trees (cypresses?) and came across the first two people I saw that day, carabinieri. I kept walking over to the next block, enjoying all the pretty things to see, when suddenly my heart skipped a beat. I had reached the next intersection and found myself, quite delighted and surprised, at the quatro fontane! I admired the grimy things with a joy impossible for me to describe, and spent some time staring at the facade of San Carlo.

Eventually I kept walking up the street, the Palazzo Barberini was to my right, with a very impressive gate composed of pillars with Telemons. Went by several churches I did not recognise, one had a very curious sculpture above the doorway of two men in manacles, (the chains were real) with an angel pulling on them. Some people were out and about now, but not more than two or three. One advantage in Rome, is that there is no dearth of architectural marvels one can stop and admire (or pretend to admire) whenever one feels the need to stop and let somebody pass by who, for some reason or other, seems to have been following one too closely for too many minutes; I did this twice. Better to be paranoid than sorry, don't you think?

When I made it to the top of the hill where the Church is, and an Egyptian obelisk undergoing restorations, I was confronted with a spectacular view of the city. A building nearby confirmed my first impression, proudly bearing an inscription to the effect that no purer air or better view was found anywhere else in the city. One should always believe inscriptions. There are so many of them in Rome! All over the place, and all in Latin. I get to practice reading in Latin wherever I go; note to my CMS friends: apply for a Latin "study" grant and come read the inscriptions in Rome (and visit me in the process of course.)

I went down the Spanish steps, which are very beautiful even if the azaleas are not in bloom, and walked straight down the via Condotti, past the via del Corso, and straight along the via Borghese. I was dissapointed to eventually reach something marked as the "piazza Borghese" on my map; it should instead be labelled "parking lot." It was an ugly place, made more so by the palazzo Borghese itself, which is in a deplorable state, and the building right across from it, which had been sponge painted coral. I quickened my step.

Soon enough I reached the via Nicosia. After all this walking, even if it was early in the morning, I was beginning to perspire a bit, so I washed my face in the fountain. I then went up the via Leccosa, and found the frat church, San Gregorio dei Muratori, at the end of an alley. Of course, it being too early, the gate was shut, but at least I now knew where it was, and I still had about one hour and forty five minutes to go exploring. I went back to the piazza Nicosia, and then went onto a small covered street with a vault and several floors above it. It led to the Lungotevere.

I have mixed feelings about the Lungotevere, these very picturesque winding roads along the Tiber, with incredible views, especially of the Vatican, and rows of tall trees along it. They were built at the end of the 19th century, and their purpose is to keep the river from flooding the city, but in the process, a great many medieval buildings were torn down, some famous gardens, and even part of outer wall of castel Sant'Angelo.

I stopped to pray across from the Sacro Cuore di Gesu on the opposite bank of the river, one of the few gothic (in this case neo-gothic) churches in Rome. I said some prayers for the holy souls, and asked for their help, especially in finding a place to live. In case you were wondering, opinion is divided as to whether the holy souls in purgatory can intercede on our behalf. St. Thomas Aquinas says no, St Alphonsus says yes. I just ask and let God worry about it and sort it all out.

I crossed the ponte Umberto I, across of which is the Palazzo di Giustitia. It has a unique facade. From there it was a short walk to castel Sant'Angelo, and then up the via della Conciliazione towards the Vatican. Just beside the Candadian embassy to the Holy See, I came across a cafe (closed) that sold some very delicious looking gelatti, and I made a mental note to stop by there later. St. Peter's looked to be very close, but only because it is very big. I decided to give up walking there, especially because it was still closed for the day, and stopped at Santa Maria in Transpontina.

What a lovely church! It had some very interesting yellow marble inside (real?) and a very impressive high altar. Preparations were being made for Mass, so I didn't plan to tarry long. To my right was very Spanish looking altar to our Lady of Mount Carmel, dressed up, and sitting on a golden throne. I thought that to be a great place to say a prayer for my grandmother, whose name was Carmela, and I was pleasantly surprised to note that the altar was dedicated for this very purpose: praying for the dead. There was a very nice prayer in Italian pasted to the kneeler, which I recited, that also asked for the intercession of the holy souls. So it's official: St. Thomas Aquinas is wrong.

Now I had every intention of walking back the same way I came to the frat church, but this being Rome, it proved quite impossible. I went down the ponte degli Angeli, and walked here and there. I went by a church labelled San Salvatore in Lauro on my map, but the facade had a dedicatory inscription to our Lady of Loreto, and a beautiful bas relief under it, depicted our Lady seated upon the Holy House, the Infant Christ on her lap, and angels carrying the whole affair through the clouds. I was ready to say our Lady's litany then and there were it not for the (probably drunk) beggar heading my way. Truth be told, not until I find a place to live am I in a better condition than that man, and no farther from the brink of poverty. I went by the Piazza Navona, the Palazzo Madama, here and there and before I knew it, I was going to be late.

So without managing to run, I hurried back to the frat Church. Mass was as Low as it gets, especially in attendance. I tried to strike up a conversation after Mass with the priest but not much of importance was said.

My next task that day was finding a place to live. Noel had recommended a place not far from the Metro Bologna, but having made my way there, I couldn't find the residence. So I aborted that plan, especially because I had no means of calling the residence for directions. Next on my list, was to go out to the University and get my bearings before classes started on Monday.

I got there after some misadventures on the train. Once at the station nearest the university, (which is in a new suburb to the north of the city) I couldn't figure out what bus to take, nor how to ask somebody about it. I eventually made myself understood (after I had missed two buses) and was dropped of somewhere nowhere near the gates. So I walked for a bit…

Now, the university itself is quite a modern place; you all know my predilection for things not-modern, so it should be no surprise to anyone that I found the buildings as ugly as ugly can get. However, there is some very beautiful landscaping around the place, with tall trees which really do make the place quite agreeable. I was unable to talk to the dean of the faculty but for a few impatient seconds over the reception desk phone. The gist of the conversation was "domani, domani"

I went back home, feeling quite homesick, and wondering what I was doing here in the first place. I had no appetite, and feeling exhausted, I went to bed at 7 p.m.

Departure

I left the house in a frenzy, having put off packing my bags until the very last minute. Estella came by at noon, as per an earlier agreement, but I did not manage to get out of the house until 1:30! In my rush I forgot some important things: deodorant for one (and when I later discovered this I rightly panicked, having as yet found no evidence that Romans, in general, use deodorant, or much of it, or the kind that works at any rate,) my Italian-English dictionary (whose absence has deeply affected my so far short stay) and all of your phone numbers and addresses! Do kindly forward those to the_usual_place@gmail.com.

The flight was excellent aboard Czech airlines, and the service was superior to what I received on American Airlines when I went to Peru last Christmas. Due to a linguistic constraint I have no time to explain right now (if you are very curious you can ask Rob) whenever the flight crew spoke "English" they always spoke of "chick" airlines. It was rather funny at first, but it proved a real annoyance once I got to Prague airport, and every 90 seconds the automated robot voice would ask all passengers of Chick Airline flight ### to proceed to the gate. I am, however, getting ahead of myself.

The flight lasted 7 and a half hours, and like I said, it was all very pleasant. A ridiculous movie about Marie Antoinette that featured rock music in the background was played; as you can well imagine, I could only watch the crude thing for the first 15 minutes. I read my Italian grammar book instead. (Thank you Anne!) There was little cloud cover during the flight, so I got a very nice view of the land below until halfway over the gulf of St. Lawrence, and then from the east coast of Britain all the way to Prague. I saw several little ships on the St Lawrence. We flew a great arc, from Toronto over Ottawa, over Montreal and the St. Lawrence, over the gulf to the southern tip of Labrador, across the north Atlantic to the north shores of Ireland, across England, the North Sea, and then over Amsterdam, very neat bits of German countryside that looked like a patchwork quilt, and finally Prague. The captain of Chick Airlines was very helpful in pointing all these things out to us. I got an isle seat, but there was nobody sitting to my left by the window, so I moved as soon as the doors were closed and thanked our Lord for this very kind favour.

My original plan had been to spend my five hours in Prague downtown; I especially wanted to pay the Infant Jesus of Prague a visit. I modified my plans though, when I got to the airport because it was all very confusing. For one, neither I nor any of the other passengers had to go through customs and immigration. Then en route to find my gate I had to go through three security checkpoints (isn't once enough?), so by the time I did find it (30 minutes later) my original plan to leave the airport was abandoned. It was a very dull experience exacerbated by the nearly continuous announcements over the P.A. for "Chick Airlines flight ### etc." by the monotone robot-lady.

The flight to Rome eventually got on its way, much later in the morning, and much later than the scheduled time. For anybody else who has been to the Chick Republic, is it standard practice to board the plane 10 minutes before the scheduled departure time, randomly letting through the passengers massed at the gate waving their boarding passes and elbowing each other? It was faaaaaaaaaar below my dignity to participate in such a display of non anglo/germanic barbarity that I comfortably sat for 30 minutes and was the very last person to board the plane.

On the flight to Rome, we received a small collation even though the flight was barely an hour and a half. Again I got the window seat, and saw some very neat things along the way. The north European countryside is really a treat to watch, and very different from the shades of brown of the Italian peninsula which also has its own charm. I did not see any significant mountains along the way, just a few craggy peaks here and there, but very astonishing valleys, of the most vibrant emerald green you can imagine, with little hamlets perched on all sorts of impossible places, and little roads connecting the lot. A nice Sardinian couple sat beside me, and I made my first attempt at Italian conversation. It was soon abandoned because they were more eager to practice their English than I was my Italian, and so I complied. You all know how obliging I can be :0)

Then I got to Rome. Note to Hilary: you were correct about (some of) the Romans. I am convinced they would stand by looking at their watches and tapping their feet in impatience whilst somebody was murdered, maimed or bludgeoned before them. They do not help little old ladies with their bags to get on the train. In fact, I was rather surprised they didn't push them aside, but maybe they save that for the back alleys when none of the tourists are looking. They also have NO CONCEPT of how to queue, or why it is highly desirable to do so. When I went to buy my train ticket into the city, the other foreigners and I attempted to make a line and wait our turn before the ticket booth, but masses of Italians, (and the omnipresent Arabs and Abyssinians who seem to fit right in) pushed, jostled, and elbowed us from all sides. A woman even rushed to the ticket booth while I was there paying for my ticket, waving euros in her fist and babbling nonsense. I believe I must have experienced what is generally referred to as "culture shock."

On the train I made my second attempt to speak Italian, but practiced my French instead. I did a very good job! It was sad to note how little this person knew about her great city, and that she merely shrugged in indifference when I became all giddy at first sight of the Aurelian walls, the Porta Maggiore and the tomb of Eurycaces. Termini was even dingier than I was expecting. Thanks to Noel I knew exactly where I had to go to catch a cab, otherwise I would have been quite lost. Now would be a good time to point out that something remarkable occurred on the train ride to the city. A strange feeling came over me as I watched at the (mostly dirty and dilapidated) buildings along the way, and all around Termini. It was recognition. I felt like I was in Lima again. By the time I got off the train and said goodbye to the hate-the-Catholic-Church-pseudoBuddhist-knowNothingAboutMyCity-Italian, I was on full third-world/uncivilised_place_with_loosers_out_to_cheat_you mode. I adroitly side stepped the veiled gypsy nonna eager to accost me, and chuckled heartily at the man who offered to give me a ride to my hotel for 20 euros, and made it to the official taxi stand. I didn't have long to wait. For 5 euros, not 20, I was safely delivered to the Ostello Marello where I am currently lodged.

I want to assure all of you, especially my family back in Lima, that I am in a very good and safe area of the city, even if those concepts are not really applicable in Rome. I am on the via Urbana, picturesque cobbled street, not much wider than Mary and Anne's office at the Kelly, with 5 to 6 storey buildings crouching on either side, pretty in their 17th century way, but covered in grime, cracked here and there, in need of fresh paint, and missing bits of masonry. An equivalent looking place in Lima is not somewhere any of my family would ever be caught in, except perhaps dead. Our Lady's temple is just on the next street, not even five minutes away, at the east end of the Via Urbana, is the very ancient and rightly famous Santa Pudenziana, San Pietro in Vincoli is just down the road on the west side.

The Ostello Marello is itself a former convent, beside a little Church proudly bearing a Latin dedicatory inscription to Sts. Lawrence and Hyppolitus, martyrs. The building is now partly owned by a congregation of sisters founded by an Italian Bishop, Giuseppe Marello, called the Work of St. Joseph. All the sisters I have met are Filippino or some other variety of Asian. Some are nice, some should definitely be cloistered and not allowed to deal with the public again. My room is small, but I don't have to share it. The washroom is public. Overall, the place is adequate if you are in a pinch, and not very expensive, which is a bonus, but I don't really recommend it. I could just be sour tough, since the sisters won't let me visit the roman house beneath the convent which belonged to St. Hyppolitus, and the prison where St. Lawrence was kept for a while.

That first night I fulfilled a promise made, and I paid the Salus Populi Romani a visit at Santa Maria Maggiore. What an amazing church. It is beyond my meagre powers of composition to describe it to you, so I will just tell you what I did instead. I said a rosary in the Borghese Chapel, and I begged our Lady to keep me out of trouble. I prayed for my mom, my family, all of you back home in Toronto, and then I went to confession. I walked around for a bit after that, and got back to my room around 7 p.m. I was too tired to keep walking, too tired to take any pictures, and too tired to eat. So I simply went to bed, and had a really good sleep.