I sometimes found it hard to travel alone. It could be tough. But I don't think that I had many other choices.
When I was on the way, I had to deal with everything myself. All the planning, running of errands, sickness etc. There were times when I was confused and foolish. But there was no one to depend on. So from time to time I made stupid decisions, such as taking the wrong directions, taking the wrong means of transport or buying the wrong tickets. Minor mistakes. But when I made a mistake, I alone suffered. There was nobody to turn to. Sometimes I would be frightened, like when I walked alone at night in Wien and London. How I wish I had someone to accompany me and watch over me.
Travelling with a limited budget could be quite tiring. Actually, I think it was because I was always walking that I felt so tired all the time. Sometimes I had to carry a lot of things with me. I remember that during my longest trip to Europe in the summer, I had to carry more than one guidebook, my thick coat, water, food, and all my valuables with me. They were unbearably heavy. But there was nobody to share my load.
Of course, there was no one to share the expenses either.
On the whole, there was no one to talk to. From time to time, a sharp feeling of loneliness would attack me without any warning. This was the hardest part. When I didn't feel it, it was all right. But when I did, it hurt. I was most vulnerable when I was weak, feeling ill; or when I felt happy or saw beautiful things but had nobody to share the happiness with; or when I saw the intimacy of the couples on the streets or trains, or the joyous and carefree ways groups of youngsters behaved. The attack of loneliness could be acute, bringing tears to my eyes and meddling the peace of my mind. Realizing the fact that I was completely alone was hard to bear.
However, I think I did not do it badly. I have managed to travel to Europe four times now all by myself. Surely it means something, like that I am independent financially and also, sadly, socially.
I hope that the next time I travel I will have some company.
5.4.97
Firenze
Something very unpleasant happened upon my arrival in Firenze. I discovered that I had booked, and paid for in full, a shabby hotel. Frankly, I had seen and even stayed in poorer ones in Marseilles and Paris. But then those ones had charged very low prices. This one in Firenze was not particularly cheap (HKD 590 or about L125,000). I am sure that I could find much better ones at this price locally. The most unbearable thing was that the room was dirty. It was visibly dusty, just like the lobby downstairs. The door to the room could hardly be fully opened because the bed was in the way. There were no TV and no “clean” towels. The furniture was unbearably seventyish with cigarette burns. Actually the room smelled like cigarette. So I repeated what I had done the last time I was in Paris - I left my luggage there, went out to find a new place and returned to check out. I was so eager to move out that I checked in the first decent-looking hotel I could find without comparing prices or bargaining (what a fool). When I left for the new hotel, the manager of that shabby hotel stopped me on the street to ask me why I left. I told him that I didn't like the room (now I think that maybe I should have asked for another room) and reassured him that I had already paid for that room for three nights. He told me that he would not charge me for the next two nights and suggested that I try to claim back the payment from the agency. The room in the new hotel, which was on Via Panzani (I quite like that street), was all right. There were a very large bed and plenty of clean towels. But the window was not double-glazed so it was a bit noisy.
And since I had booked another room in London for four nights through the same agency, I could not help but worried about its quality. I kept asking myself if I should steal a clean towel from the new hotel (but of course I didn't).
It was the Easter holiday. It had never occurred to me before that while I was enjoying my Easter holiday in Firenze, other people could also be doing the same thing. Horribly, the place swarmed with tourists. And as it was the holiday, almost all the shops were closed. Even the tourist offices were ridiculously closed because they were on strike. Luckily, many museums were open on the Saturday before the holiday. And during the religious holiday, I visited churches and scenic places that required no admission.
I still consider Firenze an exceedingly beautiful place. I have no doubt about this.
During this stay in Firenze, I was particularly impressed by the prominence of Michelangelo. This time, I finally made it to the Galleria dell'Accademia and met David. It was of course a masterpiece. Outside the gallery where we queued, there was a sign declaring “Galleria, David”, or something to this effect. Everyone came here to see David. It seemed that nothing else could interest people more. And when I was about to enter the gallery, a visitor leaving the gallery informed the people in front of me, “He is on the right”. I therefore imagined that many people just went in the gallery, turned right, looked at the sculpture, took a picture, and then their mission was accomplished. Just look at how prominently the sculpture was displayed. It stood high on a pedestal in the centre of a hall. There was nothing else around it. David was quite alone. Visitors were therefore bound to focus all their attention on him, whose strength and beauty were worthy of all the admiration. (I later learned that it was the symbol of Firenze because David defeated the strong enemy with his bare hands.) Who would ever care about the other works in the gallery? Some might be curious enough to have a look at the nearby Slaves, also by Michelangelo. That would be quite enough for us tourists. Come meet David and learn how unfair it is to the average souls that geniuses such as Michelangelo (did) exist. But however great he was, I bet his own bust on his grave in Santa Croce is not his work.
When I later visited the Cappelle Medicee, I saw the same kind of sign. On the way to the New Sacristy, there was an arrow saying “Michelangelo”. Actually, similar thing had happened in the Castello Sforzesco in Milano. There, the staff was enthusiastic in directing the visitors to see one of Michelangelo's unfinished sculptures.
I thought I started off early enough in the morning on Easter Sunday. I thought it was 8 am when I was buying train tickets at the railway station. But I saw a clock saying that it was 9 am. First I thought that the clock was out of order. But later I found that the many clocks in the station all displayed the same time. I lost an hour without knowing it because they had changed to summer time!
From my guidebook, I had an idea that there would be some kind of celebration on Easter Sunday but I could not get more information on it because the tourist office people were on strike. At 10:30 am, when I was around San Lorenzo, the bells of the churches rang crazily like a signal to gather people to the celebration or ceremony. The event took place between the Duomo and the Battistero. There were uniformed people on horses, people in colourful costumes waving colourful flags, drums, bands, and firecrackers/fireworks display. The piazza and the windows around it were filled with spectators. It was kind of exciting. But I dare say anyone from Hong Kong would be disappointed by the fireworks or the scale of the event.
My nicest experience in Firenze this time was the visit to Forte di Belvedere. I started the long walk from Palazzo Pitti. The uphill climbing did take my breath away because the road, though pleasant to walk on, was steep. But the views up there were superb. Blue sky, white clouds, green grass, little yellow and white flowers, Firenze down the hill and the hills of Toscana beyond it. They may sound common but together they were beautiful beyond words. I discovered that I had never seen so much of a sky with no limit at all. I had never known before that the sky without any skyline could be so large. It was a pity that the photos I took there could not capture one tenth of the crystal-clear beauty.
Having been to the Forte di Belvedere, Piazzale Michelangelo seemed like a circus. It was noisy, filled with tourist attractions, and surrounded by tourists and their coaches.
I felt unwell the next day, so my trips to Siena and Fiesole were not fruitful. Siena was full of visitors. But as one could expect on a holiday, most shops were closed. I can only say that I visited the Piazza di Campo and the Duomo in Siena. But I did not see or feel much. All I felt, I think, was how sick and tired I was. It was the same for Fiesole. I had been to the arena in Verona, the Colosseo in Roma and the amphitheatre in Nimes. The Teatro Romano in Fiesole, therefore, could hardly be called impressive. The bus rides between Firenze and Fiesole were quite pleasant, though.
And since I had booked another room in London for four nights through the same agency, I could not help but worried about its quality. I kept asking myself if I should steal a clean towel from the new hotel (but of course I didn't).
It was the Easter holiday. It had never occurred to me before that while I was enjoying my Easter holiday in Firenze, other people could also be doing the same thing. Horribly, the place swarmed with tourists. And as it was the holiday, almost all the shops were closed. Even the tourist offices were ridiculously closed because they were on strike. Luckily, many museums were open on the Saturday before the holiday. And during the religious holiday, I visited churches and scenic places that required no admission.
I still consider Firenze an exceedingly beautiful place. I have no doubt about this.
During this stay in Firenze, I was particularly impressed by the prominence of Michelangelo. This time, I finally made it to the Galleria dell'Accademia and met David. It was of course a masterpiece. Outside the gallery where we queued, there was a sign declaring “Galleria, David”, or something to this effect. Everyone came here to see David. It seemed that nothing else could interest people more. And when I was about to enter the gallery, a visitor leaving the gallery informed the people in front of me, “He is on the right”. I therefore imagined that many people just went in the gallery, turned right, looked at the sculpture, took a picture, and then their mission was accomplished. Just look at how prominently the sculpture was displayed. It stood high on a pedestal in the centre of a hall. There was nothing else around it. David was quite alone. Visitors were therefore bound to focus all their attention on him, whose strength and beauty were worthy of all the admiration. (I later learned that it was the symbol of Firenze because David defeated the strong enemy with his bare hands.) Who would ever care about the other works in the gallery? Some might be curious enough to have a look at the nearby Slaves, also by Michelangelo. That would be quite enough for us tourists. Come meet David and learn how unfair it is to the average souls that geniuses such as Michelangelo (did) exist. But however great he was, I bet his own bust on his grave in Santa Croce is not his work.
When I later visited the Cappelle Medicee, I saw the same kind of sign. On the way to the New Sacristy, there was an arrow saying “Michelangelo”. Actually, similar thing had happened in the Castello Sforzesco in Milano. There, the staff was enthusiastic in directing the visitors to see one of Michelangelo's unfinished sculptures.
I thought I started off early enough in the morning on Easter Sunday. I thought it was 8 am when I was buying train tickets at the railway station. But I saw a clock saying that it was 9 am. First I thought that the clock was out of order. But later I found that the many clocks in the station all displayed the same time. I lost an hour without knowing it because they had changed to summer time!
From my guidebook, I had an idea that there would be some kind of celebration on Easter Sunday but I could not get more information on it because the tourist office people were on strike. At 10:30 am, when I was around San Lorenzo, the bells of the churches rang crazily like a signal to gather people to the celebration or ceremony. The event took place between the Duomo and the Battistero. There were uniformed people on horses, people in colourful costumes waving colourful flags, drums, bands, and firecrackers/fireworks display. The piazza and the windows around it were filled with spectators. It was kind of exciting. But I dare say anyone from Hong Kong would be disappointed by the fireworks or the scale of the event.
My nicest experience in Firenze this time was the visit to Forte di Belvedere. I started the long walk from Palazzo Pitti. The uphill climbing did take my breath away because the road, though pleasant to walk on, was steep. But the views up there were superb. Blue sky, white clouds, green grass, little yellow and white flowers, Firenze down the hill and the hills of Toscana beyond it. They may sound common but together they were beautiful beyond words. I discovered that I had never seen so much of a sky with no limit at all. I had never known before that the sky without any skyline could be so large. It was a pity that the photos I took there could not capture one tenth of the crystal-clear beauty.
Having been to the Forte di Belvedere, Piazzale Michelangelo seemed like a circus. It was noisy, filled with tourist attractions, and surrounded by tourists and their coaches.
I felt unwell the next day, so my trips to Siena and Fiesole were not fruitful. Siena was full of visitors. But as one could expect on a holiday, most shops were closed. I can only say that I visited the Piazza di Campo and the Duomo in Siena. But I did not see or feel much. All I felt, I think, was how sick and tired I was. It was the same for Fiesole. I had been to the arena in Verona, the Colosseo in Roma and the amphitheatre in Nimes. The Teatro Romano in Fiesole, therefore, could hardly be called impressive. The bus rides between Firenze and Fiesole were quite pleasant, though.
Venezia
It is strange how little I could get from Venezia.
It is such a charming place. People are bound to fall in love with it with their first sight on the water and the church on the other side of the canal when they get out of the train station. Piazza San Marco is heart-breakingly beautiful. I love standing in front of the Basilica and look at the South, seeing the winged-lion (the symbol of St Mark) and the waterfront and the Santa Maria della Salute, or its shadow when it is hazy, across the water. When there is the sunshine, the shimmers on the water can make me feel dizzy and it feels kind of dreamy. These have been the same for I think at least five hundred years and they still work magic on me.
But I couldn't stay long in Venezia. As I have written before, it is too special, too unlike the other places. The water (there is too much of it), despite its beauty, made me feel uneasy. And the inconvenience of the compulsory journeys on the slow ferries (or gondola for those who have the money) if I wanted to go anywhere at all felt like a burden to me.
I remember that when I first visited Venezia (for about 2 days only) during my previous trip in Europe, I spent 2 afternoons in Verona and Padua, respectively. This time, I could only stay in Venezia for one day and a half, yet I could not help leaving it for Vicenza, where I visited the Teatro Olimpico, which was quite impressive. It seemed that I had to leave Venezia for a while during my stay there for some peace of the mind. It did not matter where I went. It also seemed to me that in Venezia, Piazza San Marco and the area around the railway station interested me most. I did go to some other places this time. I went to Murano and visited the boring Museo Vetrario. I visited the San Giorgio Maggoire, the Galleria dell'Accademia and the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. I also took many ferry trips. But what I liked most was still Piazza San Marco.
The one dreadful experience in Venezia was that when I returned to the hotel on the first night, I found that I could not open my luggage, which was locked by a built-in digit-lock. I of course couldn't help but panic. Somehow I had stupidly pressed something that I shouldn't have and changed the code unknowingly when I locked it. There seemed to be no possible ways of opening it without damaging the case (that is, if I decided to break it open at all). Then I calmed myself down. I told myself that there were "only" 1,000 combinations from the 3-digit lock and I had a whole night to try everyone of them. I went to open the window (I was nervous and sweating), put the bottle of water on the bedside table, sat down on the bed and began to try. I had a notepad with me to mark the numbers that I tried. And I was so lucky that after about 52 attempts, the case was opened. Thank God!
It was mostly cloudy during my stay in Venezia. When I left the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, which I didn't like much, at 6 pm on my last evening in Venezia, it started to rain. And the rain got heavier and heavier. I didn't have my umbrella with me so I had to stay on the ferry all the way back to the railway station, which was close to my hotel. The ferry I was on called at almost every stop along the Canale Grande. And at each stop, passengers had to struggle to get on or off the ferry in the pouring rain because the ferry was so full that people could hardly move or even breathe. We were lucky that no one fell into the water. It was awful. But never before had I had the chance, leisure or interest to see Venezia at night (I seldom go out at night). During this slow ferry trip, however, I had the chance to see some old buildings along the Canale Grande which sent out inviting dim light from behind the long curtains of the windows. It could have been most romantic if I was not with a crowd of wet passengers on the ferry.
It is such a charming place. People are bound to fall in love with it with their first sight on the water and the church on the other side of the canal when they get out of the train station. Piazza San Marco is heart-breakingly beautiful. I love standing in front of the Basilica and look at the South, seeing the winged-lion (the symbol of St Mark) and the waterfront and the Santa Maria della Salute, or its shadow when it is hazy, across the water. When there is the sunshine, the shimmers on the water can make me feel dizzy and it feels kind of dreamy. These have been the same for I think at least five hundred years and they still work magic on me.
But I couldn't stay long in Venezia. As I have written before, it is too special, too unlike the other places. The water (there is too much of it), despite its beauty, made me feel uneasy. And the inconvenience of the compulsory journeys on the slow ferries (or gondola for those who have the money) if I wanted to go anywhere at all felt like a burden to me.
I remember that when I first visited Venezia (for about 2 days only) during my previous trip in Europe, I spent 2 afternoons in Verona and Padua, respectively. This time, I could only stay in Venezia for one day and a half, yet I could not help leaving it for Vicenza, where I visited the Teatro Olimpico, which was quite impressive. It seemed that I had to leave Venezia for a while during my stay there for some peace of the mind. It did not matter where I went. It also seemed to me that in Venezia, Piazza San Marco and the area around the railway station interested me most. I did go to some other places this time. I went to Murano and visited the boring Museo Vetrario. I visited the San Giorgio Maggoire, the Galleria dell'Accademia and the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. I also took many ferry trips. But what I liked most was still Piazza San Marco.
The one dreadful experience in Venezia was that when I returned to the hotel on the first night, I found that I could not open my luggage, which was locked by a built-in digit-lock. I of course couldn't help but panic. Somehow I had stupidly pressed something that I shouldn't have and changed the code unknowingly when I locked it. There seemed to be no possible ways of opening it without damaging the case (that is, if I decided to break it open at all). Then I calmed myself down. I told myself that there were "only" 1,000 combinations from the 3-digit lock and I had a whole night to try everyone of them. I went to open the window (I was nervous and sweating), put the bottle of water on the bedside table, sat down on the bed and began to try. I had a notepad with me to mark the numbers that I tried. And I was so lucky that after about 52 attempts, the case was opened. Thank God!
It was mostly cloudy during my stay in Venezia. When I left the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, which I didn't like much, at 6 pm on my last evening in Venezia, it started to rain. And the rain got heavier and heavier. I didn't have my umbrella with me so I had to stay on the ferry all the way back to the railway station, which was close to my hotel. The ferry I was on called at almost every stop along the Canale Grande. And at each stop, passengers had to struggle to get on or off the ferry in the pouring rain because the ferry was so full that people could hardly move or even breathe. We were lucky that no one fell into the water. It was awful. But never before had I had the chance, leisure or interest to see Venezia at night (I seldom go out at night). During this slow ferry trip, however, I had the chance to see some old buildings along the Canale Grande which sent out inviting dim light from behind the long curtains of the windows. It could have been most romantic if I was not with a crowd of wet passengers on the ferry.
The White Slip of an Old Lady
I boarded the train from Roma to Venezia that morning as planned and chose a compartment in which an elderly couple had already taken seats. As usual in Italy, I greeted them when I entered the compartment. The luggage rack was up above and I failed to lift my luggage up because I didn't know that it was that heavy. The gentleman then helped me put it up. I thanked him and took the seat beside him.
The old lady sat opposite his man. I couldn't tell how old she was (maybe about 60?) but she had plenty of deep wrinkles over her face. Like many Italian women, she was respectably dressed in a suit. She sat with her legs crossed. And I, sitting beside her husband, just couldn't help noticing the white slip under her lined skirt. I saw the white lace around her knees, decorating her aged legs. And she kept that posture for as long as I can remember.
I thought that it was charming. Despite her age, the white slip under her skirt wrapping her crossed legs made her charming, if not sexy (well, it would be pathetic for a woman at that age to be called sexy, wouldn't it?). And I wondered if her husband saw it (but surely he couldn't miss it?) and how he felt or thought. Would he admire her charming old wife (“still crazy after all these years”)? Or maybe he just didn't feel anything because he had seen it for hundreds of thousands of times?
I never knew that a glimpse of a white slip worn by a decently dressed woman could stir up such sensation.
The old lady sat opposite his man. I couldn't tell how old she was (maybe about 60?) but she had plenty of deep wrinkles over her face. Like many Italian women, she was respectably dressed in a suit. She sat with her legs crossed. And I, sitting beside her husband, just couldn't help noticing the white slip under her lined skirt. I saw the white lace around her knees, decorating her aged legs. And she kept that posture for as long as I can remember.
I thought that it was charming. Despite her age, the white slip under her skirt wrapping her crossed legs made her charming, if not sexy (well, it would be pathetic for a woman at that age to be called sexy, wouldn't it?). And I wondered if her husband saw it (but surely he couldn't miss it?) and how he felt or thought. Would he admire her charming old wife (“still crazy after all these years”)? Or maybe he just didn't feel anything because he had seen it for hundreds of thousands of times?
I never knew that a glimpse of a white slip worn by a decently dressed woman could stir up such sensation.
Roma
This was the second time that I stayed in Roma. I stayed in a hotel called the Hotel Romae, which was not bad. I hope I will have the chance to visit Roma again. Roma is a nice place. And Italy is a nice country.
Here are the best experiences that I had in Roma this time -
(a) Beautiful Italians - Italians were generally pleasant to look at. Their dark hair made them look less beast-like than those with fair hair. It was delightful to be in Italy surrounded by such a beautiful people. I have a theory on why I find them beautiful - because of their widespread influences on fine arts, people, at least I, have come to accept their features as the standard of beauty.
(b) Orange trees - My first day in Roma was the Palm Sunday, commemorating Jesus' entry in Jerusalem (I learnt this afterwards). I saw people holding palm branches walking on the streets.
I started a walk on Via XX Settembre from Porta Pia that afternoon, visiting the churches along the way. Along the road were orange trees. I knew they were orange trees because there were oranges on top of the trees. Were they planted by the government? Could I take some of the fruits? I don't know. But they were pleasant to look at, especially in the sunshine. Afterwards, I also saw orange trees elsewhere, but the first sight of them was most impressive.
I also saw people selling stir-fried chestnuts on the streets. That seemed new and also pleasant to me. I was kind of glad to know that the Italians eat chestnuts in more or less the same ways as ours.
(c) The Barbington's Tea Rooms - Of course, I had known this place the last time I was in Roma. It was right beside the Spanish Steps. But I had not gone to eat there. I don't really remember why. I suppose it was because it had seemed quite expensive (and indeed it is) and I had had both a tight budget and a tight timetable. I still hesitated before I went in for the first time (I don't know why, it is just a cafe after all.).
I had been feeling very thirsty ever since I boarded the plane to Italy. I guess it was because of the dryness inside the cabin and the dry weather of Roma. And that afternoon I made it an event to visit the Tea Rooms. I remember that it rained then. I got in and, not unusually, I was given a Japanese menu. When I saw the list of teas, I suddenly felt super-thirsty, dehydrated, dying for a cup. I ordered Earl Grey, as usual. And when I drank it, I was saved. I felt that the tea worked inside me and revived me. It was a strange feeling indeed. Having had the tea, I felt strong and interested enough to visit the San Giovanni in Laterano despite the rain (I usually stay indoors when it rains), and got a chance to be shocked to see the believers climbing up the nearby Santa Scala on their knees. The tea worked wonders. That's why I went there again before I left Roma.
(d) Isola Tiberina - One of the good things of an overseas journey is that I can see and do things the I don't see or do when I am home. I can walk in large green parks or the countryside, look at trees, stroll along real rivers and take a nap beneath a tree.
I missed the morning opening of the Santa Maria in Trastevere and had to wait till 3 o'clock in the afternoon for it to reopen. So I went to the Quadredia Borghese al San Michele, which was very difficult to locate. I spent some time in there admiring the paintings. I noted that it was very easy to distinguish Caravaggio's works from the others'. They really had their own style - usually dark in the background, with lights shaping the figures in the paintings. I was not fond of Caravaggio's works before, thinking that they were too dark. I preferred (and still do) Botticelli's bright colours. But now I think Caravaggio is not that bad.
I had to kill the time before the Santa Maria reopened. Everything was closed in the afternoon. The streets and alleys in Trastevere seemed deserted in the warm sunshine. Quiet. I strolled quite aimlessly and when I reached the bank of the river and saw people lying on the Tiberina, I decided to follow suit.
On one end of the Tiberina, there was a hospital surrounded by beautiful verdant trees (I took some pictures of them). Further off, there were also some trees, though less beautiful, on the tip of the island, providing shades in which people could sleep. I sat down beneath a tree, hugged my knees, put on my sunglasses, covered myself with the corduroy jacket and took a rest. There were bright sunshine, tree shades, cool breezes and the sound of the river. It was wonderful. The nap was most soothing and revitalizing.
Afterwards, I returned to the Santa Maria. There was a service going on so I could not walk around. I remember that the music played during the service sounded strange.
The most awful experience in Roma this time was the visit to the Castel Sant'Angelo. I went there early on the second morning and was the first visitor. To enter the castle, I had to walk through a dim and long upward passage, which was solidly built of stones and had no windows at all. Knowing that the castle had been originally a mausoleum and that I was quite alone in the passage (or rather a totally enclosed tunnel) and perhaps in the whole castle, and also because of the upward climbing, I started to sweat. What was worse was that I heard voices. Of course I found out later that the sound was from the birds and the construction workers (there were quite a number of them working), but it was really scary at the time. The castle itself and the exhibits inside could not be less interesting. There were ancient armours and weapons and some Korean archaeological objects on display. The fact that I could not understand the Italian labels made them even less interesting. I however had a good view of the Vatican and the river on the terrace of the castle.
Then I tried the Musei Vaticani but was frightened away by the queue outside. I went to the San Pietro instead.
Being a tourist in Roma, I could not help but “walked past” the Colosseo. And it was just the Colosseo, as it had been for so many years. Actually, I walked past it on my way out from the Circo Massimo. I had not expected the circus to be just sand and grass and nothing else. So I felt quite disappointed.
This time I did not go to the Foro Romano. Again, I “walked past” it. I found the maps showing the expansion of the Roman Empire on a nearby wall quite interesting.
In the Vatican, I wrote to Sanny that since I had already gone to the places which should not be missed last time, the places I went to this time were kind of second-rated. I now consider that this is not totally true. Roma had a lot to offer. Though there were times that I did not know what to do or where to go, and though there were places that I considered less interesting, I spent my time as meaningfully, i.e. visiting places that I had not visited before, and as leisurely as possible. And I think this trip was rewarding enough - I saw new things, revisited what I wanted to revisit (except the Musei Vaticani) and spent some lovely leisure time on tea and siesta.
Here are the best experiences that I had in Roma this time -
(a) Beautiful Italians - Italians were generally pleasant to look at. Their dark hair made them look less beast-like than those with fair hair. It was delightful to be in Italy surrounded by such a beautiful people. I have a theory on why I find them beautiful - because of their widespread influences on fine arts, people, at least I, have come to accept their features as the standard of beauty.
(b) Orange trees - My first day in Roma was the Palm Sunday, commemorating Jesus' entry in Jerusalem (I learnt this afterwards). I saw people holding palm branches walking on the streets.
I started a walk on Via XX Settembre from Porta Pia that afternoon, visiting the churches along the way. Along the road were orange trees. I knew they were orange trees because there were oranges on top of the trees. Were they planted by the government? Could I take some of the fruits? I don't know. But they were pleasant to look at, especially in the sunshine. Afterwards, I also saw orange trees elsewhere, but the first sight of them was most impressive.
I also saw people selling stir-fried chestnuts on the streets. That seemed new and also pleasant to me. I was kind of glad to know that the Italians eat chestnuts in more or less the same ways as ours.
(c) The Barbington's Tea Rooms - Of course, I had known this place the last time I was in Roma. It was right beside the Spanish Steps. But I had not gone to eat there. I don't really remember why. I suppose it was because it had seemed quite expensive (and indeed it is) and I had had both a tight budget and a tight timetable. I still hesitated before I went in for the first time (I don't know why, it is just a cafe after all.).
I had been feeling very thirsty ever since I boarded the plane to Italy. I guess it was because of the dryness inside the cabin and the dry weather of Roma. And that afternoon I made it an event to visit the Tea Rooms. I remember that it rained then. I got in and, not unusually, I was given a Japanese menu. When I saw the list of teas, I suddenly felt super-thirsty, dehydrated, dying for a cup. I ordered Earl Grey, as usual. And when I drank it, I was saved. I felt that the tea worked inside me and revived me. It was a strange feeling indeed. Having had the tea, I felt strong and interested enough to visit the San Giovanni in Laterano despite the rain (I usually stay indoors when it rains), and got a chance to be shocked to see the believers climbing up the nearby Santa Scala on their knees. The tea worked wonders. That's why I went there again before I left Roma.
(d) Isola Tiberina - One of the good things of an overseas journey is that I can see and do things the I don't see or do when I am home. I can walk in large green parks or the countryside, look at trees, stroll along real rivers and take a nap beneath a tree.
I missed the morning opening of the Santa Maria in Trastevere and had to wait till 3 o'clock in the afternoon for it to reopen. So I went to the Quadredia Borghese al San Michele, which was very difficult to locate. I spent some time in there admiring the paintings. I noted that it was very easy to distinguish Caravaggio's works from the others'. They really had their own style - usually dark in the background, with lights shaping the figures in the paintings. I was not fond of Caravaggio's works before, thinking that they were too dark. I preferred (and still do) Botticelli's bright colours. But now I think Caravaggio is not that bad.
I had to kill the time before the Santa Maria reopened. Everything was closed in the afternoon. The streets and alleys in Trastevere seemed deserted in the warm sunshine. Quiet. I strolled quite aimlessly and when I reached the bank of the river and saw people lying on the Tiberina, I decided to follow suit.
On one end of the Tiberina, there was a hospital surrounded by beautiful verdant trees (I took some pictures of them). Further off, there were also some trees, though less beautiful, on the tip of the island, providing shades in which people could sleep. I sat down beneath a tree, hugged my knees, put on my sunglasses, covered myself with the corduroy jacket and took a rest. There were bright sunshine, tree shades, cool breezes and the sound of the river. It was wonderful. The nap was most soothing and revitalizing.
Afterwards, I returned to the Santa Maria. There was a service going on so I could not walk around. I remember that the music played during the service sounded strange.
The most awful experience in Roma this time was the visit to the Castel Sant'Angelo. I went there early on the second morning and was the first visitor. To enter the castle, I had to walk through a dim and long upward passage, which was solidly built of stones and had no windows at all. Knowing that the castle had been originally a mausoleum and that I was quite alone in the passage (or rather a totally enclosed tunnel) and perhaps in the whole castle, and also because of the upward climbing, I started to sweat. What was worse was that I heard voices. Of course I found out later that the sound was from the birds and the construction workers (there were quite a number of them working), but it was really scary at the time. The castle itself and the exhibits inside could not be less interesting. There were ancient armours and weapons and some Korean archaeological objects on display. The fact that I could not understand the Italian labels made them even less interesting. I however had a good view of the Vatican and the river on the terrace of the castle.
Then I tried the Musei Vaticani but was frightened away by the queue outside. I went to the San Pietro instead.
Being a tourist in Roma, I could not help but “walked past” the Colosseo. And it was just the Colosseo, as it had been for so many years. Actually, I walked past it on my way out from the Circo Massimo. I had not expected the circus to be just sand and grass and nothing else. So I felt quite disappointed.
This time I did not go to the Foro Romano. Again, I “walked past” it. I found the maps showing the expansion of the Roman Empire on a nearby wall quite interesting.
In the Vatican, I wrote to Sanny that since I had already gone to the places which should not be missed last time, the places I went to this time were kind of second-rated. I now consider that this is not totally true. Roma had a lot to offer. Though there were times that I did not know what to do or where to go, and though there were places that I considered less interesting, I spent my time as meaningfully, i.e. visiting places that I had not visited before, and as leisurely as possible. And I think this trip was rewarding enough - I saw new things, revisited what I wanted to revisit (except the Musei Vaticani) and spent some lovely leisure time on tea and siesta.
The Musicals
I hate not to start from the beginning. But I am going to start from the end, i.e. the “Starlight Express” I saw last night.
I had not had great hopes for the show. I had not thought that I would like it, and I was right. I don't like it, though I admire the actors' hard work. It must be difficult to roller-skate, dance, jump, act and sing at the same time. But the story itself was so shallow that for which whatever visual effects and singing and dancing could not compensate. It was like a children's story - competition among trains and carriages and trucks. The chasing around the theatre for as many as three times was tiring and monotonous. I had to be very patient to sit through the whole performance. I guess the two German girls sitting beside me just could not stand it so they left at the intermission.
But I have learned something from it. It is that there are so many types of theatre in London to cater for various tastes. Surely young folks would like this musical for all its loud music, colourful/strange costumes and excitements. Otherwise it could not have lasted for years.
“Starlight Express” is just like “Cats” and “Miss Saigon” - weak stories presented glamorously. But it is a pity that I don't like any, not even one, of its songs.
There are huge differences between“Starlight Express” and the musicals I like.
I saw “Martin Guerre” on my first night in London. The rescheduled flight from Firenze (which had already made me spend several miserable hours in Firenze's tiny airport) together with all my bad habits made me miss the first scenes (which lasted for 8 minutes as I was told). But I have fallen in love with it. There were so many folds of the story - the peasants’ attachment to the land, the struggle between the Catholics and the Protestants, why the marriage between Martin and Bertrande, why Martin left, why Arnaud du Thil could not resist the imposture, etc. The story and the acting were touching. The male lead was irresistible. He had a casual and light air. The souvenir brochure describes Arnaud as “seductive” and “charming”. No doubt the actor did it beautifully. I am so glad that it was the original cast that I saw. I liked it so much that I went to its matinee show again two days later.
The next evening I saw “Jesus Christ Superstar”. What an experience! I love the story. I have always loved it. It is complex, touching and the lyrics are great. I fell for it the first time I saw it performed in Czech language in Praha. This time, the design of the stage, and many arrangements and ways of presentation were different from what I had seen before. For example, I had not seen in the Czech production the torture of Jesus and the crucifixion (too brutal!). But it was so good. I was thrilled. I had never known before that when Jesus sang “Judas, must you betray me with a kiss?”, the emphasis was on the kiss - betrayal in its sweetest form! And Jesus’ surprise as his followers asked “Hey, JC, JC, won’t you die for me?” was touching. At the scene of the 39 slashes, instead of using a whip, they splashed blood on Jesus’ body, which produced just the same shocking effect. Though I don’t really like the acting of Judas and the way Mary Madelene sang, I love the show. It was very powerful and worth our stand-up applause. When the show was over, I saw a girl with a sad face and a red nose. I would think that she was so moved that she cried. I did overhear many saying that they wanted to cry. It was simply splendid.
Then it was “Les Miserables”. I have always liked this musical. But this time it turned out to be a wasted evening. I was disappointed mainly at the performance of Jean Valjean. The actor’s voice was so soft that he could not deliver the part of Valjean successfully. His “Bring Him Home” was insufferable. This was the worst performance of “Les Miserables” I have seen so far. The actress playing Fontaine also had a soft voice, as did some of the other actors. And my seat was on the side, giving me less pleasure that it would otherwise. The orchestration also sounded strange (but I think it was probably because of my seat). But despite all its flaws, the audience still stood up at the end. It was strange indeed, for I did overhear some audience saying that they didn’t understand the story, e.g. a French girl sitting in front of me said so during the intermission (it is quite understandable when we come to think that even some native English speakers don't understand the story).
And so I have discovered the secret of the popularity of the “Phantom”. It has the grandeur of classic theatre, a full and easy-to-understand romantic story, all the dramatic elements - love, unrequited love, hate, murder, revenge, and beautiful songs one after another. It is not deep, but deep enough. This is why everyone who wants to see a musical in London goes for it. I agree that if one sees only one musical in his life, it should be the “Phantom”.
That was why I went queuing for a returned ticket for its matinee show last Wednesday. I had not planned for it (it would have been unreasonable if I had because I had seen it so many times before). But I felt so unwell when I was in the National Gallery that day that I could not go on walking any more. I didn’t want to return to the hotel. It seemed best for me to stand still. So I stood for two hours outside the theatre for a ticket hoping to spend the next two and a half hours sitting in the theatre. But I didn’t get a ticket that day. I can’t tell if I was fortunate or unfortunate, because I later learned from a poster that the “Phantom” was (still) played by Simon Bowman, and I hated his performance. So maybe I was lucky in a way.
I had not had great hopes for the show. I had not thought that I would like it, and I was right. I don't like it, though I admire the actors' hard work. It must be difficult to roller-skate, dance, jump, act and sing at the same time. But the story itself was so shallow that for which whatever visual effects and singing and dancing could not compensate. It was like a children's story - competition among trains and carriages and trucks. The chasing around the theatre for as many as three times was tiring and monotonous. I had to be very patient to sit through the whole performance. I guess the two German girls sitting beside me just could not stand it so they left at the intermission.
But I have learned something from it. It is that there are so many types of theatre in London to cater for various tastes. Surely young folks would like this musical for all its loud music, colourful/strange costumes and excitements. Otherwise it could not have lasted for years.
“Starlight Express” is just like “Cats” and “Miss Saigon” - weak stories presented glamorously. But it is a pity that I don't like any, not even one, of its songs.
There are huge differences between“Starlight Express” and the musicals I like.
I saw “Martin Guerre” on my first night in London. The rescheduled flight from Firenze (which had already made me spend several miserable hours in Firenze's tiny airport) together with all my bad habits made me miss the first scenes (which lasted for 8 minutes as I was told). But I have fallen in love with it. There were so many folds of the story - the peasants’ attachment to the land, the struggle between the Catholics and the Protestants, why the marriage between Martin and Bertrande, why Martin left, why Arnaud du Thil could not resist the imposture, etc. The story and the acting were touching. The male lead was irresistible. He had a casual and light air. The souvenir brochure describes Arnaud as “seductive” and “charming”. No doubt the actor did it beautifully. I am so glad that it was the original cast that I saw. I liked it so much that I went to its matinee show again two days later.
The next evening I saw “Jesus Christ Superstar”. What an experience! I love the story. I have always loved it. It is complex, touching and the lyrics are great. I fell for it the first time I saw it performed in Czech language in Praha. This time, the design of the stage, and many arrangements and ways of presentation were different from what I had seen before. For example, I had not seen in the Czech production the torture of Jesus and the crucifixion (too brutal!). But it was so good. I was thrilled. I had never known before that when Jesus sang “Judas, must you betray me with a kiss?”, the emphasis was on the kiss - betrayal in its sweetest form! And Jesus’ surprise as his followers asked “Hey, JC, JC, won’t you die for me?” was touching. At the scene of the 39 slashes, instead of using a whip, they splashed blood on Jesus’ body, which produced just the same shocking effect. Though I don’t really like the acting of Judas and the way Mary Madelene sang, I love the show. It was very powerful and worth our stand-up applause. When the show was over, I saw a girl with a sad face and a red nose. I would think that she was so moved that she cried. I did overhear many saying that they wanted to cry. It was simply splendid.
Then it was “Les Miserables”. I have always liked this musical. But this time it turned out to be a wasted evening. I was disappointed mainly at the performance of Jean Valjean. The actor’s voice was so soft that he could not deliver the part of Valjean successfully. His “Bring Him Home” was insufferable. This was the worst performance of “Les Miserables” I have seen so far. The actress playing Fontaine also had a soft voice, as did some of the other actors. And my seat was on the side, giving me less pleasure that it would otherwise. The orchestration also sounded strange (but I think it was probably because of my seat). But despite all its flaws, the audience still stood up at the end. It was strange indeed, for I did overhear some audience saying that they didn’t understand the story, e.g. a French girl sitting in front of me said so during the intermission (it is quite understandable when we come to think that even some native English speakers don't understand the story).
And so I have discovered the secret of the popularity of the “Phantom”. It has the grandeur of classic theatre, a full and easy-to-understand romantic story, all the dramatic elements - love, unrequited love, hate, murder, revenge, and beautiful songs one after another. It is not deep, but deep enough. This is why everyone who wants to see a musical in London goes for it. I agree that if one sees only one musical in his life, it should be the “Phantom”.
That was why I went queuing for a returned ticket for its matinee show last Wednesday. I had not planned for it (it would have been unreasonable if I had because I had seen it so many times before). But I felt so unwell when I was in the National Gallery that day that I could not go on walking any more. I didn’t want to return to the hotel. It seemed best for me to stand still. So I stood for two hours outside the theatre for a ticket hoping to spend the next two and a half hours sitting in the theatre. But I didn’t get a ticket that day. I can’t tell if I was fortunate or unfortunate, because I later learned from a poster that the “Phantom” was (still) played by Simon Bowman, and I hated his performance. So maybe I was lucky in a way.
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