Old Stone Buildings and Forbidden Alleys
By John Wolf
He’s back, the roving writer, drying off from a romp in the Mediterranean. My mission was to carry the flag of the independent writer while soaking up impressions of the ancient world. It’s still there because it was made of stone, not like our stick and plasterboard houses we live in now. The dominate impression for me was the closeness, the narrow streets, slits to confine and restrict—a nice place for a rat to breed. It wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, but rather limiting to thought and expression compared to our fifty foot wide avenues even in the smallest of neighborhoods of the typical American town. There is a feeling of freedom in our world, but the sense of history was stuffed into every crevice over there.
Each stop had a depth of expression build upon millenniums of time marching past, casting off various epics of savagery followed by enlightened thought despite the controlling nature of man. Venice was, and still is, a merchant’s city with its watery avenues to transport goods and services. I posed at the Grand Canal in my bright yellow Nothing/Binding tee shirt to broadcast to the world that independent writers are alive and well, at which point I realized the logo was a wee bit tiny to show in the picture or I was a wee bit bloated after a series of excellently prepared meals onboard our ship.
The spirit of all those that went before me, who knew how to communicate with the written word or stylize in such a manner that even the church didn’t notice the clever deceptions, followed me around closely. I could see the muse’s leathery face laughing at me, tanned to a chestnut brown from following many a would-be author in the bright sun, mocking me with every scene I took in. You walk among the giants of thought. What makes you think you can compare or dare to challenge? Well, that’s just what we independent authors do, back in your tomb bone boy.
Croatia was the next stop and its southern city of Dubrovnik welcomed us with open arms. The country was decimated by a war in the early nineties, nineteen-nineties! The back country, where the land is fertile and green, was nearly vacant. The people have gone. The one bright spot is tourism that brings a lot of money to their shores. The old city is the focus of the attraction like flypaper to stick the visitor long enough to shake a little change from their pockets. The streets, the buildings, all made from white limestone. Many visitors believe the streets are marble, but actually the streets have been polished to a shiny surface by thousand of passers by. Here you can see the old and new collide. The small black circles you see everywhere on the white streets is from gum cast off by the modern dork or slovenly teenager with a lack of manners. This is the price they gladly pay to rebuild their broken country, kind of a glue to hold it together. Our tour guide was depressed as well as others we talked to about the situation. They are struggling to get on their feet again and afraid it will take generations.
Then there is Santorini that has its own big-bang theory, a caldera that was the largest known event of its kind on the planet that took place around 1650 BC. This event left a remarkable crescent of land towering in the sky, nestled among the islands of Greece, lined now, with delightful whitewashed cocoons of humanity, clinging to the edge. The beauty is stunning. So much so, that there is a migration of landlubbers dotting the backside of the island with Cabo San Lucas-like buildings from those with money to stake a claim. The descent from the cliffs of Thira to the tender docks is nearly straight down. One can take a zigzag donkey ride down a rocky trail or more wisely ride the cable car for an added thrill. Without a doubt, this place packed the most beauty for the buck, if such a crass term can be used—hey, I’m a tourist, I have a right to be a gawking idiot in a Hawaiian shirt in the middle of the Aegean Sea.
Athens was next. It is sad to me to see a place of such honored and respected history look like an overcrowded, urban sprawl of modern buildings and yet have a run-down looking facade, with only a hint of the ancient world dotted around the city. The Parthenon atop the Acropolis stands out, but the city is in the business of making money. The past is a blur in the mirror of a fast moving Smart car, motorcycle, or sleek Mercedes limousine gliding easily through the towering apartment buildings. Athens is alone with the power to provide for its citizens. The countryside is lightly populated. Most find the big city too attractive to maintain the old ways.
The next day we set our GPS for Italy. In between, we faced 50 knot winds while crossing the Ionian Sea. That gives you the perspective of all mariners, both new and ancient, of nature’s power and the fact the Med is heaped with the wrecks of ships that dared upset the Sirens of the Seas. This massive steel iceberg of a ship shook and shuttered as the white caps blew up over the bow. The ever present foolish joggers trying to maintain the rigors of their training schedules were hurled from the upper deck track into the sides of the ship. Once face meets cold steel, the warnings of the crew to stay off the upper deck, suddenly was heeded. It’s hard to pretend to eat a lavish five course meal with a smile without the occasional tugging at your stomach caused by the waves; reminding you that hurling on your neighbor’s tuxedo would be inappropriate. All was better as we reached the Straits of Messina and eased into the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was at this point a fellow passenger was questioning why I was using all the strange names for the Mediterranean Sea. I silently reminded myself; only an American tourist would have never looked at a map and noticed the Med is a collection of seas. That’s okay, I further reminded myself, we still have the world’s largest standing army. Maybe some of those names could be changed. The closer you get to the land of the Roman Empire, the more bold your thoughts become.
We past by volcanoes that were still active. We glided past the Italian Riviera. The evening was beautiful and the scenery was gracious. All in all, a wonderful ride that took us a full day just to get to the Italian shore. We passed Salerno where the allies landed in WWII. The next morning we awoke to a sun coming up on Naples as this huge ship was tucked into a slip in a complex harbor of industrial ships along with many other tourist vessels.
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The best thing about Naples is leaving it for some other place to see. The island of Capri is delightful, but I decided to make a run down to Sorrento, Positano, Praiano, and the Amafi coast drive. The Napoli Bay is dominated by Mt. Vesuvius and you had to wonder why the people of Pompeii lived right under it. This drive is spectacular. Each of the over 1100 curves on the road to Amafi has a village, vista, or interesting rock formation that plunges into the sea. What I saw was luxury everywhere. This is the real Italian Riviera. Each inlet that was lucky enough to have a beach among the staggering cliffs of marble and limestone was jealously guarded by a hotel or isolated by an estate, but all were crowed with visitors. What struck me about this place other than the view were the fresh vegetables and citrus fruit. All of it was grown on terraced plots, stacked from the sea up to the road and above. It was a continuous ribbon of micro-farms. At the markets and in the restaurants was the payoff. The food was bursting with flavor. It was a privilege to eat the fruits of labor from these people. It was a great day on the cliffs and I could easily see why Sophia Loren has her house there.
Next was Rome. The impression here comes from centuries of power. The city looked like most in Europe with the classic style of architecture and curly facades. Then you pass through the ancient walls. History is dripping from every structure. One of the reasons for going on this trip was to witness the Angels and Demons tour based on Dan Brown’s book of the same name. I was shocked to be informed that our tour was cancelled due to lack of participation. I talked to others on the alternate tour about the cancelled opportunity, wondering why people didn’t notice the extent of that tour to see almost all of Rome, since the book spanned the city rather extensively. The comments I got back were focused on the fact no one read the book and didn’t feel the tour would be anything much about Rome—duh! The alternative tour I took was almost as extensive. I didn’t get to see the Santa Maria del Popolo churches, the first altar of science in the book, but came close. I saw the obelisk. We walked from the Spanish Steps to the Trevi Fountain, past Hadrian’s Temple, which the remaining wall now forms a part of the stock exchange, on to the Pantheon, a most remarkable structure. Later, after seeing St. Peter’s Basilica, the ideas flowed from the experience. The Basilica was everything the Pantheon is not. And likewise, the Pantheon was everything the Basilica could not be. The Basilica, from the outside, didn’t look like a church to me; it looked like the casino at Monte Carlo or a government building, but boldly representing money. It looked like the Capital in Washington DC or vise-versa. By contrast, the Pantheon is a stark structure, devoid of beauty, a gray, round domed building with columns attached to one sector with its skin patchy and sick looking. The Basilica hid its treasures in dark alcoves and behind lavish marble blocks. The Pantheon was remarkable in the way the light streamed in from the heavens through the large opening in the middle of the dome, across the simple but mesmerizing pattern of squares, down to one open circular room. Everything could be seen from the center as you turned to take in all the splendor of the space and the feeling of the holy ground generated by its size. In the Basilica, I was impressed by the wealth of inscriptions and complex patterns of circles and inlayed bands of marble and gold. Its size is awe inspiring, but was very dark and haunting place to me. I felt compressed under its weight.
After the Pantheon, we proceeded to Piazza Navona, the fourth scene in Dan Brown’s book, to see the fountain of the four rivers and the ubiquitous obelisks that Bernini placed at the scenes of the crimes. This oval piazza area is a wonderful part of the city. The adjoining neighborhoods are very quaint. I came across a crew filming a movie. That added to the flavor of the day.
Next we walked over to the Tiber and across the bridge of angels to the Castel St. Angelo, a very scary looking place with a lot of skeletons in various closets. There we got our first view of the Basilica and piazza in front. We continued walking toward the Vatican City until we crossed its boundary and stepped onto the sacred ground of the Catholic Church within its own sovereign nation. After the look inside the Basilica we proceeded underground to a bus terminal and returned to the ship, which left me with the impression there was a lot underground to be seen in this city. The history of Rome is built on top of the empires of the past.
Next stop was at Livorno with access to Florence. There again the old city was much the same as Venice and Rome, but Michelangelo’s statues were everywhere. This is where marble really displays well. I was impressed standing in front of Dante’s tomb in the Santa Croce church. The piazza around the Santa Maria del Flore was interesting, but the Santa Croce church was loaded with historical firsts, or should I say, lasts—Rossini, Michelangelo, Dante, Galileo, and a herd of other famous Italians are there, entombed in marble. There is also a leather goods industry attached to the side of the church that has been training and employing craftsmen for hundreds of years. Then on to the Uffizi Gallery, which is a massive structure housing the art of Florence. The Ponte Veccio stands behind the Gallery and spans the Arno River. This was another all day pilgrimage across another ancient city, but was capped off by a wonderful lunch in a renaissance hotel. And one can't visit Florence area without seeing Pisa as well.
I didn’t think it would get any better at this point in the trip, but Nice and Villefranche bay were super. Nice is very beautiful and the coastline from Villefranche to Monaco was breathtaking. I really wanted to stop at Tina Turner’s house and see what was in the refrigerator, but the tour guide wagged a finger at me—no can do. Monaco looked like Disney designed it. The Rock, as it is called, was sitting on a big one. You look out on all the subjects below, basking in the sun on the decks of their luxury yachts. This place smelled of money, especially as we got closer to Monte Carlo. The casino is beautiful, surrounded by an ocean of Bentleys and Ferraris. Should I dare key one—no that would be tacky.
We had another day at sea and came to rest in Barcelona, our disembarking port. The two weeks was great and the memories will undoubtedly spill over into my future writing. The writer has to experience life to be able to convey real essence that adds meaning to his characters and provides interesting twists to plots. Now I must untangle all the twists and write them down. Ah yes, and the muse waved goodbye, still mocking, still pointing—so you think you can write, ha.
