I realized how much I disliked Florence when I set foot in Rome. More on that later, however. There are four days between Florence and Rome that need to be described. They were possibly the best days of the trip, despite the extreme sense of awe that I've felt these past few days in Rome.
The Sunday after our return to Florence, it hit us that there was only one day left to the drawing course we had all taken. We set out to explore some areas that we had never bothered to see before, and we tasted a little bit more of that pure Italian countryside culture. We walked along the gravel and dirt roads, reaching fields of hay and discovering nature as it is, and as it has been for 2000 years and over. A shepherd, dressed in a robe and dragging a wooden stick, walked his goats to the nearest patch of shaded grass. Dogs greeted us with barks, and birds fluttered away at the sound of our footsteps. The stream where I had watched tadpoles grow for the last month buzzed with life: lines of busy ants, flies, mosquitoes, etc. We drew what we saw, and I loved what I drew because I loved what I was seeing. There was this calm atmosphere that one feels on a Sunday, along with the serene balance of nature. It was a magical experience.
The next morning we visited Bolsena for the last time. We drew chicken coops, vinyards, etruscan landscapes and roads of more than 2300 years. We drew the lake from the mountain, the cherry trees. We visited Santa Christina's church, and walked through the layers of time, deep into its catacombs. I remembered I was claustrophobic... but this mood allowed me to make some good charcoal drawings. The scene reminded me a bit of Indiana Jones movies. We spent the afternoon on the beach, and I tried a Campari (some alcohol I always see Italians drink that actually tastes like a mix of nail polish remover and mosquito repellent).
We gave in our sketchbooks that day, to be observed by the teacher. We realized at this point that we had gotten so used to drawing that not having our sketchbooks with us made us feel naked, or empty. Everywhere we turned, we wanted to draw this, or that, and we found we couldn't. My critique the next day went by smoothly: I knew what I was good at, and I knew what I was doing wrong. Nothing really came as a surprise.
The last supper on Wednesday felt unreal. This is when I fell in love with Italy, and I'm getting all emotional writing about this. It may be my melodramatic- hopeless romatic attitude, but I really felt strongly about that night. Our supper was delicious, as usual. The comfort of having regular meals there made it feel even more special. We took a bus to the next town over, Torre Alfina, to have gelato as desert. I sat in the front with the bus driver, looking out into the night, the first few meters ahead of us lit by the headlights of the bus. The trees hugged the streets so tightly, it almost felt like we were driving through a tunnel. I'd met the bus driver previously: he was the designer for the Pugnaloni of the Centro team (with whom we spent some time partying). I was nervous to talk to him, but, starting a conversation, I learned he travelled a lot between the small villages around Acquapendente, and that he worked in Torre Alfina, at the Nature museum giving tours to school kids and accompanying them on nature walks. He went to college to draw in a bigger town further away. I got along with him so well that my heart broke whenI thought of the fact that I had to leave early the next day for Rome.This was one Italian that seemed to have not a drop of anger in his heart (that doesn't happen often), a sincere smile, eyes that dreamed of romance, but a heart that was perfectly content in the simple kind of life one leads in small towns. I learned this was also the man that had fallen for a Canadian (in this very drawing course, 5 years ago), who had followed her home for 2 months, and sadly moved back home when they realized it wasn't going to work out. It's one of those stories the teacher tells at the beginning of the course to warn us of the dangers out there. Despite this, I think I fell in love. At least for a moment.
Torre Alfina is a wonderful little town realted to Acquapendente of about 300 people. They have a group of soldiers that play music (they have a specific name, and it's a very important section of the Italian army...but I can't remember the name...) and we found them practicing for the 150th anniversary of the Reunification of Italy which was to take place the next day (the big party was in Rome- more on that later). They saw how amazed we were at this performance, and dedicated a few songs to us (the Italians, they're such romantics...). We then got gelato (I'm proud to say I haven't yet had the same flavor twice!... and I have gelato almost every day...) and walked up to the castle. Along the way, we noticed many contemporary art installations, sculptures, canvases that played with light and optical illusions, etc. This town was full of surprises, and the artworks were scatteres in such a way that it was always a pleasant surprise to fall upon one. At the castle, I talked some more with Fabrizo (the bus driver) and an older German man, whom I met up there, and who told me about the next day's celebrations in Rome (an engineer, he spoke many different languages, had a house in Rome, and was on vacation in Torre Alfina). On the way back to the bus, I met a Japanese man with an Italian sheep dog (an enormous white fluff ball named Tarò). I spent some time playing with him, and giving him affection, immediately, and once again, falling in love. Having such a connection with this dog made me feel so much better, especially when thinking of Cham, and although I was glad to have met him, I heard him howl back at me for the next 5 minutes as I walked away and my heart sank again. It didn't stop me from sleeping like a baby that night.
The next day, we left for Rome. The bus ride was long, but I was entertained by a conversation with one of the girls in the group, and it semed like the 3 hours were nothing. The hotel, it turns out, was 5 minutes away from the train station, and had much better breakfast than the one we had stayed at in Florence. I knew I loved Rome when I saw the orange trees lining the streets. As if it was completely normal. It blew my mind. The next few days were more mind-blowing: I saw the Trevi fountain, churches in which inhabited Carravagio's artworks, ate the best gelato in the world (saw some flavors I never thought existed), saw some amazing percussion bands, walked inside the Parthenon, the Colliseum, the Forum, a stadium, the house of Nero, Augustus, the Vestals, the Pope's, etc... The Oratory in Montreal always amazed me because I saw the madness (or the passion?) of the people who believed in something so much that they would build monumental places to honor these things. I saw it again, and again, and again in Rome. The Trevi fountain is clearly an overly ambitious and crazy idea, yet it's also one of the most amazing things I've seen. I cried when I saw the extent of the ancient Roman city and realized that we were never original, really, in our modernity. Anything we have now, the Romans had long before we did. This was the center of the world. For so long, and to such an extent, that we should be ashamed as a civilization today. There are 3 layers of city built upon city. We built ourselves around it, but we were never really in it. This is what I learned as I was walking around in Rome: we are nothing new, nothing special, we stole our ideas from those who were more amazing than us.
Special thanks to the wonderful guide we had: Gino, who made us question reality, see wrinkles as marks of a history, laugh, cry, not just look but truly see, and who gave us frequent bathroom and feeding breaks. We all loved you, and we wish you a long and fruitful life.
NEXT: Naples tonight, Pompeii tomorrow (with a climb up the Vesuvius), then night train to Paris. In Paris, we have a long list: Notre Dame cathedral, Eiffel tower at night, Catacombs of Paris, Louvres, Orsay, Versailles. I'll be travelling with a girl from the class, then it's back home to Montreal. I'm so glad I have Gravol.
WORD OF THE DAY: carabinieri
this is what we call policemen. Here, the carabinieri of the Italian President wears a beautiful combination of shiny roman armour and modern pants and shirt. To be hired by the President, they must be 1.90 meters, must be built like an ox, and must have an attractive Roman face (I don't know why, but that seems to be a pretty important criteria).
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