Mirror Mirror on the Street

I am always fascinated by the things you see laying about the streets of a city - my regular reader may recall that in Rome it always seemed to be shoes cast aside in pairs (?????) that I discovered on the street.  Here in Ottawa it seems to be furnishings that end up on the street including this lovely piece of Japonisme I saw leaning against an apartment building reflecting life around it.

A fine piece to grace anyone's living room or for that special bedroom - don't you think?  Well at least its not on black velvet!

30 April - 1894: Coxey's Army reaches Washington, D.C. to protest the unemployment caused by the Panic of 1893.

Ubi Caritas ....

It is that time of year again! The weather has turned hot - almost sticky with the infamous Roman humidity. The jasmine is fragrant, almost to the point of being sickly. People are thronging the patios and sidewalks of bars and cafes. The gelaterie are doing record business as old ladies lick on their dripping whip cream topped cones giggling to each other about this oh-so-naughty lapse from their diet. People are out strolling, some walking their dogs though more often than not forgetting (?) to pick up after them. And what space on the street is not being taken up by dinners, gelataholics, strollers and doggie doo is often occupied by a host of beggars of various manner and conditions.

Now please don't misconstrue that last statement. I am not in anyway denying the existence here of people who are in real need. Sadly, despite statements from the current Government, there are a growing number of people who fit that description. Nor am I talking about the homeless who camp out in various locales about town like my friend that I talk with every Tuesday with the beautiful little dog near the Isola. Nor am I talking about the number of Sri Lankans or Africans who are selling everything from Kleenex to rip off designer leather goods in a desperate attempt to find that "better life" the people smugglers promised them. I am talking about the syndicate of professional beggars that are working the streets of Roma this time of year. And they don't restrict their "work place" to just the tourist areas of Centro; in our neighbourhood we have our regulars most of whom are there year round but they are now augmented by the "seasonal" workers.

As we tucked into our vegetarian platters (so healthy) at a very nice little local bar I heard a strange voice raised in a pleading cry of "Aiuto me." (help me). It was high pitched, the sound distorted and almost strangled; the sort of sound I remember my father made when he would attempt to speak after his second stroke. There stumbling her way along the tables was a small plump figure in a blue flowered house dress-smock of the sort my mother wore in the late 40s. She was hunchbacked, one arm seem to have been amputated at the elbow and the other was twisted and the hand gnarled in that cup-like claw arthritic hands so often become. As she went from table to table most people were putting coins into her cupped hand. She was almost aggressive in her begging though it could have been the voice and the physical condition that made it seem that way. I'm sure many people were giving her money just to be rid of the sound and the sight.

The older gentleman seated next to me - tailor-made-suited and tied and immaculately groomed - made that dismissive "boh" sound so common here. But I could not bring myself to do that. I was sitting in a nice bar, having a good meal with my tailor-made-suited and tied, immaculately dressed spouse enjoying the warmth and sun of Rome. Other than the odd ache or pain-in-the-ass client I had nothing in the world to complain about. A few euros out of my pocket meant nothing. And for a moment I stopped and thanked whatever power there was for my good life. She continued on her way down the street that strange strangled voice fading - perhaps not quickly enough for my guilty conscience.

After my regular after lunch affogato - a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with espresso and whipped cream - I made my way back to the office. As I turned the corner there was a woman in a blue flowered house dress-smock of the sort my mother wore in the late 40s - unbent, two able arms and talking in a normal voice to a man who was obviously her "manager". All that milk of human kindness that had been pumping through my veins suddenly curdled. I honestly didn't know whither to laugh or become enraged. The talent in the deception astounded me and dare I say delighted me by its shear audacity; the deception itself enraged me.

Ubi caritas - where you find charity.... well let's just say I may not find it as quickly as I have in the past.

15 giugno - San Vito

Street Scenes

Today was a gloriously sunshiny if very cold day - and yes it does get cold here in Roma. It maybe not be the cutting cold of Ottawa but with the humidity and temperatures hovering at freezing it is definitely sweater, scarf, hat and gloves weather. But it was also a day to visit a few sites with a friend.  I'll be posting about our trip to the Biblioteca Angelica - Europe's first public library - later but in the meantime here are two things that caught my eye as we walked around town.


While her mother sits outside the door of the newly restored San Luigi dei Francesi this little Romani girl (well bundled up against the cold) was fascinated by the workman filling in cracks in the marble stairs.




And as we wandered from Cafe Sant'Eustachio (the best coffee in town) down towards a really good small trattoria for lunch we passed this remnant of a once great statue now residing at the crossing of Via dei Pie' di Marmo (Street of the Marble Foot) and Via di San Stefano in Cacco. It was part of a colossal statue with Egyptian features which stood in a temple to Isis and Serapis built by the Emperor Domitian (81-96 AD). Now it is surrounded by motorini and has old telephone books piled on it. Sic Transit Gloria!

02 febbraio - Purificazione di Maria

A Very Roman Solution

Parking is at a premium no matter where you go in Roma. Our street is lined with cars during the day and parking can be difficult. Of course being in Roma, there is always an answer!



12 ottobre - Nostra Signora del Pilar

Napoli

Last friday I mentioned the rather sweet attempt that was made to turn a lane in Salzburg into a typical Neapolitan street for the Whitsun Festival. Well we were in Napoli this past weekend and I think I found the street they used as a model. Click on the photo of Laurent striding down Sigmund-Haffner-Gasse.


The similarities are striking aren't they? And here's one more to show how they duplicated it so faithfully!

27 maggio - San Agostino di Canterbury

Borgo Nights

The first time Laurent and I came to Rome we stayed on the other side of the Tiber in the Borgo near St. Peter's. The area takes its name from the German Burg and was an area of hostels and hospices for pilgrims as far back as AD 725. Given the events of the day we were at a bit of a loss on Thursday evening - comfort food was in order but neither one of us felt like cooking. So a trip to the Borgo and that trattoria that I can never remember the name of for spaghetti alla carbonara seemed the solution. And since we would be in the area we thought we'd have a look-in at the (mildly?) controversial Presepe in Piazza San Pietro.

It was only 2000 but there were very few people in the Piazza and most were crowded around the Presepe by a rather phallic looking Christmas tree. Many were, like ourselves, snapping pictures. I wasn't disturbed that the Nativity had been relocated to Nazareth nor the placement of St Joseph at the centre of the scene. But I found that many of the carved figures - some Baroque pieces from the Church of Sant'Andrea delle Valle - are badly placed and the three room structure put a restricting box around the tableaux. Unfortunately the night setting on both our cameras was not working properly so many of the photos didn't turn out.

There's a slightly sinister atmosphere in the Borgo at night - particularly on the pedestrian streets where the cobblestones echo in the chilly air. And the flocks of black-suited and soutaned clergy scurrying through to winings, dinings and lodgings give it an almost conspiratorial atmosphere. Our trattoria was closed so we looked for one with clergy in it - always a good recommendation. The one we choose had a cosy interior, a pleasant waiter and respectable food - we had our carbonara, a few glasses of house white, almond tart and coffee and the world seemed a little warmer if not brighter.

We boarded a number 62 that takes us across the River, through town and almost home. The only other passenger on the idling bus was an elderly lady carting a backpack and two shopping bags. She spotted Laurent and immediately started talking to him. In the five or ten minutes before departure she told him all about her family - her mother was French, they were evacuated from Rome during the war, her sister went to America and after the war when her parents died they didn't have the money for proper headstones. She wasn't rambling she was reminiscing and here was a nice young man who was willing to listen. I've always marvelled at Laurent's ability to talk with strangers - I feel uncomfortable and awkward in those situations, its one of the reasons I hate diplomatic functions. She repeated the story of the headstones but it didn't seem like a plea of poverty, more a repeated regret for something not done right. Then at the first stop she gathered up her bags, waved arrivederci and got off. She seemed too well dressed to be a street person, she spoke Italian beautifully and she did not seem disturbed in any way. Just an old lady on her way home who had found someone to listen to her.

Or at least I hope she was on her way home; it had become colder and damper and so many people are homeless in this city. As we went through Centro I saw several people bundled up in blankets bedded down for the night in doorways. One couple were having a last cigarette, wrapped in their blankets in the doorway of a Ferrari dealership - he leaned down and whispered something to her and she laughed.

I don't pray often but Thursday night I mumbled a few words to who ever listens: a few words about Reesie, a few words for that old lady, those people sleeping in the doorways, that laughing couple and a few words of thanks for what I've had and have.

29 decembre - San Tommaso Beckett

Parma - Street Scenes

Many of these pictures where taken on Sunday morning when all good Italians are at mass - or in bed. This accounts for the deserted appearance of the streets - that and I'm still not all that comfortable pointing my camera at people, in that uptight Anglo way I feel like I'm intruding on them.


Though Dante doesn't mention it in the Inferno there is a special ring of hell reserved for mimes and performance artists - one with real glass cages and a constant hurricane force wind to fight against. However this "statue" had a really original twist - if you gave him something he sprang to life and presented the book for your to sign with the feather pen. It worked, he had a constant stream of donors: And Your Name Shall Be Write Large In The Book of the Charitable?????

(photos taken) 27 ottobre - San Fiorenzo e 28 ottobre - SS Simone e Guida