So Brandy was right, as should be expected as she is the
professional and I the very amateur. I went to see her right before I left for
New Zealand and after I broke the news of the trip (“Rad!” she kept saying,
which is not just her favorite word but also an excellent word to describe her), we
looked at each other in the mirror, her hands on the back of my chair, and I
said, “Brandy, I’m going to say a word. And it’s going to be a crazy word.”
There was a pause as we looked at each other, Brandy smiling, me serious, and
then we spoke at the exact same moment: I said, “Bangs” and she said, “Mullet!”
Brandy clearly has a greater appetite for adventure than I
do and to be clear: I don’t think she was right about the mullet, but about the
bangs. At first I loved them and now…now I go about with a bobby pin on the top
of my head.
The Galleria Borghese was completely overwhelming, not least
because some nut job had come up with the idea of a temporary installation presenting
a rather substantial collection of Picasso’s sculpture in the galleries. I
think they were meant to be in conversation with the permanent collection but—no
offense, Pablo—it was not Picasso I came to see. I do love his pregnant goat
(she was there!) the rest of it was mainly a distraction.
I know a fellow who is a huge Bernini fan (and not a fan of
the “stupid Picasso goat”), and the Borghese is practically overflowing with
Bernini. Rodin will always be first in the sculpture-related part of my heart,
but I gotta hand it to Gian Lorenzo: he was pretty handy with the marble. This gentleman
is Pluto and the lady he is clutching is Proserpina and while this is not
exactly a love story the fact that Bernini was just 23 when he carved this does
indeed make me wonder how in the heck anyone can be so brave as to make the first
cut into a block of marble. Maybe it’s my intention tremor talking but yeesh I
would be so terrified to mess it up.
I did gasp (quietly) out loud when I saw David’s face, but
in the end it was Apollo and Daphne that won the day for me.
This museum admits people for just two hour blocks, much like the old
game show Supermarket Sweep, and while I was required to check my bag
(including my wallet AND my knitting), I was not allowed to check my coat. At
some point I had seen a sign that photography was allowed but then I was chastised
by two different guards so I felt very much the American tourist bumbling
around and breaking all the rules. Here is where I may as well confess I’ve
just been speaking English to everyone. Sometimes I try to start with “Buongiorno”
or “Buena sera” and I definitely sprinkle in plenty of poorly pronounced “Grazies”
but after that I just assume English is gonna work and, well, it does.
There were wild parrots in the park, which was excellent,
and apparently the Borgheses took as their symbol an eagle on top of a dragon
which seems a little overkill but made for some excellent statuary.
I took some euros out of the ATM and was furious to be given
50s. At dinner last night (a salad, unbelievably delicious cacio e pepe pasta,
and a quarter carafe of wine), the bill came to “one four” euros and I had to
give the nice lady a fifty. She came back with two twenties and a shrug and so
it was up to me to scrounge up the change to make up the four, which, luckily,
I did have a five on me so that worked out but who DOES that?
I went to a da Vinci museum today and it was very
interesting as a group of da Vinci scholars/artisans had created models of many
of his inventions and most of them you could interact with which was really
cool. There were also several video stories and the one about the horse statute
in particular moved me—da Vinci spent sixteen years trying to figure out how to
make this four-times-life-sized statue of a horse and got so far as building
the…thing the clay mold could be made from but then there was a war or
something and some French soldiers ended up using the giant clay horse for target
practice and now we don’t have a giant horse statue. Da Vinci also said “Art is
never finished, just abandoned,” and I cannot decide whether I vehemently
disagree or reluctantly agree.
Tonight is, yikes, my last night in Rome. I hauled my aging carapace
up to the Janiculum Terrace late this afternoon and the views were exactly as
promised. You are welcome that I am not sharing all of the grainy, poorly
framed pictures I took, but imagine looking down on the sprawl of the city and the
lights going up along the hills around it and then crossing the street to look north
and see the [murmur murmur something famous—St. Peter’s?] dome, all the while
scooters blowing by at top speed, and you know a bowl of cacio e pepe and a glass
or two of wine await you after you’ve climbed back down and crossed over the
Tibur to get home.
“Home,” by the way, has been the extremely excellent River
Palace Hotel. I know it is called the River Palace Hotel because they ponied up
for the premiere package and everything
is embossed or embroidered with the name. In my room alone, these are the
things that say River Palace Hotel: the bed pillows (in gold on white,
naturally), the bath towels (same), the bath mat, the bathrobes, the slippers,
the little paper hats that go on the coffee mugs and water glasses, the napkins, the paper wrappers around the fresh rolls of toilet paper, and the headboard of the bed. I’m probably missing something but already the
effect is dizzying. My room is also decorated so lavishly and colorfully that I
feel like a proper Roman and once I get comfortable with this toga I expect I
will go ahead and commission a couple busts of myself I can send as holiday
cards. Hope you have a niche ready for me!
Pictures!
This is absolutely how I would insist on being painted, with my favorite duck.
This is how I pictured myself looking at the guy with his dad with the doll house.
I should have mentioned this earlier, but the River Palace Hotel FINALLY had REAL, DECENT coffee. This is exactly how I felt when I found out.
Love that this guy is calling his shot; wish he had considered "pants" before showing up for the game.
And yes, I absolutely snuck around the crowds to a little side staircase so I could throw my coin in the fountain which, I am closing my eyes and believing, means I will absolutely be back to Rome. What's life without a little leap here and again? :)
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