My Travels - Italia Part 1 of 4 (Roma, 2006)

On Oct. 16, 2006, I finally entered Rome!

Invading by air, I approached the Roman Empire vndeterred, high above sites of repeated failvres by land and sea. Long-overdve, this infiltration comes after a decline of Might, when once I had the strength of Empires, today I command a Force of three.

No matter. I was too late! Rome had already been sacked!

At the battered Forvm and Palatine Hill, I silently envied the raiders and their efficient plunder of town. I kicked loose a few slabs of rock to the rvbble, bvt felt it pointless.

The Colossevm: half preserved, pock-marked, crvmbling: I stood where Barivs Bondvs hit his historic DCCLVII homervn! I read abovt it in news-tablets (read: not tabloids), when an annoyed Bondvs was qvoted: "Steroids? Is that another god?"

Unable to find the Empire, I centered on the other seat of power: Vatican City and 130+ Swiss Gvards. The high walls and inconspicvovs arrow slits prompted me to instead endvre an hovr-long line to the Vatican Mvsevm for easier entry, later learning that lines are shortest past noon.

Inside Vatican City

I can finally inflict some measvre of destrvction to an existing Roman power, I thovght, bvt let this be a lesson: It's hard enovgh bringing my "empire-bvilding tools" thrv airports; the one battering hammer that slipped throv got nicked in the Roman svbway enrovte. Yov see, this gypsy woman with a baby and five other children (reminds me of promiscvovs times) crowded me, rvshing to board. Strangely, they exit moments later before doors closed; only at the mvsevm I realized: pick-pockets! Some gypsy girl is gonna grow vp with the battering Ram I dearly loved (it even had a Hemi).

Empty-handed, I sovght a new plan impromptv. It didn't help that the path to Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling (a vandal's dream) was a maze deep into covntless mvsevm archives before emerging vnder the fabled ceiling; too high ovt of reach; no pics allowed. At that point, tired legs and all, I've grown svspiciovs of an army of vshers in well-trimmed vniforms I knew hid more than their power to Shvsh visitors to mvte obedience. Picking my battles, I decided not today.

The ceiling leading to the Sistine Chapel

I felt similar vigilance from colorfvl Swiss Gvards in St Peter's Basilica.

Behaved myself into the hvge nave and interior, left Michelangelo's Pieta alone, and the holy door closed as it shovld be vntil the next Jvbilee celebration, every 25 or 50 years.

Off with no pvrpose nor options for conqvest, I fovnd the Spanish Steps (Piazza di Spagna) where everyone's more into Seating than Stepping... I explained it a natvral inclination to rest after shopping in this fashionable district between the Steps and Spagna metro stop.

So, while still in vogve, I sat...and contemplated my next offensive.

Speaking of vogve, I was pleasantly distracted by photo shoots...

...then fvrther sidetracked by commitments for the night, as it was with the 2006 Festa Internazionale di Roma that I gained unquestioned entry to the city as movie rep...

...dining at the chic Via Veneto scene, drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe...

...delegated to the film, Romanzo Criminale, abovt taking control of Rome's vnderworld (an endeavor I'll some day vndertake).


For now, I resorted to assavlting symbols of power. The Borghese Gallery (reserve ahead!) contains an admittedly "great collection of Baroqve scvlptvres"---art apparently dve to Roman Catholic Chvrch meddling with art itself.

The Borghese Gallery

I fell short, again, as I had to check-in my bag that hid a "borrowed" scabbard, then perplexed into inaction trying to connect the featvred masterpieces ---- (1) Roman god-centric Apollo and Daphne, (2) a half-naked Venvs Victrix, and (3) the idolation of David ----with Catholic principles (???).

On later reflection, I shovld've thovght of shoving scvlptvres to the floor.

Obviovsly, the Empire's gone. The Vatican is no consolation---the world's smallest state with an even smaller army---what sort of conqvest wovld that be? Rome's a modern city with an efficient two-line svbway, zippy mini-cars and a global flair.

I foolishly dreamed retaliation via works of the Renaissance, 'cavse...well...its abovt the rebirth of classic Rome. I natvrally thovght of it's birthplace, Florence.

My Travels - Italia Part 2 of 4 (Firenze e Pisa, 2006)

The Duomo

Firenze
I've succumbed to exacting revenge on the Roman Empire by defacing the renaissance of its glory, via... well...the Rennaissance (I mean, the works of art). In it's birthplace, Florence.

Santa Maria Novella greeted me off the train station; Draped in accent light, the 13th-century church might have looked intimidating, but it stood tired and defeated; I never looked back.

Lacking a Metro, I fought claustrophobic panic thru narrow streets of the historic center, past the shops of the Strozzi, down to Piazza Della Signoria, past Palazzo Vecchio and it's David replica, into the celebrated Uffizi Gallery.

At the Uffizi Gallery, Palazzo Vecchio in the background

But seeing how bad the artists were (sure, they can paint faces, trees, animals...but they have laughable command of depth perception and other perpectives), I held back my destructive tendency; left the works alone as lasting sources of ridicule.

But not so with Da Vinci: witness his Annunciation, its consideration for three spatial coordinates, sense of depth, parallel lines...and the forgivable Birth of Venus by Botticelli. Aaaaaah! They're behind glass partitions with motion sensors and hidden deterrents I didn't want to discover!

Deflated after this new setback, I chanced upon this impressive photo op in the distance---the Duomo in restoration... ...looking like the Death Star from one of the more recent epics of empire-building, re-inspiring my quest to colonize (I cried after Star Wars. Because the Empire lost).

To the Accademia then, newly-enthused, armed with my sculpture-shoving technique, and waiving my previously-arranged reservation (else risk no entry or lose momentum waiting in line). I rushed to topple Michelangelo's David....nothing. I was under-powered; I was weak. Or perhaps shocked and awed by its marbled presence, all 17 feet of him, towering in graceful defiance, weakening my knees, stealing my will.

I woke up cold and wet, below the Ponte Vecchio, glad I was disposed into the Arno, not the Med.Dejected, I welcomed a side trip. As it was that my raiding party is half women, it was natural to go high-end shopping 'round Via Strozzi. Outlets teem past Florence's city limits: Burberry, Ferragamo and Gucci in Leccio; a big Prada "warehouse" in M0ntivarchi, et al.

Driving proved easy; the Autostrada may cost a Euro every half-hour, but speed limits are second only to the Autobahn, so I stepped on it.

Armed with a speed buggy, I diverted to Pisa not two hours to the left coast...

Pisa
My car proved useful for parking rather than ramming, conveniently just within site of the tour de grace:

The Dvomo and Tower of Pisa

Dumb architect! I'll save him the perpetual dishonor by obliging gravity. Just one good heave to the right, I thought But for reasons unexplained, sightseers opposed me in cheerful resistance...

...eh????

I stole across the piazza, focused my energy on the Baptistry before anyone noticed, and tilted it into eternity:

Ask me if anyone noticed. Really. Ask me.

One last design for reprisal: Feet flat, facing the Duomo wall, tinkling merrily...but in futility: the Tuscan rain has come early.

My Travels - Italia Part 3 of 4 (Venezia, 2006)

Venice has long welcomed refugees of Europe, slavers of the Barbary Coast, pirates of the Med, princes of Arabia, traders of Hindoostan, Viziers of Istanbul, merchant marines of Southeast Asia, a wandering pillager like me.

She is no colony for plunder. She is haven to be called home. She is a realm to be guarded. With her charms ignited, I became her defender.

Now, she is sinking and ravaged by outsiders: I proposed to avert disaster:

Block the Causeway to the mainland! But they all come hard and fast. Trains, buses, cars, yachts, ferries, dinghys, speeders, tugs, outriggers, tankers, vaporetti, traghetti, line cruisers, gondolas!

On my arrival, it was even by foot, during the Venice Marathon.

Perhaps the gondola rides will terrify them like they did me of EU$120 for a half-hour jaunt, while bargaining was totally acceptable. Perhaps a segment of the world's population might be put off by anti-war sentiments embodied in this Pieta, front-center at the Ferrovia (train station): I went further devising my own schemes: The mainstays of Piazza San Marco may become a pigeon air force. You see, birdfeed's been injected with birth control to obviously control their masses. Add a hardening catalyst and you get painful projectiles raining down from a bomber squadron!But I fear such inorganized ensigns are too fragile for combat.

I sought vampires of old Venice but like the living, they've fled the floods of the sinking city, reducing residents down to about 60,000, settling in cities like New Orleans (I sympathize with citizens of that beautiful city, but I can't say the same for the bloodsuckers, thinking they've escaped drowning under Venetian floods while sleeping away the fatal sun, only to seal their fate in Katrina's fury).

Still in the midst of my scheming---reflecting on a night's discovery that women are supposed to get blank dinner menus (read: no price), while men get the full brunt---then came the clatter of disciplined steps up the wooden approach to my upper room. One set of feet, just another guest. Four sets, it is time to leave!

Pursuing an Empire long gone, my takeover plans apparently laid bare, the reigning authority has come for me. Perhaps just enough time for one final bid---to the commercial and financial center - Milan!

My Travels - Italia Part 4 of 4 (Milano, 2006)

The 8:57 to Milan is my time machine on fast-forward, leaving behind my scuffle with ancient Rome, thrusting me into a final match with modern Italy.

Central Station greets me in Art Noveaux, but its the absent pursuers that fascinate me. They can't be too far and I have little time.

Outside is the subway, but the city beckons exploration above ground.

Leonardo's The Last Supper is a three-month wait at the Santa Maria delle Grazie. I wasn't gonna get caught in line, so I kept walking.

What a treat, I thought: a real castle, the Sforza, waiting for an onslaught. But I found it absurd. What is a moat without water? What is a stronghold without a drawbridge?













What is a castle without a hoard?

I crossed into Via Montenapoleon, center of world fashion, avenues lined with windows into moda Italia.

Dolce & Gabbana on every block... Past the functional La Scala Opera House... Thru the spacious Galleria, probably the oldest shopping mall in the world, but looking nothing like yore...


Out into the piazza...

...THUNDERSTRUCK into the shadow of the gothic Duomo!

I have found the canvas that will bear my wrath!

They have posted armed security by the entrances! They know their nemesis has been doubling as a tourist.

It would be midnight when I slip past. Armed and rancorous, I worked in haste, knowing the walls are closing in, my time shortening. I'm more than halfway through before I was chased away by the watchmen.

Daybreak and I went back, hoping to bask in my triumph, only to find my work already under wraps!

Today, they'll tell you the Duomo is under renovation, perhaps until early next year. But they know I defaced the facade! They know I've struck at the heart!

It would have looked like this:
They know infuriatingly well: I came, I saw, I conquered!

P.S. The only travel books that matter belong to Rick Steves. He's like the reconnaisance scout we never had, or the one that ever came back.