Some Pictures - With Nuns

 

Rome, Italy 2017

 

Our final two days were in Rome, one of the world's most romantic cities, and my mind was on love. I booked a double room in a place that promised peace and quiet, a place of solace. What better way to end our trip, I thought. We were met at the entrance by the man we'd spoken with who escorted us into a stunning courtyard, filled with soft light and magnificent flowers and fruit trees. I was slightly suspicious when I saw the religious statues, but Rome is full of religious statues, I said to myself. Then I saw the nuns - three of them in full regalia - acting like they owned the place, which, in fact, they did. They lived in the other building, the man assured us.

 

Rome, Italy 2017

 

Our room was spare and small. Two single beds (thus the double billing), narrow and hard with mattresses a short step away from bare ground.  There was a single lamp between them and a small attached bathroom. A window opened to the street outside. As promised, it was peaceful and quiet. My disappointment was palpable. But I said to Leslie, "I've never made love in a convent before and it offers the opportunity to rid myself of any remaining catholic inhibitions. I'll show 'em nuns."  Leslie, nothing if not a good sport, agreed to go along with the program. 

Rome, Italy 2017

We spent the day walking through Trastevere's elegant parks and gardens and suppered in a small family restaurant just up the street from the nunnery. Another great meal of pasta and seafood, wine, a light desert and we walked home arm in arm in the cool air. There, we undressed and I invited her to my bed. We are not big people, but cramped doesn't begin to describe the situation. Yet we persisted, thankful for the lack of creaking bedsprings, or any bedsprings at all, in the absolute silence of the convent night. But then, the bed itself took over, knocking, banging, wood on wood, wood on wall, making noise I only imagined possible on a boat in a North Sea storm, echoing both inside the building and outside in the street. I lost focus and began thinking of neighbors, the other residents, and yes, the nuns. "I'm sorry," I said, "i've got to stop." Leslie looked me in the eye, stroked my cheek and said, "well, I guess those nuns have still got you."

Some Pictures - We Are All Tourists

- click photographs to enlarge

 

Pompeii, Italy 2017

 
 

There was a moment on this trip when I realized that I was just another tourist. Until that time I had mistakenly, and arrogantly, believed I was somehow different than the throngs of people around me reading the same guide books, making the same photographs, and drinking the same bottled water they stored in backpacks. Just the number of selfie-sticks, and the corresponding selfies being made with them, was overwhelming. I had the sense people were less interested in the actual sights and more interested in showing the world they had been there. I thought, 
that's not me. 

 

Amphitheater, Pompeii, Italy 2017

 

I wanted to believe because I was half Italian and could speak a few words of the language, I possessed some unique and intuitive insight into the culture and history. That my photographs and observations would stand alone and mark me as an insider, rather than the outsider I clearly was to anyone paying attention.

 

 

St. Peter's Square, Vatican City, Italy 2017

St. Peter's Square, Vatican City, Italy 2017

 

Rome and Florence were on the verge of "too much." There are people everywhere. Europeans, Americans, Asians, and all points in between. Rude people, friendly people, tired and hungry people. People ecstatic about being in places they had previously only dreamed of being. People willing to stand in line for hours to see the Vatican art collection or wade through pedestrian torrents on the Ponte Vecchio. 

 

Florence, Italy 2017

Florence, Italy 2017

 

Italy is absolutely dependent on these millions of tourists that flock to its churches and galleries and incomparable vistas and beaches. Tourism is a major revenue producer throughout the country, but some cities and towns would cease to exist without it. It seems that everyone in these places is a tour guide, or runs a hotel, or is an entertainer that caters to the fantasies of visitors. 

 

 

Cimitero delle Fontanelle, Naples, Italy 2017

 

So, here we are. Pressing flesh with unknowns on packed trains. Sipping wine and coffee in quiet cafes on remote side alleys. Vowing not to enter another church. Relishing the soft voices and respect in a little-visited, underground cemetery for those not able to afford to be buried in a church. A meal with my Sicilian cousins and their wives in a restaurant filled with locals where my cousin Enzo coaxed Leslie into eating things she never dreamed she would put in her mouth. 

Throughout all of it, I play the tourist. 

 

Some Pictures - Graffiti 2

REVOLUTION, Naples, Italy 2017

FIGHT, Naples, Italy 2017

 

MARCH, Rome, Italy 2017

 

I don't see much graffiti in Madison County, which might serve to explain my fascination with it. Italians, at least those in the cities, seem to believe every available surface is just another pallet, made to carry a message. Often, the language is political and speaks to dissent; there is clearly a sense of darkness somewhere below the surface. I wonder who paints them, and mounts these posters, and why? And I marvel at their existence alongside the Italy of light and color, that of gelato and high fashion. 

Some pictures

 

I made a lot of photographs on our recent trip to Italy. Some were bad and immediately tossed, others were nice and coherent and offer a good record of our visit, and some are quite good. I made photographs on my iphone, which were pretty immediately uploaded to instragram and facebook. I made many more images with my camera that I am just now uploading and editing and preparing to publish on my blog since I know many of my blog readers don't subscribe to instagram and facebook.
I'm not going to post these in any particular order, no running, chronological commentary of our four weeks in Italy. These will just be pictures I like, pictures that ask questions, pictures that maybe communicate some of the utter enthusiasm I was feeling while photographing in a new and visually-stimulating place. I haven't been this excited about making photographs in some time. 
Some of the pictures will have writing with them,
many won't. 
Here's one of the last I made.
 

 
Fiumicino, Italy April 26, 2017

Fiumicino, Italy April 26, 2017

 

It's our last day, the last few hours really.
Soon, we'll be on one of those planes, 
heading west, back to reality, in a sense.

We booked a room in a fancy hotel in a fishing village
near the airport. 
The village itself is small, well-placed
at the conjunction of the Tiber River and the Tyrrhenian Sea.
A balcony overlooked the harbor and jetty with boats readied for their morning run. 
I vowed to see them off.

Our last night. We stayed up late.
Our last taste of wine on Italian soil,
the last pasta with fish.
Walking along the jetty.
Taking full advantage of our well-appointed room.
Free wifi, hot shower with great pressure, quiet,
a big comfortable bed.
I rose at six. 
The boats were long gone.

So, I walked.
Wanting the air, and the morning light,
thinking there may be a final picture to be had.
I see two men on the jetty casting lines into the sea.
They're far away and it's not a very good picture,
but I raise my camera anyway.
Inexplicably, with his back turned, one senses me. 
And he's not happy I'm there, camera in hand.
He's yelling in Italian, I don't know what, 
but, of course, I do.

I thought,
this is the age-old issue between locals and
tourists who see them as visual objects, 
memories to be captured.
Or perhaps,
he believed my presence would impede his fishing
and ruin his beautiful morning.
Reasonable enough.
But I wonder,
if this is not a simple clash of civilizations.
An invasion of tourists with cameras, and luggage,
and big hotels, and money. 
Wanting what the locals have had for centuries.
At least a memory of it.

I turn and walk away,
embarrassed by my insensitivity,
but also pissed at the man's hyper-sensitivity. 
The walkway is littered with all manner of
cigarette butts, plastic, broken glass, clothing, garage. 
It struck me as an act of defiance -
no, we will not clean up for the tourists.

I see another fisherman. He sees me.
I stop. He ignores me. 
A plane flies by. 
I think, that's me. 
Leaving, but caught on the end of his line.

 

 
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Travels

For followers of my blog, I have been absent from my site for the last 3 weeks. Leslie and I have been in Italy and I've been unable to post images on the blog. I have been posting pictures on Facebook and Instagram for those of you interested. I will resume blogging when we return home next week. 

Thank you all for your kind support. 

Rob

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