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Destination: Rome

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Landing a Prizewinning Tuna…in Rome

I just spent a great week in Rome. Our son, Andy, is there for a semester abroad, and Anne, Jackie, and I dropped in for a peek at his experience. Andy and his schoolmates — most in their third year at Notre Dame — are becoming citizens of the world. As twenty-year-olds would, they have a different focus than older travelers. But even so, their lives are being enriched.

With Andy and his mates, I enjoyed seeing Rome through a different lens. I learned Italian clubs welcome the American kids with hip-hop. Then, well into the wee hours, when they’re ready for the tourists to head home, they switch over to techno. Several of the students came for a semester and (apparently undeterred by the techno) decided to spend the rest of their school days here. Rather than spring break in Fort Lauderdale, they head for Sharm El Sheikh — I never imagined all that MTV hormone activity on the Red Sea in Egypt!

The kids muscle three days of travel fun out of each weekend, hopping a plane (Andy just landed a $30 round-trip ticket to Sofia, Bulgaria) or sleeping on a train for someplace new.

It’s fun for me to see the budget traveler and tour organizer showing itself in my son. Last month, he led a gang of six friends to Gimmelwald, borrowing ski gear from our friend Olle and sleeping on his floor (and working to keep the one higher-maintenance kid happy). As soon as school’s out, Andy and his gang have their sights set on hiring a small boat with a captain for a low-budget Aegean cruise. He explained to me how eight kids sharing the rental cost is no more expensive than settling into a cheap hotel in Athens.

These are mostly Midwestern kids whose worlds — because they’ve traveled — are suddenly broader. They are insisting on fresh garlic for their bruschetta, marveling at how Italians are cynical and fatalistic about their politics (bringing back Berlusconi), and drinking tap water to afford a better wine. The boys celebrate, as if winning the lottery (at first I wrote “landing a prizewinning tuna,” but that seems a little crass), when they come home with the phone number of an Italian girl.

Andy says the rigor of the class load here is light. But as a dad — paying the tuition — I’m thrilled with the education he’s getting (and a bit envious that I never had a study-abroad experience in my college days).

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Happy New Year. Should I Roll the rr’s in Buonarroti?

I just spent five days in the studio recording audio tours. They’re designed for iPod users visiting the dozen most important museums and sights in Venice, Florence, and Rome. Reading the scripts out loud into a microphone for literally eight hours a day was a slog. But the idea that our work will help thousands of travelers made the chore a joy.

I have never been so immersed in reading, and I had two great coaches: Lyssa Brown (editor and professional voice for Cedar House Audio Productions) and Gene Openshaw (co-author of many of my guidebooks and editor of these tours). It was a fascinating week filled with quirky factoids, pronunciation challenges, and wording decisions.

As we’re investing lots of time and money in these tours, I wanted to get the pronunciation and wording just right and produce tours with a long life.

“Menagerie” (of beasts from all over the Roman Empire) has a “szh” sound in the middle. The first syllable of “obelisk” rhymes with “Bob.” Should I roll the rr’s in Buonarroti? Lay-en-ar-do or Lee-en-ar-do? …sometimes the correct pronunciation is distracting and sounds pretentious to me. I no longer struggle with “gesture” (jes-jur). How on earth should we pronounce the sculptor Pollaiuolo? I went with a Sam the Sham “Wooly Bully” accent: “pole-ay-woe-low.” Just when I got that, I came to the main pedestrian drag of Florence: Via Calzaiuoli (“kal-tsie-wolly”…take, it Sam).

While you write “A.D. 312,” we say “312 A.D.” At what point can you dispense with the “A.D.” and just say the year? We decided that while Constantine became Christian in 312 A.D., Rome fell in the year 476.

Reading the tours had me marveling at the variety of information we concern ourselves with: The Colosseum is likely named for the 100-foot-tall “colossal” statue of Nero that once stood out front. Roma spelled backwards is Amor (“love”) — and the temple of Venus (love) and Rome had a sign that said two different words with the same four letters (depending on the viewer’s vantage point). With licensed casinos and a reputed 20,000 courtesans, Venice was Europe’s Sin City. (And what happened in Venice…stayed in Venice.)

We labored over wording questions that probably didn’t matter much: Was Roman concrete made of cement and “light rocks” or “rubble”? (We said rubble.) Did exotic animals from Africa “herald” or “celebrate” Rome’s conquest of distant lands? (We went with celebrate.) Did Rome grow from a small band of “tribespeople” or a small band of “barbarians” into a vast empire? (We said tribespeople.) Should we say “The Jews of Israel believed in only one god,” or “The Israelites believed in only one god”? (We said the former.) Were they slave “marketers” or “traders”? (Traders.)

Do people care that the pavement stones in the Forum were made of basalt? Do people need the word “capital” defined (the top of a column)? Affirmative.

How did the street-corner preacher actually sound when he cried out, “Beware the Ides of March!” And how did dying Caesar utter, “Et tu, Brute?” Joking about how mean Emperor Caligula was, should we say, “He even parked his chariot in handicapped spaces” or “disabled spaces”? Is this even a sensitivity issue? (We went with handicapped at the risk of not being PC.)

Do we need to introduce Bernini by saying his entire, difficult-to-pronounce name: Gian Lorenzo Bernini? And what about Leon Battista Alberti? When noticing the tiny cross atop the towering pagan obelisk, do we say, “Here we see Christian culture is but a thin veneer over our pagan roots” or “pagan origins”? (Our choice: roots.)

The Vatican is an independent country with a few extra bits of land that come with its lead churches. Are these Vatican-owned properties called “territories”? Exactly what do people expect to gain from touching the toe of the statue of St. Peter? Can you say “ecumenistic spirit” rather than “spirit of ecumenism?” Is it too crude to say, “While seventh-century Constantinople flourished, Dark Age Europeans were still rutting in the mud”? (Yes.) Must I say “friars” rather than “monks”? (There is a difference, but “friar” makes you think of a big fat Tuck.)

Did Giotto’s tower “set the tone” for Michelangelo, or “inspire” him? Does Donatello hold his “hammer and chisel” or hold his “trusty hammer and chisel”? Do you say “The Vatican” or simply “Vatican”? (We went without the “the.”) Do people know what a tanner is, or should I say “leather tanner”?

All the decisions have been made, the recordings are finished, and the post-production work has begun. These 12 audio tours will be available here at ricksteves.com (and on iTunes) within two months. (When they are finished, we’ll let you know.)

P.S.: This summer, I ranted on this blog about how un-Christian it seemed to keep the Vatican Museum hours so short with all the tourists baking in lines for hours trying to get in. Travelers’ prayers have been answered: I just heard that the Pope will stretch the museum’s opening hours. In 2008, we can expect it to be open almost daily from 8:00 until 18:00. Hallelujah!

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Check Your Sword at the Door and Worship

As a Lutheran Christian, I learned long ago that the best way to enjoy St. Peter’s Basilica — which I have for 30 years considered the greatest church in Christendom — is to check your sword at the door and accept it on its terms: To enter into that dazzling sanctuary and focus on God (which is the intent of the place).

I inhale the incense, forget about gender issues and “infallible truths” that have been fought over and revised through the years, and ditch concerns about financial priorities and where all the money to build it came from. I see St. Peter’s as an awe-inspiring human work done by faithful people for the glory of God.

I used to get all uptight when I entered that church. I don’t anymore. In fact, a highlight of my Roman visits is to go to Mass at St. Peter’s. (As far as the Eucharist and me being of another denomination…it’s “don’t ask, don’t tell.”) My visits lift my spirits and put me in a great mood.

To a Protestant mindset, complaining about your church leaders is just something we do. And it doesn’t bring thunderbolts. We’re all on the same team, and we Protestants complain as we go because we care.

There’s a fundamental difference between attacking someone’s faith and disagreeing with their denomination’s leaders. It seems to me that, among Christians, only Catholics believe that if you attack the ideas of their human and mortal leader, you’re “attacking their faith.”

I’ve been inspired by many courageous Catholics in our generation. The Catholics of our era I’ve been most inspired by are the priests and nuns who stand by the struggling people of Central America. They threaten the secular order and are routinely excommunicated for their “liberation theology” by Catholic leaders high in that Church hierarchy. They keep on Catholic keepin’ on because they believe a part of their vow of obedience to the church is (in their words) “disobedience to the Church.”

When I am writing, whether or not I capitalize “church” is a big issue. Capital-C “Church” refers to church government — fallible, political, necessary, and well-meaning…but corruptible. In my denomination, for instance, the church is not homophobic but, in many cases, the Church is. When I have friends so mad at God that they purge faith from their lives, they are usually mad at the Church…not the church. That saddens me. I would never take my frustrations with the Church out on the church. The distinction is critical.

I’m inclined to complain about things the Catholic Church does. But I’m not anti-Catholic. I don’t think I’m any more anti-Catholic than those excommunicated priests and nuns in Nicaragua. I’m married to a smart and beautiful woman who is Catholic. She comes from the best family I’ve ever run into. Our son goes to a Catholic university (Notre Dame). I’m in Rome — donating several days of work to the church (not the Church) to produce a video celebrating the life, work, and Christian leadership of the first pope, St. Peter.

The last time I flew south of our border, it was to El Salvador to honor a Catholic bishop. It was the 25th anniversary of the assassination of the courageous Archbishop Oscar Romero. (Read the journal from that trip on my website.) I marched and worshipped with countless Roman Catholics whose faith was stronger than the faith I encounter (in any denomination) in my city. It was a beautiful and inspirational experience.

Strange. I make a point not to comment much on the discussion my blog entries generate. It’s fun to just share an idea and let all the traveling readers of this blog respond. But in this case, I don’t like to be called “anti-Catholic,” and certainly not “anti-Christian.” My work is motivated by my Christian faith. I just have a style of worship named for a priest/professor who enjoyed beer and sex…and married a nun.

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Gay Museum Busts Must Separate

My guide friend in Rome is getting a divorce. It’s uncontested. They just want to be through. A divorce used to take five to ten years in Italy. He said now, it takes only three. “Only” three years? I asked why so long? He said, “You were there this morning.” I understood. It was the Vatican.

While Italians are not particularly churchgoing, the Vatican still has a huge influence on Italian society. According to my local friends, the new pope (Benedict XVI) is particularly activist when it comes to homosexuality. I was told gay couples have no legal rights in Italy.

Benedict won’t even let the portrait busts of gay lovers (who haven’t sinned in 2,000 years) share the same museum shelf. As long as people could remember, Emperor Hadrian’s head was displayed next to his gay boyfriend (the incredibly beautiful — and young — Antinous). Antinous was recently moved out, leaving Hadrian’s bust all alone.

Horrible as it may seem to us in modern times, in ancient times, it was acceptable for a man to keep a boy as a lover — but only until the boy had hair on his chest. In ancient Greek morality, to love a boy was considered pure — no child possible, absolute love for love’s sake. (Please don’t shoot me — I’m just the messenger.) Many Romans I met — while not negative about the teachings of the Church — had a bad attitude about the Vatican’s wealth and bureaucracy. Guides who deal daily with the frustration of Vatican Museum crowds know that 20,000 visitors pack into the Vatican museum each morning. At 13 euros each, that’s about $400,000 revenue each morning simply from the museum.

Like Americans have a box on their tax forms giving them the opportunity to donate to political campaigns, Italians have a voluntary box to donate to the Roman Catholic Church. By all accounts, it’s rarely used.

About the Vatican labor force — when Pope John XXIII was asked how many people work in the Vatican, he answered, “About half.”

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Cleaning Up as I Prepare to Fly Home

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Here are a few random notes from the past few weeks as I near the end of my summer travels:

My Swiss friend, Olle, takes me on my annual walk through the village of Gimmelwald. We see a rack of scythes. He demonstrates how they are sharpened not with a file, but by pounding. A sharp scythe is critical for a farmer — it cuts through hay like butter. Across the way, old boots with studs nailed on them for a grip on the steep slopes are nailed to the wall of a hut with their new use — alpine flower holder. In this case, traditional alpine culture survives…but only on show.

Traveling to the remote Czech backwater of Moravsky Krumlov to see Mucha’s Slavic Epic, it occurred to me that the Czechs keeping this grand series of canvases here is like keeping the Mona Lisain Walla Walla.

I never dreamed of wearing socks more than one day until my cameraman suggested it. After 10 minutes, you don’t notice.

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Copenhagen’s streets were noisy with grads filling decorated trucks, screaming and drinking as they went from family to family for beers at a progressive graduation party hosted by their parents. They can handle the alcohol and have promising futures. Then I saw the Greenlanders. Young people from Greenland with the best prospects often travel to Copenhagen, their colonial capital, for a higher education (there’s none in Greenland). Hoping to build their young lives, they often fail — ending up unable to handle the temptations of Danish life. It’s a sad sight — wasted Greenlanders littering the square.

I didn’t realize that in central Rome, there are no buildings from after 1938. Looking for restaurants, I noticed vines climbing the buildings and it occurred to me that the places I like to recommend have roots. Places whose regulars remember when the place was their father’s favorite. Places named for the man whose faded photo is now on the wall…or who is so old he can only pretend to contribute, and shuffles around grating cheese on the pasta his grandchildren are cooking.