Train to Tarquinia

Well, after a more laid-back Thursday in rome itself, with pranzo at the North American College (but the part for priests doing h igher studies, not the seminary), Sr. Margaret and I went to Tarquinia yesterday. It's an ancient city, with burials dating back to the Bronze Age, and then it was a major center of the Etruscan civilization--that's what it is best known for.
We had more travel adventures... The train again. This time, we were going to go to the main train station of Rome, but Sr. Giovanna (she works at the Vatican) heard our plans, and told us we could go to a much nearer station, the St. Peter's station, right on our bus route! So we left the house at 6:35 (had been aiming at 6:30, oh well) and got to St. Gregory VII Church, right near the train station, for 7:00 Mass. Crossing the street to the train station, we got to the ticket desk to inquire about tickets to Civitavecchia, which our study of the train schedule and the internet had indicated was the nearest train station to our destination. From there we would have to take a "pullman" (Greyhound type bus) to Tarquinia. I remembered something about all day tickets, and sure enough the lady said that with the all day ticket for the Lazio region, we could go anywhere we wanted until midnight. Good deal, we figured, so we got them at 9 euros each, and then to our delight, we saw that we could make the 7:55 train to Civitavecchia. We boarded the double-decker commuter train and went to the uppper part to have a better view of the scenery. Well, St. Peter's cupola in the morning sky was nice, but pretty soon we were going through ear-popping tunnels! So much for the view. In fact, later on we did go up the coast, and had a lovely view of the sea. (Civitavecchia is a port city.)
At Civitavecchia, we got off to see about the way to Tarquinia, and were told that on platform 2 there would be a train heading there at 9:25, so we went to wait the 25 minutes. There was an announcement about an arrival related to Tarquinia, but we couldn't understand it. So we waited. And waited. Sr. Margaret went in to inquire, while I stayed on the platform, ready to hold the train with my own two hands if necessary.... And after a long while, Sr. Margaret came back. It was a BUS that was heading to Tarquinia at 9:25 after all, and we had missed it. The train wouldn't come until 11:00. Since the museum at the Etruscan necropolis closes at 2:00, this was a bit of a problem. We had come specifically to see the famous necropolis with its painted underground tombs.
A kind carabiniero at the station answered our questions about the busses, and even led us to the stop, showing us that a bus was due in another 20 minutes. Unfortunately, our all day transit tickets were no good for this bus, which was operated by a private company under contract with the city of Tarquinia and not the government-run transit system. At least we would get to our destination before lunch time!
Aboard the bus, we scrounged up the change needed for the ride, €1.55 each. The driver did not have change for our €10 bill, and the other passenger didn't have anything smaller than that, either. But we all got to Tarquinia just the same. On the way we passed medieval battlements and forts and Roman walls. Sheep grazed on the slopes near the highway by the Via Aurelia exit. (Our generalate in Rome is located near the Via Aurelia, the same ancient roman road.)
At first it seemed that the visitors' center was closed, but we found an open door and two helpful ladies. They plied us with maps and bus-train schedules, telling us just how to get back to Rome (from the--aheam--Tarquinia train station) and how to get to the station (another local bus, this time €0.60 each). So the day was ours. Sr. Sergia had told us there were two fabulous churches that we really shouldn't miss, but it seems we managed to miss them both. One is being renovated into an auditorium, so we walked around the outside of it. As much as we could, that is, since the paving stones on one side were all pulled up for street work. The other was on the other side of town, too far for us to manage to see both it and the necropolis before the world closed for pranzo and siesta. We saw a couple of other very nice little early Gothic churches-since Rome only has one Gothic church, that was really surprising. Anyway, our first real stop was the national museum, a renaissance palazzo built by a local cardinal in the 1400's. I got a few pictures of this charming building. There we bought the discounted tickets that allowed us to visit both the necropolis (2 km outside of town) and the museum itself. That done, we got into power walking mode to find the necropolis.
Walking in Italy is always a bit risky, and even more so in small ancient towns that have no sidewalk, but plenty of cars zipping through the cobblestoned alleys that serve as streets. We found the small road that lead out to the gate we needed, and managed to get to the gate in one piece each. Once outside the gate, we found no sign indicating the way to the necropolis, and our maps ended just outside the gate, so I went into navigator mode and we took off, confirming our direction at a gas station about 100 meters down the road. We also paused at a tiny grocery store to get some marmelata to go with the peanut-butter sandwiches Sr. Margaret had made before we left the house. (That's peanut butter on whole wheat rolls, so you see the need for some marmelata.) Fortunately, the store had tiny little plastic single-serving packs of jams, so we got some of those at €0.10 each and continued trotting down the street, finally arriving at the entrance to the necropolis, which we missed at first--the street vendors of Etruscan replica cups and pitchers.
At the ticket office, we showed our passes, and paid an extra €4 for the audio guide to the tombs that were open for visits. These had been outfitted with plexiglass and climate controlling devices to preserve the ancient frescos (dating to 500 BC). Most of the tombs followed the same pattern, with the frescos depicting the funeral banquet and ritual games (including one in which the contestants aimed their shallow bowls of wine at a target--the one whose wine got the furthest was the winner; a kind of Etruscan version of spitting watermelon seeds). To me, most of the paitings were rather spare, but one tomb had incredibly lifelike paintings. (The audio guide sniffed about their primitive style, but I thought they were lovely.) I tried to get some pictures through the plexiglass, but will wait to see if they came out. I don't want to lose my pictures due to memory card fragmentation, as happed with the beatification.
We made it back to Rome and home somewhat late, at least for me, with time enough only for our Hour of Adoration. In fact, I was so tired at that point, that I went to rest until supper, figuring I would feel a bit energized later. (Wrong!) So today, Jesus and I owe each other some extra time. And I will close this now so we can have more of that quality time. This evening the local community has their monthly retreat day, and I am going to attend the talk by a phenomenal scripture scholar whose books on Paul I have really enjoyed. It's quite an opporturnity!

Adventures in Albano

Back in the 50's, Bl. James Alberione and Mother Thecla Merlo founded a clinic that would give particular spiritual attention to ailing priests and sisters, giving them not only medical treatment, but spiritual support in consecrating their sufferings in union with Jesus. That clinic turned into a regional hospital in the area of Albano/Castel Gandolfo, around the rim of the crater lake of a (hopefully extinct) volcano. (Alberione later founded a retreat house overlooking the lake.) The hospital is the only medical facility the Daughters of St. Paul have, and about 100 sisters are either stationed at the hospital, patients there or in the associated nursing home (Casa Tecla Merlo, just for our sisters) or the nearby community and spirituality center.
Since Sr. Margaret and I have several elderly friends who are now "in Albano" as we say, and there are also several sisters there who were once stationed in the United States with us, we just had to go for a visit. The trouble was getting there. There was no room in the car that was going up for the morning, so we had to make it by train. As far as we could tell, the only trains were at 8:00 and 10:00, and so we planned to take the 10:00, arriving in Albano at about 10:50. A sister was counting on a visit at 11:30, and the hospital community would provide pranzo at 12:30 (free lunch: a good thing). All we had to do was get to the train station, buy and then stamp our tickets and board the train.
I remembered that there was something a bit odd about the Albano train, and one of the sisters confirmed that. The platform, #15, was not in the station, but was 400 meters beyond the usual station area, in between platforms 14 and 16. You had to just get to one of those platforms, and instead of boarding a train, keep walking until you were outside of the roofed-in area, and there would be the Albano platform. Okay.
We left the house at 8:40, allowing well over an hour to get to the train station. We weren't counting on our first bus being delayed, and then arriving already full. (Not a good sign.) Then the traffic on our first street was quite slow. Between traffic and stop lights (they have them now, and in the outer reaches of the city they are actually observed), it took 45 minutes for us to get to the center of Rome. And we still needed to take another long bus ride to the station! The express bus came in only a few minutes, but again traffic delays intervened. Sister Margaret and I were getting more and more anxious. We still had to buy our tickets! At 9:45, still two stops from the station, we looked at each other. "If we make it on that train, it will be a bona fide miracle." Finally at the station (both of us were posted at the bus exits to be the first off), I told Sr. Margaret to run ahead and get one foot in the door of the train while I purchased the tickets. And we were off, running hard. I ran to the tobacco shop for the regional 30-km tickets, but they were OUT of them!!! Ran around, found another tobacco shop, placed my order, grabbed the ticets, and with my coin purse still unzipped, and the tickets right outside of that in my tight left fist, I ran up platform 14, my backpack hanging in front of me (that's gypsy protection in crowded places). I'm a great walker, but I never run, and this was awful. The 400 meter dash at 9:57. At about 200 meters, I felt my saliva start to burn, and my breathing became shallow. I took a short breath with every pace, but my steps were more and more labored with the panic of missing the train, Sr. Margaret or both. Pump, pump, pump. Then the prayers, "Jesus, please--help--me--make--it--" "Guardian--Angel--help." Pump, pump, pump. Finally, platform 15. And no train. And no Sr. Margaret. I sank on a trunk-like object and took a breath. A train was approaching. I looked up at a rail official. "Albano?" "No, the train for Albano is over there..." He pointed back 200 meters, on the other side of the tracks (uncrossable). Oh, NO! "Calma, calma, si puo' fare" ("Don't freak out, you can make it.") I just issued a desperate sigh and got up again to make the impossible trek, sure that at any instant I would hear the distinctive hiss of the train's brakes being released and watch the train pull away from the platform. I couln't run at all, so I did my best to walk in a kind of goose-step (all I was capable of at that point), half running, and then back to my funny step. Eventually, I spotted Sr. Margaret, standing outside the train's engine with the conductor. I tried calling to her, but no go. Then I yelled, "Suor MARGARET!!!" And they both heard and waved. The conductor pointed to the underground passage that would take me to the platform. I knew we were probably safe at that point, but I was still anxious about the train pulling out. At this point, it was 10:01. I did my best to hurry down and then up again to the platform, and the remaining 100 meters to the first car. The conductor and assistant were laughing in a good-natured way. Sr. Margaret and I collapsed into the first seats we found. (She had made the same 400-meter dash and 200-meters back.) We had 50 minutes to catch our breath on the way to Albano.
Albano was the end of the line for the regional train, and we got out at the edge of town. Sort of. Town is up. And the hospital is way up. It took about five people giving us directions for us to find the proper street and begin the real ascent to the hospital, but we made it. And the first sister we found was Sr. Auxiliadora, who had been stationed with me in Miami. She gave us directions: me to the nursing home, and Sr. Margaret to the other convent (down the hill). At the nursing home, the elderly sister I had gone to visit had already been wheeled up to the dining room, and it almost seemed as though I would not have permission to see her. But the nurse and superior both consented, so I was led to the dining room. Dear little Sr. Maria Grazia recognized me immediately. She was so thrilled with the visit, and it only lasted 3 minutes. She promised all sorts of prayers, worth the whole 400/200 meter dash. Then I got directions to the other convent and eventually (again, after asking several locals for directions) found it. I was able to visit for a few minutes with a sister who had been one of the first FSP editors, and at 89 she is still full of life and spiritual energy. Although she has days when she is not too clear, yesterday she was as bright as the sun, and recognized me and Sr. Margaret right away. She, too, was thrilled with the visit. We got a picture outside with her (my camera has a very useful 10-second delay so I could run into the picture) and then ... headed back up the hill for our free lunch.
Thanks be to God, a sister was there who had come from one of the communities in the city, and she offered us a ride back, so we didn't have to face the train or bus (2 hours). Instead, we rode home with a fellow sister who took the opportunity to bring us to the popular Marian shrine "Divino Amore" for a visit. And we got home in time for prayers and supper!

Perugia

Sr. Margaret lived in Perugia for two semesters, attending a special language school there, so she had it very much at heart to reconnect with her former community and professors. We planned a day trip, and Sr. Margaret diligently checked weather.com so we'd be appropriately equipped. After a week of warm and mostly sunny days in Rome, we didn't know what to expect in Umbria. Well, the Internet advised us that the whole country was going to be doused all day long Tuesday. Not just a soaking rain, but thunderstorms. So Sr. Margaret wore her (lovely) light raincoat, and packed rainboots in her backpack, along with a collapsable umbrella she had purchased from a street merchant outside St. Mary Major. I, not having a raincoat or boots with me (nor my nice folding umbrella which Jane gave me some years back), brought one of the giant, full-sized umbrellas available in the building foyer.
We had decided to leave the house at 6:15 so we could make it to 7:00 Mass at a Church near the train station, but then I suggested... 6:12. You know, when you travel with public transportation, three minutes can make all the difference in the world. Sure enough, we were no sooner out of the front gate when we heard the distinctive tone of a bus engine. We ran the few dozen feet to the bus stop, waving madly, and then boarded. From the bus, we got to the Metro stop and took the subway to Termini (train station). We were ten minutes early for Mass. All Souls Day. After Mass, I went to a bar for a latte and cornetto, while Sr. Margaret, who had eaten a very early breakfast, stayed to pray. At the bar, the gentleman who served my latte wanted to talk about the elections. This would follow us everywhere. They had never heard of absentee voting, and were impressed that we had already voted "per corrispondenza" on a "scheda ufficiale." After a delicious repast, I went to meet Sr. Margaret, and we headed for platform 2, PERUGIA.
The seats weren't the most comfortable in the world, I must say. And it was to be a 2½ hour ride... Oh, well! Plenty of time to pray, especially once we got out of the hilly region, with tunnels so deep into the hills that our ears were popping. We passed picturesque towns: Spoleto, Foligno, ASSISI (so gorgeous on the hill, with its pink and white stone). Finally Perugia. Sr. Margaret brought a box of chocolates from San Francisco. Sees brand. It is a San Francisco thing, and they are very proud of their chocolates, so she was bringing a gift to the sisters in Perugia. I was kind of embarrassed (bringing chocolates to Perugia, home of Perugina??? Perugia is the chocolate capital of Italy!), but I didn't say anything (yet). Sr. Margaret sketched me a layout of the town, and we headed off, she to an appointment with a former professor, me to scout out interesting buildings and items. The buildings are fabulous: pink and white Umbrian stone, usually done in layers, with gothic rose windows, balconies, and griffins everywhere. (The symbol of Perugia.) I took a number of pictures, and selected a few sites where Sr. Margaret could take my picture holding the Times-Picayune travel page, at Toodie's request. Outside the cathedral, merchants were selling the local ceramic products: fabulously painted mugs, espresso sets, spoon holders, knick-knacks. A bit outside of our budget, though, even bought off the ground in the locale of production!
I had been advised to visit a certain chocolate shop, so I found it and went in. They had only 6 varieties of chocolate candies, all hand-dipped or whatever it is on site, and they had about 10 flavors of homemade gelato--all variations of chocolate. I figured a store with that limited inventory, the stuff had to be really expensive, so I chose four pieces. It was about $3 something. The lady packaged them equisitely. Then I went off. Next I stopped in a bakery to get something to eat (didn't want to eat the chocolates right away!), and noticed a large quantity of what looked like slightly oblong sugar cookies. I figured it must be a local specialty. They were everywhere. But I wanted something to go with the black olive pate I had bought and brought in case of hunger, so I just got some foccacio with rosemary.
We met at the Pauline bookstore at... well, 1:00 ish, and the sisters brought us to their apartment in a renaissance buildings (site of the chancery office and archbishop's residence probably for 500 years!) for pranzo. Out came the Sees chocolates. The sisters were very kind, and tasted these "dolci." The superior spontaneously commented, "It's really good! Doesn't even seem American!" And then she laughed. Sr. Margaret felt vindicated. After that came a tray of cookies, and then a tray of special cookies, "dolci per i morti," made only for All Souls Day. They were the sugar cookies I had seen before! In fact, they are more on the line of sugar cookies made with almond paste, and from what I understood, they are a specialty of Perugia. We were there on the only day of the year when they are available! I called them "purgatory cookies." (Before heading back to the train, I stopped in a bakery to get some to share with the sisters where we are staying, and the proprietor gave me a free sample!)
All this time, we were lugging around boots and that enormous umbrella under a lovely blue sky. I called the burden our rain insurance.
We made it back to Rome at 8:05, and took the bus to the generalate, connecting with two other FSPs on the second bus back. It was quite a lovely day--with more to follow!

When in Rome: Food!

On my website, I detailed convent cooking among Rome's worst things, right up there with mosquitoes and motorini. But this time we had a lady come in every morning to prepare pranzo (the sacred midday meal) and cena (light supper), and she was fabulous! Read my first blog to learn about the pasta. Just keep in mind that for pasta arrabiata you don't add grated cheese. That is a rule.
Here is another thing I learned about Roman dining: red table wine is a deep purple, and so it is not called "red" wine (as in "please pass the vino rosso"). It is called "black." ("Il nero, per favore.")
And speaking of wine... The only salad dressings available are olive oil (ONLY extra virgin olive oil with its distinctive greenish cast) and white wine vinegar. As a big salad lover, I also frequented the oil and vinegar, of course, until I learned to be more cautious. On our second free day, at cena, I noticed two dead fruit flies floating in the wine vinegar. I glanced over at Sr. Lea, one of the Italian sisters participating in the retreat, and she followed my gaze (and my distressed expression) to the wine vinegar. "Oh," she said, "We call that the 'madre del vino' ("mother of wine"). It's a sign of very high quality vinegar."
Just thought you'd like to know.