La Notte Bianca

Rome's sun does not go down on the 17th of September. The city is awake past 6.00 in the morning as all doors are open to the public and all entrance fees are waived to promote a city-wide party that leaves the lamps of Rome without oil. I left to see the Palazzo Mettei, Casa S. Angelo, the Forum, the Pantheon, Capitoline Hill, Vittorio Emmanuello, the Trevi fountain and the Colisseum in a 8 hour tour of the city. It began raining the moment I stepped out of my flat and was still coming down at 5.30 when I slumped through the door. Rome benefits well from rain though, and it makes the city more mysterious and the buildings more ominous to see them drip with rain and shine under the spot lights. The city's artifacts are all lit as though they are ready to be photographed. Their light seems to come from nowhere and their mounts are hidden above the cornices of neighbouring buildings. Only the falling rain gives away their location as the drops are lit as they pass through. The oculus of the Pantheon allows the rain to pass through and onto the center of the floor, staging a circle of onlookers staring up into a black hole that is shouting out water. The area around Capitoline Hill is teeming with people, with music and with floods. People are split between those walking in the rain and those huddled under the sheltered ledges of buildings. Shane, Amanda and I are walking through the rain, spinning our newly purchased umbrellas and shifting through the thousands of people still hoping to see some of the city. We've since lost all the people we had with us, and have missed the ones we had intended to meet so the three of us are winding along the street singing softly in between the monuments. This was my first time seeing the colisseum and we stumbled through verses of 60s standards in three parts while we walked along its edge staring through the holes in its crumbled walls. Most of the sights that I have seen so far in Rome have been at night because it's the only time to avoid the tourists. As a result I've seen them empty and stark which is probably not the way they were intended to be, but their power is so much more inherent without tour groups that I could care less if I see them in sunlight. Notte Bianca seemed largely a national event rather than a tourist draw so although there were people everywhere it seemed more palettable and more like the way I would have imagined them to be in their time. Though it happens only once a year I saw more in 8 hours than perhaps I would have in 365 days of lazy tourism. Words will have to do until pictures can follow. much love, liam

Piazza del Popolo

At the entrance to Rome, you are struck with three choices in order to follow a procession into the city, the crux of which is marked by the Flaminian Obelisk, brought to Rome after the conquest of Egypt by the first Emperor Augustus. It marks the entrance to Rome and the significance of their militant exploits. It also happens to be where we began our bicycle ride down the curving stretch of the Tiber.

The Pantheon

If ever you want to feel as though you are the smallest thing in the world, by all means stand in the portico of the Pantheon, cradle yourself in the concave of Hadrian's Basilica and stare at the massive transom and ancient beams that hold the stripped roof from falling the 40 ft. on your head. No surprise really, since the building is several hundred years old, stood the test of time and continues to convey the power and control of SPQR and their one-time stronghold on the eastern world. Its hard to feel significant in that presence. Chins up!!, much love, Liam.

Rome sweet home!

Seeing the coliseum, the remains of the aquaducts, the crumbling ruins and the cobbled streets that line the crux of the modern world has been a flurried intruduction to my home for the next 4 months. Life is beautiful here, if only at a glance, and although I'm overwhelmed by the whole of it, I'm mostly pleased to put my suitcase down. The travelling bug has taken a lot out of me, but I have no regrets, as it has been an indespensible journey. I promise to share the photographs of the things I have seen soon enough, and maybe some of my words will take true dimensions. Our apartment looks out over the streets that wind into the Santa Maria Piazza and music, performance and people cover its open space. It may be a loud sleep a couple of nights a week, but my bed looks out above the city and the cross breeze brings it just above where I lay my head. Sleep is going to feel so good in a steady place, with unpacked bags, showers and sheets, and a mailing address. I hope to hear from you all soon. Much love, liam.

Ole Ole...Ole Ole...La Tomatina, Non non!

Well, as I´m cleaning the remaining tomato out of every oriface, I have to recommend Bunol and Spain´s Tomatina Festival. If ever you could picture being violated by a vegetable this is it. At 11.00am a cannon sounds in the streets of Bunol to signify to the 30 000 people stretched along a 5m wide street that the tomatoes may begin, and the trucks are coming. Shoulder to shoulder the people are packed along the main drag, and however impossible it may seem, dump trucks of tomatoes push their way through, sending you pressed against the walls as the drivers and riders fling ripe, old, soggy tomatoes at your face, head, body and spirit. Never before have I willingly subjected myself to such torturous appeal, buy oh mama, it was glorious. The six of us Canadians stood hard and strong, arms locked in a circle of tripled gravity, resisting both Dump truck and drunk spanyard in one circular stronghold as tomato water passed by us in a torrent above our shins. We lost shirts, shoes and socks, but kept our bodies in tact, albeit covered in sauce and stem. When the second cannon fires at noon, the bodies flow out of the narrow street and down to the river bed where a PVC pipe has had holes drilled in it to serve as a makeshift shower. Lines of tomato soaked people played in the streams of filthy bath water, as still more came down the hills from the finished festival. Clean as best we could, we walked back up the hill and caught the bus back to Valencia for the night and the next day home to Benitachell to a warm meal and new clothes...and of course, we ate tomatoes for dinner. How could we not? We were owed the revenge. much love, Liam.