Roma con bambino

We recently traveled to Rome for a long weekend. With all that I studied about Rome and the Renaissance, it seemed downright arrogant to visit for 4 days, but you take what you can get.

I think the first thing that struck me about the Renaissance is how gaudy it was. I was overwhelmed by all the naked ladies, gesticulating men and putti in the Vatican Museum. It was very emphatic. With lots of gold leaf. I know now that most of what I studied was photographed in front of a black backdrop and now I understand why.

Except for St. Peter’s and the Vatican Museum, it’s not a good idea to take a squealing baby into a museum. Any idea how good the acoustics are in square rooms with paneled walls? I do now. At the very least, the museum guards were charmed by Theo. Guards, waiters and strangers in the street chucked Theo on the chin, gave him about a thousand bread sticks and big broad smiles. The Italian ladies were a bit less enthusiastic, but that’s cool. A group of tourists at St. Peter’s started clucking in a strange language and took about 50 photos of Theo. Trust me, I’m flattered, but I’m surprised that they ran out of things to photograph at the Vatican.

Our last day in Rome was really fun. We wandered around the city without a plan, except to see the Pantheon. Along the way we stumbled upon 10 monuments we recognized and we probably sauntered by another 50 that we didn’t. The food we picked up in random corner cafes was crazy good. There really is something to be said for sun-ripened tomatoes, fresh herbs and quality bread. The best chocolate ice cream (gelato, whatever) in the world was found in a café 50 yards from our hotel. The shopping is all that it is cracked up to be and traffic wasn’t all that bad. I don’t know if Cairo – or even Boston for that matter- puts Roman traffic in perspective, but crossing the street wasn’t as life threatening as I thought. Managing the stroller on the escalators in the subway gave a whole lotta gray hair, tho.

Oh yeah: You wanna know what my first words were when I walked into St. Peter’s? I walked into the world’s largest church and uttered “Holy shit”. That’s right. I’m all class.

The Seasons

Before Easter, I was talking to a co-worker about her upcoming vacation in Spain. She described how they were going to fly into Malaga and drive northwards, stopping at different sites before going to their vacation home in Alicante. There was the usual small talk on the challenges of learning Spanish, the Catholic festivals, the multitude of Norwegian retirees who live in Spain and, of course, the weather. She, like everyone else, agrees that Spain has a lovely warm climate. Then she said that curious thing Norwegians say about their own climate: “But at least Norway has four seasons.”

I used to politely gloss over this amazingly absurd statement. It is essentially a prop, a lie (livsløgn) that Norwegians tell themselves. “Yes, yes; Spain may have better weather than Norway, but at least we have four seasons.” If I mention that Philadelphia happens to have four seasons, they are rather suspicious about the quality of the difference in seasons. It’s as if they don’t believe that there’s enough of a difference between summer and spring to really count as a “season”. Sarcastic statements clamber at the tip of my tongue and I fear they will be unleashed the next time some poor ‘Weegie utters

“…but least Norway has four seasons.”
So Vivaldi travelled all the way to Norway to get his inspiration, then?

“…but least Norway has four seasons.”
That must be a strong selling point in the real estate market here.

“…but least Norway has four seasons.”
Yeah, and three of them suck.

Since nothing in this world is as simple as a stupid statement and sarcastic reply, I am reminded of a conversation I had with my dentist. He hails from Scotland and he first moved to Tromsø and then after a few years, he set up shop in Oslo. I asked him why he moved to Norway in the first place and without hesitation he jovially replied, “The weather.” My sun-loving brain almost imploded when I comprehended that there are worse climates than Tromsø’s three months of complete darkness and six months of winter. In comparison with a year-long forecast of rain and overcast skies, the Norwegian climate would indeed be a step up.

Still, I have to ask: Does Scotland have four seasons, too?