Venezia!

After my first trip to Venice about ten years ago, I decided that it can be conquered in a day, more or less. That said, this visit was full of new experiences and surprises, including listening to an opera on the street, getting accosted by criminals in chains, planting a smooch on a gal who had cookies in the shape of penises draped all over herself, and chasing down a fox (the animal kind, not the aforementioned genitalia-adorned lady) with our rental car.

So maybe it’s two days.

We decided to drive up from Florence instead of taking a train just so we could see the sights, stop when and where we want, and get a chance to run over animals. Turns out we had to settle for two out of three.

The loser of the three ideas mentioned above are the sights. The drive between Bologna (the next closest city… or maybe that’s what we had for lunch) is rather plain. As you approach, it all looks rather industrial, offering little evidence of the incredible beauty and uniqueness of the city that sits –perhaps floats– across the bridge.

Parking isn’t cheap, and you have to find your way to a water taxi from the large parking structure in order to get into town. The train would certainly make things easier, and if we were to do it again, I think we’d take it. So I guess you could say that in the future we’ll be better trained. Bah-dump-buh.

One of the most popular and iconic areas is St. Mark’s Square, which is dominated by “The Great Church of St Mark,” which you can’t see here because I don’t like things or people that call themselves great. If it was humbly called “The Pretty Good church of St. Mark” I could get behind the whole thing.

As you might imagine in Venice, lawnmower sales are in the toilet, which I hope this whole water system isn’t a part of.

Gondolas are everywhere on the water, but serve no purpose other than as a tourist ride.

Carolyn made me promise her to take her on a gondola ride while there, but after I saw the 100 euro price tag, I made some minor adjustments. So, uh, here we are on the gondola ride. I know you might not remember this well honey, but we’ll always have this photographic evidence that we took one! By the way, have you seen my coat with the white fur collar? I can’t find it anywhere!

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats. I have a feeling that most pictures taken by tourists in Venice can be described thusly.

This is the aforementioned domineering and really great church of St. Mark, who, for whatever reason, is the patron saint of attorneys. No wonder it goes about bragging all the time. And the cost per hour just to visit! They probably bill in fifteen minute increments. We decided not to go in because of the lines and just in case they really took the patron saint stuff seriously and sued us for smudging the tile.

Even though it was March, a time we thought would be at least a little off-season, the crowds were pervasive. In the foreground you can see a young pickpocket sizing up his prey.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

This is a scene of –oh, sorry. Obviously this is a famous bridge because a lot of people are on it. It has one of those names you take very seriously while there, but completely forget as soon as you walk away.

And in case you missed it the first time.

The story behind this unique art is that a set of parents grew exasperated with their young son who kept telling the joke about the Swiss mother who took her daughter Heidel and son Hans on a hike in the alps, and when her brother fell off the cliff, Heidel cried, “Look Ma, no Hans!”

The young boy would laugh uproariously each time he told it, even the one hundred and forty fifth. So his parents built this artwork next to their house in order to prevent him from ever telling that joke again, because now there are always hands.

She sticks with me despite the bad dad jokes, for which I’m eternally grateful.

We thought this street was incredibly interesting only because it had no people on it! We wandered far afield to get away from the crowds, and were rewarded with views of the daily life of Venetians as well as some other cute surprises.

This is a scene of some water, buildings, boats, and a gondola.

Again, no crowds! Woo hoo!

The obligatory this-door-may-be-a-bit-too-short shot. We thought maybe they only had hobbits in Portugal.

In some of the back alleys we wandered, we saw occasional craftsmen and artisans doing their thing. This man is a toilet seat artisan. Or not.

We were amazed to see that they memorialized Carolyn’s birth year in Venice! And she hadn’t even been there before! As they say in Portuguese, “Inacreditavel!” Still, despite our insistent banging on the gate, no one let us in. Tourist trap, obviously.

Well, my birthdate door pales in comparison to Carolyn’s. It’s probably a prison or mental hospital.

Just call me De Mezo, which means “Taller than your short-ass tunnels.”

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats.

Carolyn sitting back admiring her freshly painted graffiti.

We were shocked to see prisoner transfers were done with very little security. Seriously, it turns out this is a sort of a pre-wedding tradition. The soon-to-be-prisoner/groom is paraded around by his friends who sing lustily and generally have a good time. When they confirmed he was getting married, I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” They got a good laugh out of that.

I’m sorry, but few men can see a woman walking around with penis cookies draped all over her and not be driven to kiss her. It’s kind of like when Spock went all crazy on Kirk after getting doused with lust hormones. It’s just not his fault, man!

Actually, this is the female version of what the men were doing. If you plant a kiss on her cheek (and more importantly donate a euro or two to the cause), you get a penis cookie! It’s a win/win! You can tell she was really getting into it.

Although when we got back to our apartment, Carolyn decided they probably weren’t her thing; her hair’s even shocked.

These guys couldn’t (or wouldn’t) play the theme song from The Flintstones as requested, but I gave them a euro for gamely trying to play Stairway to Heaven.

This is a selfie in front of some water, buildings, and boats.

A short video of this incredible singer is posted here. Now I’m no fan of opera, but this woman was amazing. As far as we could tell, she was just passing by and encountered this group of men all dressed up in period costumes doing some sort of fundraiser. So she steps up to the mike and goes all Pavarotti on them. What a delightful little treat we encountered just by wandering the back streets of Venice!

Churches everywhere, and they all cost enough to feed the people for decades. But hey, who needs food for the body when you’re getting food for the soul?

The actual reason the Catholic church made their churches so gaudy –or is it goddy?– (sorry), was to make sure church-goers felt humbled and insignificant. I could have saved them a lot of money just by pointing out that I feel exactly that way every time I look up at the stars. Build churches with no ceilings and have the services at night!

This is a scene of some water, buildings, and boats. And you know, the shape of that dome is a lot like the shape of an astronomical dome. If you’re not going to do the no-ceiling thing, at least retrofit a nice telescope in there.

This is an entirely different and amazing scene of… some water, buildings, and boats.

Carolyn goes all artistic with her camera. Three doors of the day in one!

I took this photo to give us some ideas for our own outer home decor.

Another Door of the Day. Actually she was just monkeying around.

The sun began going down and the lights in St. Mark’s square began lighting up. We were hoping it would be real dramatic and awesome, but…

It looked like the same square except with some lights. Oh, well.

Lining the street level of this arcade is a series of high-end shops. The kind where if you have to ask how much something costs, you either can’t afford it, or, you know, just didn’t know what the price was.

When the sun went down and the lights came up, the band started playing, just like in the Titanic movie. I wasn’t sure if that meant the city was now sinking and I should push all the women and children aside during a mad dash to the boats or not.

I opted to play it cool.

Photobombing our own travel pictures.

And this is the hair of the dog… or fox as it turns out.

About a half hour outside of Venice I spied a blur that ran right into the driver’s side tire. We heard and felt Thunk! followed by a pair of Clunks! as the tires rolled over the hapless animal. It had moved so fast I had no time to react, which was probably a good thing. We stopped at the next available rest stop, and I pulled this lock of fur out of the bumper. Once we got back to our apartment, we did some research and decided it was a fox, which are very common in that area. Fortunately, I’d read that buying the extra car insurance they always try to foist on you is actually a good idea in Italy. So for the first time in my life I bought it, and it paid off. Because boy howdy, she came out an inspected the car with a flashlight like she was a teenage girl looking for a zit on her face right before the prom. She went over every inch of the paint until she spotted a small scratch in the car door, whereupon I mentioned that we’d hit an animal, although I was not even close to being positive that the tiny scratch hadn’t already been there when we rented it.

“So sorry, we will have to charge your credit card 300 euros.”

That’s a pretty blatant rip off (even if my separately purchased insurance will cover it), so I didn’t bother to tell her about the broken mudguard on the front of the car that really was the result of that impact. She got so caught up in the thrill of catching the scratch that she didn’t look over the rest of the car. The 300 euros is plenty for ’em anyway. Scoundrels.

 

The Uffuzi Gallery in Florence Italy is one of the most extensive and beautiful museums you’ll ever visit, with works by Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Rembrandt, as well as important paintings from luminaries such as Vivalderi, Papposcoopa, Ricadanaldo, and Memoraldi. It is one of the most famous art galleries in all the world, as well as one of the most visited, including the top gallery draw in all of Italy. Also, the last four names listed above I totally made up. I like to punk the skimmers.

Every piece in the gallery is a genuine Florindian, or whatever you call “being from Florence.” Florencial? Fluoroscopian? From the Flo? Anyway, more than seventy percent of the paintings were painted by Florentine masters. No word on how many slaves were forced to paint too.

We used a tour guide, which is a really good thing to do in a museum like this because if you spent even just five seconds looking at every piece of art you’d be in there for months, and then find yourself arrested for eating a painting just to survive, especially if it was a Papposcoopa.

Our guide is pictured here next to a portrait of Galileo Galilei (who was born in Pisa but didn’t have anything to do with trying to topple the tower) and lived most of his life under house arrest by the church for being a really awesome astronomer, physicist, philosopher, engineer, mathematician, and occasional Mel Gibson impersonator.

The conflict between science and religion continues to this day, as evidenced by how thoroughly disdainful religionists often are of the findings of virtually every climatologist on the planet who are convinced that climate change is human-influenced. I think it’s amusing (if it wasn’t so dangerous) that many conservative politicians’ talking points have evolved from, “There is no climate change” –the mantra from just a few years ago– to “Sure, there’s climate change, but we don’t know what’s causing it, so let’s pump even more coal and oil into the air just in case it’s not that!”

The science-y people have always seemed pretty smart to me, especially in comparison to people like Mel who thinks it’s all the fault of the Jews. Mel. What a weird name. Sounds like what you’d say about a bad odor when you have a cold. “Wad dat mell?”

Anyway, our guide hailed from Russia –where their science is very hard to understand because it’s all in Russian– and was very informative (thankfully she spoke in English). One interesting bit of trivia she taught us was that the word “bankruptcy” comes from the Florentine dialect: banco rotto, which means broken desk (this is all true btw). Bankers typically just set up desks in offices, and when a banker couldn’t pay for his debts, soldiers would arrive and break the desk. If you don’t have the desk, you cannot continue your business. Today in America when someone goes bankrupt we say, “he’s broke,” or “too bad he got sick.”

I won’t comment on each piece of art below, but will instead simply let you gaze upon all their beauty in literary silence, except to say that I was particularly excited to see Sandro Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus,” which was made popular by Adobe Illustrator’s use of the image on the cover of their software. She’s not a bad-looking fetus even if I do say so myself. Which I just did.

Now Adobe is using a logo that’s just “Ai” instead. Oh, how that Ai logo inspires me! Not.

They didn’t even get the capitalization right on the “i.” Bring back the adult fetus!

Anyway, without further ado, the Uffuzi Gallery:

I read that during the summer the wait times to get into the Uffuzi Gallery can be as long as five hours. It was still very crowded, but I’m glad we didn’t try visiting it then!

Beautiful Firenze stole our hearts!

But we need them back Firenze… Lisboa is starting to get very jealous!

Known as Florence to Americans, it is the capital and most populous city of the region of Tuscany. It is also famous for helping The Brady Bunch become as popular as it was. The popularity of that show helped save television in America, which was in dire straits because it consisted mostly of Gilligan’s Island reruns interrupting 16 minutes of commercials.

You doubt this? Well, here’s all the proof you need: if the late Florence Henderson (her real name, btw) parents had named her after any of these other Italian cities (and I’m not making any of them up, honest), I’m certain she wouldn’t have been hired, and the producers would have gone with Jane Fonda or Twiggy instead, and the show would’ve bombed because everyone hated Jane back then and no one could have seen Twiggy when she turned sidewise, and the recurring joke of “Where’s Mom?” while she was standing right there would have gotten very old very fast, just like many of my own jokes.

Anyway, here is a list of actual Italian city names:

• Troia (which means “slut” in Italian)
• Belsedere (“cute butt”)
• Ramazzano-Le Pulci (“they sweep away the fleas”)
• Orgia (yes, it means “orgy”)
• Foggia (I haven’t the foggiest)
• Bastardo (a city with no founding fathers)
• Casa del Diavolo (the devil’s house)
• Capracotta (cooked goat)
• Bra (ironically located just beneath two large mountains)
• Caccavone (“cacca” means “shit”)
• Puglia (it sounds like the name for a female pug)
• Purgatorio (purgatory)
• Pisciotta (you’ll have to ask Trump what that means. I’m too polite to write it).

I think we can all be happy her parents went with Florence.

While saving early ’70’s American TV is easily its most important accomplishment, Florence is also considered to be the birthplace of the Renaissance. It was one of the wealthiest cities of that time, and was famous for its garments and cloth.

The name was changed to Firenze near the end of World War II after the Germans lit the river on fire while retreating. The tactic didn’t work, however, because the Allies simply waited for the river to carry the fire away. No wonder they lost the war.

Actually, the name comes from Latin “florens,” which means “blossoming.” Just like Florence’s hair, or cheekbones.

Anyway, it is a gorgeous city with lots of history and art… and tourists. Holy moly are there lots of tourists. Plus you don’t want to try to park a rental car downtown. We braved it once just for the heck of it (the bus ride wasn’t that bad, but Carolyn’s butt got pinched eight times and mine only once, so in a fit of jealousy I wanted to try a different mode of transportation). Finding a big parking garage wasn’t too hard (although I think there’s only one), but when we left, it took us about 45 minutes to move thirteen meters. I saw a snail on the ground that was maintaining a good lead on us until it got squished by a weaving motorcycle.

As for the pictures, I’m going to be perfectly honest here. There is a plaza area that not only has two piazzas: Piazza del Duomo and the Piazza San Giovanni (three when all-star catcher Mike Piazza visits), but also three big buildings, and it’s all a little confusing for the uninitiated. Plus we didn’t take a tour and all that research on funny Italian names kind of exhausted my desire for doing more research, so I’m not really sure which is which.  They’re just all pretty to look at so we settled for that.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is probably either the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto.

This is neither the Florence Baptistery, the Florence Cathedral, or the Campanile di Giotto. I know my wife Florence when I see her.

The Ponte Vecchio, (or Old Bridge in a charming example of clever name-making), was built in 1345 after the previous bridge (named The Really Old Bridge) was destroyed in a flood. During World War II, it was the only bridge across the Arno that the retreating Germans did not destroy. Instead they blocked access by demolishing the medieval buildings (or Old Buildings) on either side, which obviously didn’t work because we won.

There have been shops on Ponte Vecchio since the 13th century, although much of the bread they sold back then is now pretty stale.

This bridge is called Ponte alle Grazie, but unlike the Ponte Vecchio, it was destroyed by the Germans. Reconstruction was begun after the war; it was completed in 1953. For that we say, “Grazie!” which means “Go let the cows out to feed” in Italian.

Nice knockers!

This is what we generally looked like while walking around Florence, especially if we lucked into an area without crowds. Unfortunately, that means many of our photos are of streets like this.

I couldn’t find a name for this massive waterfall –okay, maybe it’s more like a watertumble– across the Arno River. So I named it “Ld.” That way, when Mr. Schwarzenegger visits, he can say to it, “You complete me.”

I took a video of this as well but I’m too cheap to spring for the WordPress version that allows video, so you’ll have to settle for written sound effects: “SSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH!”

This is Claudia and Henri. We don’t know them. In fact I just made those names up. I didn’t mean for them to be the centerpiece of this picture, I was just trying to show that there were lots of crowds around Florence. Maybe Claudia and Henri are professional photobombers.

Another look at the Old Bridge, just because it continued to be cool an hour after the previous shot.

This is near the entrance to the Uffuzi Gallery, which I will be effuzive about later. These are replicas of the original Statue of David and a Guy Holding A Man’s Head to His Groin.

This is a really famous guy, and a statue.

This is a really famous building. Look it up if you want to know the name of it.

The river Arno. Florence wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful without that river running through it, just like A River Runs Through It wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful without Brad Pitt.

Trust me, we have 100 more pictures of the river, and these aren’t even our best. You’ll have to fork over the $9.99 a month subscription fee to see our real award winners. But as a special bonus, you’ll get 696 pictures of a very buff naked guy. I know what you’re thinking… they’re not of me (I say as I chuckle abashedly).

We visited two museums in Florence, one is the Uffizi Gallery (which will get its own entry), and the other is Galleria Dell’Accademia, which is most famous for housing the Statue of David and Nothing Else Anyone Cares About.

If David weren’t in there, this gallery would be next to a Burger King offering a three euro discount coupon for entrance with every Whopper. And the entrance fee would be three and a half euros. Just kidding. There were a couple of other interesting things, I just don’t remember what they were and our phones filled up with pictures of David.

Still, it’s worth the price just for him, which is as impressive a marble statue of a naked man with huge hands who just got done killing a giant as you’ll ever see.

When you enter the hall where he lives, you have to give the museum curators kudos for really making it the centerpiece. Seriously, give them a Kudos bar. That thing was heavy!

As you approach, you may find yourself amazed that you’re actually in the same place as one of the most famous pieces of art ever. And then a naked guy photobombs you. Sheesh.

And so you start snapping the first of 700 hundred photos, 650 of which look almost exactly the same.

So you desperately try to find photographic angles no one else in history has ever taken before. And that’s when you notice his hands are huge. I mean yuuuuge! These are not Trumpian hands, I can promise you that!

Something else might be Trumpian, but not the hand. It all looks like it’s in the same proportions as when I changed my one-year-old son’s diaper!

Just sayin’!

This is called the Rape of Sabine. There are a lot statues depicting rape around Italy. Obviously the MeToo movement was looong overdue.

These are unfinished works by Michaelangelo, which provided some insight as to the process. I just marvel at how someone could use only a chisel to create such ideal masterpieces.

As for me, I’m lucky enough to be married to a different kind of ideal masterpiece.

 

After visiting the Colosseum, a plethora of beautiful monuments beckon within walking distance, or, if you were a Roman Senator, a XXIX denarii chariot ride, usually hailed via an Uber stone tablet.

True Roman Trivia: a denarius was equal to 10 bronze asses (I don’t know if the coins were shaped like donkeys or butts).

One of the most striking buildings, as more or less described by Wikipedia, is the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), and is a monument built in honor of Victor Emmanuel, the first king of a unified Italy and the inventor of the stick shift.

The monument, the largest in Rome, was controversial, especially since its construction destroyed a large area of the Capitoline Hill with a Medieval neighborhood. The monument itself is often regarded by residents as conspicuous, pompous, too large, and really, really, white.

It has also been described as being “chopped with terrible brutality into the immensely complicated fabric of the hill,” by someone who was a little full of himself. What the average Italian usually says is, “Mama Mia! What the hell is that shit?”

It is clearly visible to most of the city of Rome despite being boxy in general shape and lacking a dome or a tower. The monument is also glaringly white, built from “corpse-white marble” imported from Botticino in Brescia, making it highly conspicuous amidst the generally brownish buildings surrounding it. For its shape and conspicuous nature, Romans have given it a number of humorous and somewhat uncomplimentary nicknames, including la torta nuziale (“the wedding cake”), la dentiera (“the dentures”), macchina da scrivere (“the typewriter”) and la zuppa inglese (“English soup dessert”), and una grande pila di merda bianca (“a big heaping pile of white shit”).

It was inaugurated in 1911 and completed in 1925.

Regardless of many modern Romans’ feelings toward it, it’s an impressive building and a sure stop for tourist photography. We didn’t go inside into the museum because at some point you can only see so many museums before going into museum overload.

However, our group gladly posed for a picture taken by a Japanese tourist, who then emailed this photo as well as 3,204 others he took of the structure. We only kept this one.

 

Next up is the Trevi Fountain, which was completed in 1762. The origin of the name is unclear, because Trevi isn’t actually a word, but it has something to do with “three streets.” It uses water sources originally used by the ancient Romans and in fact is one of the oldest water sources in Rome, the others being the Tiber and the water in our rented Roman apartment.

It’s made from the same material as the Colosseum and spills about 2,824,800 cubic feet of water every day, all recycled. Roughly 3,000 worth of euros are also tossed into it daily. Legend says that a coin thrown into the fountain will ensure a return to Rome. It must have worked because I threw a coin in it ten or twelve years ago… and now I’m back! However, I didn’t throw a coin in it this time, but as we sat contemplating the flowing water I looked down and saw a hundred dollar bill at my feet. No joke. I picked it up, thinking it might be some kind of scam, but lo and behold, it was all mine! Just visiting the fountain apparently brings good luck!

The monument has been featured in many films including Roman Holiday and Three Coins in the Fountain (who can forget Steve Martin’s comically aborted sing-a-long on the bus in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, one of my all-time favorite movies. Okay so you forgot, but I didn’t). The fountain is also replicated at Epcot in Walt Disney World. The rumors that Walt’s body is cryogenically frozen beneath the water are untrue. He’s embedded in one of the statues. It’s the one that looks a little goofy.

We took pictures both during the day and at night just because we thought it would look cool at night. It didn’t really, and here’s proof. You can see the differences though, it’s like night and day.

Near the Trevi Fountain is the Pantheon, which is so-named because you must wear pants into the building. While free today, it is being converted to a pay-to-get-in location because of its popularity (over 6 million visitors a year, which is written as MMMIIIXMMXCCVVVCCMMM in Roman numerals) and because Italy needs money.

The Pantheon is a former Roman temple (now a church) on the site of an earlier temple commissioned by Marcus Agrippa during the reign of Augustus (27 BC – 14 AD). The present building was completed by the emperor Hadrian, with estimates that it was dedicated about 126 AD (which I always remembered as “After Dhrist”).

The building is circular with a portico of large granite Corinthian columns (fun fact: there is no such thing as Corinthian Leather. They made that up because it sounded cool, especially when spoken by Ricardo Montalbán). Almost two thousand years after it was built (the Pahtheon, not Ricardo), the Pantheon’s dome is still the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome. Almost sixty years after it was first built, my dome is almost back to the way it was when I first came out of the chute.

It is also one of the best-preserved of all Ancient Roman buildings, in large part because it has been in continuous use throughout its history, plus they used to have plastic sheeting over everything just like your grandma’s couch and carpet.

Six heads are better than one when you’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with your camera. But at least we got a shot of the opening in the dome.

Here I welcome the news that we were still able to get in for free.

Here are a couple of panoramic shots taken by spinning around. Trust me, the thing is round. Either that, or the LSD you swallowed is starting to work.

Next to the Pantheon are the famous Spanish Steps. These are famous and popular really only because lots of people go to see them because lots of other people go to see them. They’re just stairs people! There are 135 steps and no wheelchair access, unless you “accidentally” push Aunt Matilda from the top because you just found out you’re in her will. They are called the Spanish steps because it was built in order to link the the Trinità dei Monti church with the Spanish square below. I wish Trump would visit the site so he can see that the Spanish (many of whom immigrated to Mexico, despite the native peoples’ protestations that “They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, we assume, are good people.”) also brought with them very good step-building capabilities.

The sun was certainly shining in this photo in front of Trajan’s Column. The column was built to commemorate Roman emperor Trajan’s victory in the Dacian Wars and stands 115 feet (35 meters) tall. It is located in Trajan’s Forum and was completed in 113 AD.

Nearby is a museum dedicated to Trajan’s Market, which was long thought to be the world’s oldest shopping mall. Recently, many scholars decided it actually might have been administrative offices for Emperor Trajan. I like the mall idea better. Although they may be right because I looked all over for an ancient McDonald’s or Claire’s sign and found nothing, although I did find a petrified Pizza Hut-a box next to a couple of bronze asses, so who knows.

You have to look closely to see Carolyn on the bottom left. The lower doors are for chariot parking. The middle doors were the destination for shoppers deposited by small catapults, which pre-dated the escalator.

Statues like this are on display throughout the museum. We only took pictures of the headless ones.

This is the view from the market, giving us another look at the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), plus some ruins.

This is another view from the market except without the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”), plus some ruins, Trajan’s Column, and some bald dude.

Trajan’s Market. I still think it was a mall. At least there’s no Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”) in the picture.

Here’s a panoramic shot from the mall, including the Altare della Patria (“Altar of the Fatherland”), also known as the Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II (“National Monument to Victor Emmanuel II”) or Il Vittoriano (“A Sick Vittoriano”), or Grande Edificio Bianco con Molti Nomi Diversi (“Big White Building With a Lot of Different Names”).

By now you’ve probably nodded off so I’ll just throw a bunch of pictures of and in the Borghese Gallery down below without comment. You’re asleep anyway, so what do you care? Although the very last one is of you in the shower.

We loved the sculptures, they are simply magnificent. Especially the one of you in the shower.

Now on to the rest of Italy!

Happy Easter AND April Fool’s Day! Hey, does this mean this is the day Jesus comes back and says, “Ha ha! I was just kidding!”?

In keeping with April Fool’s Day, I will refrain from being my usual serious, reverent, and solemn self. I can only hope my reader(s), and God, forgive me. Although I will admit that at least three of the stated facts in this blog entry are true. Probably.

The picture above is a panorama shot of St. Peter’s Square, which houses St. Peter’s Basilica, which is built on top of St. Peter’s tomb, which was right next to St. Peter’s Grog & Gift Shop until it went out of business.

Just to reiterate, don’t worry, as a former Catholic I’m fully licensed to poke a little fun at the church. Besides, my Confirmation name was Peter, so that gives me further license to do so (it’s true, look it up in the Vatican Chronicles). If you’re not or never were Catholic and you don’t know what Confirmation is, don’t worry. I never did either. I just picked Pete’s name because the nun was looming over me and it was the only apostle’s name I could remember at the time. I was about to say “Thorton Fogbottom,” but this nun was a professional loomer and carried a metal ruler on her hip in a holster, so I thought better of it.

The basilica (so-named because the only thing the laborers were given to eat was basil) is a massive structure, and is the place where you can watch the pope come out and give a sermon, wave his hand to the crowds, check on the weather, or hang his laundry. The first time I was here, my late wife Dolly and I were present when Pope Benedict gave a sermon. It was in German, or Italian, or some third-world language like that. It reminded me of the days when Catholic Mass was all spoken in Latin, which meant going to church was great for an hour’s worth of daydreaming. Anyway, seeing the Pope like we did would have been a lot cooler if Francis had been the Pope at the time, he’s a much more happenin’ dude.

Trivia: Francis and Benedict are roomies. Francis eschews the trappings of Popedom and prefers living humbly, so he rooms with Benny and presumably watches over him a bit since he’s 90 years old. You gotta love a leader like that. Where can we get one?

The picture on the upper left is the Tiber river, so named because Julius Caesar’s little nephew couldn’t pronounce tiger. Which was sad, because “Tiber! Tiber!” were his last words just before the tiger ate him, but no one paid him any mind because no one knew what a tiber was.

You don’t get just any average run-of-the-mill trivia on baldsasquatch.com.

The other pictures are from inside St. Peter’s Square, which features an Egyptian Obelisk to commemorate the only two Catholics who have ever been from Egypt. Made of red granite, it stands 25.5 meters tall, which is 84 feet for those of you who still can’t convert meters to feet in a flash, like we now can. (Well, with the help of an app anyway.) It’s so tall I couldn’t get the very top of it in the picture.

The obelisk was originally erected in Egypt in the city of Heliopolis (where helicopters were invented) by an unknown pharaoh, who is now also known as The Guy Who Built a Monument Impressive Enough to be Moved to the Vatican But No One Knows His Name Anyway. That puts a bit of a damper on any hope that your accomplishments will ever be remembered, huh? It dates back hundreds of years before Christ. I can hardly believe it was transferred from Egypt so long ago, because I can’t imagine moving that thing without a crane and a supertanker. The ancients had magic, I’m sure of it. Although I do wonder how many ships are on the bottom of the Mediterranean, held down by an 80 foot tall piece of granite. “I thought it would float!” were the last words of many an engineer back then.

Once inside, you’re treated to a view of a dead pope, who died many hundreds of years ago from asphyxiation while trying out the box. No one said they were all geniuses. The basilica is the largest church in the world, continuously thumbing its domey nose at the desires of various TV evangelists who would give their left Lear Jet to have the biggest instead.

We climbed the stairs to the top of the basilica; here Carolyn catches her breath after sprinting up all 1,130 steps (320 in metric). There are another 231 to get to the very top for the outside views (both of those latter numbers are true- I looked it up). The walls are lined with mosaic tiles. The inside of the path is lined with a metal grate to prevent cell phones from traveling through someone’s head and tearing the hell out of their alimentary canal. That happened twice, and it rectum both.

While the enormity of the place pretty much grabs you by the throat as soon as you walk in, it’s only by being up at the top and looking down that you realize how big it really is. The basilica, not your throat.

But you know, God takes up a lot of space, so they kind of had to do it.

You don’t get this kind of shot of the inside of the dome from the ground floor. Unless you have a telephoto lens and are a lot better photographer than me, which includes just about everyone, even the dead pope, and every Japanese.

That’s a long way down. Just sayin’.

 

Moving on from St. Peter’s, we ventured into the Vatican Museum, which includes the Sistine Chapel, which you may have heard of because it was featured on an episode of The Simpsons. The crowds have been coming ever since.

We took a tour with a guide, who kept telling us it would only be two more minutes before we could go in. “Two more minutes!” Ten minutes later: “Two more minutes!” I photoshopped an extra finger on my hand just to be polite in this post, because I’d finally had it with her after the 21st time she said it.

To give her grace, the crowds were ginormous. If we wouldn’t have booked a tour, we would have been one of the Great Unwashed standing outside for hours on end. Instead, we were the Pretty Good And Had a Shower.

Welcome to the Vatican Museum.

To borrow from Emerson, Lake & Palmer, one of whom may have been Catholic:

Welcome back, my friends
To the show that never ends
We’re so glad you could attend
Come inside! Come inside!

The hordes of The Great Unwashed who managed to make it past the door. The museum should have been built in Sardinia, because you feel like a sardine everywhere you go.

At least our group took a shower in the morning, even David the Robot. His ear implant gives him special powers, such as having less hair than me, which is quite an accomplishment.

Did you know the church anointed the pinecone a symbol of fertility? Leave it to the Catholics to pick the most asexual thing it could find for that. They defaced the statues by covering up all the genitals with fig leaves and coffee cups, and then named the pinecone a symbol of fertility. That thing would hurt no matter where you put it! They weren’t just good at guilt, they made people terrified to have sex!

Guido: “Um, darling, this is for fertility.” Darling: “Get the hell away from me with that thing!”

This is what they called the rhythm method.

It was a sin to leave any plaster showing on a ceiling.

But I’ll admit the artwork is pretty gorgeous. This is named, “The Riot After St. Peter’s Grog & Gift Shop Closed Down.”

This statue survived The Great Genital Cover-up, although he did lose a member. Of his fan club. That’s what I meant. He lost a member of his fan club. Yeah that’s it. On the other hand (literally), maybe that’s what in his left hand.

This is Harpo. She stood next to Groucho. The sculptor got good marx for his work.

This is an actual bathtub. I ordered an exact replica from eVaticanBay. I’m sure Carolyn will figure out where to squeeze it in, she’s an expert at that kind of stuff.

These guys had fun throwing grapes at the crowds below. Actually, it’s a painting. Fooled ya, huh? And it’s all 2D; you don’t even need glasses for the 3D effect.

Here’s another bathtub for those sad times when you have to take one all alone. Plus they used them as tombs, true story. At least you went down with a clean corpse!

This is a commemoration of the first time someone tried to use a snake to clean out the bathtub drain. It looks awfully similar to one of my experiences trying to do the same, except I wasn’t naked… although the similarities in our physiques are quite striking.

These statues blow the myth all to hell about walking like an Egyptian. Of course, with all that weight on their heads they couldn’t walk very pharaoh.

This is what a sardine can would look like from the inside if it were a Catholic one.

In the biz, this is what we call a “two dome shot.”

Here’s a one-dome-shot.

By law, no building can be taller than St. Peter’s dome in the historic center. A 30-floor skyscraper in Rome named Torre Eurosky is actually taller (true story, I know you don’t believe most of what I’m writing here, and I can’t imagine why, but this is true). I guess it’s far enough away to steer clear of the law. However, the architect is now going to hell.

They were having a 2 for 1 sale on Pope memorabilia. In a more serious vein, one of the things we’ve noticed in Europe is that most cars are grey, white, or black. Note that there are only a few red ones, and that’s it. I’m not sure why that is. Our next car is going to be purple. But only if I buy it when Carolyn is in the states.

These were all taken from atop the dome. Because of the aforementioned law, this is one of the best vantage points for a view of Rome. I just wish all those people would have gotten out of the way so we could see it!

And now, the coup de gras for our Very Vatical Vatican Visit: the Sistine Chapel.

Unfortunately, photography is prohibited within the Chapel. This is due to, of all things, Nippon TV in Japan getting the rights to all imagery in exchange for ponying up millions for its restoration (again, this is true). Which is ironic because the Japanese have been voted The Most Likely To Take 300 Pictures of the Same Boring Thing While Traveling sixty-three years running (okay, that one may not be true, but only because there’s no award by that name). Of course, now the internet comes along where you can find all the pictures you want of the chapel. I wonder which Japanese executive had to commit harakiri over that deal?

But to still support this arrangement, various guards in the room are constantly shouting “NO PHOTO! NO VIDEO!” as well as “SSSSSHHHH!” when the masses get too noisy. They’re not often invited to weddings.

That said, you can imagine this intrepid rule-breaker thumbing his nose at such conventions (especially after I found out about it being all about copyright law, which meant I wasn’t going to hell for surreptitiously snapping photos). So I cradled my iPhone near my waistline, even using the back camera so the front of the phone would be facing the ground, as if I was only admiring my iPhone case. Since I was trained in spycraft back in the ’80s, I knew all the tricks.

Unfortunately, not all of the attempts turned out so well.

Sometimes my thumb got in the way, and sometimes my head, which looks a lot like a bearded thumb here. Plus I took a shot of the most boring section of ceiling possible. It isn’t easy to bring my loyal reader(s) illegal photographs!

And if you think these are bad, you should see the ones I deleted!

At last! Success! I got this one as we were leaving, figuring I could scurry out the exit before one of the guards took me down with a taser and a chokehold.

Carolyn followed my lead with her own shot of the wall. I shouted, “She did it too!” as we ran out the door.

Here’s another piece of trivia from our guide: When the powers-that-be finally saw what Michelangelo had created, they were a bit uncomfortable with all the nudity. After his death, they painted over as many of the “private parts” as they could. But they didn’t paint over the images on the ceiling because it was just too high for them. Just goes to show, you gotta get high to appreciate nudity!

I’d love to say I took this shot as well, but I just stole it off the internet. Ha ha! Stupid Japan TV!

I stole this paragraph from Wikipedia too:

The Sistine Chapel (/ˌsɪstiːn ˈtʃæpəl/; Latin: Sacellum Sixtinum; Italian: Cappella Sistina [kapˈpɛlla siˈstiːna]) is a chapel in the Apostolic Palace, the official residence of the Pope, in Vatican City. Originally known as the Cappella Magna, the chapel takes its name from Pope Sixtus IV, who restored it between 1477 and 1480. Since that time, the chapel has served as a place of both religious and functionary papal activity. Today it is the site of the Papal conclave, the process by which a new pope is selected. The fame of the Sistine Chapel lies mainly in the frescos that decorate the interior, and most particularly the Sistine Chapel ceiling and The Last Judgment by Michelangelo. Photographs of the chapel are prohibited by copyright. If anyone is caught taking videos or photographs, or even if evidence comes to light afterwards, the penalties can be severe. If you know of any violations of this law, a generous reward is offered. Please report them immediately to http://www.vaticancopyrightlawscofflawsaregoingtohellsohelpthemontheirway.com.

 

 

 

We took our first ever flight on budget airline RyanAir. Other than the wind whistling through the plane and the view of the ground 30,000 feet below peeking through the wooden slats, it wasn’t bad, especially for the 150 euro per person fare. Actually, the only thing that seemed discountish is that the airline is given the worst place in the terminal. The line through security was long, but I admit it did move pretty fast (they can’t afford X-Ray machines, so they just ask each passenger, “Are you a terrorist?” If you give them the right answer, you get right through).

Italy is a bit messed up politically and financially, and much has been written about garbage and potholes there, at least in the articles about garbage and potholes. We saw our share of both, but because it wasn’t summer, it really had no aroma. It is just a… Roma.

However, they did screw up our Door of the Day with their graffiti. There is lots of graffiti all over Europe, even ancient ones in Pompeii. Apparently it’s a cultural thing that spans over thousands of years. Of course, in Pompeii it’s spelled graffitii.

Rome is also known as The Eternal City, The Capital of the World, The City of Love, The City of the Seven Hills, and The City With The Colosseum Plus Some Other Things To See. We also know that all roads lead to Rome, and we should do as they do while there (assuming the ancients ate a lot of gelato), and that it wasn’t built in a day. However, the Colosseum was built in only eight years, so they obviously had quicker bureaucracies back then. Plus slave labor. I don’t know how we accomplish anything anymore without slave labor. Although working for the minimum wage comes damn close.

Any trip to Rome has to center around the Colosseum. Also (and originally) known as the Flavian Amphitheatre, it is still the largest amphitheatre ever built, and could hold up to about 80,000 spectators, or 8,000 sumo wrestlers. Completed in 80 AD, it has withstood the test of time as well as the pillaging of the barbarians. By the way, the word “barbarians” comes from the term “bearded ones.” So I had to keep with tradition, being a barbarian myself, and chipped off a piece of the Colosseum to use as a momento in our living room. Not really, I just stole its soul with photographs.

Still, the Colosseum cannot fail to impress, as it was intended to do 2,000 years ago.

We met up with a group of friends from the US as well as Holland, which is also known as The Netherworld, which is where the word “Dutch” came from. Yeah, I know it’s confusing, but dam. In fact, lots of dams. I think they come up with all those names to hide from the barbarians. “Holland? Naw, this is, uh, The Netherlands. Yeah, that’s it. Holland is way over there, just take a left at the dike. Am I Netherlandish? Oh no, I’m uh, Dutch. Yep. Just a little Dutchman, got nothing to do with Holland. Just go that way, there’s a whole bunch of gold and gelato over there I hear.”

The first picture below was taken with some great relief after one part of our group found the other part, despite the effort we put in to losing them. We pretended to be happy they found us, especially in group photos.

Once gathered, we took a tour of the place with a guide, who informed us of several common misconceptions. For one, the emperor didn’t use thumbs up or thumbs down to indicate the fate of a gladiator. That’s just Hollywood. They speculate that it was probably an open palm vs. a closed fist. The gladiators were investments, so it wasn’t common for an injured one to be given the fist. Also, Christians were not fed to the lions there, although prisoners were made to “battle” various animals with their arms tied behind their backs. The animals usually won.

And gladiators generally didn’t sport variations of Russell Crowe’s physique, they tended to be short and fat (which is pretty much the way he looks now, so I guess he was told all about it after the movie). The reason for this was that it made it easier for them to survive sword cuts, the important organs being buried beneath fat and all. Accordingly, it’s also when McDonalds was invented, although back then they called it MacinaDonaldos. One chubby gladiator could put down three Grande Mackos, a large order of Italian Fries, and a grape shake without hardly belching afterward. Otherwise, Gladiator is all Hollywood.

Another piece of trivia was the way they handled public toilets. A dozen or more men and women all sat in a row, and shared the same sponge to clean their backsides. We all agreed that the worst job in the world would be the sponge-cleaner (the second worst just being anyone who had to go while in the Colosseum). The poor soul with that job was usually a slave, or one of emperor Trumpini’s former cabinet members.

Carolyn wanted to take a picture with the gladiators who wander around outside the Colosseum hoping to bilk the tourists. I fondled a fiver in my pocket and figured “why not?” After the photo session, he nonchalantly asked for 20 euros. In response, I un-nonchalantly suggested some creative places where he could stick his sword. Anyway, I threw the five and a couple of coins at him after hearing all about his starving children, for which we were rewarded with a stream of insults as we walked away. They’ve had a lot of problems with those guys, so they have been banned from walking too near the Colosseum. Throw ’em to the lions I say! At least now that we got our picture.

On the walk to the Colosseum, we found a field where they grow red-headed stepchildren. It was the end of the season, so the rest apparently had already been picked.

While there’s a military presence there, a lot of this is the fact that they’ve closed down the boulevards next to the Colosseum to cut down on the exhaust fumes discoloring the monument. And since Italian drivers will drive just about anywhere, the automatic rifles serve as a pretty good deterrent if they try it there.

Next to the Colosseum is Palatine Hill, which coincidentally is the name of the street where we first lived after our family moved to Oregon. Our house wasn’t quite as elaborate as some of the buildings below, although it did have a pool, a zip line, and a trampoline, all of which our seven-kid family managed to destroy within a year. Each of the kids eventually grew up to be barbarians, except our lone sister, who only had a stray hair or two on her chin. Actually, she often still does since she’s in her sixties, except now they’re both grey. That’s only in here to check to see if she’s reading this.

The Arch of Constantine is one of many arches around Rome, which were built if a war resulted in over 10,000 enemy deaths. I’m not sure who did the counting. And if you were the 10,001st enemy,  could you form your hands into a “T’ symbol and call time?

The tour of Palatine Hill is best taken with a guide because so many of the buildings are gone. But it’s still impressive and amazing to imagine yourself in those times, walking around the place, hoping no one notices that you’re from 2,000 years in the future. You might be given away by the roll of toilet paper in your pocket, so bring your own sponge.

The picture above (by Cassius Ahenobarbus, who you’ve never heard of, but who wants credit for the picture) shows how the place looked before time and the Bearded Ones whittled it down to the skeleton. The Circus Maximus is completely gone, but it’s where they raced their chariots, ala Ben Hur. It held upwards of 150,000 spectators, which dwarfs even the Colosseum. Since seven is Rome’s lucky number, the races consisted of seven laps. Hence, the seven dwarfs. All stories lead to Rome.

The area surrounding the Colosseum is rather festive, with big crowds, street musicians, and someone blowing bubbles all over the place. Anything to make a euro! Speaking of which, the euro needs a single syllable nickname like “buck.” I’m going with ‘Ro. Anything to make a ‘ro!

Beggars are fairly common around Rome. Generally they attempt to look as pitiful as possible, although I think a lot of them just take naps out there and wake up to happily find some coins in their hat. In our first foray to the Colosseum, we were accosted by a gypsy who knew so little English she didn’t even know what “no” meant. And I delivered a shouted “NO!” on my third attempt at communication. I had to practically peel her off Carolyn because she just kept coming, clawing at her. Afterward, Carolyn noticed the zipper on her little purse, which had been tucked “safely” under her arm, was opened. We were just seconds away from losing a credit card or cash. I have often thought about hiding an opened mouse trap in a purse while walking in cities like Rome. But then I know one of us would forget and hilarity –bolstered by a stream of cussing– would ensue.

After a long day of hiking around Rome, one needs to clean one’s unmentionables. However, one does not often find a dryer in an apartment in Rome, so one must make do with what one is given, in this case, the towel warmers in the bathroom. Hey, they were clean. I think.

It is pretty easy to commit suicide in Rome. Just sayin’.

But we’ll seal this entry with a kiss under the “A” for Anderson. Holy moley, I’ve only covered the first part of our adventure in Rome so far. We still have the rest of Rome, plus Florence, Naples, Pompeii, and Venice to go! No wonder we’re so tired! I don’t know how those guys conquered all that and more!

There is quite a bit of (well deserved) public outrage after the killing of seventeen people at the high school in Parkland. Everyone wants to see this fixed, but, as usual in America, the proposed solutions are polarized between two camps.

A few days ago, I engaged in an online debate with a couple of guys who are very pro-gun. I enjoy spirited debates, not because I am trying to convince anyone of anything, but because I learn so much about how other people think, and I also admit to it being fun for me. Anyway, it provided me with some insight as to why some people believe that having more guns than people in the United States is still a little light in the gun department.

The central arguments for keeping guns and gun laws the way they are apparently include:

1. History teaches us that governments will always become more oppressive, so we need an armed populace to defeat them when they try and take over militarily.
2. Anything other countries do to solve any problem is of no consequence simply because they are not the United States. Part of the argument is cultural difference, and part of it is size difference.
3. The second amendment is irrevocable and unchangeable.
4. They like guns.

In response to number one, I asked this simple question: “Since firearms were first invented, when in the history of the U.S., England, Canada, and Australia have guns been necessary to keep the government at bay?”

I received no reply, because of course, it’s never happened.

I use those other countries because they are most similar to us socially, we speak the same language, and we’ve all been around for hundreds of years, cumulatively for over a thousand years. And yet the fear of Pol Pot reincarnating in the United States is enough for them to insist we must have guns to resist this future tyranny, as unlikely as it actually is. As a result, Americans shooting each other more than anyone is an unfortunate byproduct of preventing a military takeover or coup or whatever, even though that’s never happened in our 242 year existence, nor in similar countries during that span. Somehow the U.S. is the only country to insist the solution is to have more guns, while the others are far more peaceful than the U.S. and lack just as many military takeovers.

On to number two: I just want to say that my experience in moving to Europe is that We is You, and You is Us. Aside from language and minor cultural differences, such as preferring no ice in their drinks, not refrigerating eggs or milk, not being particularly keen on tipping, not shooting each other very often, never being willing to trade their socialized medicine and educational systems for the U.S. versions for all the tea in China (and the Portuguese are the ones responsible for turning English into the tea-drinking maniacs they are), and they would go into a sugar coma just from thinking about drinking a 64 ounce Big Gulp. For my European friends, that’s nearly 2 liters of soda pop. Intended for one person in one sitting. I’m not kidding. They even have a 128 ounce (3785ml) version. The recommended daily sugar intake for a man is 36 grams, and 20 for a woman (sorry ladies, you’re already too sweet I guess). The Super Big Gulp has 80 grams. Wow. I wish this whole debate were about whether you should drink Big Gulps, it would be a lot easier one.

Anyway, the point is that aside from these minor differences, Western European culture is virtually the same as it is in the U.S. So the idea that we can’t learn from them, much less understand that they have a lot more experience with shooting in their neighborhoods solely due to World War I and II, is just plain silly. You’d think if guns were the answer, Europeans would have armed themselves to the teeth to prevent another Hitler. Interestingly, they went completely the other direction, and are far safer for it.

I’ve been to Japan a handful of times, and while they don’t have guns either, I’d say their culture was different enough that it’s not worth trying to bring the reasons for that mindset into the American culture. But Western Europe is a whole different story.

I would also argue that the culture of the United States in 1791, when the second amendment was passed, is far, far different than almost any developed country in the world today. There was slavery and women couldn’t vote, for starters. And the U.S. was fresh off a war of independence from Britain, certainly making them pretty sensitive about fighting to free the land from tyranny.

I have also heard a million times that you can’t compare any country’s success in anything to the U.S. because they’re smaller. That’s such a specious argument because what it does is eliminate every country in the world except India and China; the U.S. has the third largest population in the world. Of course, that doesn’t stop those same arguers from insisting that China should adopt America’s democracy and morals. Irony abounds.

More importantly, the EU is very similar to the US in that even though it is formed by separate countries instead of states, they’re all connected economically with the same currency, they are regulated from a central authority, they are free to cross borders at any time, and can live in any place they want.

The two have roughly the same GDP, and the EU has a larger population. So if the EU does something, such as socialized medicine or free college, you can’t dismiss that as irrelevant because they’re smaller, or socially much different, because they’re neither. My guess is that some might respond, “Well, they’re bigger.” In which case the only way you can compare and learn from any other country is if there is an alternate universe where you can look at the same exact country and hope they do things a little different.

The whole argument of “you can’t compare” or “we can’t learn from other countries” sounds to me like someone telling his neighbor, “Yes, I see you eliminated all your gophers with that scheme, but it wouldn’t apply to my yard because it’s larger and I have more weeds.” Okay, then live with the gophers. Or in this case, the murders.

As for the second amendment, it was an amendment. Its very presence proves these documents can be changed. And I would remind people that back when it was written, everyone had pretty much similar levels of armaments as everyone else, even the government (maybe except for cannons, which hardly compare as weapons of mass destruction). Today’s governments have tanks and missiles and drones and satellites and training and so on. Ironically, the same people who are so hellbent on pouring more money into what is already the world’s largest military are usually the same people who want to arm themselves in case it all comes back to bite them.

Wow.

As for liking guns, I get it. I own some myself. But I still want sensible laws and restrictions on who can buy them. We have to jump through a fair amount of hoops to get a driver’s license. Why? Because cars can kill. Hmm, I think there’s a comparison there somewhere.

I know there are more pro-gun arguments, such as it’s already too late because there are more guns than people in the US, but my point is that all of our minds should be open to learning and certainly having civil discussion on the matter, with the subject at hand being allowed to be on the table. America is a Republic that mostly functions as a democracy. If the majority of Americans desire more gun control, why is it the minority, led by the NRA, allowed to impose their will on the rest of us?

Anyway, my main contribution to the debate is to point out that the rest of the world is not as different as many Americans might think, and that we can learn from everyone, including those who live in other countries, perhaps even including shithole countries!

Feel free to post some counterarguments– we need this debate!

 

First of all, I don’t hate America. I just love grabby headlines.

This post is actually in response to a family member who recently berated me for criticizing the US too often on this blog. I was told I should just stick to offering up a travelogue. Why the world needs another one of those, I don’t know, but there it was in the suggestion box.

I’ll admit I’ve offered up many comparisons after moving over here, and they don’t always reflect well on the US. But the truth is the bulk of them have been noted mostly because what I’ve experienced has been something of a surprise. I figured if I’ve been surprised, even after having the good fortune to have traveled the world a little before this move, then other people might be surprised to hear about them as well.

I also have a personal conviction whereby I refuse to believe in default patriotism. The place I was born was an accident of birth, not a choice I made. To me, being proud of something I had absolutely nothing to do with seems a little silly. I also happen to believe that patriotism is neck and neck with religion for being the ideology most responsible for creating worldwide misery. World War II would not have happened without rampant patriotism, because that’s largely what fueled World War I, and the second war was simply the finale of what was actually one long war. The result of it all was that Europe decided to work on ways to avoid such catastrophes in the future, which ultimately resulted in the European Union. The EU has actually done a very good job of making its people feel more attached to humanity in general, not just those who were born in the same country as themselves (the über patriotic politicians who refuse to learn from history notwithstanding).

In addition, you can see anything we have seen anytime you want just by doing a Google search. If you want to see what Sesimbra looks like, just type “Sesimbra” into the search engine. I’m not a good enough photographer to add much of anything to what is already out there. But I do have thoughts and observations, and anyone who knows me can surely attest to the fact that I’m very open and willing to share them. Not out of smugness or look-what-I-can-do-and-you-can’t-edness, I just share, that’s all. And I do think that an American moving to Portugal is uncommon enough, much less done by someone who’s willing to publicly share his or her experiences, to warrant some interest by those who don’t know anyone else who has done the same.

But the main reason I apparently said one thing too many for at least one of my readers is that I’ve truly been surprised at what I see now that I’m looking from the outside in, and surprise begets repetition. “Did you see that? Really, did you see that? Hey, you, did you see that? Wow!” To the extent that I’ve already expressed much of my surprise, I’ve taken the criticism to heart and am endeavoring to tone that down a little. But this will never be just another travelogue, and I will never refrain from criticizing where I see fit, mostly because I believe every bad circumstance that has ever occurred in the world deserves more criticism. As soon as criticism is eliminated, things like Hitler or Nixon happen.

Like most Americans, I had a worldview that was greatly impacted by the continuous stream of propaganda and societal agreements that something is the way it is simply because we all agree that it is.

As a result, when we moved to Portugal, I expected it to be less comfortable. I expected some goods to be cheaper, but that we’d have to make do with not having comforts we were used to having in the US. The first time we went to a medical clinic, I expected to wait eight hours for an appointment with a doctor less capable than the ones in the US. I expected Europeans to be less polite than Americans because I already knew they don’t smile at strangers, they’re rather rude in queues, and they drive like bats out of hell. I also expected the standard of living to be significantly less than that of the average American, especially in a poorer country like Portugal.

I was willing to endure all this, including the agony of beating up my aging brain by learning a new language, just to explore and see the world. Besides, my blood is decidedly Western European, according to a DNA test I took. So this is actually my homeland as it were, so maybe it was also a desire to see where I’m actually from.

I also expected that the populace would be laboring under a system that was less “free” than what America enjoys. After all, America is the Land of the Free, right?

Turns out that recent studies (I’ve read several) show that actually the US is quite a ways down the list of countries in terms of just freedom.

Let that sink in for a second. America no longer leads the world in freedom.

The following will surely be counterintuitive for a lot of people, but the left-leaning governments are the ones that offer the most freedom for their people. I’ll leave it to others to figure out the whys and wherefores of that, but I’ve seriously been shocked to realize I’ve moved from the Land of the Free to the Land of the Freer. I figured all the crime and shootings and lopsided wealth were crosses we had to bear for living in a land focused on freedom. Turns out I was wrong. We’re all wrong about a lot of things we believe, and the only way to find out which ones they are is to have an open mind, listen to people who have done things you haven’t, experience as much as you can yourself, and try to run every piece of information you encounter outside the lenses of your own preconceived notions.

In my opinion, if you haven’t changed your mind about anything remotely significant in a while, you’re not thinking. Because if you think you already know it all and everything you believe is surely correct, then you might as well just kick the bucket now, because living is growing, and growing comes from learning. Besides, you’d be dead wrong. Nobody in the world has a belief set that is 100% correct. It’s simply impossible. That’s what makes us human.

I’ve been continuously surprised, shocked even, at what I’ve learned from this move. I’ve discovered that Europe is in fact significantly ahead of so many things that at times the US looks like a third-world country in comparison. That’s a little stronger than I intend, but the reality is that we’ve been told over and over that America is the greatest country in the world. So when you find out it’s really not, at least in so very many ways, it’s a little startling, and you tend to go on and on about it especially if you’re a sharer.

I was also taken aback at a recent exchange on Facebook after I shared a fellow traveler’s blog who observed many of the same things I had.

The Facebook comment was, “I am fortunate enough to have traveled, but I try not to be smug about it.” So I went back and re-read the original post. For the life of me I can’t see any smugness in it anywhere. Just another person sharing their observations after experiencing something for the first time. I actually became angry, because by throwing the smug word around you’re essentially calling for people who experience something new to shut the hell up. “Don’t give us your observations, we just want to see the pictures. Or nothing at all because we don’t want to hear that where we live might not really be quite as nice in comparison. We’re stuck here, so quit being so smug about traveling around.”

I just think it’s sad when people aren’t interested in hearing about anything someone else has done. I also think it’s tragic when people share their thoughts and feelings and experiences but are slammed for doing so. I’m not traveling for anyone else at all, but I don’t mind sharing what I’ve experienced because that’s simply who I am, not because I have any agenda.

But I also realized that if someone is reading something and expects smugness, for example, then smugness is what they’ll perceive, no matter what was written. A writer can only control a certain percentage of what someone takes in. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve written an email only to find out the response to it was completely different than what I thought I wrote. I’ve even read back the exact words out loud, only to hear, “Well, what you meant was…” Um, no, what I meant was exactly what the words said. The undercurrent is what you brought to the table. That and maybe I’m just a shitty writer.

I read an article a long time ago that listed the world’s riskiest professions. I was surprised to see that they included “writers” on the list. After some contemplation on that, I realized why that may be the case. Because when you write something down, you’re exposing the world to your innermost thoughts. You’re opening yourself up for criticism and ridicule. Once they’re in print, you can’t deny having written them. It’s easier, and safer, just to shut up. So most people do.

But adventurers don’t tend to play it safe or easy, and I’d say selling almost everything you own and moving to another country qualifies someone as at least a little bit of a risk taker. So I take the criticisms and any ridicule in stride. Obviously I’d much rather be showered with book contracts or win Pulitzer Prizes for what I write, especially if they have a category for Travel Blogs Read By Less Than Ten People, but you can’t opine about much of anything without being subject to ridicule and criticism. Just ask most of today’s newspeople.

Anyway, I’m just gonna keep doing what I do. Some of it is to memorialize. Some of it is to share what I’ve experienced, just because I’m a sharer, and that’s pretty much the only reason. Read it, or not, I don’t care. Frankly I usually have absolutely no idea if anyone does or not. The only thing I do know is that almost no one on my side of the family does (not counting our kids, even though most of them don’t either). They’re all pretty tired of me I suppose, or simply have no interest in anything beyond the borders of the state they live in. Fine with me. But I’m just gonna keep being me, which means posts with poorly-framed pictures, lame attempts at humor (I’m happy with hearing about one person’s light chuckle once in a while), observations, opinions, comparisons, and a sharing of the ongoing surprises that living in a land like Portugal offers us.

So there you have it. Next up: Poorly-framed pictures and lame attempts at humor from our next trip, which is Rome. For a few hundred euros, we get to fly to The Eternal City and take in all that history, which is one of the main reasons we did this, apparently in addition to alienating my family lol.

I returned home from grocery shopping today, and noticed what looked to be a long string or rope on our patio. I wondered how I’d missed it upon leaving, or whether the wind had blown it onto our property.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was moving on its own. A long skinny snake perhaps? Closer still. What the– it was a long line of caterpillars! They were moving very slowly. I’m not sure the leader knew where he was going; there’s not much to eat where they were headed. He did seem obsessed with our wall, so I named him Donald.

After shooting some pictures, I looked it up on the internet: the caterpillars appear to be Pine Processionary Caterpillars. They are poisonous with stingy hairs that cause skin irritation. They are also one of the most social caterpillars around (The Pine Processionary raves are legendary in the insect world)… or perhaps they just like the smell of each other’s butts. They live off living pine trees, eating vast amounts of pine needles and defoliating whole trees.

Which is all fine and good, but defoliate some trees in another lifetime bubs. I was originally going to set them free, but once I learned how destructive they are, they all departed this world as one big smush. Donald was the first to go. Sorry guys, this is what happens when you have a bad leader.

This site can’t do video, but there’s a video on Instagram and Facebook of the entire procession here.

So far, in the ten months we’ve been in this house, we haven’t had to mess with very many unwelcome creatures.

There’s the occasional mouse in the pool, and in the heat of summer we had our share of yellow jackets and hornets. As summer began to wane, the flies came out in force. One of my daily duties was to go outside and rack up the kills. That’s Mister Fly Killer to you.

Of course if an occasional spider is unlucky enough to wander into our home, Carolyn’s “spidar” tracks them down almost immediately, whereupon she calls upon the Big Artillery (aka, me, the B.A.), who turns them into a 2D version of their former selves via the bottom of a shoe, the side of a magazine, or if they look appetizing, a spatula.

(Some of them do get a reprieve by being thrown outside if Carolyn isn’t looking.)

So while we’re certainly not pest-free, we’re not all that bothered by too many critters. Thankfully, the ones that might be especially bothersome by arming themselves with stinging hairs also oblige us by trudging across the landscape in an easy-to-spot procession. Maybe Donald should rethink that military parade thing, huh?

Anyway, not on my watch, you multi-footed vermin! Not on my watch!

My two friends, Cale and John Lee, with whom I visited Porto and spent some time tooling around Lisbon, invited me to join them in Grenada, Spain after they decided I couldn’t possibly annoy them any more than I already did.

Not knowing anything at all about Grenada, I looked up their national anthem first (as of course we all do before visiting a new culture). I edited it for brevity and with just some slight changes):

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah, here I am in, the city of Grenada!

Spain is very entertaining, and they say we’ll have some fun if it stops raining.

I went hiking with Cale and John Lee, the many sights were fun to see.

I won’t remember most of them though, because my retinas are burned from the Flamenco show.

Flying in coach ain’t for sissies, especially if your legs are longer than most missies.

All the Spanish hate Americans, until we offer, Sangria from our jericans!

Just kidding, they love no one better. Muddah, Faddah kindly disregard this letter!

With apologies to Allan Sherman, who most of you probably have never heard of, but that from was a famous song of his from 1963, when I was only 34.

Grenada is a town in the southern part of Spain with a population of about a quarter million. It is perhaps most famous for the Alhambra, which is a Moorish citadel and palace. It was a key (and last) fortress during the Muslim occupation of the Iberian Peninsula, when they marched up from Africa to expand their empire. They were finally thrown out in 1492, at which point the Spanish decided to celebrate by sending Christopher Columbus off the edge of the earth. Everyone hated Columbus, so they were hoping he’d just fall off and go away. When that didn’t happen, they sent Amerigo Vespucci to map the land and name it after someone other than Columbus. I’m glad he used his first name, I’m not sure I’d want to be called a Vespuccian.

One of the things we of course had to do was go see a flamenco show.

It was purple.

Actually, it was interesting to observe the gypsy influence on the dance. The presentation felt as if we were sneaking a peek into a gypsy camp. Or maybe it was just that the woman looked like a gypsy, truly.

She provided the bulk of the entertainment as far as I’m concerned (they also had a singer who shouted his words at the top of his lungs, a pretty good guitar player, and a male dancer). This flamenco-stomping grandmother’s facial expressions were priceless. I am not kidding when I say she often made the exact same face as this one from Carolyn. I mean, the exact same expression. Except she was homely, and Carolyn is anything but. We weren’t allowed to take pictures until the end, my guess is they enforce that because by then she’s too tired to continue making faces.

It seems the point of flamenco is to stomp as hard on the floor as you possibly can. My guess is that the dance originated in poorer areas where there were lots of cockroaches. The winner was whoever stomped the most cockroaches.

Now it’s a dance. We really expected something more akin to the picture to the right, but maybe they just humor grandma every so often.

Anyway, we still had a good time, but next time I’m going to want a preview of the dancers. The man was pretty good, and it was all rather charming, but it wasn’t quite what I expected. The one we went to was called the best show in town. I’d hate to see the facial expressions of the lesser ones.

The Alhrambra was definitely the highlight of the visit (aside from the delightful company of my companions of course). It’s a vast complex with many beautiful gardens and awesome architecture. I’m always impressed with what they were able to build way back when without any technology.

Just to keep things simple, a slide show of the best of Alhambra is below this 3D image of the place. We’re the little dots on top of the tower looking at the view of a giant leather handbag.

 

We enlisted the aid of a tour guide to take us around the town. She wasn’t particularly good, but we did learn some things along the way, little of which I remember, partly because she was a little hard to understand, plus she kept mispronounciating all sorts of words.

We tipped her well anyway because she seemed a nice person.

She did tell one story I do recall that was kinda funny. Apparently the statue below was snuck –snuck!– onto the top of this building in the middle of the night without permission or permit. Ten years later, they still aren’t sure whether they’re going to leave it up or what to do with it.

In addition, apparently no one knows that the hell that is on the end of the horse’s tail. I think it might be flying horse poop. Or some kid hanging on for dear life. It’s a mystery.

Of course no blog post would be complete without presenting a Door of the Day. I have to carry the torch in Carolyn’s absence!

And here are some photos of the architecture around town:

Below is the view from our room at the apartment we stayed in. We were right in the middle of the action, which largely consists of shop after shop of Islamic-influenced clothing, art, and trinkets, all of them offering virtually the same thing at roughly the same prices. It’s like going to a grocery store where the fruit is nothing but bananas.

Below are some panoramic shots. The first one is of a Coliseum-esque structure and is completely round, I just twirled in a circle until I fell down from dizziness. What I won’t do to get my loyal readers a great shot!

Unfortunately, graffiti is ever present, even on historic sites:

Some of you will get it, some won’t.

After getting drunk on 18 sangrias and wandering around town, arm in arm, singing Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah! at the top of our lungs (to the bafflement of virtually everyone), we woke up the next morning, poured some sangria over our Cheerios, and then went our separate ways. I had a long layover in Madrid, and so decided to take the train into town to just wander around. Here are some of the sights:

Of course, no visit to Madrid would be complete without visiting the famous Trump Madrid Hotel. Oh, wait, something tells me this isn’t a Trump building. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the clue is there somewhere…

A big thing in Madrid, at least on this square, was a bunch of characters in various costumes, posing for a picture and a tip. This guy is holding himself up with one hand. He did it for hours! Some Spanish people are really strong!

Of course, occasionally you could peek behind the scenes. I guess you could say the guy in the yellow boots took it literally when he was told to get his head out of his ass.

This lady had the ingenious idea to paint herself up like she was made of sand. She just sat there with her eyes closed the entire time, even as these school kids came in for a closer look. She just kept napping. Not a bad gig: sit on a chair and nap all day while people put coins in your hat. Just slightly more work than my retirement, but it pays better.

I couldn’t help but get a kick out of the sign below. And of course I had to disprove the idea by physically entering. Maybe they mean it’s physically impossible to enter if you’re only 1.8 meters tall, which is about 4 gallons in metric.

The Madrid airport is yuuge. At 7,500 acres (52 centigrade in metric), it is the largest airport in Europe in terms of physical size. I had plenty of time when I got back there after visiting downtown Madrid, so I walked in a straight line for seven million centimeters, at which point I needed to call a cab to get back to my gate. Unfortunately, cabs don’t operate inside the terminal, so I just sat on someone’s cart who appeared to be headed my way. You can always get away with a lot when you don’t speak the native language.

So there you have it. For less than a couple hundred euros, I could fly from Lisboa to two beautiful cities in Spain. I’ll have to take Carolyn back to Madrid; I only skimmed the surface, and it’s quite a bustling city. More cosmopolitan than Lisboa, but I’ll still take Lisboa any day, because it’s cute enough to pinch its little Portuguese cheeks!