Obituaries
Sheila FitzGerald McKenna’s Trip to Italy
Volume 30 Issue 7, 8 & 9 | Posted: October 11, 2016
It all came about over a cup of coffee, café coretto, to be exact, in a downtown Italian restaurant. Our regular rendezvous.
“If I go to Italy, will you come?” he said, I want you to meet my family.” For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to see Italy but my initial reaction to his question was “What, Italy on my budget!” “I will cover all expenses” he added. That settled it. I accepted the offer!
It all came about over a cup of coffee, café coretto, to be exact, in a downtown Italian restaurant. Our regular rendezvous.
“If I go to Italy, will you come?” he said, I want you to meet my family.” For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to see Italy but my initial reaction to his question was “What, Italy on my budget!” “I will cover all expenses” he added. That settled it. I accepted the offer!
A few weeks later we were in Rome. I stayed with Caroline, an ‘in-law’, who resided on Via Baldwina. Emilio booked into a modest hotel nearby. Modest indeed. Small room with a chair, iron bedstead, chest of drawers, plus bathroom. “Bagno, extra costa” said the clerk. The hotel lobby, however was magnificent. Marble floor, velvet hangings, huge mahogany desk presided over by a large manager with an even larger smile. First impressions and all that!
Emilio, though raised in Italy, had never spent time in Rome, so we planned a two day stay.
The next day we set out carrying a picnic lunch plus bottle of vino and boarded a bus bound for San Giovanni. We asked the driver for tickets. “Tickets not sold on bus” he said, “tickets purchased at store.” We got off and bought bus tickets at a local stationary store, postcards and all that. Boarding the next bus, we presented them to the driver. “No, no” he said, pointing to the back of the bus, “Put in punch machine so inspector know date is correct and not put you off.” Good news indeed!
Arriving at San Giovanni, we walked the short distance to Vatican City. It was early morning and the vast forecourt of St. Peter’s was almost empty. No buses. No crowds of tourists. It was so impressive, flanked on either side by gigantic colonnades and fountains, presided overall by larger than life statues ranged along the top of the colonnades, that we sat on the steps of St. Peter’s and ate lunch, admiring it all!
Then we entered the Basilica. Having just come in from the sunlight, the interior was cold and gloomy. Magnificent all the same. Mass was being celebrated at one of the side altars so we paused awhile before walking down the long, the very long, center aisle towards the main altars. Yes, there are two. One with gigantic twisted gold embossed columns supporting a baldacchino is used by the Pope. The other, further behind under a gold coloured stained glass window, is used on general occasions. The tomb of St. Peter lies below.
Touring slowly around we came upon the famous statue of St. Peter of the Chair. True to tradition, I waited in line to touch his right toe. Emilio, though of Catholic persuasion, is somewhat skeptical of, what he terms, irrelevant religious customs. He went off to find the stairway leading below to where popes are buried. He returned full of excitement. “It is open today!” We went down. It is a humbling experience to walk past sarcophagus after sarcophagus, mentally counting the aggregate number of years of service totaling these men’s lives. I was glad to exit into the sunlight again and warm up sitting by a fountain in the piazza.
By now it was late afternoon and time permitted one more choice. Either tour the Vatican or ascend the Domo. By Emilio’s choice, “If you want to see as much of Rome as you can at one time, now is your chance!”. We ascended the Domo. We climbed endless steps winding around and around, taking a breather now and then, sitting in window niches. Nearing the top the walls become so sharply curved inward that we finished the climb, bodies bent over at right angles, on our hands and knees!
What views lay before us, the city of Rome bisected by the river Tiber, the ancient area of Rome containing Forums, Trajan’s Market, and other historical monuments, too numerous to mention. The Colosseum, Vatican gardens, and, all surrounding, the Seven Hills of Rome!
Later, tired but happy, we stopped for a welcoming mug of Cappuccino at a small coffee bar across the road, before taking the bus home. Supper was ready. We ate outside on the patio amid dozens of large terra cotta pots containing small trees and flowers. Vino was poured, and Italian style, we sat late into the evening with well filled glasses, recounting the excitements of the day. Buona notte!
Next morning however, Emilio arrived bright and early on the doorstop. “pack up your backpack,” he said “We are going to Breganze.” That is the way with Emilio. Quick decisions.
Two hours later we were heading for a train heading for Milano. After passing through the suburbs of Rome it starts the long slow ascent to the north, passing through many tunnels until reaching the long flat plain of the Po Valley, once reed filled marshes.
“One good thing Mussolini did for Italy” commented Emilio, “was to drain the wetlands of the river Po.” It is now a wide fertile valley with well-spaced homesteads and vineyards flourishing along the way.
His brother Bruno was waiting in Milano to meet us with a car. An hour’s drive and we were home. Home is a three storied house, each floor a separate apartment. Bruno lives on the top floor, Guido on the second and Mama and Vittorina on the first. The family was gathered for supper in Mama’s apartment in honour of the occasion. For me it was but a small baptism of fire, There were many more family members yet to meet! They arrived continuously throughout the evening. This was Emilio’s first return visit to Italy in twenty years. What a welcome!
We were housed on the top floor. The views from the balcony were breathtaking. Vineyards stretched every which way into the distance. A Martello Tower was etched on the skyline. Our proposed visit also stretched from one week to three.
Days were spent driving to interesting places. Marostica, Castel Franco, Venice, Caorle, to name a few. Evenings were spent in the town square at the Café Centrale, owned by a family member, a regular local gathering place.
Twice we went to Venice, taking the train from Milano. Emilio knew Venice well, so, carrying the inevitable picnic lunch, we walked through the city, crossing numerous stone bridges going over canals, until we reached Piazza San Marco. Yes, we ate our picnic lunch sitting by a fountain! Then we entered St. Mark’s Basilica.
We were beginning to know that, apart from Sunday, the interiors of churches are cold and gloomy. St. Mark’s was no exception. In the dim light, with floors undulating due to sinking foundations, and covered with carpets for visitors safety, walking about was hazardous. We did not stay long. Instead, we ascended the Bell Tower, the highest in Venice.
All Venice is spread below. An endless vista of Terra cotta tiled roofs. Small canals intersecting streets. The Grand Canal alive with water buses and gondolas and on out to surrounding small islands in the Adriatic Sea. Even to the very lengthy trestle bridge, Ponte della Liberta (autostrada), which connects Venice to the mainland.
Overcome by the grandeur of it all, we settled for a beer outside a famous restaurant in the Piazza San Marco often featured in films. The orchestra played my special request, ‘Arrive d’erci Roma’. The most expensive beer I have ever paid for” said Emilio!
Later, I asked him to take me on a gondola. “What me in a gondola!” However, he did! It passed under the same small bridges we had previously traversed. Through many small canals with houses on either side opening directly onto the water, and under washing lines strung overhead. Eventually we were out on the Grand Canal. Transferring to a water bus we arrived back at the railway station, our starting and finishing point and took the train back home.
This was the Venice I had dreamed of. Canals and gondolas!
Excerpted from The Impecunious Traveller, a travelogue by Sheila FitzGerald McKenna.
Sheila contributed many poems over many years to ICN.
Rest In Peace.