Haunted Halloween in Rome

Dolcetto o scherzetto?! This is what the Italian kids say on Halloween, and it roughly translates to treat or trick, even though trick or treating is something I’ve never seen over here. What I have seen is little kids getting dressed up in costumes and walking around. Which I guess is better than nothing, but still can’t compare to my childhood wandering my neighborhood filling my bag with pounds and pounds of candy. There was always the “good” house, where we’d get full-size candy bars, and the “bad” house, where, every year without fail, we’d get a balloon and a religious bookmark. There was the “scary” house, where the older male teens of the house set up a slaughter scene on the front walkway, and the “old people” houses with their lights out, the ones we hated the most. No matter what we got, we didn’t miss a door, and I remember at my house, when we’d run out of candy, my parents would break out our big penny bank and start putting pennies in the kids’ bags. What can I say, folks? Clearly, I miss Halloween.

But, never fear. A few years ago, sensing that my university study abroad students were feeling about the same, I decided that it was time to bring a little BOO to Rome. So I set forth, determined to come up with a Halloween itinerary of Rome. Here for you now is the result of my work. I haven’t been to all of the places, but I can guarantee that number one is genuinely spook-worthy, and number six is definitely worth a visit. Read on, if you dare…

1. Bone Crypt of the Cappuchin Monks (Cripta dei Cappuccini)
Santa Maria della Concezione Church
Via Veneto 27 (off Piazza Barberini)
Hours: 9-12; 15-18; closed Thursday

Why they're playing "Ave Maria" on their website is beyond me, because this place will give you the creeps. The bones of 4,000 Cappucin friars (for whom cappuccino is named) decorate the four chapels of the Capuchin Crypt, and the fact that it's in the church basement doesn't help. Room after room of arrangements of bones: skulls, pelvic bones, bone chandeliers, you name it. There's even a phrase saying something creepy like, "We were once like you were, soon you'll be like us..." Yikes.

2. Museum of the Souls of Purgatory (Museo Anime del Purgatorio)
S. Cuore del Suffragio Church, Lungotevere Prati 12

Rome has just one truly Gothic church, but this one is inspired by the Gothic style, and that makes it stand out. It was built in 1890, or 1927, depending on who you ask. I've never visited this museum, but apparently it showcases various objects that demostrate proof of souls who went to Purgatory, trying to communicate with us here on Earth. All are hung on the left wall of the display room. Enter the church and walk down the right aisle; just before the end, enter a door to your right and ask to see “il museo.”

3. Rome Crime Museum (Museo Criminologico di Roma)
Via del Gonfalone 29
T, W, F, Sa: 9:30-1; T, TH: 2:30-6:30, 2 EUR

The museum is divided into three sections, with computers creating a virtual Crime Museum alongside the real one. Section One, called “Punishment and Crimes,” is apparently the goriest and most gruesome. It seems like it could be one of those touristy torture museums, except for the fact that their website is run by the Italian Justice Ministry. Can't get more authentic than that--they know how criminals used to be handled!

4. The Devil’s Footprint (Il Piede del Diavolo)
Santa Maria all’Ara Coeli
Piazza Campidoglio

This church is famous for the miracles performed by the Santo Bambino, but the little-known dark side legend is that there is an imprint from the diavolo himself. Keep your eyes open looking at the floor just after you enter, on the left.

5. Exorcism and Witch HuntingSanta Maria del Popolo Church
Piazza del Popolo

Legend says that this church was built on haunted ground in ancient Rome, where witches used to practice rituals and call spirits. Inside the church, above the main altar, you can see reliefs that show the story of how the ‘popolo’ of Rome (hence the name of the church) asked for action against the witches, and the process of their execution.

6.Catacombs: the ancient tombs of Rome
The Catacombs of St. Sebastian
(Catacombe di S. Sebastiano)
Via Appia Antica 136; 8:30 - 12 - 14:30 - 17:00

This is where it is believed that the remains of Saints Peter and Paul were temporarily housed. This underground cemetery has examples of both Christian and Pagan graves. Visits are with guided tours only (times above). The tour is available in English, takes about a half hour, and costs €5.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Where in the World is Shelley Sandiego?

To borrow a phrase from my newly-discovered and consequently current favorite author, Bill Bryson: about my last name being Sandiego? It isn’t really. I just made that up.

But perhaps you were wondering why I left that last post to simmer over a low flame for the last 10 days? The truth is, I was voluntarily stranded on an island. Three, to be exact. As you may know, in Italy the tradition of the “summer vacation” doesn’t end when you get out of school. No, please rest assured, vacations are alive and well in Italy, and woe unto he who tries to change that. In fact, if you’re really ready to cringe, Italy clocks in at highest average number of vacation days per year. (One guess who was last on the list?)

My Italian vacation, while postponed this year when Ale embarked on his sudden “today I’m a movie producer, tomorrow who knows” adventure, nonetheless did finally happen, and if you’ll indulge me for a non-Roman post or two, I have a few things I’d like to show you.

First though, a little trivia to get you warmed up. In the place I went:

1) Many people wear their wedding bands on their right hand.
2) The national wine is the flavor equivalent of pine cleaner.
3) The national liqueur tastes like liquid black licorice.
4) I can speak about 10 words of the local language.

Still not sure? Let’s bring in the visual aids!

Yes, this is water.

The sound of these goats' bells is about all you hear when you're on the beach.

I swear, I didn't scan this from a postcard!

Blue and white are the national colors.

For the third year running, Ale and I have returned to what we pretty much consider paradise on Earth. This, our favorite island in the Dodecanese in Greece, is called Patmos. Shh! Keep it a secret. And if you want to get a true feel for summer island life on Patmos, I highly recommend Tom Stone’s The Summer of My Greek Taverna. A true story about his exausting summer running a beach taverna, with some excellent and easy recipes from his kitchen as well (even I made them with success, which is really saying something!)

Now, can I diverge on a tangent for one moment? While we usually spend most of our time putt-putting around on a scooter (Patmos being one of the only places where we feel safe enough to do so), this year on our last day we decided to rent a dune buggy. Basically an adult version of the Big Wheel, or perhaps more accurately, a glorified riding lawn mower. All fine and good, and it was fun for driving on some of the steep back road paths to hidden beaches. Yet, I couldn’t help noticing this among the many warning labels pasted menacingly to the front panel:

Now imagine with me, if you will, our young hero of 5, hey, why not make it 4 at this point, years old. Keys in hand, he confidently climbs aboard his lawn—ahem—All Terrain Vehicle, when a casual glance to the dash brings the above warning label to his eyes. “Well, I'll be!" thinks our 48-month old. "That label is talking directly to me! And had I only known that before…I certainly have no intention whatsoever of increasing my chances of serious injury or death on this beautiful morning.” And with that, he decides to walk to work.

People! Stop the insanity!

And, last but not least, do you see the blue light flashing? Attention Kmart Swappers! (Should this reference either offend or amuse you, I kindly direct you to Bill Bryson’s The Lost Continent, wherein you will find, in my opinion, the most chillingly accurate description of a Kmart shopper ever put on paper). Good news: our humble swap group has nearly reached the 200 mark. Not bad for a baby blog, eh?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go catch up on all of your blogs. And there’s also the matter of this pesky zero on my keyboard—keeps sticking.

Update: Folks, I must be off in my own little world of subtlety. I was just kiddin' about 200, and the zero key sticking. Hardee har har, get it? My corny sense of humor. If you can even call it that. But we are almost at 20 and after all, it's quality not quantity!!

The Great International City Swap

UPDATE: Check out what everyone received in the comments section of this post!

One of the things that I have enjoyed most about my new adventure in blogging has been seeing people stop by literally from all corners of the globe. I love that just by creating a blog, you become part of an international community.

So folks, in honor of my almost 2-month blogger anniversary (I’m still a newborn!) I cordially invite each and every one of you to participate in the first-ever At Home in Rome swap, proudly entitled:

You can take the logo above for your blog’s sidebar if you want to get the word out (I'll paste the code I used at the end of this post, and hopefully you can just cut and paste), or just link back to this post. The more, the merrier, and I hope this helps us all to meet new bloggers, so pass it on!

You get to see my perspective on what makes Rome unique, so now there’s a swap for you to share why the place where you live is unique, too. No matter how obscure your town might be, every place has something that makes it special. Ok, ok, even if you hate where you live (I can name a few places I’ve lived that qualify), maybe this swap could show you something you’ve been overlooking… or taken in a humorous vein, convince your swap buddy why they should NEVER move to your town! One time a friend of mine visited Nashville and I told her to bring me the most ridiculous country souvenirs she could find. I ended up with a pack of Hank Williams, Jr. playing cards (yes, there was a different image of Mr. Williams, Jr. on each and every card), a fingernail clipper with a guitar on it, and a “Dixie dictionary.” When presented with a challenge, you just never know what you’ll end up with, so here’s the challenge:

What: Swap something(s) that, in your opinion, best represent the place where you live, and what you think makes it unique. It can be anything from handmade to store-bought, mugs to magnets, framed photos to local food items and handicrafts to postcards and local candy…just use your creativity!

How: To join the swap, send an email to ahirswap AT gmail DOT com with your mailing address (and your blog url if you want it posted with the other participants). Also indicate if you do not wish your city to be listed. Your address will be kept strictly private and sent ONLY to your swap buddy.

When: The deadline to join in the swap is November 15. This gives us roughly a month to get our swap group together. Shortly after the deadline, I’ll send you your swap buddy’s mailing address. Then you can start your mission to create their package. Your package should be mailed using your country’s equivalent of priority or first class mail on or before December 1. I’ll send a little reminder when the time gets close.

How much: Min. $10 to max $20 USD, or your local currency equivalent (see www.xe.com for a currency converter). These figures do not include postage costs for your country’s equivalent of priority or first class mail.

Then, sit back and wait for your package to arrive from your swap buddy! When you receive your package, why not post pictures of it on your blog?

I’ll post a list of all the participants (and links to those with blogs) when the sign-up ends.

Disclaimer: Unless it ends up being only me and one or two friends/bloggy buddies, in which case I would just be too sad to post, being so thoroughly humiliated in my first swap attempt. —Why, no—did that sound like I was trying to guilt trip you into joining? I really hope not. Because, you know, I would never dream of doing such a thing!

Hope to have you on board!

(Here's the code I used to insert the swap logo into my sidebar, in the Blogger template:)

<h2 class="sidebar-title">City Swap - Sign Up By Nov. 15!</h2><ul>
<a href="http://athomerome.blogspot.com/2006/10/great-international-
city-swap.html">
<img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/57/3665/200/swaplogo.gif"
alt="Great International City Swap" border="0"> </a>
</ul>

Update: And, we're off! Here's the final list of participants and their cities. A great and diverse group of people from all over. Why not stop by their blogs and see what they're up to?

• African Kelli


• Angie


• Assignment Alaska


• Dorothy


• Ebony & Ivory


• Empty Elizabeth


• Finny Knits


• How Apropos


• Kathleen


• La Dolce Vita


• Linda


• Lost in Place


• Mad Cronicles


• Maryann


• Mingaling


• Nicole


• Quasi Italiana!


• Rachael


• Sarcomical


• Somewhat Refined


• Texas Espresso


• Toni


• Triple Creme


• Writing Aspirations

And Their Cities Are:

• Atlanta, Georgia


• Astoria, New York


• Cottage Grove, Minnesota


• Eagle River, Alaska


• Eielson AFB, Alaska


• Fargo, North Dakota


• Fishers, Indiana


• Hanover, Indiana


• Indianapolis, Indiana


• Jordan, New York


• Los Angeles, California


• Palmer, Alaska


• Portage, Michigan


• Port Orchard, Washington


• Rome, Italy


• Rowlett, Texas


• San Jose, California


• Sydney, Australia


• Tempe, Arizona


• Torino, Italy


• Washington, D.C.


• Winchester, Virginia


• Ypsilanti, Michigan

Cat on a Warm Terracotta Roof

Caught this cat in action from the little back balcony of my apartment. Looks strangely similar to one of my cats, Pavel (a.k.a. Pavel Cow Cat), but perhaps a few kilos lighter. Hence the Cow part of the name. Claims have been made that Pavel, being a unique hybrid cat-cow, can be milked (#4), but don't believe them. Even if Jessica did manage to bring him a minature cowbell on her recent visit. Not sure if the cow cat will take to it though. I haven't tried yet. He's been too busy eating. (Folks, really. I do measure his food. I think he gains just by looking at it. And for the record, two different Italian vets laughed at me when I asked if he should go on a diet. "Really, you Americans and your diets...") One Italian lady who works at the cat shelter, when informed of Pavel's "big boned" condition following his adoption, said not to worry until his belly starts touching the ground ("quando la panza tocca per terra"). Using that as my standard, we're still ok. For a while.

Well, I guess one of these days we will have to chat about my adopted Largo Argentina cats. It's not every day you can adopt a brother and sister pair of cats from the exact spot where Julius Caesar was assassinated. Or, so they say. Et tu, Pavel? ("Mooooeow"!)

When Ischia Becomes ICK-ia

I struggle to type on a wet keyboard, as my tears flow for beloved Finny’s departure this morning… buon viaggio! Italy will miss you!

Oh, the stories, folks. I will leave FK to tell you most of them, but there is one in particular that I have to relate, since it is my big, fat fault that the whole tale unraveled in the first place.

I know you must have one of these stories too. Oh, please tell me you do.

That “I-booked-a-hotel-so-horrible-I-had-to-laugh-to-keep-from-crying” story.

Well, if I didn’t have one before, I sure do now.

Wanting to give one my best friends in the whole world a grand tour of the lovely isle of Ischia, I bravely ventured into uncharted territory: vacation accommodation planning. Seeing as how I run vacation accommodations, you would think this would be my specialty; however, even though I know what I like and try my best to provide that for my special guests, I don’t have a knack for finding great places. Actually, I just always leave it to Ale, who loves it and does a great job. But since he was down playing on the movie set (pics out in this week’s Italian Vanity Fair—I will post if I can get a hold of mine and Ale’s photo with “DJ”), I was faced with the dilemma.

All the good ideas come in hindsight. Like: dummy, you should have just asked Tracie B. But, alas… I didn’t.

Instead, I ventured out on my own. Mind you, I did do my homework. Here are the titles for the first 5 comments that come up for the place in Trip Advisor:

1) “Peaceful setting”
2) “Lovely”
3) “A wonderful relaxing holiday”
4) “Great place”
5) “Highly recommended”

Now, Trip Advisor has never steered me wrong, so I thought I was really onto something.

So, let me now commence with my TOP 10 SIGNS THAT YOU HAVE BOOKED A BAD HOTEL:

1) Upon arrival, your host hands you an opened package of toilet paper with two remaining rolls, smiling: “I don’t normally supply my guests with toilet paper, but…” (BUT, what? I’m special?)
2) When you pull up, there is an illuminated picture of a saint, perhaps the patron saint of the hotel, clearly telling you to pray that you might have a nice room. (No help there.)


3) Beautiful flowers adorn the parking lot, alas, only to cover the garbage bins.

4) Symmetry is not a priority.

5) Lampshades are optional.
6) Owner remarks that the bay is just steps away, and that we are lucky because, and I quote: “a new, super convenient 200-step (yes, that’s TWO HUNDRED step) staircase has just been added!”
7) Looks like owner is attempting some kind of zen experiment in wall decoration.

8) After being handed your sheets to make your own bed (could possibly be #8b in and of itself), you find you were also given a hand-monogrammed bath towel, yet, strangely, the initials do not correspond to anything or anyone you are aware of, as owner’s name starts with a “P.” (Have we stumbled upon a new phenomenon of hotel owners stealing towels from hotel guests? Could be an ironic role reversal.) I later realize that the initials might correspond to two words in the four-word hotel name. Guess the owner didn't want to buy the extra consonants.
9) Patio described as molto bello by owner has "dog issues." (Which I will link to, however not photographically, as soon as FK elaborates, since it was on her patio and this is her cleverly-worded term for the problem.)

10) Your friend turns to you rather desperately, telling you: “I don’t think there’s a shower in my bathroom.” (Um, that would be the big spigot sticking out of the wall. It’s continuing with that whole zen theme, no shower curtain or shower stall needed, just go ahead and spray all over the toilet, sink, clean and formerly dry clothes, etc.)

Oh, the horror of it all. And yet, a silver lining. After many ha has over our misfortune, we take the extreme opposite route and resolve for our next night to find the “most scrumptiousest” (see #7) hotel on the island, or at least the town of Forio on the island. Our search started and ended at the lovely and most scrumptious Hotel Villa Carolina, where we traded views of flower-laden dumpsters and dog issues for this:



So, all’s well that ends well. Sigh. Thank God for low-maintenance friends with a healthy sense of humor and sense of adventure, as my little mishap could have easily sent another less patient person a-packin’. Grazie Finny!

Rome As I See It (Due)

A sunny window seen in Trastevere

PS: Finny has arrived and will be keeping us all posted on her/our Roman adventures.

Music to My Ears

I live above a restaurant. What this basically means is that, as long as the weather is nice, I get serenaded about 2-4 times daily. It’s usually twice at lunch and twice at dinner. This seems charming the first time. But it’s been about 5 years now, and I can tell you: they only have about 3 songs in their entire repertoire. I’m not complaining. But you can set a watch by it, and I think by now I could sing all the words to “Besame Mucho” in my sleep. (Why is a song in Spanish one of the 3? I don’t know.)

And not only music, my friends. There is also a mago (magician) in a shiny red suit and top hat, who is my absolute personal neighborhood favorite. He walks around with an electronic bullhorn that he uses to periodically interrupt his magic show with the following (sung):
“A-Oh, A-Oh, Na Na Na Oh.”

Gotta get a picture of him for you one of these days. His “tricks” consist of: a plastic magic wand that a plastic flower pops out of; a Plexiglas box that, when tapped with a magic plastic bone, produces silk handkerchiefs; and a tie that, when stroked, stands on end. But I digress, and this is a G-rated blog (his show is full of “subtle innuendo”). Whenever I see the mago on the streets of my neighborhood, I start singing his catch phrase and he is always kind enough to raise the bullhorn and give me a “shout out.” Love that guy. He once told us he even does weddings (mental note to self: book mago). But he only stops by “our” restaurant once in a blue moon. I guess he has other hot spots in the neighborhood that pay better.

Last summer there was an opera singer. He came by every lunchtime and dinnertime and started up with “O Sole Mio,” completely a cappella. Now that takes guts. So, this was OK, until some neighbor of mine, who to this day remains anonymous, decided he (or she) had had just about enough. Thus began the street war of the opera singer versus the CD of Italian lullabies. It was a bitter feud. Every time Mr. Opera came by, he’d manage only a few notes before Mr. Lullaby put in his CD and cranked up his incredibly powerful stereo system full blast, drowning out “Sannnnnta Cecccilllliaaa” with “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” and about a half-hour more of children’s music sung in Italian by an overly enthusiastic woman. I think Mr. Lullaby won in the end, because I seldom see Mr. Opera anymore, although he was back about a month ago, for a while, and no children’s music came from any windows…so maybe he’s got his courage back.

Currently there’s a 3-man band that stops by, complete with a bass fiddle. They play some rousing tune and every few beats or so chime in harmony: “OH! CHA CHA!” The dining crowds go wild for them. I continue to hear their bass fiddle in my sleep.

My guests have never complained, probably because it is charming if you’re only here for a few days, and it’s never past about 10 pm, so it never interferes with anyone’s beauty sleep. Plus, my side of the neighborhood isn’t really even the touristy side, so relatively speaking, I don’t get too many entertainers. But if you live here, it does lend a certain “My house must have been built on a stage” atmosphere to your surroundings.

Well, with all this talk about street performers under my very window, how could I not share today’s lunchtime serenade with you? Here was our run-of-the-mill accordion player, bravely avoiding the mini traffic jam that piled up on my cobblestone street, when a mini Italian garbage truck passed through. Ready to sing along?

The Sandwich Doctors

That friendly face is Fabio, one half of the fantastic two-man team at the Isola del Panino. Delightfully dubbed “the sandwich doctors” by the students I used to work with, because of the white lab coats they don when they get down to work in their panino laboratory.

Isola del Panino (Sandwich Island) was born about two years ago in the area of Largo Argentina. It was a genius concept: make sandwiches, lots of them, and cheap. Yes, I know: there are snack bars everywhere, overflowing with panini and tramezzini, you say. But, allow me to tell you why I think the sandwich doctors are far superior to a mere bar.

1) A little haven of civilization in the crazy Roman world of elbowing to get to the front of the non-existent line. Please take note of the photo below:

Do you notice anything out of the ordinary? Look closely.

Yes, it is precisely the presence of an electronic numbering system. This may seem petty and insignificant to many of you, but if you live in Rome, you know how frustrating it can be that lines don’t exist, and when they do, some people feel completely entitled to blatantly cut in front of you. This phenomenon has so permeated my very being that the last time I was back in the States, waiting in line to pay for something, I saw a woman out of the corner of my eye getting close to me, and I physically shifted where I was standing to subtly block her from cutting me in line. Then, I came to my senses and realized that I was no longer in Rome, therefore, could rest assured that people would politely take their turn.

So, when Fabio and his partner Sergio installed the numbering system after about a month or two of total and complete mayhem at lunch hour, I was incredibly impressed. What a bold move in this world of line-cutters! In fact, the reaction of the newbies upon entering the shop for the first time is quite interesting. Many scoff at the fact that they have to “take a number,” but Fabio and Sergio are democratic strongholds in their world of sandwich-making.

2) The cost of a sandwich at Isola is a mere €2,30.

It used to be €2 when they first opened. The bar across the street, last time I checked, was charging no less than €10 (nearly $13) for “American breakfast,” consisting of: coffee, orange juice, and toast with jam. Let’s face it: in the historic center of Rome, the tourist is like an animal during hunting season, practically walking around with a flashing neon bull’s-eye posted on his forehead. In a sea of hungry hunters, Isola is a safe haven of honest service.

3) The panini are yummy!

Made to order, you choose the bread, the meat, the toppings: folks, it’s practically the Italian version of Subway, without the eyeball-scorching yellow. Or, you can order one of the many sandwiches ready to go in the display case. Sergio even speaks English because he lived in Australia for a while.

Take a look, then stop in and say hi. You just might see Fabio hanging out front, ready to perform sandwich surgery in his white lab coat.