ROMA, ITALY, Monday, March 28, 2011 – We woke to the boom and crack of thunder and lightning and a torrential downpour. It was very exciting, but we were a little nervous because we were on the top of a hill. Will slept through it, but Rick and I took it as a sign from Jove that we should not be leaving Italy. Actually, Rick said it was probably a sign from our Zeus that we should get our selves aka (#@*#) home.

We headed out into the rain about 11 a.m., sad to leave the “castle” but we were still arguing about the evening before. Sunday night, we had settled into the wonderful reading room in the castle proper, with its groin-arched ceilings and dark bookcases full of books on Tuscany, along with a fireplace, and we had started a family game of Scrabble. Will and I were holding our own, when Rick somehow turned Will’s “rib” into “ribsteak” for a whopping 45 points! (He’d tried for “het” earlier and we shot him down, arguing only people from Junction City use a word like het.) (There was another argument about rules, on which even the cameriere named Alessandro, whom Will loved because he offered unlimited supplies of orange soda, offered his opinion). Anyhow, Rick crushed us!) We were still licking our wounds when we took off in a downpour this morning, which seemed appropriate (Il peure dans mon coeur quand il pleure dans la ville… you know the rest), because we are sad to be leaving Italy.

We drove the same route to Montalpuciano we did on Saturday, but this time we made the mistake of letting Will watch a movie. About 45 minutes into the ride, he said, “I don’t feel well.” He managed to hold it until we pulled over, and he lost his breakfast on the roadside . What control, that boy. We changed his clothes and on we went. He recovered for the rest of the 3-hour drive to Tivoli, which I had been so excited to see. Rick did an amazing job of driving in very challenging conditions – first the fog and rain and winding roads of the mountains, then the aggressive and even more dangerous timid drivers on the autostrada, or freeway.

We did have a thrilling moment on the autostrada when we saw an exit for Attigliano, which we figured must be the castle of a long-lost German relative. So it turns out Rick is Italian! We need to look it up, but it was quite fun to see that the Attig goths/gauls/barbarians of some kind had made it this far south. Go Attiglianos!

Finally, we arrived at Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli, which was beyond what I had imagined. Hadrian, an early 2nd century AD emperor who was a great admirer of Greece, had built an enormous private villa outside Rome. With multiple bath complexes, a fish pond, gardens, the recreation of a canal in Egypt where his beloved Antinous (we’ve seen about 1,000 statues of him in Rome) died, Greek and Latin libraries, even a personal retreat on a tiny island with a moat – it was a child’s dream of ruins. We were very tired, and had had no lunch, but Will was totally energized. Unfortunately, Rick’s camera had lost its battery, so I only have photos from my iPhone.

Rick then expertly managed our (sometimes hair-raising) drive around Rome to our hotel at the airport. We get up at an ungodly hour tomorrow and will be home by midday Tuesday. We miss our Zeus.

SIENA, ITALY, Sunday, March 27, 2011 — We drove to Siena today, a town beloved for its central, crescent-shaped, sloping piazza, its fine cathedral and Medieval and Renaisssance art and architecture. It was Sunday, so many shops and restaurants were closed, but it was still too busy for Will, who declared he like Piena (aka Pienza) better than Sienza.

It wasn’t the only mixing up to be had. We think he’s been cured of it now, but Rick had been crashing all the women’s restrooms (“What does Donne mean, honey?”). And my favorite, which was yesterday after we heard the Benedictine friars singing Gregorian chant at the abbey of Sant’ Antimo, “So honey, what kind of Buddhists were those?” I’m sure I’ve done plenty of mixing up myself — I’m just too clueless to know exactly what…. But I guess that’s what throwing yourself into another culture does. (Like I called them monks earlier, when apparently they are called friars because they are from a mendicant order, not cloistered, but feel free to correct me on that.)

While we were Siena, Rick and Will climbed the 14th-century Torre di Mangia (or Eater’s tower), which at 102 meters is apparently one of the tallest secular towers in Italy. It was about 500-steps of claustrophobic hell — especially for someone afraid of heights, like me — and just the thought of it gave me a panic attack.

So I went to the museum next door in the Palazzo Pubblico, while the boys braved the climb. It was apparently so narrow in places Rick’s shoulders hit both sides of the stairwell — and even Rick (who is not afraid of heights) said he got a shaky, vertigo feeling at the top. I was happy with my choice, and the chance to see the 14th-century fresco “Good Government/Bad Government” by Ambrogio Lorenzetti. The colors popped, and it gave you a wonderful view of Siena 600 years ago. A real treat.

Finally, we had some pasta and pizza and a celebratory glass of Brunello wine and headed back to the castle for our last night in Tuscany. We have one more full day in Italy, with a stop at Tivoli on Monday. We are sad the trip is coming to an end, but as Rick would say about himself, “That cat’s had it!”

POGGIA ALLA MURA, ITALY, Saturday, March 26, 2011 — So we woke to beautiful sunshine and a view of the Tuscan vineyards known for its Brunello wine stretching out below us. We love the window coverings in Italy — here they are dark wooden shutters that are not only lovely but completely block out the light. We speculate that Italians are good at blocking the morning sunshine because everyone dines so late. But maybe it really has to do with keeping out the daytime heat. In any case, it’s glorious for sleeping in — unless you have a 7-year-old German girl and her mother in severe high-heels pounding over your head all night. The building is 200-plus-years old right? Well, if you know me, you know I’m fairly copacetic about most things — except people keeping me up at night — especially if you have to hear them every time they get up to use the bathroom in the night. I felt terrible about complaining about such a lovely place, but it was totally harshing my mellow.

So after an amazing breakfast of poached eggs, bread with the most delicious apricot marmalade, and three kinds of pecorino cheese for which the region is known (Will prefers the aged variety), I made inquiry whether the gazelle upstairs was staying on. Yes, our entire stay. But it just so happened another room was available — not much of a view but a better room. Well Will dissolved in tears because he had “bonded” with the other room, and Rick was grumpy because he wanted to get touring. But I did what my Grandma Norma, my dad’s mother, would have done. I dug in my heels and got everyone to pack up their stuff and move. I felt bad, but I also felt the spirit of my stubborn grandma, whom I remember once refusing to budge from the lobby of a hotel in Hawaii until she was given the poolside room she had been promised — and paid for. So here’s to you Grandma! We will have what the Italians call “Golden Dreams” tonight.

We are now settled in our perfectly quiet room (watch an Italian rock band set up to practice below us now..) and reveling in another wonderful day in Italy. After breakfast, we headed out to see some of the hill towns of southern Tuscany. The guidebooks were right — the valleys run north-south, and we went east east east, so we took some twisting and turning that unfortunately also turned Will’s stomach.

We started off the day by taking the wrong road (yes, my fault) but it was a lovely white-gravel road through the Brunello vineyards of the Castello Banfi; golden stone houses, rolling vistas, we even saw a man on horseback. We managed to get back on track with a “short-cut” to the famed Abbey at Sant’ Antimo — it was a gravel road worthy of Thompson lake — we followed three motorcycles whose occupants seemed to be having less fun than us over the rocky, winding road. We finally emerged to a lovely 12th century Romanesque church tucked into a little valley (lavender in summer) below a hilltop town. There were lines of the iconic cypress trees, a sky filled with puffy clouds and a cool breeze. We kept pinching ourselves to make sure it was real.

We got there just in time to catch the monks’ sixth prayer of the day — they chant in Latin at regular times during the day. We took a seat in a pew at the back and took in the scene: Rays of sunlight slanting in the high windows, the simple, unadorned surfaces of the high vaulted ceiling, the views of the Tuscan countryside through windows behind the altar and a lovely double-arched window at the back looking out on the sky. The monks’ voices were lovely, rising and falling and stretching out the single word Domine over about 20 syllables, so lyrical and evocative. It felt very holy. The nice man who tended the place — and shook his keys whenever some obnoxious visitor actually took a photograph during the chant — showed me a book that held all the prayers, in Latin and Italian, so we could follow along.

We then headed out to the Renaissance hilltop town of PIenza, a small, manageable town with a nice vibe. Will declared he likes the Renaissance, just not Renaissance painting. Which was OK since we are avoiding painting. Will and I pop into every church we come by, but just stick to the main aisles and focus on architecture: “See it’s a Roman basilica, notice the columns — what are the capitals?” That sort of stuff. We had a nice lunch at a trattoria filled with children, which seemed charming at first, until the children of two families basically started to riot, crashing into my chair and continuing the theme of the child last night. We barely escaped (but the lunch was good — Will had the regional Pici pasta, and Rick and I tried Gnocchi — Rick had the wild boar gnocchi — he so desperately wants to go boar hunting while we are here!) Pienza is one of dozens of hill towns on top of seemingly every promontory in southern Tuscany; gorgeous sweeping views all around.

Next we motored on to Montalpuciano, famous for its wines, and walked up its straight but charming streets to a fortress at the very top. We couldn’t enter, unfortunately, but we picked up some pecorino cheese and Tuscan salami for dinner on our way back down. We had planned on going to Montalcino today as well, and have dinner, but ran out of time and energy, so we headed home in the sunset, tired but relaxed at the same time.

The boys are now in the other room watching “Asterix” on Italian TV. It’s time for that pecorino and salami!!!

NEAR MONTALCINO, ITALY, Friday, March 25, 2011 — It was another day of adventures for Will, who yesterday declared at breakfast he wanted to “Seize the day and shake it around.”

We started by leaving our newly beloved Rome with a great cab ride to the airport — the driver inadvertently drove us past many of the main sites — the Piazza Venezia with its Victor Emmanuel Monument and the Capitoline Hill, the Jewish Ghetto and its Augustan-era Theatre of Marcellus, the Palatine Hill with its ancient crumbling vaults towering over the now barren Circus Maximus, a chunk of the 4th century BC wall built after the barbarians sacked the city, even an Augustan-era tomb in the shape of a pyramid (when things from the recently conquered Egypt were all the rage.)

We then rented a car at the airport, and Capt. Rick bravely seized the controls. We had an uneventful drive up to the ancient Etruscan necropolis at Cerveteri, about 20 minutes north of Rome. The necropolis is essentially a city of the dead, a large area filled with tombs built by the Etruscans starting in about the 9th century BC through at least the 6th century BC (rough dates, I’m riffing). The weather was gorgeous, birds twittering, butterflies flitting, the whole bit, making what is essentially an ancient cemetery quite lovely. Also, much to Will’s delight, we had the place to ourselves. He declared it was even better than Pompeii, and it was very amazing. The tombs were either carved into the tufa stone, or carved and then built up with blocks of stone topped by earth. Vegetation covered the tops of the mostly circular tombs, which had doorways reminiscent of the tombs in Bronze Age Greece.

Will loved going into the tombs, which were carved to be shaped like the homes of the living. In one tomb, there were two carved columns topped by Corinthian capitals, special rooms for the dead with platforms that looked like beds. Because I had dragged Rick and Will to the Etruscan museum yesterday, where we saw the splendor of the imported Greek pottery, Etruscan bronze work, jewelry etc. found in these very graves, it was not hard to visualize the care and love and respect that people took when preparing family members for the hereafter. Many of the tombs were flooded, which made Will sad for the people who were buried there.

We then motored north to Tuscany, where we have settled into a 200-plus-year-old building-turned-hotel on the grounds of a hilltop castle near Montalcino. We are getting settled, going to have dinner here tonight, and set to explore southern Tuscany, including Siena, over the weekend.

ROME, ITALY, Thursday, March 24, 2011 — Rick laid down the law today: we must sleep in, no agenda, and at most two museums. OK, so I let them sleep until 9. And we spent at least 30 minutes relaxing on a very tiny but busy piazza near the parliament building at Caffe’ Sant’ Eustachio (Rick was gracious and took the chair inches from traffic.) (It was especially busy and full of security because we believe we saw Berlusconi duck into the government building just before we had coffee.) But after that, all bet’s were off.

We headed off to climb to the top of Castel San’ Angelo, built in the 2nd Century AD for the Emperor Hadrian’s tomb and and later converted into a fortress and later a hideout for the popes. But on the way we just happened to pass by the Palazzo Altemps, another of Rome’s amazing national museums. And I mean it, it was an accident. I asked if we could just “pop in,” and they couldn’t refuse me. An amazing palazzo filled with gorgeous ancient sculpture. Small detour, none hurt.

We then trekked to the top of Hadrian’s tomb for a spectacular view of the city. It was worth the climb — the dome of St. Peter’s rising to the west, all the places we’ve visited –the Campidoglio, Victor Emanuel Monument — everything but the ancient ruins, which were blocked by the newer monuments facing the Vatican. There was also a cool museum on armaments that Will grooved on.

We then tried to find a recommended restaurant, but couldn’t, so ducked into a tres chi restaurant called Fleur, and the second we sat down, we thought, “Oh no we are going to get “hosed.”” in Rick’s words. It was a “tea bar,” with only like four menu items, and a kind of Abercrombie and Fitch meets Zen ambiance. Well it was expensive, but not as bad as we thought, and the food was amazing. (We actually paid more for a worse meal elsewhere). It was the best we’ve had in Rome, and has me dreaming of how to recreate the couscous shrimp dish I had after we get home.

We then had a forced march to the Gallerie Borghese (Rick Steves failed us here — we should have taken a taxi — it was a long hot unpleasant hike through an underground tunnel and a “park” that makes Avery Park (or Waterfront Park) seem like Queen’s gardens. The Borghese, which requires a reservations and limits attendance, was amazing — from the ancient mosaics in the entry-way to the marbled walls, the frescoed ceilings, the Baroque statues of Bernini alongside reproductions of classical sculpture — it was all so over-the-top. Every surface was tricked out. There were some haunting Caravaggios, but we didn’t really get to enjoy the painting gallery because Will was so traumatized by the paintings of the Christian martyrs at the Vatican that he now “hates painting” and only wants to see sculpture. Damn. Well, I don’t blame him, you never know what you are going to see in Renaissance art.

Finally, because Will felt badly for rushing me through the Borghese, he agreed to go to the one museum I was really dying to see — the Villa Giulia, with its unbelievable collection of Etruscan art and ancient Greek ceramics, among other things. But it was the museum too far. First, there was a TV crew doing a piece on two uber-famous vases the New York Met had to return to Italy — we got to see the vases, one by Euphronius — but they kept shushing us and were totally rude. I felt like telling them they ought to return some of the Greek treasures I was seeing to Athens, but thought better of it. Anyhow, the museum was a budding archaeologist’s dream, but it is one of the places we will have to go back to. And that is the really good news: Rick is even talking of one day coming back to Rome!

We finally caught a cab back home, and are unwinding (well not really, I’m blogging and Rick is washing clothes and packing). We are heading out soon for our last dinner in Rome, for now, at lovely place called La Gensola. Then tomorrow, we rent a car and head to the countryside, where, I’m sure to Rick’s relief, there really aren’t any museums. But I do have an ancient Etruscan necropolis on the agenda for the morning… we’ll just pop in, it’s just off the autostrada…..

NAPLES, ITALY, Wednesday, March 23, 201 — Hold on to your belongings because Naples will take everything, including your breath, away. Pickpockets and scammers are there to greet you when get off the fast train from Rome. The taxi driver has a scheme to take you for an extra five euros, or on the longest, wildest roundabout ride of your life to the national archaeological museum that’s only about a mile away, if he would only take the most direct route there.

We reluctantly chose the latter option, and careened down the overwhelmed streets of Naples and managed, within 20 unforgettable minutes, to hit two pedestrians and narrowly miss scores more. No one was seriously hurt, we think, but one thump nearly took off a side mirror and the second perhaps left a slight dent in the hood. Not to worry: Everything and everyone in Naples seems to be wounded in some way. I have no pictures, because I was reluctant to risk taking out my camera, even to capture the faded beauty of the colorful buildings and full-of-life streets. The museum was a metaphor for this fascinating and broken city, home to a world-class collection of statuary, mosaics and painted walls from Pompeii and Rome but carelessly maintained, only partially open and lacking lighting in several key rooms. However, I did note that the room full of pornographic mosaics and other brothel art from Pompeii, described to Will as the “Naughty Room,” was very well lit. (BTW he did not see the naughty room.) And so it goes in Naples, a city we will never forget, but were nonetheless relieved to put in our rear view mirror.

Pompeii, though, we will happily carry with us forever. The shattered top of Mount Vesuvius, a huge dark shadow looming over the once thriving resort town near the sea, with gorgeous villas, more modest homes, bakeries, a theater, music hall and even an amphitheater for gladiatorial games. Once we escaped the tour groups at the entrance, we were entranced by the long empty stone streets, creased by ancient ruts, studded with large elevated paving stones so you could cross the street without getting your feet wet. The shells of once luxurious villas stood roofless, often blocked off to visitors, but inside, they held marvels of wall frescoes, statuary (mostly at the Naples museum), and floor mosaics. Around every corner, we’d run into little thermapolea, the ancient version of fast-food restaurants, with very modern looking stone-tiled counters, with basins to hold the hot food. We saw mill-stones and pizza ovens, gorgeous peristyle courts and basins for catching rainwater. Everywhere, Will spotted lizards darting up the exposed brick walls.

We walked and walked in the brilliant sunshine, Will darting in and out of the maze of rooms, some still carrying remnants of spectacular wall paintings, strolling through the grassy amphitheater, where gladiators battled to the death. We saw the Villa of the Mysteries, with its gorgeous wall frescoes, narrated for us by a Japanese tour guide, the only other people who ventured that far out of the city walls. They marveled at Will, dodging one of the sweet but hungry dogs, who roamed the villa. Inu wa inu, they said. Dogs will be dogs.

Finally, we made it back to Rome, so glad to be back in a somewhat less chaotic city. The crazy driving here seems so tame compared to Napoli. We had a lovely dinner at Costanze, an old restaurant set into the theater of Pompey, where Julius Caesar was murdered. It was lovely, the food very good, and we are now ready to collapse.

I hope everyone is well. We decided tonight at dinner that Rome is our favorite city in Europe. You must all visit some time….

ROME, ITALY, Tuesday, March 22, 2011 — Tonight, we’ve decided to give you a few snapshots of favorite moments we don’t want to forget:

Boys brave the restroom in restaurant at lunch. Boys arrive back in hysterics with wet hands. Will had been unable to operate the cloth towel-roller. Dad says, “Let me show you!” and grabbed the cloth with both hands and ripped it off the wall. Will’s eyes widen. We pay the bill and leave quickly.

First nice dinner in Rome, at Il Bacaro, a lovely little restaurant in the historical center near our hotel. We dine like the Romans at 8 p.m. OK, so the restaurant was empty because real Romans dine much later. But still. Will in super bad mood — tired, hungry, you name it. We order orrechiette with broccoli and truffles, along with a bean-based soup for him and hope for the best. Rick gets mad because I order two appetizers — huh? I was thinking one starter and a main dish — is that so weird? I guess he’s in a food-mood too. So we are served a lovely dinner, with wonderful service, lovely ambiance, the whole experience you would imagine a dinner in Rome to be. But Will is grumpy, Rick is grumpy and it makes me super grumpy. Wine arrives and things are a little better. But then the first appetizer — duck pate. Will hates his soup, hates his pasta. Want some duck? we ask. Will bites. Then bites again. And nearly eats all the pate until he suddenly says, “Tastes like dog.” And puts it down. We break out in hysterics. We find out tonight he meant it tastes like the time he returned Zeus’s kiss by licking Zeus’s fur. Gross. But actually the pate was fabulous. We have not yet told him it was duck liver. Go Ducks!

We spent the morning at the national museum at the Palazzo Massimo viewing statues and busts of emperors both blood-thirsty and benevolent, empresses, and normal Roman aristocrats with enough money to commission statues of themselves. Unlike the Greeks, who loved perfection, the Romans were into realism, and wanted themselves portrayed as they really were, literally warts and all, to a point. We loved this one statue with the head of an elderly Roman man, wrinkled and losing his hair, and the body of a Greek god. So we all tried to decide on the statues we want to commission when we get home — Rick’s head on the Discobolus, my head on the crouching Aphrodite, and Will as the famous sculpture of a boy removing a thorn from his foot. Anyhow, it was hilarious to us; maybe you had to be there.

Will has taken to asking for the check, “Il conto, per favore,” impressing all the waiters. “Subito, signore,” they respond, “Right away, sir.” He does not hesitate to speak Italian, and had a little exchange in the elevator. “Grazie,” he said, as the man held the door for us. “Di niente,” responded the man, it was nothing.

While Will (nor Rick) has quite my passion for ancient Greek ceramics, Will surprises me at every turn. I think he’s not listening to my endless talks about history, Greek and Roman art, etc. etc., and then I turned to him yesterday at the Vatican museums and pointed to a pot and said, “So Will, what do you make of this?” “Dark ages,” he said, referring to a mysterious time between about 1100 BC and 900 BC when some catastrophe happened and cultures in the Mediterranean contracted severely. The pot was crudely made, had some decoration, but not well-wrought. He had nailed it. The label said 10th to 9th C. BC. My little archaeologist….

Anyhow, for our mothers, and Kym and Anne, who are the only ones who really love us (perhaps including Mike Francis, I mean, Zeus) here is the rundown of the day. Slept in, had Rome’s reputed best coffee at Sant’ Eustachio (standing up at the bar, which freaked Rick out) near the Pantheon, then amazing Roman and Greek sculpture at the National Museum at the Palazzo Massimo, including some amazing frescoes and mosaics. We then took a peek in the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli (the former baths of Diocletian) but despite it’s Michelangelo-esque splendor, was too literal for Will. He wanted ruins, not some baths turned into a church.

So off to the mind-blowingly enormous Baths of Caracalla — massive atmospheric brick and concrete 3rd century AD baths on a scale hard to imagine. Very beautiful and evocative and room for an 8-year-old’s mind (and body) to wander. One disturbing note, according to Will: We were trying to find the metro station, and I saw some Japanese tourists who looked like they knew where they were going, and I COULDN’T ask them how to find the station, perhaps the easiest thing in the Japanese language to say!!! My brain is fried on Italian.

Then on to the Jewish Ghetto, where we had a much anticipated lunch (2:30 p.m. very Roman) of carciofi alla guidea (Jewish-style artichokes, which I unfortunately called carciofi alla guida, or driver’s artichokes, sounds similar, eh?) and some excellent pasta at Al Pompiere, a lovely oasis. The Jewish ghetto was extremely interesting, with 1st C. BC ruins juxtaposed against the 1943 horrors of Nazi deportations in one tiny square.

We then wandered through some lovely old streets, including the “old bank” and the “new bank,” presumably for the changing whims of the nearby river, and back to our hotel. We were exhausted, but Rick insisted we cab to a little pizzeria he’d read about in the New York Times — very cutting edge, very trendy, very Portland. Well, it turned out to be a REALLY little pizzeria, with two tiny bar tables barely able to accommodate six people. Rick, ever adventurous, had me order four trapizzini — small calzone-like pizzas — in increasing order of challenge for an American eater — meatball, chicken cacciatore, oxtail, and intestines. Well, guess who got stuck with the intestines. Yes, yours truly. But guess what? It was the best of the bunch. Absolutely fantastic. I hardly wanted to share a bite with Rick. Anyone who is going to Rome anytime soon, check out PIzzeria 00100 in Testaccio. Boy, it’s great having such an adventurous husband and son!

But as we headed out of the pizzeria, my stomach full of tripe and beer, I went to the counter to pay, and my brain tried to churn up the words, “I’d like to pay” or “How much is it” or “What do we owe you” but I just sort of gestured, and the proprietor looked concerned, and asked if everything was “buono” or good. I said “Buonissimo” meaning super good, and then he smiled and said, “Il conto?” I said, “Si, il conto, per favore.”

ROME, ITALY, Monday, March 21, 2011 — OK, so don’t get excited: Rick didn’t really find Jesus, but he did discover a new-found love for the great Renaissance painter Raffaello Sanzio, also known as Raphael, when we ventured into the Vatican Museums’ Pinoteca and stood before his great “Transfiguration.” After rooms of Medieval flat-perspective paintings, we entered the farthest room and boom, there it was, a huge wall-sized painting with heavenly blues, beautiful roses and greens, twisted passionate human figures pointing many directions but all leading your eye up, up, up to a beautiful, very human figure of Jesus, arms raised, seemingly bursting forth from the clouds. It was a wow moment.

Unfortunately, we had then to pass (increasingly quickly) some pretty grisly Caravaggios, and a really hairy painting of poor St. Peter being crucified upside down, and some other horrific martyr paintings that traumatized Will, (I just hope he missed the two flaying paintings that turned my stomach) who only began speaking again after we ducked into the very safe wing housing funeral inscriptions and sarcophagi from Ancient Rome.

Will then hit his stride identifying emperors, finding the Laocoon sculpture of the doomed Trojan priest and his sons that so inspired Michelangelo, an enormous porphyry tub used by Nero, and other treasures stolen, I mean, collected by the Popes over the centuries. (As Rick commented as we gazed on the gigantic Baldacchino, or cover, over the altar in St. Peter’s Basilica — it’s harder to appreciate it knowing the bronze was taken from the Pantheon. The ancient sites were merely a quarry for the Church to glorify itself and show its supposed superiority over the pagan past. But don’t get me going…)

Anyhow, my big quest for the day was to find the 6th century BC black-figure amphora by Exekias that shows Achilles playing a board game against Ajax. There are a lot of pots at the Vatican, and I described the amphora to Will and he went after it, finding it after just a few minutes. I’d obviously only seen the vase in pictures, and seeing it in person gave me chills, like the time we saw the great funeral urns in the national museum at Athens. It really is a breath-taking piece of work, with amazing detail on their cloaks, beautiful feet, just a tour de force. But don’t get me going….

But the third most breathtaking thing of the day was the hours-long, seemingly not-moving line leading to the ticket booth to get into the museum. Not to gloat or anything, but every guide book in the world tells you to buy your ticket in advance on-line, and so we did that a few weeks ago. We breezed in 30 minutes before the museum even opened. When we left the museum, we were appalled at the line — it literally went at least a half mile, maybe not quite that far, but it was unbelievable. I’m sorry, but no museum can be worth standing in line that long.

After the Vatican and a visit to St. Peter’s Basilica (Will loved the 6-foot-tall cherubs), we had a nice lunch of pasta and seafood at a classic, old Roman restaurant in the Prati neighborhood near Hadrian’s tomb (turned fortress hideout for the Popes, complete with secret underground passageway from the Vatican). We then decided to brave the lines at the Colosseo — which turned out to be nil. Will didn’t really like it, though, and I’m not sure why. He hates any place with lots of people — he loves to be able to wander and imagine. It’s also a grim place. Plus we saw such better preserved amphitheaters in the south of France — thanks Nigel! So then we walked back to our neighborhood and ducked into the Pantheon for the first time. The dome truly is amazing. It is hard to believe how well it has survived nearly two millennia; again, the fact that it was converted into a Christian church is the only thing that ensured its survival (OK, minus the bronze). As a special bonus, we came across Raphael’s tomb in the Pantheon.

We are now tired, but trying to hang in there for the late (for us, early for Romans) dinner hour of 8. We have reservations at one of the restaurants we were recommended by our friend the Portland restaurateur, and we are looking forward to our first sit-down dinner in Italy.

On another note, Mitchell tells us Zeus has yet to attack anyone. Also, we forgot to mention that as we first taxied into town on Saturday, we passed not one, but two, French bulldogs in one block, the first dogs we saw in Italy. Turns out the poor Romans were duped by their cute little faces as well. Rick is homesick for his dog. Seriously.

ROME, ITALY, Sunday, March 20, 2011 — So Rick and I woke at precisely 2 a.m. — five hours after falling asleep, not enough sleep after essentially an all-nighter getting here. We both feared we would never get to sleep again because of jet-lag, but to our surprise (and after I recounted the history of Rome in my head to 1) prepare for the tour tomorrow and 2) to make myself fall asleep) we all woke at 9:15 a.m. That meant Will got a full 13 hours of sleep. He was a nuovo uomo — a new man! After a great breakfast at the hotel (gotta love proscuitto and brie and roasted tomatoes with your caffe’), we headed out into the city that Will declared last night — “It’s the worst place we’ve ever been. You said there would be ruins around every corner” — when instead we dodged cars through trash-strewn streets searching for our (amazing) pizza place recommended by an Roman restaurateur from Portland — (plug for Lawrence McCormick at “Taste Unique” at SE Division and 20th — great Italian food by the nicest people.)

Well, today the story was different, and Will found his groove. We first dodged the other-abled marathoners in recumbent bikes cruising through the Piazza Navona for the Rome Marathon. We then walked by the Pantheon, but couldn’t go in because people were celebrating mass — it’s cool that people are still worshipping in a nearly 2,000-year-old temple dedicated to all the gods. We then wandered a few blocks south to the 4th century BC and younger temples at the Largo Argentino, followed by a walk by a few unmarked ruins — every few blocks! — and then crossed over the marathon route to hike up the steps designed by Michelangelo for Charles V up to the holiest ancient spot in Rome — the Capitoline hill. We spent an amazing few hours in the Capitoline Museums, especially excited by a special exhibit on power, which brought together some of the most famous sculptures of emperors in the world — busts from the Louvre, a bust of Julius Caesar from Berlin, the Capitoline Brutus. Will became adept at identifying the type of material — bronze, terracotta, marble — as well as the emperor. Such fun. Then some lovely ceramics, the 6th C. BC foundation of the original most-important super-cool temple of the Jupiter, Minerva and Juno built by the Etruscans — all topped by an elevator ride up to the top of the “modern” 100-year-old Victor Emanuel Monument for a panoramic view of the city. And that was just the beginning of our marathon.

While marathoners below collapsed and were carted off by ambulances, others walking, others running oh-so-slowly, we marched on our own private marathon down to the Roman Forum, the heart of ancient Rome, saw where Caesar was cremated and where Mark Anthony gave his famous speech, the Senate House where poor Cicero had his right hand and his tongue/head (not sure which) were nailed by the same Mark Anthony for saying probably justifiably nasty things about him, the house of the Vestal Virgins, on and on and on. It was amazing. Will couldn’t believe he could reach out and touch it all.

We then wandered the Palatine Hill, visited Augustus’s modest house, and completely exhausted, found a cool trattoria nearby filled with locals who teased me for my Italian, but still spoke it to me. Refreshed, we headed to one of the other highlights of the day for Will — the archaeological layers beneath the Church of St. Clement. We descended first to a 4th C. AD Christian church, then down to a 1st C. AD Mythraeum, a cult religion from Greece that was filled with echoes of the past and cool dark corridors and chambers. Will found a fragment of a column capital used as masonry and was quite jazzed about it.

Then, just because we were nearby, I persuaded them to go to the Markets of Trajan, which I had heard were not-to-be-missed, and I knew we would miss them unless we leapt at the chance. It turned out to be another highlight for Will — exploring amazing corridors and streets that were essentially the world’s first shopping mall, according to the wonderful Yale professor Diana Kleiner. We were there as the sun was setting, and the light was beautiful and atmospheric. Will was in heaven.

Then, since we had to walk home anyway, we took in the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps — Rick declared them just like the Eiffel Tower without the tower ie. way too many people, way too many people selling junk and souvenirs, way to many people trying to pick your pocket. So we made our way to the best gelato in Rome, according to our Lawrence and many others, Giolitti. We staggered past the Pantheon again, through the Piazza Navona, our legs aching like the poor post-marathoners we saw limping everywhere in the historic old center, and back to our room. Here we are relaxing, getting ready for another grueling and unforgettable day tomorrow at the Vatican. I hope all is well with everyone. For now, Buona Notte!