Theo Visits a 400 Year Old Cloister

 Valetta can be brutally hot in summer. As a tourist, you don't want to be roaming the streets in the afternoon. Even Theo admits--it's too hot, so we make a unanimous decision to find refuge, in much the same way as orphans did 400 years ago. St. Catherine's Monastery for female orphans, founded in 1575, still stands today. It no longer houses orphans, but it is still the refuge for a small group of nuns who live there. It is maintained by volunteers who come on a daily basis and tend the lovely garden, feed the animals that live there, and do whatever has to be done.

There is an interesting back story to how the orphanage came about. A marquis and his wife donated the building, formerly their palace Casa Vanilla, to say thank you to God for saving their son during a plague. They built a cloister and donated all their belongings after their death.

Entering this cloister is like walking back in time. Before electricity and running water and toilets, before radio and TV, before the internet, you can peek into the past and see what life was like when people made the decision to get away from it all.

Theo wants to go straight to the garden. He wants to sniff the flowers and trees. Dan and I, on the other hand, don't want to miss a thing so we decide to follow the placards carefully posted that identify the various rooms so we can see this old-fashioned world.

Our first room is where washing of clothes and linens were done. No, there is no washing machine. Instead, they used a large stone basin. 

Some of the brick walls are filled with religious photos. Now a days the walls also contain photos of the nuns who lived in the cloister.  We continue walking and discover a room filled with wash basins. When girls entered the convent to become a nun, part of the expected dowry from their family was often a zinc wash basin or a small wardrobe.

Girls did not always come willingly. Sometimes they were dragged to the cloister kicking and screaming by their families, who hoped living in the cloister would control their behavior. The cloister had a room called a control room where the troubled girls were kept until they conformed. It is small and sparse. 

 

Theo, ignoring the rope (where the door would have been) that says stay out, sniffs the basins and tables, trying, as we are, to make sense of a place that existed in a time that believed a girl's future could be determined by her family, that she might have little say in it.  We move onto the next area, but Theo stops with a pleading look in his eyes. 

"Okay. Okay. We'll visit the garden."

It is perfectly placed in the center of the cloister. The rooms surround it. You can access the garden from several doors. The sun shines in, and it is all greenery and flowers and fountains and statues. 

There is a small fountain. Water trickles from a spout to a wider basin below. Theo hears the water and rushes over. I'm thinking it is like our fountains at home that all the cats drink from, and Theo is  thirsty. But no, Theo stops and stares for another reason. 

Turtles. Two turtles live in the small basin. They blissfully swim around until they're tired and pause momentarily on the stones. They soon take off again, swimming faster than you would imagine, considering how slow they walk on land. 

Theo is mesmerized. He climbs to the top of the basin and leans over to get closer. There are times when I can read his mind.

"Do not go in that water."

He acts like he doesn't hear me. 

"Theo, if you go swimming in that water, you'll freak out the turtles. So don't do it."

Theo looks up, but I can't tell if he's agreeing with me or not. I wait. He continues to lean over and watch the turtles. 

I pull out my iPhone to take a video, but decide to take a moment to appreciate how peaceful and restful the garden is. I imagine the women who lived here during the centuries, how they must have enjoyed this space--the planting of vegetables and herbs, the fruit trees, the quiet and solitude of sitting on a bench . . . 

I hear it before I see it. The splash of water. It is either the turtles trying to escape or . . . I can't believe it. In that split second when I focus on taking the video, Theo jumps into the water. He misses one of the turtles by an inch or two. The water isn't deep, but I suspect that Theo didn't think it through. He jumps in, and now he panics. 

This is the kind of thing that can get you thrown out of cloister. It is a miracle that Theo is allowed to walk around and be a cat. Usually places say--only service animals allowed--and we sneak him in. But this is Valetta in Malta. 

It is not difficult to rescue Theo. Dan grabs on and lifts him out of the water, totally dripping. We have a few tissues with us but not enough to even begin to dry him off.

But Theo, a cat after all, gives a few shakes and the water shoots off in all directions. The front of Dan's shirt is soaked. Somehow I manage to avoid looking like I got caught in a rain shower.

All's well that ends well. "It actually feels quite good," Dan says. 

I secretly wish Theo had sprayed me. 

And, Theo? He doesn't care that he almost drowned a turtle. He doesn't care that he's leaving water spots on the stone floor as he traipses along, in search of another adventure. And that's the beauty of being a cat. He doesn't care.

   STAY TUNED TO PART 2 OF THE CLOISTER NEXT WEEK 

 

Theo and the Infamous Caravaggio

 Theo is a wonder. On one hand, he grows impatient as we roam through cities. He ignores the wondrous architecture. He is an over sniffer, like some people are over thinkers--he sniffs everything from horses to mozzarella cheese. 

On the other hand, if something catches his interest, he is all in. But how can I begin to explain that it was Theo's idea to visit another church. Yes. It sounds unbelievable. But this is not just any church.

Theo heard about St. John's Co-Cathedral in Valletta, Malta. The outside, built from limestone, is not remarkable. The inside, however, is described as the finest example of high Baroque architecture in Europe. Which means as we enter, we see a dizzying array of gold, tapestries, statues, paintings and all kinds of ornate decoration on the walls and floors. 

The floor is composed of nearly 400 tombstones of knights--each tomb represented by a colored marble slab bearing the crest, coat-of-arms, and epitaph for each knight buried there.

Who's looking at the floor? This place is magnificent. I feel like Alice in Wonderland. 

But Theo is not interested in the architecture per se--no surprise there. He's heard through the cat vine that there are two Caravaggio masterpieces in the church. Who is Caravaggio? 

If you're not into art, you probably never heard of him. If you are into art, you know he is considered as influential as Michelangelo. He's been called an infamous Italian scoundrel, controversial yet renowned, and known for painting everyday people, not just the rich and famous.

His life reads like a novel. While working as an artist in Rome, he killed a man in a brawl and was given the death sentence. He was forced to flee to Naples, then traveled to Sicily and Malta seeking and getting a papal pardon, returned to Milan, then almost died in another fight which left his face disfigured. When he did eventually die, no one knows if he died of a fever or lead poisoning or murder? 

His paintings reflect an intense realism and dramatic lighting. 

One is the "Beheading of St. John." It is one of Caravaggio's biggest works and one of the few he signed. It is estimated to be worth millions of dollars, but impossible to put a price tag on. The exhibit wing is crowded.

Sometimes we go places with Theo and no one is there. Sometimes it's crowded and no one cares. But this time we're wary. We figure he can see the painting, but he should stay in the backpack until the coast is clear. Our plan is that as we face the painting, we'll unzip and Theo can peek out. I'll stand on one side and block the side views. We hope everyone's eyes will be on the painting and not looking around.

Theo doesn't like the plan. He would rather scamper off and sniff the painting.

No way. That is not going to happen. 

He pouts and makes us feel incredibly guilty, citing prejudice against felines. "If I were a dog . . . " Theo is convinced dogs get better treatment than cats. "In France . . ."

We've heard his arguments before. 

"If Chuck were here . . . " That's another one of his favorite arguments. He heard too many stories from Chuck, some true, some exaggerated. 

Caravaggio's "Beheading of St. John" is before us. 

We move in closer. Theo is straining to see. To his credit, he doesn't meow or whimper, but stares at the painting with rapt attention, the way he watches TV sometimes or, I admit, the birds on the patio.

I point out the obvious things--the realistic depiction of the slayer, the lighting on St. John, the use of color, but Theo seems to be oblivious to all those details.

"Well, do you like it?"

He nods. 

Theo likes it. I feel good. As we walk through the church to the outside, I feel on top of the world. "Theo actually appreciates art."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Dan says.

I'm confused. "You saw his reaction."

"Kate, he has that exact look on his face when he's watching the birds on our patio."

He's right. I'm forced to reconsider. Is Theo a Caravaggio enthusiast or bird watcher? A little of both, I think.

Theo Behaves Badly in Valletta

 At first, Theo does not want to go to Malta. He wants to stay in Sicily.  It's the food, of course. He likes fish . . . fish . . . and more fish. He wants to go back to that open air market and smell the fish. He likes the heat of the summer.

What can Malta offer? He wants to know.

We are sailing on the Mediterranean Sea to Malta, an island country between Sicily and North Africa. The natives speak Maltese (98%), English (88%) and Italian (66%). We figure we'll fit right in. Theo is unsure. His Italian is a little shaky,

"Well, Malta is known for lampuki," I explain. "Fried mahi-mahi." Theo squints at me. He likes tuna and mackerel. Mahi mahi? He's not sure. 

Dan and I are excited. We know that Malta has had a long and turbulent history. When other countries tried to dominate the Mediterranean Sea, when Europe clashed with Africa and the Middle East, Malta fought back. Like Sicily, Malta was ruled by Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks, Arabs, Normans, Sicilians, French and the British (in short, practically everyone.) 

During WWII Malta was a base for the Allies. It was heavily bombed by Germany and Italy. Finally in 1964, Malta achieved its independence. In 1980 it was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. That's the short version, but it explains why walking around Valletta, the capital city, is like traveling back in time. We don't tell Theo any of this. To understand Malta's backstory, you have to understand the ancient world. 

We do a walking tour and are in awe. It is hot--hotter even than Sicily in summer. You need sunglasses and a hat. Our strategy is to suffer less and walk early in the morning, swim in the afternoon, and party at night. But Theo loves the heat. We can hear him softly purring as we trudge through the streets. 

Valletta is a walled city, founded in the 1500's by the Knights of St. John, a Roman Catholic order. Still today you can admire the historic cannons that sat ready and waiting at the port, ready to protect the city from siege. A glimpse of life back then.

Theo doesn't care about the guns. He notices a horse with a carriage. For tourists. Theo insists on making friends. We don't have time. He wants to go over and sniff. Of course. Okay. One sniff, but that's it. Theo then refuses to leave. This has happened before--he's thinking he wants to make a friend. We're thinking--we don't have time.   

The horse snorts. He stamps his foot. Once. Twice. This horse doesn't want to make friends. Theo is insistent. Luckily the driver of the carriage is taking siesta and doesn't care what's happening, but I care. 

"You are behaving badly," I tell him. 

He shrugs.

The only option left is to scoop up Theo and carry him off. He gives us the stink eye.

We ignore his pouting and walk through the town, which is one of the smallest capital cities in Europe, admiring the historic limestone buildings, decorated in the high baroque style. (Who can believe the intricate details?) We navigate through narrow streets. We even spot a lion statue as we mosey along. 

 We enter the section of Valletta called the Upper Barrakka, known for their gardens. Finally, we release Theo. He gives us a withering glance as he scampers among the flowers. 

"You can sniff to your heart's content. Be happy."

 If we served him some lampuki, he would be over the moon. His dried cat food will have to do.

 

Theo Falls for Italian Cow

 We are still in Sorrento and to our delight are invited to visit a family that lives outside of town and have lunch with them. 

All we know is that this extended family lives together--their houses are side by side and they spend a good deal of their time together. The Nonna, or grandmother, has her own small apartment. Her daughter lives in the adjacent larger house with her two daughters who attend college and high school. A younger male cousin lives down the street and spends a lot of time with the family.

Their joint house is painted a pale yellow. Nonna cooks in the kitchen, making the pasta and sauce. The mother and father both go to work. The family supplements their income with their farm animals--chickens, pigs, and a cow. They are not pets. Milk, cheese, eggs and eventually the pigs will be sold.

Their extended backyard is their garden. They grow everything you can think of from tomatoes and peppers to beans, eggplant. The list goes on. They buy their wine at the local cooperative. 

There is a long communal table in their dining room draped in a bright yellow tablecloth with sunflowers on it. The family eats most of their meals together. This is where they sit and talk about their day. 

Nonna speaks very little English but we are still able to talk to her, despite the fact that she speaks in a local dialect. The mother speaks a little English and can understand us if we speak slowly. Both daughters learned English in school. The oldest daughter is the most proficient. 

We talk mostly in English but are curious about the grandmother and try to speak some Italian slowly so we can engage her in conversation. 

Theo wants to know where the animals are and impatiently stomps around, sniffing everything. He can smell them. He is meowing. 

"Geez. Give us a minute." 

I'm curious about the house, the role that Nonna plays, how the family survives economically, what is considered a typical Italian meal, but Theo insists we look at the animals first. 

Their land is not flat. The animals are kept on the higher portion so we need to climb some wooden stairs to get to the top. 

"Can we see your animals?"

The two daughters act as guides. We climb the stairs. It is rustic. There is nothing fancy about this operation. It is very functional and pragmatic. 

First we see the chickens. There are a slew of them, milling around in the cage. Very chatty and when Theo steps up to the cage to get a better sniff, they react. They become even more skittish. 

And there are the two pigs who want to sniff Theo as much as he wants to sniff them.

We then saunter over to where Ms. Cow resides.  She is a real beauty as far as cows go. She's been part of the family for years. Theo is very interested.

We lift Theo up to get a better look at her. She glances over, not particularly enamored of a cat and we're about to go, but Theo objects. He likes what he sees. He wants to get closer. 

"It's almost time for lunch. Nonna is cooking the sauce." The two daughters climb the stairs. Dan follows.

I'm hungry and can't wait to eat, but Theo has other ideas. He wriggles and wriggles and I put him down. He gets closer to the large pen and seems to be looking for a way in.

"Theo, what has gotten into you?"

Over on the side, there is an opening. He stands there and waits and sure enough Ms. Cow comes over. She leans down, curious now. 

Theo sticks his paw through one of the openings. 

I step away. "Theo."

But there is no budging this cat away from this cow. He sits down, quite comfortably on the cement floor. 

"So you'd rather stay here and eat?"

It's easy enough to pour out some dried food in a pop-up plastic bowl I carry with me. 

I start to climb the stairs and glance back. Theo hasn't touched his food. He's staring into the pen. 

Oh my gosh, is he in love? With an Italian cow? Will wonders never cease? And, no, we're not taking Ms. Cow back to America.

Sorrento - What Is It Like Really?

 Sorento, Italy--what is is like really? Theo, the gangster cat, wants to know. We only have a day to walk around and visit this wondrous cliff side city that hovers over the Bay of Naples, renowned for its nature and culture. This is the city where mythical sirens with their sweet singing lured sailors to shipwreck on the rocks. Even the great Ulysses wanted to hear the songs, but he was smart enough to block his ears, commanding his men to tie him to the ship's mast so he could avoid catastrophe.

The night before we sail into the harbor, we are greeted by a lovely sunset. The sky is ablaze in pink. We listen carefully for the siren's call. Theo seems especially animated. Can he hear something we can't. We hold him tight, fearing he may leap off our ship. 

We are primed for a great walk around. The town is as quaint as you might expect: cobblestone streets, flowers everywhere, ancient buildings dating back to the 11th century, people on motorbikes cruising through the narrow streets, and a famed uneven landscape which gives you a unique perspective to see the town. 

We have to stop to see the Basilica of San Antonino, the oldest Catholic Church in Sorrento. Legend has it that the church was built to commemorate San Antonino when he saved a small boy who was swallowed by a sea creature back in the 6th century. The church is quite majestic inside:

But the most fascinating part is a red wall containing silver talismans, each representing the part of the body that was cured after praying to San Antonino. 

But we have arrived with a purpose. One of the oldest traditions of Sorrento is its Wood Inlay Carvings. Most of the old masters are no longer alive, and the town is filled with workshops and galleries located along S. Cesareo Road, but we are on our way to see a masterpiece within the walls of the Museo Bottega della Tarsia Linnea or the Inlaid Wood Museum. 

Inside this museum, there is a wood carving that defies description. It is quite remarkable considering that it was carved long ago, with what we would consider crude tools. It must have taken these artisans years to create this scene, and we are in awe.

Have you ever seen a scene so delightful, you wish you could jump right into it by some magic process. This is my only explanation for what happens next. Theo, who is content to look on and admire the scene, suddenly, with little or no provocation--other than the work of art itself--pushes off against my stomach with his fierce hind legs, and tries to make a jump for it. Into the scene. Aiming directly for the table with the food: 

Did he think it was real? I am appalled. I hold on tight and manage to keep him from committing the worst kind of atrocity. I try to keep calm and stare at the heart of the nativity scene: 

"You can have a snack if you're that hungry, but you can't eat the wooden food."

His efforts foiled, Theo, of course, pretends that he had no intention of eating the wooden food. But once a gangster, always a gangster!