The Bones of St. Matthew? Theo Investigates.

 If you weren't born and raised a Catholic, you probably don't know that the religion is rife with stories--regarding saints and apostles and popes--that report that so and so's bones are buried here. Case in point. 

Dan, Theo (the gangster cat) and I are traveling around Salerno in Italy when we catch wind that St. Matthew's bones (or relics) are buried in the underground portion of a church. 

Who is St. Matthew? One of the apostles. He wrote one of the gospels that form the basis of the New Testament. If you are a fan of The Chosen, a publicly funded multi-part mini series that authentically traces the life and death of Jesus, Matthew is portrayed as slightly autistic. He was a tax collector for the Romans before he converted. 

By pure coincidence, I have a brother named Matthew. So how can we resist checking out the relics of a saint he was named after. Are they really his bones? Experts waver. 

The official story is: In Salerno, the Duomo of Salerno, or St. Matthew's Cathedral was built between 1080 and 1085. The remains of St. Matthew were found in 165 and later transported to Salerno in 954. Originally they were placed in an ancient Christian church (on the same site as the Cathedral). Later the remains were moved to the crypt. In 1688 the Cathedral was destroyed by an earthquake and rebuilt by 3 Italians. The Cathedral includes a bell tower and an impressive courtyard surrounded by porticos.

 

It is a majestic church that literally takes your breath away when you walk inside.

There is so much to see--the walls of the church and all of the artwork on the walls and the magnificent ceiling: 

We are enthralled, but anxious to go down the stairs to visit the crypt which lies underneath the main altar. This is where San Matteo is--the bones of the apostle we call St. Matthew.  

"Do you think it is really him?" I ask Dan.

Dan shrugs. "It could be."

Theo looks up, and I can almost see his brain thinking. He'll find out, he seems to want to say. He precedes us down the stairs to the crypt. 

"How does he know where to go?"

We pass an engraving on the wall which seems to identify that what we are about to see is for real. After all, St. Matthew is the patron saint of Salerno.

We round the corner and see the crypt in all its magnificence:

 Well, actually the crypt is blocked by a railing which surrounds it.

What we see is a sign that reads San Matteo. 

Right away I spot the problem. The crypt is under the altar. You cannot get close to it unless you leap over the railing that surrounds it. We stand as close as we can get and peer in.

And there he goes. Before we can say--don't go near the crypt, Theo has slipped between the rungs on the railing and is making his way toward the crypt.

"Theo, come back here."

Now I have to be honest. There are no armed guards protecting St. Matthew's remains. We could leap over the railing if we wanted to. There are very few visitors who are standing around. 

But somehow it feels sacrilegious. 

Nothing is going to stop Theo, however. He heads straight toward the crypt. And he's sniffing and sniffing.

I'm sceptical. Will Theo, with his expert sniffing, be able to answer the question--is St. Matthew really in the crypt?

Slowly he comes back, slips through the railing and acts as if he hasn't been on some deep secret mission. 

"Well? Is it St. Matthew or not?"

No answer. Theo has sniffed but he's keeping the info to himself.

"We're pulling out a snack."

The crinkling of the bag tells Theo that we mean business. 

Finally, he nods.

Theo has nodded. It is St. Matthew! Go figure.

Theo and Buffalo Bill

 

Dare I admit that I am in love with buffalo? Just take a peek. Yeah, I admit these guys are baby buffalo, but how cute!

Years ago I visited a buffalo farm in New Jersey which was known for their bison. I remember watching the buffalo in the field--I always think they are so magnificent looking--but what I remember most was accidentally stepping into a gigantic pile of buffalo poop. It looked like a mound of dirt. I had no idea. Yuck!

Today Dan, Theo, and I are on our way to another buffalo farm, but this farm is known for its buffalo mozzarella. It is family owned, of course, and it is surrounded by palm trees. Only in Italy. 

My appreciation for mozzarella has grown over the years. When I make lasagne, you can buy mozzarella all wrapped up and ready to slice. When you make a pizza, you can buy already shredded mozzarella. You can buy low fat and full boat mozzarella. Now the trend is fresh mozzarella, which is still sitting in its own juice. 

Most mozzarella is from cows. In Italy, in Capaccio, a province of Salerno in the Campania region, they breed buffalo for their mozzarella. The taste of that particular mozzarella is richer and more tangy.

So here we are at a buffalo farm, and I am very careful where I step. The buffalo here, when we arrive are in stalls, and luckily, we can walk on pathways--free of poop? I'm hoping.

The buffalo do roam outside, but for now they are in their pens. This place is enormous. 

Theo is in his glory. He can smell the buffalo--and his little nose is sniffing away. He stops a few times along the trail and just stares. 

I've seen them before, of course, in the wild at Yellowstone National Park. There you keep your distance. They can move fast, and like most wild animals, the mamas will defend the baby buffalos if they sense any threat. A close encounter with a buffalo will land you in the hospital or even dead. 

"Keep an eye on him," Dan calls out.

"I know." He means Theo, whose curiosity might just get the best of him. 

I call it close encounters of the third kind--when you go nose to nose. I can imagine Theo . . .

And sure enough there he is, the little gangster cat, stalking along the perimeter of the fence, separating safety from buffalo. He stops. And a buffalo saunters over. Curious too?

I can easily imagine the worse case scenario. Theo slips under the fence, misinterpreting the buffalo's friendliness. Something Chucky would do. 

If I move closer, will Theo make a move? A wrong move? 

Meanwhile, the buffalo--let's call him Bill--is inserting his head between the iron fencing and sniffing. I know he's spied Theo. I know he's curious. Has he ever seen a cat before? Sniffed a cat?

Dan, my hero, who has saved Theo from more unfortunate incidents, scoops Theo in his arms. He takes a step back but not too far. Theo protests. He meows. I feel incredibly bad. 

I have to admit this buffalo looks totally harmless. But I've heard the stories from Yellowstone. I know they are deadly wild animals. And yet, dare I say it, they look cute.

I snap a lot of photos. I take one more video.  Stalling?

"Should we let Theo sniff the buffalo?" I tentatively ask.

Dan looks like he can go either way. But he steps closer.

"Wait. Not too close--"

But Theo is giving me the evil eye. Even Buffalo Bill is looking at me a bit funny.

Nothing much happens. Theo sniffs. Buffalo Bill sniffs. There is no biting, punching, eye gouging, cat eating. Nothing. Later we eat lunch there also (it's always about food), and Theo even tries the buffalo mozzarella. 

Theo likes it. Yes!!