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.

The Mystery of the Ancient Jars

 Theo and I are both curious souls. How did people live thousands of years ago before electricity and running water and air conditioning? Was their life anything like ours?

We spend hours walking around the archaeological site of Paestum (the best preserved Greek/Roman city) where there are still, after thousands of years, three remarkably preserved Greek temples, a Roman forum, a market, and an amphitheater. Historians believe it's a miracle that the temples are still here. The Italians have been excavating the site, uncovering the remains of the city when the Greeks occupied it for 200 years. 

Italy is hot this time of year. Walking around an archaeological site can be an exhausting experience. However, after Theo's snack, we can't leave without peeking into the National Archaeological Museum of Paestum, which has become the repository for all the things they have found.

I have so many questions and so little time. We decide to focus on their artwork. What was on their walls?  What kind of stories did they tell about their daily lives? AND we also want to see the Tomb of the Diver, a rare find, which depicts in color a fresco on a tomb dating to 500 BC. The subject is mysterious and highly unusual for a drawing on a tomb: a lone diver leaping into a pool of water. What can it mean?

Theo is not as enthused. But he's just eaten so he is willing to trot alongside of us and sniff the exhibits. It is cool in the museum which is a blessing. 

Check this out:

You can learn a lot about a culture by looking at the scenes they decide to depict on their vases. 

I am also super impressed by the ornamentation in their houses:

I love the masks and the elaborate decoration of their shelves. 

Finally, we come to the Tomb of the Diver:

 These four scenes tell a story depicting what historians call a symposium--a time where men gathered together--to eat and drink and discuss everything. Only men are depicted. They seem to be quite chummy with each other. 

Then we have the diver scene:

You might be thinking--okay--what's all the fuss? Keep in mind that these scenes are on a tomb. Someone took the time to create these frescoes--but why on a tomb? No one knows the answer. As we're pondering the what and why, Theo is sniffing.

Of course, he is. Because he's located an exhibit which is another mystery. Excavated from thousands of years go are two jars filled with - well, no one knows. The nearest explanation is that the jars were filled with honey--the nectar of the gods.

If Theo could, he would leap into the exhibit to get closer. I glance at Dan and he reads my mind, scooping Theo up in one fell swoop. He is not a happy camper and struggles to get down.

"No, this is a major archaelogical exhibit. You cannot jump up and try to break the glass and get inside."

Theo only wiggles more. 

"You could be arrested and imprisoned. Is it worth it?"

Theo shrugs.

I expect nothing else. But I can't resist asking, "Can you smell anything? What do you think it is? Honey???"

Theo sighs. "If only," he must be thinking, "you two weren't here. Then I could find out . . ."

"Theo, is it honey?"

"Sure, mom, whatever you say."

Ugh.

The Miracle of Paestum

 Greek temples in Italy? If you need confirmation as to how crazy the world can be, visit Italy where you'll find more Greek temples than in Greece. 

Historians in the know report that during the eighth century BC, ancient Greeks settled along the coasts of the Mediterranean Sea and founded more than 500 Greek colonies, scattered along the shores of the Black Sea, southern Italy, Northern Africa and the coasts of southern France and Spain. They built temples to honor their gods. 

We wanted to see for ourselves what historians call a miracle.  

Sure enough--for some unexplained reason, the Romans did not destroy three well-preserved Greek temples. Centuries later, the miracle continued. During WWII, American (136th Infantry Division) and British forces arrived to liberate Italy. Salerno was the landing point where the Americans fought the Germans for control. The American soldiers slept in those same temples. The fighting caused some damage, but still the temples survived. 

They are a marvel. When you first see them, they seem surreal--as if you've stepped back in time. Imagine a field of grass and rock and dirt, where larger stones lay on top. This is what excavation looks like, a slow process of uncovering what lies beneath. Paestum is approximately one half mile wide. So far, the Italians have excavated only one fifth of that area:

 

In the distance you see a stone archway. 

Further on, you spot your first temple. Doric style. Built in honor of Hera, one of the Greek gods, in 600 BC. Paestum thrived as a democracy for 200 years.  

To the left is the second temple built in honor of Hera. Again remarkably well-preserved.

  

I'm not an expert on temples, but even I can see the details that remain after thousands of years. It is truly remarkable. 

Theo is with us, of course. He loves being outside, smelling the breezes. Today is not as hot as it usually is in Italy in June. But Theo loves the sun. He seems as entranced as we are. 

You can get up close and personal to these two temples, which isn't always the case when you visit ruins. (You can only admire the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, from afar.) Here you can climb up and walk inside the temple and touch the stone. You can imagine the awe the peasants would have felt to witness the size and glory of a building. 

Theo is having the time of his life. I suspect things are only real to him if he can sniff them. After a few minutes, we have to usher him along. There is still one more temple to see. And the amphitheater.

The third temple (far to the right) is dedicated to Athena. Unfortunately, barriers are erected to keep tourists from going inside. What happens next is our own darned fault.

Theo thinks you can sniff any ruin. Any temple. He doesn't quite get the context of barriers which means keep out. A barrier is just an obstacle that he can easily overcome. In this case, he slides through and is standing in the forbidden zone. 

This is going to be tricky. 

"What do you think we should do?"

Now the barriers are not ten feet tall. Dan can scoot over one in an instant. We look around. A few people are milling about. A horde of tourists are still over by the Hera Temple. We have a few minutes yet to solve the problem.

"I don't see any guards."

Still Dan is reluctant to go into the forbidden zone. Would Italians think it's cute that we're rescuing our cat or would they see us as temple terrorists and arrest us? I can see the headlines now . . . 

"Theo," he calls. "Snack time."

Who says Theo doesn't understand English? Or recognize the sound of his favorite dried food rustling against the small plastic container we're holding. 

"Shake it again."

That's all it takes. Theo loses interest in the temple and slides back through the barrier. We hightail it over to the amphitheater and sit down to snack. 

As we're leaving, we take one last look behind. The Athena Temple stands there in all its glory, and we're sure it's destined to remain for at least another thousand years.

To Bribe or Not To Bribe

 For so many travelers, if their bucket list includes Italy, it usually means looking at something old, ancient. Even when you're trying to discover how Italians live today in 2024, their lives are still intwined in the past--old historic buildings and statues and left over temples from when the Greeks invaded. 

Today we decide, just the three of us, to stay in the tiny town, south of Puzzuoli on the coast of Italy, called Baiae. In the day--and I mean many moons ago--Baiae was the getaway vacation spot for the rich and famous of Rome. They would pack up and stay in their luxurious villas, which they built near the sea. (We already visited one such villa, Villa Ambulatio.) It sounds like a good idea. After all, I live in a state which celebrates its shore towns and beaches.

Unfortunately, by the 1500's Baiae was abandoned and then covered by water from the nearby shallow waters of the bay. It seems the water level rose ever so slowly due to volcanic vents that were in the area. Today, if you are a fan of snorkeling or riding in a glass bottom boat, you can see some of those remains, captive in the bay. They call it the city under water. 

The ruins are one reason for visiting Baiae. The other reason is to get a glimpse of modern Italy. Because Baiae fronts a bay, the water views are stunning. There is a promenade you can walk along and feel the cool bay breezes:

We also catch a glimpse of that infamous mountain that rose up in one day because of the unsettled ground near Puzzuoli. 

In the center of the town, there is sign for an ancient temple, which once stood there. In reality, it wasn't a temple but an open market. But I love how modern Italy built itself around the old.

Even today open markets are extremely popular in many small Italian towns. There is usually one day a week where the market is open--selling everything you can think of--local produce, meats, cheeses, to clothes, shoes, and household goods:

I remember years ago staying with my girlfriend's sister in Rosignavo Salvo (near Pisa) and visiting an open market in their town. Often the cost of clothing is prohibitive in the usual brick and mortar stores, so Italians believe they can get a better deal buying their clothes this way. I remember stepping into the back of a large pickup truck, which acted as a dressing room, to try on something I wanted to buy. 

I can't resist this time either. Theo follows along, sniffing every stall we visit, remarkably well behaved, watching the people as they pick up and inspect item after item, deciding whether to buy it or not. 

"Stay right here near me, okay?"

Theo glances up and it's hard to tell if he's listening or has any intention of doing what I ask. 

"I mean it."

He meows, which I interpret as he will control himself.

I spot a lovely blue tablecloth with a large sunflower on it. Can I use this? It's not wrinkle free, and I will dread ironing it every time it comes out of the dryer. Should I take it? As a memento? 

"Where's Theo?" Dan is not a shopper, but he's been hovering around a nearby table filled with Italian snacks. (Which means neither one of us has been keeping an eye on Theo.)

"He was here a moment ago, and I warned him to stay put . . ."

Famous last words. Haven't we learned by now that watching Theo is a 24 hour job. Get interested in your surroundings, get distracted for a millisecond and the kid seems to disappear into thin air.

"There he is." Dan points to the next stall selling more snacks. Of course. Theo blew me off, sauntered over to investigate--his nose going 240, sniffing the aromatic smells of Italian delicacies. 

"Theo." There is a sharpness to my voice. 

He doesn't budge.

"Theo."

"He hasn't done anything wrong," Dan reminds me.

"I know. He's being a cat."

Dan, my daily hero, leaves to rescue Theo. This isn't always so easy. He can be as slippery as an eel when he doesn't want to be picked up. I see him easily sidestep Dan. Dan, undeterred, kneels down and launches an argument.

I decide against buying the tablecloth. The next thing I know I'm holding Theo captive.

"Well?"

"We reached a compromise."

"You bribed him."

 Dan shrugs but leaves to buy some food. For Theo. There's chicken cooking on a grill. And some cheese. 

"You're a real gangster," I concede, then thank our lucky stars there's always good food to eat in glorious Italy.

 

Theo's Revenge at the Vittoriano

 Rome is my favorite city. It is filled with monuments, statues, fountains, gardens, parks, squares and rife with a history that precedes the gladiators in the Colosseum, the poets near the Spanish Steps, and the Vatican. There is so much to see as a visitor you sometimes miss the little details, the ornate and symbolic flourishes, that decorate the scenery. 

I am determined to bring Theo to see one of Rome's most famous monuments, nicknamed the Vittoriano, the symbolic center of Rome. It was built to honor Italy's first King--Victor Emmanuel II--who reigned after Italy was unified into a country. Unfortunately, his grandson, Victor Emmanuel III, who ruled Italy from 1900 until 1946 has a checkered reputation--responsible for bringing democratic reforms to Italy, but then later also responsible for empowering Mussolini to enter WWII. 

Nevertheless, the monument honors Italy's first King and does so much more. As a modern forum or public square, it contains stairways, columns, fountains, statues and views. It is seen as a kind of secular temple consecrated to Italy. It sits atop Capitoline Hill, near the ancient Roman Forum and Colosseum, and it is where most of the most important national celebrations in Italy today are held. 

"You must see the Vittoriano," everyone says. "The wedding cake." Because it looks like one.

I look at Theo. "We have to see the Vittoriano."

The gangster cat doesn't miss any chance to negotiate. "What's in it for me?"

"Snacks."

Theo clearly doesn't want to go. But the idea of snacks is a powerful draw. "For a little while," he concedes.

We arrive on foot after a delicious lunch. Dan is holding Theo because we've been walking so many steps, we're afraid the kid (with the short legs) will pass out. 

He's remarkably well behaved at first. He seems to be genuinely interested in what we're looking at. Of course, we're plying him with croccantini (dry cat food), Temptations (which we keep in small ziplock baggies) and Churos whenever we stop to admire something. 

Dan puts him down. The monument isn't crowded. Most visitors seem to be Italians who are milling about on their lunch hour. They gingerly step over or step to the side when they see Theo. No one bats an eye. 

This monument is a big place, and I have to admit, I'm overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. There are statues galore on top of the roof.

I angle in for a closer look.

 

 

I'm overwhelmed when--caught against the backdrop of the bluest of skies--an angel flies into view.

We are climbing up and down stairs and around corners, as we survey this monument. 

"Look, Theo." I'm pointing to a statue of a woman holding a spear. I have no idea who she is but she looks majestic.

At this point I don't know if Theo's looking or not, but I suspect not. Whenever I look down, he's eating a snack or licking a Churu. 

I hear in the distance Dan announce, "Well, that's it, buddy. We're all out of snacks." But I'm honestly not paying too much attention because another statue comes into view.

Then I hear what I never want to hear. Dan calling,"Theo, Theo."

I look around. Look down. The one thing you don't want to have happen is to lose a cat in the middle of Rome. A cat who doesn't speak a word of Italian. A cat who seems at this moment only motivated by snacks.  Snacks we don't have anymore. 

We have nothing to lure him out of wherever he is. 

"He can't have gone that far," I say to Dan, but I say it more for myself.

"He was here a minute a go," Dan agrees.

"Where would he go?" I ask aloud because Theo is not your usual cat. He doesn't wander off unless he's hungry. In fact . . . I turn to Dan with a sudden brainstorm. "He's probably stuffed himself with snacks and now . . ."

Dan takes the words out of my mouth. "He's taking a nap."

"But where?"

A larger than life statue sits about fifty yards in front of us. "You don't think . . ." I point to what would be the purrfect spot for an irritated cat to get away and do what he wants--sleep.

Dan rushes over. He's shaking his head and then motions me over. 

Theo has cozied up to the guy holding a cornucopia. There's a space right behind his leg. Cool marble. Out of the sun. Full belly.

Dan scoops him up.  "Come on, Theo."

"The next time . . . " I start to say. 

"Let him be. He made his point."

"Or took his revenge," I think. But with Theo you learn to reframe the situation. He could have run up the stairs. Or could have been scooped up by an unsuspecting Italian thinking he was a well-behaved cat. Or gone somewhere looking for a gelato.

"It's time to go home," Dan says.

Theo nods.

I agree. "But let's stop for some gelato first."