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!!

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.

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 Teeter Totters in Gaeta

 When I first visited Italy, I went to all the hotspots--Rome, Florence and Venice. The Vatican to see Michelangelo's Pieta. The Galleria dell'Academia to see the David. You get the idea. And always I battled tourists, usually too many people crowded into too tiny a space.

Now years later we choose places with fewer tourists and more locals. We practice speaking Italian. That's why we decide to cruise down the southern coast of Italy with a small group of people and stop at Gaeta, a smaller lesser known Italian town.

But no one comes to Italy and doesn't eat. Restaurants and trattorias and bars and/or cooperatives and even the local supermarket will offer prepared food. The choices are endless . . . but we decide to stop at an agriturisimo--a family owned farmhouse that offers good food from local sources (often from their own fields) and if you want, a place to stay. Agriturisimos are located most often in the country so you also get a terrific view. 

The food is simple and fresh. Wine is plentiful. The service is friendly. It is a good choice if you are visiting Italy and want to avoid the tourist spots, and we simply love this agriturismo. 

They are family oriented.

No, these are not children on the teeter totter. We stare in envy as this young at heart couple go up and down. Theo is watching them, too.

When Theo issues a meow and wears that hangdog expression on his face, I know Theo wants to teeter totter, too.

"Okay, we'll do it."

 

Never easy. Dan climbs on his seat, and Theo jumps up on his seat on the other side. Of course, he has to sniff everything first, but his balance is pretty good. Tentatively they go up and down. Up and down. Everything is teeter tottering just fine, until it isn't. 

Theo spots a small squirrel lurking near the swings. With no warning, he jumps off his seat and well, you know what happens. As Theo later admits, he underestimated the force of gravity. Dan limps off his seat.

When we finally arrive in Gaeta, we are exhausted. So our first view of this beautiful town, called the "city of a hundred churches" is after the sun goes down. Theo is restless, but luckily falls asleep when we're ready to so outside for a walk. Or so we think . . .

We spot a big moon sitting in the sky and Dan captures it. 

"Can you believe we're here?" I ask him.

"I know, right?"

We hear a meow. And Theo, as if he's fallen straight from the sky, is standing right behind us. Stalking us?

"What are you doing here? After what you did this afternoon to dad on the teeter totter . . ."

Theo shrugs. "I had to do it, see?"

Always a gangster cat, right to the end. 

A Rascally Hero in the Cemetery

 I love cemeteries. They not only make me feel peaceful, but I have to admit, I feel a bit in awe to be among people who used to live on this earth--sometimes hundreds of years ago--and now they're in their final resting place.

A few years ago I learned an interesting fact. When American soldiers fight overseas in foreign lands, and they are killed, their families have to make a choice--to have the soldier's body shipped back to the USA or have them buried with their fellow soldiers in an American cemetery, close to where they died. Many families choose an American cemetery overseas, and as a result throughout the world, there are American cemeteries that hold our fallen.

If you're a fan of World War II, like I am, you probably know that Allied forces fought several battles to drive the Germans out of Italy and liberate Rome. One battle (approximately 35 miles south of Rome) was fought at Anzio. Other battles were fought in Sicily. 

The Sicily-Rome American Cemetery and Memorial is one of two permanent WWII American cemeteries in Italy. It holds 7,860 headstones of American soldiers who died in the battles which were fought. A chapel has the names engraved of 3,095 who went missing. 

The battles began on July 10, 1943 and ended when Rome was liberated on June 4, 1944. The cemetery contains 7,738 Latin crosses made of Lasa marble and 122 Stars of David.

Contrary to what you might expect, these cemeteries are beautiful. The lawns are perfectly manicured. There is always a fountain or pool. There is a chapel and a visitor center. 

I have no idea how Theo will react when we arrive. I imagine he'll want to run in the grass. Bask in the sun. Watch the water cascade down in the North garden fountain. Feel the wind caress his face. Will he understand where we are? 

We want to see all 77 acres. It's hard to arrive and see all the crosses perfectly lined up on the grounds, knowing each cross represents a person who left their home, was part of a battle, but never believed they would end of here. Most still had the greater part of their lives in front of them. Most had family that mourned when they didn't return. 

We walk around the grounds. We see the beautiful pool of water. 

We visit the chapel and read through some of the names that are engraved. We marvel at the ornate ceiling.

  

"Theo, there's something else we need to do."

Part of the tradition is to leave a flower near one of the crosses as a sign of remembrance and respect. I explain this to Theo and we walk through the crosses in one section. I am ready to lay the flower on one of the crosses dedicated to an unknown soldier. As the engraving reads, "he's known only to God."  But as I move closer, Theo stops me. 

"It's something I have to do," he meows.

I put the flower in his mouth, and he drops it slowly in front of the cross. 

I have to admit I underestimate the kid too often. But he's well aware of the concept of fighting and territory. As a cat, he fiercely guards the land that surrounds our house. Other cats are not welcome. Other animals are barely tolerated. Birds and squirrels--he's fascinated but usually wants them gone.

"Chucky would be proud of you, Theo." And then I give him a snack. After all, he's only a cat.

Theo is taking a much needed two week break from being the star. He will be relaxing at home with Sienna and Mico. Our next blog will be posted on October 29! See you then. Meow.