Pompei-The Rest of the Story

 

It is crazy to think that we are walking through the streets of Pompei. In case you forget what Pompei is known for: In 79AD a nearby volcano named Vesuvius erupts (for the first time in 1,000 years) and covers the town of Pompei in approximately eighteen feet of volcanic ash. The eruption destroys the town but, ironically, preserves it, which is the reason why we can today stroll through the ruins and reach the center of town.

Experts see the streets as a marvel of engineering, a grid of paved roads, raised sidewalks and stepping stones that people used to stay dry and avoid the traffic:

We pass a property that is both a living quarters and a store that faced the street. I am fascinated by the stone counter with inlaid containers for vegetables, wine, grain or prepared food. It is a glimpse into how people made a living back then.

The buildings that have been unearthed so far still maintain some of their original color. There are paintings on the walls that were preserved; in some the architecture is stunning:

 

There is an original toilet:

How can a place so old be so modern and similar to our life today? I take some random shots to give you a feel for the Pompei of old:

You're probably wondering how Theo feels about this ancient Italian town. Well, it's a hot day in Pompei. The sun blasts down on us, and I'm forced to wear a hat to keep the overactive sun from blinding me. Theo, of course, is decked out in his gorgeous fur. Dan and I take turns carrying Theo. I carry him some of the time. Enough is enough, but with the crowds of tourists surrounding him, we don't dare let him down. He would either disappear in a split second or be trampled on. 

Finally, our very knowledgeable tour guide suggests that we check out the museum on site. Theo nods. 

"It's cooler in there," I promise. 

He wiggles around, anxious to get down on his own four paws.

"Okay. We'll let you down, but don't do anything crazy, Theo."

We pass a display of amulets, teeny tiny medals of gods that people would put into their coffins to insure safe passage:

Theo is on his best behavior. He trots along beside us. There are other tourists, but it isn't as crowded as I think it will be. No chance of being trampled on here.

We pass an assortment of cups and jugs and dishes:

We pass a colorful painting that was hanging on someone's wall:

We pass a shelf resting on a lion statue:

We pass an intriguing series of four plaques, depicting life in Pompei:

"Theo, check this out." I point to what looks like a pancake griddle pan,  glance down, and realize I'm suddenly talking to myself.

"What the hell?" I whisper too loudly.

"He has to be here somewhere," Dan reassures me.

I look right. Dan looks left. I move backwards. He moves forward.

No Theo.

"This is getting to be a habit," I grouse.

"We'll find him."

The end of this story is not dramatic. Theo is cat napping under the display table with the griddle. His eyes are closed. His ears are twitching.

I lift him out and up. "Did you hear us calling you?"

He gives me the stink eye.

"You know, Chucky (the past star of this blog) never would have done something like this. He was so well-behaved when he traveled with us." 

But even as I say the words, I know they're not true. Chuck was a rascal. This is exactly how he would have behaved. A cat is a cat is a cat. There is no doubt about it. 

Theo and the Alpacas

I thought alpacas were mean animals that looked suspiciously like llamas. I was wrong on both counts.

Recently, during the holidays, my sisters, Theo and I journeyed to an alpaca farm in Virginia. It is my youngest sister Cyndi's idea. I have to admit--I'm not really into it, but Theo--who, of course, has just seen a segment on alpacas on the History Channel--insists we go. 

It is cold and raining--unusual weather for Virginia, and we expect we will have to tramp through mud for the "full tour experience," but when Theo looks at you with those pleading eyes, how can anyone say no?

Besides, my sisters--who all love animals and have pets--seem really into it. They, in fact, are thrilled that they're going to meet a herd of alpacas face to face. I'm secretly wondering how long the tour will last. Theo is chomping at the bit.

"Aren't you the least bit afraid of sniffing them?" I ask.

Theo looks at me as if I'm insane. "It's something I have to do," he announces. 

The alpaca farm we plan to visit is approximately seven acres. We learn from the charming couple who own the farm that the 20 or so alpacas like to live together. They are social animals. There are also two gigantic dogs--guard dogs--on the property--beautiful dogs with the whitest and fluffiest fur--who guard against predators like the coyote who might visit the farm at night in search of an alpaca dinner. 

I soon learn I know nothing about alpacas. After an introductory talk, we learn that alpacas:

are considered domesticated 

are from South America

are a small relative of the camel

weigh approximately 110 - 190 pounds

are unusually shaped with long legs, long necks, small heads, pointed ears, and big eyes (which make them so appealing) and weird toes on their feet (which look almost like the toes of a devil)

are rumored to be spitters if you get too close. Not true. If you get too close and scare them, they will blow air at you to discourage you getting any closer. Sometimes some saliva may come with the air, but technically, that's not really spitting.

are covered with hypoallergenic fur which is water proof, warm, and less itchy and can also act as a repellant to other animals. For example, a bit of fur on a bush at home that deer like to eat can help keep your bush safe.

Very interesting. My concern is how will Theo react when he meets an alpaca face to face? How will the alpaca react? And what about those giant white guard dogs? Will they see Theo as an intruder, a coyote in disguise?

Theo is a small cat. He fits into my backpack, no problem. He is snuggled in there and I assume he's sleeping. Maybe that's my way out. I can tell him afterwards--you slept thru the entire alpaca tour. 

No such luck.

Remember cats are good at sniffing. As soon as we enter the barn, he wakes up and begins to rustle around. He can smell them. My sister paid for this tour--for five humans. No cats were included.

I strategize. I'll slowly back away from my sisters who are gathered around listening to the charming couple and feeding the alpacas from a small zippered bag filled with grain. I notice a few alpacas out of the barn eating hay. I'll meander over and let Theo get closer. 

Well, the best laid plans. I do meander over, but Theo leaps out of the backpack and heads straight for one of the alpacas, who is minding his own business. I feel a sense of doom descending as I watch Theo confidently moving toward said alpaca, and, of course, sniffing. 

I am of two minds in this moment. Prevent the close encounter or take a photo of it. Theo and the munching alpaca are nose to nose. Perfect! I drop my backpack to the ground, pull my phone out of my pocket, and as I am just about to click, a second alpaca who is sniffing the grain in the small bag that is also in my coat pocket, pushes me from behind. 

He wants a snack. He is trying to get my attention. My i Phone lands in the soggy hay beneath my feet. I retrieve it. I'll take a video.

No Theo. He's disappeared. Par for the course. No cat.

Now the second alpaca is pulling the grain bag out of my pocket, determined to snack at all costs. Two thoughts cross my mind--hold onto that bag of snacks and find Theo.

It all works out. I panicked for nothing. In a few short minutes, Theo jumps back into my backpack, and I am calmly feeding the alpacas as if nothing has happened. 

"Well, wasn't this a great idea?" Cyndi asks.

"I loved it!" Caroline says.

"They're so cute," Cheryl says.

"I'm freezing." That's Karen. 

It's time to go to the gift shop and head home. 

"Well, Theo, what did you think?" 

He's cuddled up. Hand over his face. Fast asleep. No comment.

Theo and I wish everyone a Happy New Year! 

 

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. 

Theo and the Italian Carousel

 This is not my first time in Rome. Over the years, I've arrived and conquered (as they say), taking time to explore all my usual haunts--The Spanish Steps--and never missing a chance to walk through the Villa Borghese Park. It literally sits behind The Spanish Steps on the grounds of what used to be an old vineyard. It was commissioned by a pope. It became a public park in 1908. It covers 60 hectares or approximately 2,000 acres.  And it is considered Rome's favorite park.

In the summer it is the perfect place to explore, especially if you're traveling with a cat who longs to be free and roam wide. Theo wants out of the backpack and down on the ground. He wants to sniff, sniff, sniff. 

So we climb the Spanish Steps--no easy feat--and turn left. We walk and walk and eventually spot a purple bush along the side of the road--the marker that tells us to begin the trek up another winding road to reach the park.

We're not expecting lush greenery here--not in June in the middle of Rome. There is little rain and the weather is hot. But I am expecting to catch a glimpse of the many antique statues that line the main road. It is astonishing to find such statuary in the middle of a park. 

We don't have the time or energy to walk all 2,000 or so acres, but I do want to show something to Theo. Something he's never seen before. 

"It's a surprise," I tell him. 

He tilts his head, and I know what he's thinking.

"No, it's not food."

I see a little bit of disappointment. 

"But, I promise after you see the surprise, we'll stop for gelato."

Now, Theo is no ice cream fan, but he does love gelato. The taste is different than ice cream, less sweet, and more--dare I say--luscious? And even though Theo can't speak a word of Italian, he does know the word gelato.

"There . . . there it is." 

I have no childhood memories of ever riding a carousel. Maybe that's why I am so enthralled with them as an adult. To me it is a magical place. You climb onboard and around you go. You forget for a moment that you're not really going anywhere, but as you whirl around in a gigantic circle, you lose sight of your family for a moment as the scenery whirs past until they appear again, waving and smiling. 

This carousel is furnished with different forms of transportation. I spot a Cinderella like coach, a mini sport car, and a Choo Choo train.

Theo rushes forward and jumps aboard. He wanders around and, you can guess it, sniffs. The carousel is deserted. Theo has it all to himself. Time goes by. 

"Okay." We've been roving around Rome for hours. We want to walk back to our hotel, clean up and get dinner. 

Theo is moving from the coach to the sport car to the Choo Choo train. He has no intention of leaving his surprise. 

"He's going to sniff every inch of that carousel," I realize with despair.

Dan doesn't like the sound of that. 

"Yeah, yeah." Dan, the hero, walks over, swoops Theo up and begins rushing toward the ice cream stand. Theo shoots me a dirty look, but Dan continues to march along.

And then I get a surprise, too. Some trees in Italy have the most unusual shape. They look like giant tree umbrellas. And one is growing by a palm tree. I can't resist capturing them. It is a sight you'll never see in New Jersey.

Finally, we order a gelato grande. Ordering gelato in Italy is different than ordering an ice cream in America. You get one flavor and one flavor only. In Italy, we can choose three flavors--Pistachio, Crema, and Stracciatella (Pistacchio, Cream and Vanilla with chocolate shreds in it.) Theo loves the Crema. 

While we eat, we stare at the trees. Heaven! And even Theo seems happy, as happy as a gangster cat can be!

Star Struck Theo at the Spanish Steps

 One of the most surprising things about Rome is that we see so few cats. There are dogs--big dogs, small dogs--especially Dachsunds--but no cats.

Until Theo spots an orange cat, who seems to come out of nowhere, navigating the narrow Roman streets, and heading toward the Spanish Steps. Now, there are a thousand reasons to visit the Spanish Steps, or as the Italians call them "la Scalinata:"

*It is the longest and widest staircase in Europe so it is a sight to see.

*Roman Holiday, that delicious movie with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck was filmed there in 1953.

*The fountain in Piazza di Spagna, the square in front of the steps, contains Fontana della Barcaccia (ugly boat) and was inspired by an ugly little boat that became stranded in that square in 1598 when the Tiber River flooded and the pope at that time wanted to commemorate the strange event.

*The 135 steps, built in the Rococo style, were funded by the French, believe it or not, and lead to Piazza Trinita dei Monti, to a church at the top.

*Italians and tourists collide there for the views of Rome from the top to the street below which is the premier shopping district in Rome.

*The steps host fashion shows and concerts throughout the year.

*There is no sitting on the steps. If you try to sit, for even a moment, eventually you will be roused to your feet by a loud shrill whistle from the police who patrol there.

Theo doesn't care about any of these facts. He sees a cat, the first one he's seen since he arrived. It is a revelation to him because he was thinking there are no cats in Rome. After all, at home, we have cats who visit our patio all the time, lounge on the pavers, stroll through the backyard as if they own the place. We arrive in Rome, and there are no cats.

Until Theo spots this orange big boned cat, who obviously meows Italian . . . I try to explain this to Theo. 

"He's an Italian cat. What will you two meow about?"

But Theo is nothing if not stubborn. So that is how we end up near the Spanish Steps. The first time. Well, actually we end up at the fountain, shaped like that of an ugly boat, with water spewing out from seven different points into the basin that surrounds it. 

The intrepid orange cat jumps up onto the edge of the basin. Is he actually going in for a swim? Isn't there a rule here that forbids cat bathing?

Several tourists begin to notice. This cat seems to have every intention of doing the unthinkable. He's leaning forward and sniffing. He's even bouncing a little, the way cats do before they take the mighty leap. People point and begin to chant. "Salta. Salta." Jump. Jump.

But that cat has no intention of jumping into the fountain and, perhaps, getting arrested and paying a fine. He looks around and then, as if he's not the cause of all the ruckus, jumps down and  saunters away.

I assume Theo will follow him, but he doesn't. Our gangster cat is star struck, like he can't quite believe what he's seen. Such bravado! Such nerve!

I pick Theo up and don't say a word. But we can't help but glance back at that cat. The brave boy is picked up and is now being carried out of the square by a beautiful woman with long dark hair. Probably by his Italian mama. 

Be still my heart. And then I think--that cat looks just like Chucky. It is as if Chucky has appeared to show Theo--this is what an adventure looks like. Go for it! 

Cool.

                                 In honor of Chucky, the rascal cat. 

Is Theo a hero or a brat?

 Pasquale picks us up from the Rome Airport and takes us to our Hotel on probably the worst day of the year in Rome. The city is host to a marathon that literally runs past our hotel. Pasquale is tasked with outwitting the Marathon authorities so he can deliver us and our luggage as promised. Theo, who is with us, rests comfortably in a backpack, his head lolling around, his eyes closed. 

Pasquale, dressed professionally in nice Italian made slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt that is rolled up to his elbows, is in his early sixties. He knows Rome like the back of his hand. He speaks a little English and is visibly relieved when we ask him to talk to us in Italian because we want to practice.

This request unleashes a wealth of information. Suddenly Pasquale transforms from a reticent driver into a gregarious tour guide, pointing out the various sights we pass as we enter Rome proper and wind through the narrow and busy streets.

Pasquale pretends not to notice Theo, nestled between us. Our driver most likely assumes he is harmless. Theo doesn't growl or meow. I hold a Churos, a special treat for Theo, just in case.

Pasquale talks about his experiences as a driver, answers all our questions, but finally admits he's a dog lover. He's lived on a farm and doesn't see much use for cats . . . as pets. Theo understands English but his Italian is shaky. I hope Pasquale's comment has gone over his head. 

By some miracle, we arrive at Hotel Delle Nazioni, weaving in and out of streets that are temporarily closed and then reopened. We literally have seconds to disembark from the car. It is illegal to park where we have stopped. Pasquale is being a good driver. Dan is in charge of the luggage. I grab my backpack and reach for Theo.

Theo, resistant, backs away from me. He meows. His behavior is so unusual. So odd. For the most part Theo is becoming a veteran traveler. There is no time for questions. I literally pick him up by the scruff of his neck and pull him out of the car, the backpack swinging behind him. He is as surprised as I am that he's being "manhandled."

In the hotel lobby we sit on comfortable sofas, waiting for our rooms to be ready. I'm exhausted and don't have the strength to find out what Theo was thinking. Later, in our rooms, I'll unravel the mystery.

I reach for my iPhone, which should be wedged in the pocket of my pants. It's gone. Nowhere to be found. Everything is in that phone--our air itinerary, our tickets to the Colosseum, maps of the city. I feel physically sick. I know I had it when we met Pasquale. How will I ever track him down? I don't even have his last name.

At that very moment, before my panic overtakes my common sense, Pasquale reappears. He is holding out my phone. It must have fallen onto his car's backseat, then the floor. I jump up and hug Pasquale. I am so grateful. Then I collapse back onto the sofa, grasping my phone like a lifeline. Which it is.

It strikes me then as I glance at Theo's disappointed face. "Is that why you wouldn't get out of the car? Were you trying to tell me . . ." I hold out my phone.

Theo meows plaintively, pitifully--his usual maneuver when he knows he's won that round. Now he doesn't feel like talking. All he wants is a snack from his totally grateful mom. 

Is Theo a hero or a brat? I'll never know.