Ancient Burial, the gods and Theo

 Lipari, Italy is known for more than a cathedral and St. Bartholomew's thumb. Dan and I know there's a fabulous museum close by. Now, I like some museums and hate others and sometimes feel totally overwhelmed by the number of objects organized on shelves that you're forced to look at. 

The Museum of Lipari is different. 

Even though it is huge, it is housed in several different buildings, forcing you to make choices. It is primarily Greek artifacts unearthed centuries ago because Lipari was originally a Greek city. Dan and I (and Theo, reluctantly) decide to visit the Pre-historic museum building because it contains ruins unearthed outside the city walls from a Greek Necropolis (yes, a city of the dead). Beginning in 1948, archaeologists discovered 3000 tombs (so far) hidden under approximately thirteen feet of earth. These tombs and what was inside date back to four or five centuries before Christ. That's a long time ago. 

Theo is slightly interested in two facts. One: the bodies were buried back then differently than the method we use today. No coffins. Instead, the remains were usually put into vase like structures that look more like wine canisters. 

Two: the Greeks insisted on being buried with small objects that they believed helped them reach the afterlife. 

The Greeks, back then, literally believed in the gods and the power they had to control the life of humans. One of the most popular was Bachus or Dionysus (his Roman name), son of Zeus, who was the god of wine, festivity, fruit, vegetation, fertility, theatre and religious ecstasy. For the Greeks, theatre was a religious experience.

Therefore, the tombs contained all sorts of neat little objects representing the person's belief in their preferred god, usually Dionysus. 

 

Theo is fascinated. As we walk past shelves filled with all these tiny figurines--statues of people and animals or masks that connect to the theatre--Theo's paw keeps stretching out and hitting glass. He can see them, but he can't touch them. He can't sniff them which amounts to another excruciatingly depressing experience for the gangster cat. The hits become more frenetic.

"Stop that, Theo. Just look. You can't touch."

He gives me a woeful expression. Isn't that the story of my life, he seems to want to say. 

"I think Theo has had enough," Dan says.

"You're right. I think it's time we go and visit Aldo."

Theo and St. Bart's Thumb

 We drag a love sick cat with us to the island of Lipari. Theo doesn't want to leave Sorrento and Ms. Cow. We lure him with a promise of extra snacks and a peek into one of the most famous churches in the area, famous because of a thumb--a relic of a saint--that is now there.

Imagine--we are in the Tyrrhenian Sea with incredible views before we land on the largest island in the archipelago that sits offshore near Sicily.  Theo is not interested in the view; he only wants to see the thumb.

We love the idea of visiting Lipari. Yes, we want to see the thumb--more on that in a minute--but we also want to see one of the best sides of Italy--unspoiled, less touristy, with narrow cobblestone streets, and raw balconies, the old intermingled with the new. 

We walk the streets, take in the sea views, and enjoy the sights, ever aware that Theo is not a happy camper. 

"Where is the thumb?" he wants to know.

We enter the Cathedral of St. Bartholomew, and Bart is everywhere.

 

One source says the thumb rests within a silver arm container for holy relics in the cathedral. It is only exposed for veneration during the feast days of the saint. What? We don't dare tell Theo that.

Another source says St. Bart's thumb rests within the red porphyry basin (a reddish purple rock, very rare, considered the royal rock) that supports the main altar of the Cathedral di San Bartolomeo. So that's where we're headed (with trepidation) to the main altar of the Cathedral.

"There it is," we say, keenly aware that Theo actually wants to see the thumb. Up close and personal. Maybe even sniff it. He doesn't want to imagine that the thumb is encased in some container that he can't see. He doesn't want to know there is a rope that prevents visitors from getting too close.

"First, you have to hear the story of St. Bartholomew so you'll have some appreciation of why his thumb is so important."

Theo gives us the stink eye.

We persevere: "Bartholomew was a preacher in Asia who converted many people to the Christian faith. That's why he was killed by the pagans in Armenia in the most horrific way. While he was still alive, they removed his skin. Then they beheaded him."

Theo is slightly interested. This is a story that he can appreciate--the sheer ghoulishness of it. 

"The local people prayed to him and reported that there were miracles in his name. So the locals became more devoted which angered the pagans who then put Bartholomew's remains in a marble chest and threw it out to sea to get rid of him once and for all."

Theo yawns, but he's still listening.

"The chest didn't sink but instead floated on the top of the water and was carried by a current to Lipari. The local bishop, who was warned by an angel in a dream of Bartholomew's arrival, welcomed his remains. The local population, honored, decided to make St. Bartholomew the patron saint of the Aeolian Island."

Theo has closed his eyes. Is he asleep? Dan motions me to keep on talking. Maybe this is our way out. We'll just tell him he missed the thumb when he wakes up.

"So," I continue, "over the centuries, the people called on their patron saint to save them from earthquakes, plagues, and barbarian attacks. Then the remains were stolen and sent to Rome. But still the people believed. They took up a collection and built a silver statue in his honor in 1728 which is on the main altar of the Cathedral of St. Bartholomew. Today his thumb is the only relic that remains."

There is no one else in the Cathedral. We are standing in front of the altar. I feel bad for what we're about to do. Dan slowly lifts up a sleeping Theo and we leave.

As we are on our way back to our ship, Theo opens one eye.

"It's such a shame you missed the thumb, Theo."

Theo looks at me with a great deal of skepticism. I feel guilty.

"It wasn't that great. We hardly saw anything. In fact, come to think of it, I might have blinked and missed the thumb completely."

The poor boy looks disappointed.

And then a partial miracle happens. We pass by a bowl filled with stones, but not ordinary stones--pumice, which is what the island is also known for. "Look, Theo, pumice."

Yeah, it's not a thumb, but the kid has a chance to sniff the pumice, and we feel vindicated. Well, sort of.

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!