Getting bearings before heading off to the cemetery nearby, the department where the course/conference was held is marked by a large, magnetic sector mass spectrometer. And, when I say large I mean it is massive and, if the magnet that drives the mass separation was comparable to the large dimensions of the flight path, the resolution must have been phenomenal.
A more typical sized sector instrument, above, is still a beast to behold. The we museum had all sorts of ancient goodies to inspect up close.
Just across from the front doors, this reflecting pool tempted more than one of us in the 40°C heat:
And, to wrap up the photos from Rome this mural commemorates the one day during WW2 that the allies bombed Rome. The neighbourhood was flattened with many of the memorials in the nearby cemetery holding the date of the attack. (I know this seems out of context with the rest of this post, but during a pizza meal across the street from here one of our hosts from the department pointed it out to me.)
There was less time the final two days but I managed to squeeze in some short trots north of the University and looping back to my hotel. The heat was like a furnace (al forno) and shorter was definitely better.
Both of these runs made their way through the park/gardens of Villa Torlonia which was Mussolini’s house. There’s a bunker, there, as well and nearby it I retired the Crown and Wanker shirt that Brownie sent over some years back:
The t-shirt retirements used to be a thing…this one finally wore down after 6 years.
This 19th century pile in the park was part of the greenhouse and gardener’s quarters:
Early morning during the heatwave, I would have thought there would be more people in the park.
The residence of the Whatzit (Viscount? Duke?) of Tortoloni:
The park is at the top of this path for day 3:
Day 3 inadvertently lost in a student neighbourhood
Altogether, I managed to cover about 35 miles of Roman ground over the four days. Despite all that, I also managed to gain 5lbs (the food…the drink!).
Cimitero Monumentale Verano sits just northeast of Sapienza University, where my week was taken up with an FTICR-MS short course on gas phase ion-molecule reactions, both the fundamentals and practical aspects. It started at 2, so after checking into my hotel I had time to kill.
Another blistering hot day, the rock here just boiled. Very little shade and the water available was for plant maintenance and not potable.
The youth memorialised below was, like a lot of the residents of these tombs, killed in the bombing of the neighbourhood in 1943. The only bombing to hit Rome, it is something the locals are keen to remember even now.
Some of the graves are pretty traditional. However, a lot of the crypts have sliding glass doors … they’re grand structures but also look like suburban patios.
This is a really huge ground and I only saw a fraction of it. One of my local colleagues says there is another cat sanctuary in this cemetery; he even brings his own cat over to play.
Some go for the pyramid, others for Shelley’s and Keats’ tombs or the monument to Gramsci. I went to Cimitero Acattolico Per Gli Stranieri Al Testaccio for the cat sanctuary.
The perfume of the flowering trees and the oily tartness of the cedar and pine throughout make this a heavenly site indeed. And, there are cats.
The photo doesn’t do Elsbeth’s blanket justice. In the afternoon light it looks soft.
Belinda, I think, was a US starlet that died in a car crash, here. Speaking of car wrecks, the tragedy going on in the background is the one Brit giving a tour to two others and trying to explain, in front of Shelley’s tomb, just exactly what is “The Grand Tour,” and its significance to the 19th Century upper and middle classes of the UK. Shudder.
So, this picture of a cat shitting on a grave is more than mere analogy.
It was very hot, especially for a furry guy like this:
I spent a bit of time among the communists housed here, but that is holy ground. Instead, here’s a photo of some fop and his little dog:
While I listened to the guide trying, here, to explain the Romantic Poets to his friends, this nearby angel expresses my own dismay. Heartbreaking.
Some quick ones here. Two streets, at least, in Testaccio have American references.
Britain is likewise evoked by this poster on the wall of L’Oasi Della Birra describing Italian cheeses. The British map would be 99% cheddar with a small amount of Stilton dotted above East Anglia.
I would hate to be the one to spoil this place by making it less obscure — killing it with kindness — but few readers who know me would take my advice even if they found themselves in Rome, and there are too few others to really do any damage.
Sandro is a wonderful man with a sandwich bar stocked with wine from his family’s farm. €1 a tumbler or a little less than €3 for a 1 liter carafe, it is decent plonk at 5 times the price. The bread looks grand and he’ll put together a cheap sandwich for you (brush up on your Italian before going in or get one of the kids hanging out to order for you).
I came by earlier in the day, around 1:30, but he had already shuttered the place having taken in his lunch limit. Still closed at 6, I was on my way elsewhere when I spotted it open an hour and a half later. Seems he opened for an hour today with plans to close at 8…the Italian hour means we all finally said arrivederci at 20 after, but this was the local experience I hoped for (and hope never makes it into the tour guide books).
The heat in Rome was intense coming, as I was, from a solid month of rain and colder than normal temperatures. It was also glorious, originating, as I do, from the Deep South where this furnace-like weather in late June is the norm.
One of the things that helped over the 22½ miles I jogged the first couple of days was the ever-flowing, cold, sweet water from nasoni (I’m reliably informed this means “big nose”) all over the Eternal City. I’d soak my hat, fill my bottle, cool my wrists and continue on the exploration.
About 200m from my digs the first night, the Piramide di Caio Cestio stands as a monument to Caius Cestius. Built by the former slaves freed by decree in his final will and testament, it subsequently was incorporated into the city walls.
Porta San Paolo stands next to the PdCC but I’ve got this photo labeled as the PSP…doesn’t matter unless I hope to find it again (and I could refer back to my run maps, if it really made a difference).
This is all because drinking may have been involved (I know, you’re shocked that a run in this blog involved a bar stop or two). In the Piazza Testaccio, I dodged the kids to get to the nasoni at the base of this otherwise dry fountain. Off to the right, the umbrellas at L’Oasi della Birra can be seen:
Here, I stopped for refreshment and a few birri al spini with a Danish couple. She works for an international food agency based in Rome while he works for the Danish Embassy in Addis Ababa (they met in Ethiopia). Nice kids, they really encourage a visit to Addis and the surrounding countryside even during the current political unrest.
Back out on the run, I slowed a bit from the free nibbles and two pints (preceded, it can be noted, by a tall weißbier at the Dolce Bar in Trastavere.
My foray into the city centre on Day 2 initially had me wondering where the tourists were. Never fear, they started to turn up with a vengeance after Circo Massimo, above.
Halfway to my work-supplied hotel, I looped back for a shower at my own-supplied one with the intention of settling into the short course and too much food (and no further running). This was not to be, happily; don’t get me wrong: there WAS too much food and some sublime science, but I also managed to get out for a few, shorter treks around the north side of town (to be documented, later).
The pizza chef, not the ARSE graffito, was the subject of this pic.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 