|580> Tromping Monti w/ the patron saint of tramps, St. B.J. Labre|
May 15, 2018 | Rome> Monti, to be specific. The rione we roamed last sabbath ("we" being our patron Cal + his bedder-½ (whom guess u cd call our adapted pairunts) + us, anon I'm us). Monti = rione # I in fact + the originul "Suburra" dat gave the movie/TV series hit's name... not dat inny of the movie or series takes plaze or was filmed in Suburra/Monti, dat we cd tell. "Suburra" used to be the low-life red-light barrio, the seedy underbelly of the she-wolf. Now it's where affuent hipsters live, gentlefied like da rest of this planit.
We live a block away from the westmost "corner" of Monti (anchored by Trajan's column) + since there aint much of intrest in our rione (# II, Trevi, nor the surrounding #s IX or X) we usually gravitate to Monti... if we ever venture out, like if we need food. It's 1 of the largest rioni + has a convoluted shape, a geometric boot, sorta like Italy herself. When most folks say "Monti" tho they's referring to the neck of woods northwest of the Coliseum, centered around the corner of via Serpenti + Madonna dei Monti.
The above delineation inkloots the Capo d'Africa pocket just southeast of the Colisseo, but more up-to-date maps halve Capo d'Africa in rione XIX (Celio).
We dint go into the Trajan museum on this roming, bud our pairunts halve b4, back when they 1° moved here the 1° time, in 2010. B-sides, most of the Trajan market + baths u kin see from the streets.
Many in Monti halve a similure view of the Colosseo from dar windows, dat's cuz Vespasian built hit as a gift to commun folk, smack in dare backyard, to make up for the decadent palaces the previus endperor Nero built exclusively for hisself (will git to dat in a bit). So in the good ol dayz the poor folk living in Suburra cd walk strait down via Madonna dei Monti to catch a gladiator match or whatnot.
Somewhere around here we passed the house on via Merulana #219, where Carlo Godda's That Awful Mess on the Via Merulana takes plaze, but Cal already talked about dat. Dont know of any udder books or moovies dat take plaze in Monti, or what notetworthy peephole hail from dare sides Ettore Petrolini, sum ol vaudeville star (we passed his house w/ a plack on hit, how's we know). Sure dare's plenty tho, we happend upon a moovie shoot dare jus this past week.
A spooky thing happend 2 us as we flâneured our way down via Serpenti. A'proaching the coroner w/ via Baccina, we god this creepy feeline dat sumping brushed by our leg, like a dog, but we looked down + dint see nuttin. Hard to discribe, felt like a ghost passed rite thru us, sending a chill down our spine. When we god to the coroner we tole our bedder-½ + she looked at us w/ jaw drop'd + said she felt the xact same thing, xcept in her version she said it was a cat, not a dog. Bud more then dat, jus the feeling of a presents. When we wint back to where it happend we looked up + saw this plack on the wall.
... witch basickly sez dat sum dude St. Benededict G. Labre kicked the bucket in this casa... the word "spirava" means he expired, or "he was blowing" as google translate sez. Spirava also looks like its got the same root as spirit. Googling now, ends up this St. Benedict Joseph Labre cat is the "patron saint of tramps," of the homeless + insane. He gave up all his wordly possessions + wanderd il moondough, always on foot, eventually to Rome (from France) where he died of malnutrition... strange weed halve a run-in w/ dis saint on 1 of our romings, given our commun intrests w/ walking, nutrition/poverty (our bedder-½'s dept) + insanity (our current field of study + perhaps mentoll state). This French hobo also sposedly had the ability to levitate + bilocate (bee in 2 plazes @ même temps). We said we felt sumping brush by us, but honistly hit was mo' like sumpin brushed THRU us, like how Vincent Schiavelli jump'd thru trains in Ghost (1990). Or maybe more like how Patrick Swayze occupied Whoopi Goldberg's body.... maybe this St. Benedict tramp is ketching a lift in our body? Adding to the a'cumulation of lost soles awkupying anon I'm us. Well come, St. Labre, wellcome all.
Speaking of ghosts, not shore we menshunned b4 how dare's a ghost dat came w/ our attico, in Palazzo Colonna. Mostly what she does is reset our alarm clock for odd hours, wich she dose every nite, even after we dubble-check. The 1° few times we thought mayb our bedder-½ does hit in her sleep, her subonchus wanting her to sleep mor. Bud hit keeps happening every nite, even when we stay up all night watching. And utter weird stuff happens, like sumtimes sumping takes over our computer trackpad + makes us click on shit we dint wand to click on, or utter standurd ghost stuff like weird noises, the opening uv windows + doors we sware we closed, or she moves chairs around like in Poltergeist (1982). May-b its god sumpin todo w/ dat tooth we found when we 1° moved in, or the seahorse, halloween masks (wich they dont celebrate here f.y.i.) + udder randum stuff left b-hind by the prior 10-ants (who worked for the electric co., ACEA). Mind u, we's skeptickle sighingtists @ heart dat aint superstitchus or nuttin, but too mush unexplained stuff keeps a'happening. Mor then innything hit's a feeling we git, even when we's alone in dis hear attico we feel the presents of sum1 Ls, to the point where we're bashful to git undressed. We named this ghost Ceci, partly in honor of Beatrice Cenci (cuz dat's the imedge her presents sprung to mined) + cuz, well, we dig chick peas (ceci) + think hit makes a good name for a misschivus but benevolent (so far) ghost. Innyhow, back to tramping monti.
@ this point we took a tour of Domus Aurea, sumping weed never dun b4 cuz hit was closed to the public on account of how unstable the t'rain is (kept cullapsing), but guess they've recently opened her up to the publick, but u gotta go on a guided tour... wich was actshoally perty good, our guide rather informative (she had a PhD + shit) + dare was 1 part where u sit in this room + put on virtual 3-D glasses + they recreate what the room + ntire palazzo used to look like, perty trippy, u cd look all around as if u was dare in the hay day. All part of Nero's gran palazzo, now bury'd underground. When they 1° found hit, dare was all these insane murals, but by undigging them + xposing them to the humid air the murals got ruined, like dat scene in Fillini's Roma (1972):
After Domus Aurea, we lunched at Trattoria Morgana, the Scamorza + carciofi was good, but the chicken dry, (★★★). We've eaten at a lot of other places in Monti... La Carbonara (★★★★), La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali (dont member so well, may'b ★★★½), Taverna Romana (★★★—used to be good, but last few times notso). We grab a slice often from Antico Forno Serpenti (★★★★). Further up the road from dat Awful Mess is Merulana Cafè (★★★½). Shirley dare's udders we forgetting a bout, + bars, them plazes rond the main fountain where locool kids congregate (fun plaze to grab a boddle of prosecco + peephole watch), dat Irish pub near Cavour stn, etc. After lunch, we pushed on to do the last southern bit out by San Giovanni en Laterno.
1 of our fave churches in Rome is at the southwestern tippy-toe of Monti—San Stefano Rotonda, the 1 weve blogged of b4 dat's god all these instructional scenes on how to kill christians. Every time we go seams dare's a wedding, kind of wierd place to git married dont u think? Surrounded by all them gorey grewsum scenes (guess Xtians think hit's "martyrdom," not violince). Here's sum panels dat was under restoration b4, death by masectomy (left) + in the rite they's ripping out sum poor woman's tongue.
+ dat, dear Inurnet, is all she wrote.
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