Bomarzo – Bosco dei Mostri

I have thousands of  photos – literally – from this past summer that I would love to share with you. Photos from our travels, and from everyday events, some goofy, some funny, others beautiful and sweet. But as you may have noticed; I have done a less than stellar job of keeping this blog updated.

Here are some photos from back in July when we made a day trip to Bomarzo, some 70 km north of Rome. It is both a town and a park. The park also goes by the name of Monster’s Grove, a most descriptive name for this 16th century marvel, built by Orsini and later dedicated to his late wife.

Many a scholar has tried to analyze the structure of the park, the meaning behind the monstrous, wondrous monuments, but in the end one might have to contend with the inscription on one of the statues: sol per sfogare il Core – just to set the heart free.

The sphinx that greets the visitor once you’ve entered the gates of the park.

A giant crushing a man, now there’s a vision to make you lose sleep.

Casa Storta or Twisted House

Resting in the shade for a few moments, as the heat was getting quite oppressive,
despite the early hour of the day.

So, to get the kids enthusiastic about the trip to Bomarzo (no playground equals no fun to our munchkins) we told them that the statues used to be alive, that they were evil so a fairy cast a spell and transformed them to stone figures and they were trapped in this park forever and ever. We also might have said that we’d have to be careful not to reverse the spell because then the monsters would become live again and we really wouldn’t want that, now would we. Yes, I’m sure we’re nominated for the Parents of the Year award.)

And this is what the Bambino looked like for much of the day.  Poor thing was terrified of the statues.
Well, at least he wasn’t bored, eh?

What the hell is this?

An elephant of war crushing a soldier.

There just aren’t enough two-headed creatures in the world, are there?

Yeah, I have no idea what this is.

Il Tempietto, a little temple, which, apparently, is the final resting place for Orsini’s wife Giulia.

Well, this freaked me out too, no wonder we couldn’t get the Bambino to come anywhere close to it.

Lunch at the picnic area. Did I mention it was hot? This is what Northerners
look like in 40 degree heat after an active day in the sun.

This is how they look after some food and rest.

Well, those are the photos I picked out for you to see. Hope you enjoyed them!

Thanks for stopping by my blog, welcome back any time!

Minna

Same-same, but different

I look at my kids and see the same beautiful, funny, smart kids every day. I record new milestones, I weigh them, measure them, buy new clothes. Of course – of course – I know that they grow, get bigger, older, smarter and more beautiful every day. But it’s one thing to know and an entirely another to actually see it.

And then one day I happened to see these pictures and somewhere in the foggy corners of my memory I knew I had seen these same photos before. But different.

The pics are paired up, with the first taken on the first of October this year and the second pic taken on the 12th of October 2008.

First pair

Second pair

Last set

Same kids, same fountain, but oh my, what a difference a year makes.

My babies are growing up.

Villa Doria Pamphili – part two

Funny how things turn out. A year and a half ago we visited Villa Doria Pamphili (apparently the famous family prefers to have the name written Pamphilj, but whatever) with our friend Roberto and had a wonderful time. We didn’t see the whole park during that first visit, it was just too big and we had too much fun staying by the pond where the Bambino was busy trying to catch fish, I was busy cuddling with my baby girl and, well. You know.  Part one of this story is right here.

We said we’d meet up again really soon and see the rest. Sure, we’ve met up with Roberto many, many times since, but did we ever make a point of seeing the rest of the park? Of course not. Yesterday, however, we did just that and it turned out to be a great day. Roberto is a walking, talking history book and I could listen to him all day telling stories, making the buildings and monuments come alive.

Husband and Roberto, who just recently moved to Geneva to work at CERN
and felt the need to advertise the fact.

Acqua Paola, the aqueduct that makes up part of the park’s boundary.

View of the palazzo (actually it is called a casino, a lodge, although the word casino
can also mean a heap of other not very nice things, and let’s leave it at that… )

Every family needs their own private church, right? I mean, RIGHT?
For the family tomb, you know.

Another view of the casino (lodge) with its Giardino Segreto (secret garden). Since the Pamphili family sold most of this estate to the city of Rome and to the State (they couldn’t pay the taxes and had no choice but to sell. The story behind this is really intriguing, btw) this palace has since been used for state functions, like receptions for visiting foreign dignitaries and such . It is also open as a museum showcasing the Pamphili family’s extensive antiquities collection.

I rarely hand over my camera to someone else, but Roberto was kind enough to agree to take some photos of us. He neither sneered at me nor called me anally retentive for wanting to set the camera up for him and telling him exactly where to stand and how to hold the camera.  Grazie Bello, you did a good job!

Father and son.

Another one by Roberto. The odds of this one ending up enlarged in a frame are quite high.

Yeah, I really don’t know how to comment this. I think he’s hot, okay?

Roberto brought presents with him from Geneva. How sweet is that?

I would call it love at first sight.

Love between a boy and his penguin.

We had a wonderful day.

Two years ago today

You know how you sometimes just stop in your tracks and think; didn’t this happen just yesterday? only to realize that, crap, it’s been a couple of years, followed closely by; holy hell, what happened to those years?

I had one of those moments today.

Two years ago today I was in a hospital bed, screaming very loudly, and very undignified, to the poor midwife that I want a bloody c-section and I want it fucking now. There might have ben a few more swear words mixed in there, but the people witnessing this have been mercifully quiet about the exact choice of words. And before anyone jumps in here telling me I was batshit crazy for wanting a c-section, well you might be right about the crazy, but you’d be wrong about the c-section. I had one with the Bambino and it was so much better, both during and after.

Let’s move on.

At 1:23 pm on September 5th, 2007 my darling daughter was born, filling my heart to the brim with love and with the knowledge that all was right in my little world.

Since then she has been a force to be reckoned with in the family. She is a strong-willed little girl, who has recently entered the super fun phase, also known as the Terrible Twos. Yes, we’re loving every minute of it. The tantrums are a joy to handle, the testing of boundaries is a breeze and pig-headedness is, well, actually, that might just be her and here to stay. Lucky us.

She is utterly and completely obsessed with Teletubbies. This started, oh, so gingerly back in January, but has become a full-blown love affair in the past 2-3 months. Oh joy, because Teletubbies aren’t the least bit annoying or anything.  The Bambina starts her mornings by calling out for Po and she ends them with long discussions with Po and La-La about the day’s events, while lying in her crib, waiting for sleep to take her to dreamland. It’s hilarious and makes me almost forgive the Tubsters for being so damn annoying I want to claw my eyes out. The only thing making Teletubbies (and the Bambina’s obsession) bearable, is the knowledge that they’re standing between us and impending doom. I’m talking about all the Princess movies, of course.

Oh please, let that phase be far, far away. Look, Bambina, here’s Winnie The Pooh! Winnie!!! Let’s watch Pooh Bear! No, let Cinderella stay in her attic, here’s Winnie!

Could work. I’ll let you know.

Meanwhile, I think I’ll have some more birthday cake.

Oh, and here’s a photo. Like you could have come here and not gotten a photo. You’re welcome.

Happy Birthday, my darling daughter.

A quest for peace and quiet

Since I was a little girl I have dreamt of living in a house.

A nice big house, with a front yard and a back yard and a white picket fence. A big kitchen with lots of space to hang out in, cook together, laugh with friends and family and eat breakfast in (you know, like in a commercial from Cornflakes?) and all would be right in the world.

I grew up in apartments.  Nice and spacious apartments, but apartments, nonetheless. My dad, with a deep-rooted neurosis about noise, instilled that same neurosis in me. I hated hearing noise from neighbors, being disturbed, woken up at night and merely knowing that someone lived this >< close to me. Knowing that whatever noise we made would be heard by others and possibly cause the same irritation.

And then Husband and I packed up the kids, the laptops and a few essentials and moved to Italy.

Where the walls (and more importantly the ceiling and floors) carry sounds like you wouldn’t believe. Maybe it’s the tile floors (which I hate, because ohmygod, the noise!) or maybe it’s just crappy construction skills. Which, this being Italy and all, isn’t totally out of the question. Oh, and did I mention that our upstairs neighbors like walking around in high heeled shoes at 2 am? And that we can hear everything – and I do mean everything - they do in the bathroom? You have no idea how much I wish I could say I was kidding about that.

And I have never wanted to live in a house more in my entire life.

I read every For Sale ad I come across, imagining myself in this or that house, usually quickly dismissing them due to size, or location, or lack of southern light, or the lack of a master bathroom. But every now and then, maybe on one of my walks/jogs or driving down a previously not taken road, I see a house that stirs longing in me. I don’t know who lives there, what it looks like inside, or what it costs. It’s irrelevant, because for a split second I forget reality and just let myself dream.

For all I know these houses could be cockroach-infested, mildew-spouting death traps, but for a few moments they take me back to a different time, a more romantic time (yeah, I know, you can go ahead and laugh at me later, but for now, let me continue), when time passed by at a slower pace, when people took the time to build themselves houses to stand the test of time. Houses that would withstand pelting rain, scorching sun, corrosive traffic and at the same time look like miniature castles in some cases.

Me wantz one.

I have more, but I’m thinking you get my point. The only thing wrong, right off the bat, with these houses is that they’re, well, in Italy. Where I won’t be in just a few short months. Still, if someone handed me one of these (the first one will do just nicely, thankyouverymuch), I might be persuaded to stay. Maybe.

Meanwhile, I can hear my neighbor brushing his teeth. Oh, and flossing.