Travel theme: Orange

Summer seems to have fizzled out like a damp squid where I am, and to make matters worse, some of the stores have started carrying Christmas stock. Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of yuletide cheer as much as the next person, but in August?  To counteract this overhasty exodus of summer I am attempting to heat things up with a sharp injection of spicy colour. Orange is hot and tropical but it is also the colour of fall. It energizes, stimulating creativity and symbolizing joy, love and purity but it also polarizes. Most people have a very strong reaction to the colour, they either love it or hate it, but there are so many different hues, from rust and terracotta to apricot and peach, there’s an orange for everyone to love. Here are a few oranges I’ve found along the way.

A levitating street performer on the streets of Rome dazzled in silky orange robes.

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Sizzling sunset along the California coast.

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A very New York Hallowe’en.

pumpkinpile

A piece of the Berlin Wall that ended up in the heart of Manhattan.

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Did you know that up until the fifteenth century there was no word in English for the colour orange? It was simply referred to as red-yellow. Whatever you call it, amber, saffron, tangerine, flame or persimmon, are you ready with your fifty shades of orange? If you would like to join in this week’s travel theme (everyone’s welcome!) here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Orange
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

Orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow. – Wassily Kandinsky

Orange is the happiest color. – Frank Sinatra

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , , , | 80 Comments

Travel theme – Horizons

Seeing as I just left you in Kilmore Quay, gazing at the horizon, I thought that might be an interesting theme for this week because horizons are fun to play with. Putting the horizon high up in the frame of your photograph draws attention to the foreground like in this shot of Yellowstone Park

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… and this shot of the Far Rockaways.

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A high horizon also enhances the sense of distance in this photo taken from Alki Beach.

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Placing the horizon low in the picture frame is great for dramatic sunsets.

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It’s supposed to be against “the rules” to put the horizon in the centre of the frame, but it can work if you’ve got a reflection going on like this shot of the Roman Forum

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..and anyway, sometimes it’s just fun to break the rules because you feel like it.

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Are you ready to get horizontal? ;) If you would like to join in this week’s travel theme (everyone’s welcome) here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Horizons
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

Life rarely presents fully finished photographs. An image evolves, often from a single strand of visual interest – a distant horizon, a moment of light, a held expression. – Sam Abell

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, on the horizon’s verge. – Lord Byron

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , , | 171 Comments

Kilmore Quay

Kilmore Quay on the south coast of Ireland is everything you might imagine a fishing village to be. It is the kind of place where nautical themes abound…

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…where brilliant blues cosy up beside sparkling whites…

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…a place where dogs take themselves for walks.

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The village starts atop a hill; the road lined with pretty little thatched cottages.

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Up close, the thatch on the rooftops is surprisingly thick. It must weigh a tonne, especially when it gets wet, but I bet it provides a great home to a large range of wee beasties.

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Following the main street down to the coast I found a small marina, its turquoise waters busy with colourful fishing boats.

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Although it was sunny, the winds were bracingly strong and there were no boats out fishing. This stretch of water can be deceptively wild. Lobster pots were stacked high against the marina walls waiting for their next excursion.

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The Saltee Islands lie just a few miles out to sea and are home to all kinds of birds and marine life. Puffins, dolphins, whales and seals abound in this natural wonderland. Both islands are privately owned and the larger of the two is accessible to the public during the day. The water was too treacherous to make a boat trip across to the islands so that will have to wait until the next time I visit. Instead, I settled for a big bag of piping hot chips liberally doused in salt and vinegar, and savoured every last crispy golden morsel sitting on the shore watching the waves roll in with the Saltees floating just out of reach on the horizon.

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Posted in Europe, Ireland, Photography, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 33 Comments

Travel theme: Endearing

Bernini’s stumpy little elephant won its way into my heart not for its beauty but because it was so irresistibly endearing. I am a sucker for things that make your heart skip a beat and fill you with good will. Here are a few more endearing encounters that have made me smile. First up, a memorial to a well-loved dog with a crooked jaw named Dirty Biter.

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Life in the Big Apple can get pretty hectic and sometimes a stroll through Central Park is just what the doctor ordered. On my way from the Upper East to Upper West Side I cut through the park for an escape from the city and look who popped out to say hello and follow me around for about 20 minutes. Needless to say, I forgot all about where I was going and settled for a little bit of raccoon watching instead.

raccoon central park

I love seeing a community come out to play; you can tell so much about a neighbourhood by the types of events they embrace. When I visited Seattle’s Georgetown it was love at first sight – how can you not adore a group of people who hold onto their worn out electrical appliances and repurpose them to take part in their annual Power Tool Drag Races?

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Are you ready to charm, delight and captivate? If you would like to join in this week’s travel theme (everyone’s welcome) here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Endearing
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty. – Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy

The universe is but one great city, full of beloved ones divine and human, by nature endeared to each other. – Epictetus

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , | 88 Comments

Bernini’s Little Elephant

You don’t have to look far to find Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s legacy in Rome. Evidence of his genius is everywhere, from the fountain at the base of the Spanish Steps to the sculptures in the Chigi chapel and the Ponte Sant’Angelo. His sculptures of popes, cherubs and mythological figures brim with vigour and passion, but my absolute favourite of his sculptures is much more low key. Tucked in neatly behind the Pantheon there is a gem of a Gothic church called Santa Maria sopra Minerva (St. Mary above Minerva). The name comes from the location; it was built in 1280 over the site of a temple to Minerva. The church itself houses a wealth of extraordinary art but my heart broke into a million tiny pieces at the sight of Bernini’s little elephant standing at the bottom of the obelisk in the piazza outside.

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Officially known as Elephant and Obelisk, it was commissioned by Pope Alexander VII when an obelisk was discovered in the garden of the adjacent Dominican monastery in 1665. Not only was the church built above a temple to Minerva; it would appear the temple to Minerva was built above or near an Iseum, an Egyptian-inspired cult worshipping the goddesses Isis and Serapis.For some reason the pope wanted the obelisk displayed in the piazza and called for architects to submit designs for the base of the obelisk.

One of those submitting a design was a Dominican priest by the name of Father Domenico Paglia. His design was rejected in favour of Bernini’s elephant. When Bernini’s design was unveiled, Father Paglia, perhaps still smarting from his rejection, raised concerns about the stability and Bernini was forced to place a supporting block underneath the elephant’s torso. Bernini tried to obscure the block by adding the ornate saddle with tassels that hung down low but that made the elephant look squat and dumpy and he was never happy with the end result. It was said that he would avert his gaze when he passed by, and he omitted it from the list of his life’s work. Local Romans wasted no time making fun of the stocky little elephant, christening it Porcino della Minerva (Minerva’s piglet). Over the years it has morphed into Pulcino della Minerva (Minerva’s chick) – which it is still affectionately referred to as today.

A striking feature of the sculpture is the elephant’s head, turned quite markedly away from the church, leading some to speculate upon its meaning. It was here in 1633 that Galileo Galilei was summoned, held and interrogated by the infamous Inquisition in the adjacent Dominican monastery and forced to recant. There are those who believe the elephant’s shunning of the church was Bernini’s way of condemning their treatment of Galileo.

Bernini did manage to get his own back on the meddling Dominican priest. The statue is placed carefully in the Piazza della Minerva with its rear end facing the Dominican monastery. The elephant’s tail is shifted ever so delicately to the left, so every time Father Paglia exited the monastery, he was greeted with a very clear view of the elephant’s nether regions.

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Posted in Europe, Italy, Photography, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 24 Comments

Travel theme: Simplify

The first week of August is Simplify Your Life week, and it’s always good to be reminded that life doesn’t have to be so complicated. With a nod to the week that’s in it, I just got through re-reading Henry David Thoreau’s study on simple living, Walden. (It’s available free on Wikisource here.) When I first though about using Simplify for the travel theme, my mind flew to this photo taken along Salmon La Sac Creek in the North Cascades – how better to simplify your life than to spend quality time doing something you love with your best friend?

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Another method of simplifying is to embrace minimalism. It doesn’t get much more minimalistic or more beautiful than a Zen garden like this one at the Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island.

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One of the easiest ways to simplify is to eliminate distractions and that works for photography too. A single subject can make for a pleasing composition.

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white water lily international women's day

The main goal of simplifying your life is to rid yourself of the inessential in order to make room for what is important to you. I’m working on creating space to do more writing so am carving out chunks of time with no tv or radio to distract and no phone or email to interrupt. What would you do with more space and time? If you would like to join in this week’s travel theme (everyone’s welcome) here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Simplify
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak. – Hans Hoffman

Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify. – Henry David Thoreau

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , , | 122 Comments

Travel theme: Meeting Places

My recent post about the history of Guinness got me thinking about places where we meet. In England and Ireland pub culture is strong so it comes as no surprise that pubs are one of the most commonly suggested places to meet, but there are plenty of other options around. Over the course of a Christmas vacation in Dublin I wrote about some of the more popular meeting places in the city, past and present, and very few of them were pubs. I’ve always adored the Parisian Left Bank coffeehouse culture that provided the breeding ground for some of history’s most distinguished painters and writers. Here are a few more meeting spots from my travels. In New York City, the most romantic of rendezvous points – under the clock in Grand Central.

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The fountain in the middle of Antigua‘s Parque Central. There’s always something going on, so even if your friend is late, chances are you won’t even notice because you’ll be too busy enjoying a street performance.

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In Rome, the venerable Antico Caffè Greco has been the meeting place of the literati since 1760.

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ANTICO CAFFE GRECO ON VIA DEL CONDOTTI

Still in Rome, I spotted these policemen congregating at their own favourite meeting place.

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Are you ready to meet up with this week’s challenge and share some of your favourite rendezvous points? If you would like to join in (everyone’s welcome) here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Meeting Places
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

The stage is not merely the meeting place of all the arts, but is also the return of art to life. – Oscar Wilde

Twitter is my bar. I sit at the counter and listen to the conversations, starting others, feeling the atmosphere. – Paul Coehlo

I can’t tell you what art does and how it does it, but I know that art has often judged the judges, pleaded revenge to the innocent and shown to the future what the past has suffered, so that it has never been forgotten. I know too that the powerful fear art, whatever its form, when it does this, and that amongst the people such art sometimes runs like a rumour and a legend because it makes sense of what life’s brutalities cannot, a sense that unites us, for it is inseparable from a justice at last. Art, when it functions like this, becomes a meeting-place of the invisible, the irreducible, the enduring, guts and honour. – John Berger

 

 

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , , | 93 Comments

The birthplace of Guinness

The Guinness Storehouse at St. James’s Gate in the heart of Dublin is a traditional stop on the well-worn tourist path. Here, for a price, you can take a self-guided tour with a pint waiting for you at the end and plenty of opportunity to snap up Guinness merchandise along the way. If you’re looking for something a little more low-key, however, try taking a trip to the true birthplace of the mighty pint.

The Cashel Palace Hotel is located right in the middle of Cashel, County Tipperary. The song doesn’t lie, it’s a long way to Tipperary. To be more precise, it’s about 100 miles from Dublin to Cashel with a drive time of about 2 hours unless, like me, you get stuck behind a tractor, a combine harvester and sheep. Once you get into town, however, it’s a straight shot to the hotel, which is a very grand affair of red brick and limestone, filled with wood paneling, elegant staircases and barley sugar banisters.

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If you’re looking for the birthplace of Guinness, take the narrow staircase down to the lower levels and go through the archway into the gardens behind the palace.

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There, tightly curled around silver railings, are the tendrils that gave birth to the legendary drink, and if you go down a further flight of steps you’ll find the appropriately named Guinness Bar where the bartender will happily fill you in on the history of the famous pint.

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Back in the 1740s a land steward named Richard Guinis worked here for the then Archbishop of Cashel, Arthur Price. The Archbishop had a hobby, brewing ale, and to that end he had about 25 feet of hops planted in the garden behind the palace. The brewing took place in the cellar, where the bar is now located. On the 17th of August 1740 Richard was messing around with the brew and roasted the hops into the mash instead of the barley and by doing so created a darker beer. Everyone on staff loved it, dubbing it “The Wine of Ireland” so the Archbishop and Richard took out a patent on it. The Archbishop named it after Richard, spelling his name the way we recognize it today; Guinness. The recipe was passed on to Richard’s son, Arthur, who went on to open up the now iconic brewery at St. James’s Gate in Dublin and the rest, as they say, is history.

The tendrils twining around the railings are what remains of the original hop plants Richard used on that fateful day. Even in the chill of early spring when I visited, the hops were still bursting with vigour.

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It’s thirsty work looking for legends, so what better way to quench your thirst than with a pint of the black stuff.

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I’ll leave you with a fitting poem by Flann O’Brien.

The Workman’s Friend

When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night -
A pint of plain is your only man.

When money’s tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt -
A pint of plain is your only man.

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say you need a change,
A pint of plain is your only man.

When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan,
When hunger grows as your meals are rare -
A pint of plain is your only man.

In time of trouble and lousey strife,
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life -
A pint of plain is your only man.

Sláinte.    xxx Ailsa

Posted in Ireland, Travel, Travel tips | Tagged , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Travel theme: Purple

With visions of sugarplums cardinals still in my head after my bizarre day in Vatican City, I have gone looking for my purplest photos. Sitting on a Manhattan rooftop waiting for 4th of July I was treated to this lavender-pink sunset.

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Radiant faces filled with glee and covered with gulal powder at Maple Valley’s Holi Festival.

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Toddlers tiptoe through the tulip festival in Skagit Valley.

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Watching a traditional Quinceañera coming of age ceremony in the grounds of a rather unusual monastery in Washington D.C.

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If you’re in the mood to create your very own purple patch, get out your lilacs and lavenders, plums, mulberries, mauves and wines and join in this week’s travel theme. Here’s what to do:

  • Create your own post and title it Travel theme: Purple
  • Include a link to this page in your post so others can find it too
  • Get your post in by next Thursday, as the new travel theme comes out on Friday
  • Don’t forget to subscribe to keep up to date on the latest weekly travel themes. Sign up via the email subscription link in the sidebar or RSS!

xxx Ailsa

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it. – Alice Walker

Warning – a poem by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Posted in Photography, Travel, Weekly Travel Themes | Tagged , , , , , , , | 134 Comments

A funny thing happened on the way to the Vatican

I was almost at the end of my visit to Rome and Vatican City seemed to be getting impatient with me for not having visited straight away. The great dome of St Peter’s Basilica floated defiantly into sight over rooftops, down alleys, through keyholes, every time I took a photo. “I’ll get to you,” I promised inwardly. “I’m just too busy right now with the Roman Forum, rose sellers, orange groves, scenes from Roman Holiday and following the Grand Tour footsteps of literary masters.” On my second last day in the Eternal City I was finally ready and made my way over the Tiber, past Castel Sant-Angelo and down the cobbled street towards Vatican City.

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I had my day all planned out in my head. First I would take a wander around St. Peter’s Basilica, then pop out and watch the changing of the Swiss Guard before heading into the Vatican museums to marvel at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Guide books had all warned of long lines to get into the basilica but I only had a brief five minute wait which I spent watching a pair of Swiss Guards refusing entry to a couple of nuns who seemed to be on a mission to sneak in a side gate. That’s how the story seemed to be playing out in my head anyway, but before I could see how it ended I was ushered into the basilica and was swept up in the spectacle of the interior.

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I never expected it to be so vast, so colourful, so ornate or so crammed to the rafters with art. Read all you want about the basilica, look at as many photos as you like, but nothing can prepare you for the overwhelming resplendence this place exudes. There really was too much to take in all at once; and far too much to try and capture in a photograph, so I contented myself by picking out details and finding odd angles to focus on one exquisite object after another.

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I was brought to a standstill by Michelangelo’s Pieta. Again I was taken unawares, not expecting to be quite so moved by this iconic sculpture.

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It’s hard to comprehend how a young man of 23 had the life experience to capture the expression on Mary’s face as she sits holding the broken body of her dead child. Intellectually, this sculpture is clearly religious; however its physical presence is intensely, divinely, compellingly human.

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I had lost track of time inside the basilica and decided to venture outside and over to the Vatican museums, but a passing tour guide informed me the museums were closing early due to a holiday or holy day;  his accent was thick so I couldn’t tell which he had said; mind you holiday and holy day were probably one and the same thing within the confines of Vatican City. Instead, I settled for a quick peek at the Swiss Guard standing duty outside the basilica.

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There was another 20 minutes before they were due to perform their Changing of the Guard, so I thought I might wander out into the square for a look around. Just as I was thinking that, a white-haired gent dressed all in black sailed past the Swiss Guard with a confident swagger reminiscent of Tom Jones in his heyday. The men on duty almost curtsied out of respect as he passed by so I figured he must be someone of note. He hurried towards the square and I followed along at a distance, intrigued by his demeanour.

In the square a small group were gathered watching two men pace up and down steps in front of the colonnades. The holy Tom Jones chap skirted around the small group, talked to some official looking entities off to the left and then engaged the two men in conversation.

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Things got rather heated very quickly. The men were carrying bottles of gasoline and lighters and were threatening to self-immolate if they weren’t granted an audience with the Pope. Most of the people around me were Italian and took turns trying to talk to the protesting men but they were getting more and more upset with each person who tried to talk to them. At several points they launched into great, impassioned and clearly vitriolic diatribes. I don’t speak Italian but I understood the sound of true anguish in their voices. An Italian girl next to me, her hair in thick braids stuffed under a knitted hat, was trying to explain the situation to a tourist from Nebraska; speaking of mass corruption in the government and mass unemployment throughout the country. She said these men had lost their jobs and had no way to provide for their families; appealing to the Pope was in their minds a last resort. Things were turning worse now; the men hurled insults at Tom Jones who retreated back towards his official friends. New faces showed up amongst the small crowd, faces that looked well-versed in military operations. Policemen began cordoning off the area with little orange traffic cones and red and white tape. I looked around; they had cordoned off the whole square leaving us huddled inside. Camera crews from television stations had started to gather at the roadside outside the cordons with their cameras trained on the action. I looked back towards the basilica, thinking perhaps it might be a good idea to put some distance between me and the bottles of gasoline. Walking back towards the Swiss Guard I saw the tail end of the Changing of the Guard and stopped, undecided as to where I should go next. I turned around towards the square again. The crowds leaving the basilica were being funneled off to the left out of the way so I started towards them, but an official gent on my right smiled at me, removed a barrier rope and waved me through under the colonnades on the right. I smiled at him and obliged, climbing the steps not entirely sure where I was going. When I turned around to inquire, I was overrun by a flock of cardinals in purple sashes and caps. There were hordes of them, all moving en masse (pun not intended) in my general direction, accompanied by camera crews.

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At this point I gave up trying to make sense of things and started to giggle nervously, convinced I had wandered onto the set of a Terry Gilliam movie. I pulled out my camera and started snapping away merrily, chuckling like a maniac. This was just a little too weird, even by my standards. I had completely lost the plot. Many of the cardinals looked startled and scurried past without making eye contact, but some of the hipper cardinals beamed broadly at me and took me with them on their excursion through the columns and out the other side to some kind of enclosed courtyard patrolled by yet more Swiss Guard. Everyone hung around in a group swapping pleasantries and cardinal small talk …

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…until someone, somewhere, decided it was time for the cardinals to be elsewhere. Like a murmuration of starlings the cardinals turned as a man and flowed past the guards, fluttered through the courtyard and disappeared out of sight underneath a distant archway, leaving the camera crews, the Swiss Guard and me standing around in uncomfortable silence.

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I took one last look towards the vanishing cardinals and then turned to follow the camera crews but they had already gone. I turned to the Swiss Guard with a look of incredulity and bewilderment and threw my hands up in a gesture that I hoped would let them know I had no idea where to go next. I giggled again at the absurdity of it all, I couldn’t help myself.

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One of the guards obviously took pity on my plight, for he uncharacteristically cracked a smile (seriously, have you ever seen a Swiss Guard smile?) and pointed me in a direction. “Thanks” I waved awkwardly and shot off under the columns, ending up back in the square almost on top of the protesters again. Firefighters stood by with what looked like blankets ready to extinguish any flames that might arise. Something was about to happen, you could feel tension rising and energy seemed to coagulate in the air around the square. I felt small beads of sweat rise in prickles down the back of my neck and I wanted to be anywhere but here, but I stood transfixed like a stunned rabbit, unable to move, scarcely daring to breathe, waiting.

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My phone rang, shocking me back into action; it was my friend Karen who I was supposed to meet for dinner. “How was the Vatican?” she asked. “Umm, not what I expected,” I backed away from the firefighters and not-so-secret service agents who were moving in on the protesters. “Hang on, I’ve got to find a way out of here,” I ducked under some red and white tape and spotted an exit out of the square. Still on the phone, I pushed through a cluster of camera crews and out onto the road, throwing a quick glance back towards the protesters just in time to see the police make their move. In a matter of seconds the men were on the ground, then lifted and carried away by plain clothed officers. I breathed a sigh of relief; the thought of them setting themselves on fire was just too dreadful to imagine.

Twenty minutes later I was sitting in a little restaurant in Trastevere telling Karen all about the protests and Tom Jones and the cardinals as she listened in disbelief. It sounded unreal when I was telling her about it; in fact it still feels unreal as I write about it now. Over the next few days I scoured the newspapers and searched online for more information about what had happened, but found only one Reuters photo of one of the men being carried away, face down, by a small army of police, and two very short paragraphs about protesters claiming to be from the Pitchfork Movement (the Pitchfork Movement, which started in Sicily to protest rising taxes and funding cuts, distanced themselves from the protesters). I never heard what happened to them, never found out who the Tom Jones guy was and will never forget that Terry Gilliam moment when a murmuration of cardinals flocked my way.

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