Hornet (CVA 12) - Naval Cruise Book

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WAV, 1, . , . -. -,nf - , , glor and withered columns Fm'12-.3311-..--V2.1-'CZw.. 'ifv2235 sul. ,Qin Sw' 1,i1Qa,L-iii:-QLQ+-i1'g15.4.3515 :T,gi1Qiz?i1:.:ss 1'-fzfil' ggglvgggtgggsjggis:-.g1pi,' 4 cuss-- flfww M When the Hornet visited ltaly, the Roman Catholic Church was, during the same week- cnd, cunonizing Pope Pius X, Papa Sarto, und there were hundreds of thousands of rcligious pilgrims and tourists there. The great cultural depth of the city and the mighty power her past still has to attract was never more apparent. At Saint Peter's on the afternoon of the canonization, sitting on the roof of a large bus were people of live nationalities: an American sailor, two old patient French peasants whose voices in song were stronger than anyone else's, a young English couple on their honeymoon, an ltalian family, and a group of German merchant-class women. Space on the bus roof was at a premium and the sun was hot, but international good will had a sort of field day. The German women had a tliermos jug and shared their ice water. The Italians explained what was taking place. The American sailor took pictures of them all. There is something ritualistic about visit- ing Rome for the first time. There is so much that Must Be Seen-for instance, one is required to visit the Colosseum, the Fountain of Trevi, the Catacombs, Saint Peters, just as, upon entering college, one is required to take certain elementary courses-that, with only a weekend avail- able, there is time for little else. The famous sights and ruins and tourist spots are not disappointing. They are beautiful and look exactly as they should-one shoulder of the Collosseum is certainly ripped off, there is no doubt about itg the Fountain of Trevi surely sparkles, by day from the sun when the sun is right and by night from the lights in the pool, and the pines along the Appian Way are formal and straight, just as in the pictures of them. The greatest pleasure does not come from sightseeing, however. The greatest pleasure is simply the feeling of being in Rome. Part of it is the pension where you stay over the weekend. The place looks shabby from the street but it is clean inside with rooms that have yellow marble floors and beds with clean rough sheets and a big window that looks out over the roofs of the city. And part of it comes from eating break- fast. There is a little sidewalk cafe below the pension and there, in the mornings, there are sweet rolls and thick hot chocolate and damp, fresh fruit, oranges, and grapes which still smell faintly of the cork they were packed in. And at night in the trat- torias, the small white, well lighted res- taurants, any of which, picked at random, will serve you a magnificent meal for a pittance. At first, the trattorias seem almost sterile from lack of color with their strong white walls and white tablecloths and glar- ing lights, but the color comes with the food and -the whiteness of the restaurant emphasizes it. First there is the small vase of flowers the waitress brings to your table, and then the litre of rich purple wine and the brown bread and light yellow butter and best of all the bowl of fruit which comes at the end of the meal Each color is sharp and even the taste of the food seems better defined lA person enters Rome with expectancy and leaves with regret