It was the summer of 1990 when my wife Marie and I again found ourselves in Rome. We had visited Italy several times before and usually made it a practice to stay at a different Pensione (bed and breakfast) each time.
In
Rome, they bake a kind of dinner roll which seems to be made up entirely of
outer crust with a hollow inside and is the most delicious tasting bread we’ve
ever had. This type of bread seems to be
limited to the region of Lazio, where
Rome is located, because we were never able to find it anywhere else in
Italy. We enjoyed the rolls so much that
we usually filled up on them with cappuccino and gave no consideration to other
foods on the breakfast menu.
On
this trip, we had planned to have lunch at the Roman Forum. Of course, we knew
that there were no restaurants at the Roman Forum, but that’s what made it
fun. It was kind of like having
breakfast at Tiffany’s: if you want to eat, you have to bring your own food. We
got the idea from a travel book and decided to act on it. So, after breakfast, we headed for a
neighborhood grocery store to purchase our lunch.
When
we entered the store, we noticed a number of sack nets hanging from the
ceiling. Each contained a soccer ball
and a couple of boxes of pasta and jars of tomato sauce. They were displayed as a special sale in
celebration of the World Cup of Soccer which Italy happened to be hosting that
year. If you bought the soccer ball, the
pasta and sauce came with it or vice-versa.
Neither Marie nor I were in the market for a soccer ball or for uncooked
pasta, but we found the display amusing just the same. We stocked
up on salami, pecorino romano cheese,
black olives, some of those great rolls, a bottle of wine and a bottle of acqua minerale.
After
packing all of our purchases in my backpack, we headed for the Foro Romano to immerse ourselves in an
atmosphere of Roman antiquity. We toured
buildings and monuments, one after another, using the limited time we had in
Rome to savor all we could of this ancient civilization. We were gripped with wonder at this strange phenomenon
in which we found ourselves. Here we were in the midst of the skeletal remains
of a society long past while all around us the sounds of modern traffic moved
in every direction on the streets of modern Rome. We spent hours strolling
along one ancient thoroughfare after another until we grew tired and found a
shady spot to rest and have lunch.
By
then, it was about one o’clock in the afternoon and there was very little
traffic noise since most Romans were home taking their mid-day after-lunch nap.
We sat there enjoying a leisurely lunch,
sipping wine and acqua minerale and
wondering if any famous ghosts were keeping us company as we ate.
After
a couple more hours, we left the forum and, instead of taking the bus, we decided
to walk back to our pensione. Banners and posters along the way were a
constant reminder that Italy was hosting the World Cup of Soccer. And as a result of this great event, the mood
in Rome was festive and I wondered what the ancient Romans would have thought
of all this. When we got back to the pensione we packed our bags for the next
day’s our trip south.
Our
seagoing train trip was a plan formulated in Los Angeles after attending several
festive functions at the Casa Italiana, the banquet hall of Saint
Peter Church on Broadway. Marie
and I listened to the other guests at our table telling of their travels to
Sicily by train and describing how, upon arrival in Calabria, the train cars
had been uncoupled and placed side by side on a ferry which transported them to
Messina where the train was reassembled
for the completion of their journey. So,
the inspiration to make this seagoing train-trip came from these pleasant
strangers with whom we had been dining.
We boarded
the train at Stazione Termini in Rome
to travel south to the province of Agrigento,
Sicily. After boarding the train and
locating our bedroom compartment, we settled back and for several hours enjoyed
the ever changing Italian landscape until daylight faded into black and we had succumbed
to the exhaustion of the day’s activities, falling asleep to the rocking motion
of the train as it made its way toward Calabria.
It
was about 4:30 in the morning when I was awakened by the silence and stillness
of the train. I brushed aside the
curtains to see the other cars along side of us. Apparently, while we slept, the train cars
had already been uncoupled and placed side by side onto the ferry bound for Messina.
I couldn’t contain my excitement.
As for Marie, she was happy to lock herself in the room and get back to
sleep while I ran up to the top deck to observe our approach to Messina.
The forty-five minute ride seemed a fleeting moment, but I savored
every minute, wishing it would last forever.
Ahead
of me, I could see the Lanterina di San
Rainieri lighthouse and the statue of La
Donna della Lettera which stands 60 feet high on a pedestal of 180
feet. Below is inscribed the words, “VOS ET IPSAM CIVITATEM BENEDICIMUS” (We
bless you and your city). It was a sight
to behold.
For
me, the experience of being transported by train which boarded a ferry and crossed
the Strait of Messina into Sicily was one designed to produce indelible
memories. Marie and I had taken many
train trips in the past, but one such as this, would prove to be a unique
experience. I learned that the ferry
service dated back to 1886 after the railway first made its appearance in
southern Italy. Today, twelve ferries
travel back and forth across the Strait of Messina carrying passengers and
cars.
But
this rendezvous with happiness I was enjoying was destined to be short-lived
and its pleasurable sweetness would soon be marked by an element of bitterness
because I was soon to learn that this seagoing train was rushing head-long into
the end of an era.
For
centuries, many have dreamed of a quick way to cross the Strait of Messina. The
Romans wrestled with the idea of building a floating bridge of boats and
barrels across the strait as did the Norman rulers. In the 1930’s, Benito Mussolini considered the
possibility of such a bridge, although no work was ever initiated. But these were merely ideas which got no
further than the spoken word. For the longest time, there existed an
on-again/off-again tug-of-war in the Italian government with regard to the
building of possibly the world’s largest suspension bridge.
If
such a bridge were to be built, it would be the superlative of bridges, over
three kilometers (two miles) in length with two great towers or pillars, the
biggest ever built, each one exceeding the height of New York City’s Empire
State Building. This bridge would surpass
even the Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge of Japan.
In
conjunction with the suspension cables, the towers would support two and a half
miles of roadway from the western tip of the Italian mainland in Calabria to
the east coast of Sicily in Messina with traffic lanes for trains, motor
vehicles, pedestrians and emergency services.
The projected time for completion is expected to be eleven years and the
bridge is expected to be of service for 200 years. It is expected to create 1,000 new jobs,
boost tourism, and improve transportation between Sicily and the mainland. Sadly, of course, the ferry would be
eliminated.
Those
who oppose this endeavor question Italy’s ability to pay for it, citing a price
tag which began around two or three billion Euros during the planning stages and
eventually escalated to 6.1 billion. Aside from the money factor, there are those
who question the wisdom of building a bridge of such dimensions in a region
prone to earthquakes and fierce winds, but its proponents claim that the bridge
would be built to withstand a tremor of 7.1 on the Richter scale and that the
aerodynamic features of the bridge would allow it to withstand winds of up to 134
miles per hour.
In
response, opponents argue that there is no guarantee that the next earthquake
or one a few years down the road will not exceed a 7.1 tremor. They argued also that winds are by nature
unpredictable and may very well exceed 134 miles per hour speeds, possibly 150
to 160 miles per hour. Strangely enough,
throughout the discussions on the matter, it is unclear if anyone had mentioned
the fact that the Messina earthquake of 1908 had measured a tremor of 7.2.
When
I first heard the news of the project, the plans to build the bridge were already
moving forward while a volley of controversy continued back and forth, between
the pros and the cons, like a bouncing tennis ball and romantics, such as Marie
and I, were prematurely suffering the pangs of nostalgia for a ferry which had
not yet been sacrificed to progress.
As
of this writing, many questions have still not been resolved and the final plan
has not been put into effect. Construction on the bridge was supposed to have
started in December, 2011. In our present economic climate, however, many doubt
the bridge will ever be built.
So,
perhaps there is still hope for romantics who relate more warmly to ferries than
to bridges. Nel fra tempo, che sarà, sarà!
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