Castle Hunting: The Three Towers of Monte Titano

On the flag of San Marino one can see three towers in prominent position at the center of the national crest. Walking around San Marino, one can't help but see those same three towers, strung out along the crest of Mount Titano. They are part of the defense structure of the main town, and they have a peculiar and colorful history. The oldest of the towers, the Gauta (above), was built in the 11th century, and has come to represent something of the free nature of this tiny republic.
We'll begin, though, with the smallest and least-free - the Montale tower, out by itself, served primarily as a prison when it was built in the 14th century. It isn't very big at all, and is closed to the public. There's a good reason why visitors aren't allowed; the dark rectangle shown on the lefthand wall is the only door. It's about twenty feet up, and looks to be no more than four feet tall. This, apparently, was a common style of entryway for prison towers of the period. Somehow, a tree has taken root inside - this branch was alive.
The Montale tower is outside the town fortifications, but is still very difficult to get to. There are two ways: the first is through the steep wood on the back side of the mountain, the second is right along the cliff face. The people of San Marino haven't taken many safety precautions past the second tower, so be careful as you go. There is a lower, cavelike space in the rock a little underneath the path, but it takes a willingness to scramble and a steady nerve to reach it. The cliffs are stupefyingly high - approaching the edge is like coming across a rent in the sky/land dichotomy.
The "second tower," the Cesta, marks the far end of the battlements, and sits atop the highest of Titano's crags. Notice, here, the lack of a defensive wall on the cliff side. There is no need for one, of course, with a drop (almost sheer) of over three hundred feet protecting the back of the tower. The Cesta was built in the 13th century as a compliment to the Gauta, and to increase the defensible portion of the mountaintop as San Marino's population grew. Behind it, on the far right in the picture, is Montale tower. The town walls are visible cutting down the slope - not very tall themselves, as the approach on the "gentle" side is still extremely steep.

As you can see, the "tower" designation is somewhat loose. The Cesta and Gauta fortifications are actually little clumps of buildings. The Gauta structure was initially built as a watchtower more than a fort, but successive additions bolstered its defensibility. A bridge-like wall runs between these two towers, used more as a walkway than as a defense. The lower, town portion of the wall is crenellated and has usable ramparts.

Again, the towers aren't very tall - but they have an extremely high effective height because of where they're placed. A more elevated wall would be somewhat more difficult to defend, as the top would be too far away from the attacking forces to fire from. This is the tallest of the buildings on the ridge, in the Gauta complex.
None of the structures have very large courtyards or keeps. The reason for this is simple: the towers weren't intended to protect a single, governing entity - like a king or governor - but were considered extensions of the democratically governed town's fortifications. For most of San Marino's history, the three towers on Mount Titano were manned by volunteers, not professional soldiers. Because it was a sort of collective effort it was much more important that the town was protected as a whole.

The last battle that San Marino actively fought as a country (they supplied volunteer troops to Italy during each of the world wars) was in 1463, when they defeated the Malatesta counts of Rimini who had attempted to conquer San Marino. Soon after, because in part of its political structure, the country declared itself neutral in all military matters. Fortunately, the country was mostly spared from any threat of invasion in the following centuries.
This is the classic view of the Gauta from the walls of the Cesta tower. It is San Marino's one iconic sight, probably, and it's breathtaking. The castle structures are usually swarming with tourists - even now, in the offseason - but we were lucky enough to catch this unpopulated view as we were making our way along the mountaintop. If you go, be prepared for dozens of tourist-tchochky shops and a dizzying drop. Also, many steep staircases and walkways on your way up to the summit and the towertops.

Accidental Border Crossing

Right there in the background is San Marino. We were driving along the autostrada shown running down the center, waiting for the Ferrari Museum to open, when we looked up and noticed this hillside filled with air crafts. Little did we know that crossing the street meant crossing the border and that the Museo dell' Aviazione was technically in Italy. The two other cars in the parking lot had Italian license plates, but we chose to ignore them. When we received our tickets, we couldn't help but notice the address staring us right in the face: Rimini, Italy. At that point, though, we couldn't turn back.
Nor did we want to. Our sore, sunburnt calves couldn't really handle any big hikes, so wandering around this space was pretty much the perfect amount of exertion/sun exposure. It was easy to imagine the helicopters, planes and fighter jets in flight, set up on hills as they were with the sky as their backdrops. We were the only ones there and after the friendly, grey-haired man sold us our discounted tickets, he went right back to detailing the wing of an airplane (with an Italian flag - sigh).
He was very keen on telling us that we could go into the "Dakota" which we discovered was a DC-3 aircraft owned first by the US Navy and then by Clark Gable. It was one of the very first planes designed for sleeping comfort, specifically for transcontinental night flights. According to flight records, Frank Sinatra, Ronald Reagan, Marilyn Monroe, John F Kennedy and "Bob" Kennedy all sat in these very seats. (Gossipy historians have gotta wonder if the last three were at the same time). It smelled like stale polyester and mildew and was decorated like the Partridge Family bus. So, basically, it was awesome.
A few of the planes had walkways set up close enough to peer into the flight deck, but the Dakota's was the only one we could get a good, clear picture of sans glass reflection. It's always amazing to see just how many buttons and switches and levers there are and how tiny the space one has to maneuver around in is. This was only 'sector 1' of the museum and we still had so much to see - so, we didn't linger too long.
It struck us as odd that so many of the aircrafts had targets painted on their wings. Doesn't that seem like you're just asking for trouble? The collection included helicopters, fighter jets, engines, propellers and missiles. I thought it was very fitting, in this part of the world, that there were five Fiats. Yes, they were tiny.
I really wanted to be specific about what these are, where and when they are from, but we've somehow managed to take pictures of the handful of pieces not covered on the museum's website. I should really start taking notes. A number of planes weren't exhibition ready yet. In fact, there was an entire section roped off from visitors. We were told "no problem" to just walk right through, though. We loved how the wing of this jet was being supported by a pile of wooden crates and it was wedged under a protective roof like this.
There were information posts in Italian, German, French and English. Surprisingly, no Russian, even thought about half of the vehicles on display were Soviet-made. If this museum had been in San Marino, I bet that wouldn't have been the case. Russian tourism seems to be so prevalent that we actually saw souvenir shop signs in cyrrillic. (And I know that, because I could read it!) There's nothing like seeing a Soviet fighter jet, a nuclear bomber or one of Saddam Hussein's old tanks sitting in a bed of pretty white and purple wild flowers.
The 50+ aircrafts on display actually make this the largest aviation park in Italy and one of the most important in Europe. A year ago, this collection was given official museum status, which has helped them in their continuing effort to obtain more and more gems. If we're lucky, it will grow so much that they'll just have to expand their 100,000 square meter terrain about half a kilometer to the west - - right into San Marino.

Saint Marinus - A Little History

We found something very interesting, completely by chance, as we were walking home from a long hike in the castello (the state-like municipalities in San Marino are called "castelli") of Aquaviva. The road we had walked on in the morning seemed too sunny for the late afternoon, and so we decided to cut up and under this cliff face, where it looked cooler.
In the shade, we spotted this long staircase. It scaled the rock in a series of sharp switchbacks and seemed to end at a small dark spot in the rock. We weren't too excited about it - it had been a long day of hiking, and stairs weren't especially appealing. As we passed by, though, we saw a sign. The dark smudge up on the cliff, it turns out, is the cave of Saint Marinus. We had to go up.
First, very quickly, a little history. San Marino is - improbably - the oldest surviving sovereign state in the world. It was founded by a stonecutter named Marinus of Arbe on the third of september in the year 301. The stonecutter became a hermit on mount Titano, having fled his homeland because of attacks against christians there. Later, he became a deacon and founded a monastic order on the mountain. This order eventually became a political entity and became the basis for the country's constitution, enacted in 1600. Interestingly, the constitution of San Marino is the world's oldest surviving constitution. In a strange, ironic twist, the country was allowed to remain independent when Italy was unified (150 years ago this month!) because it had provided refuge for pro-unity supporters. Giuseppe Garibaldi, who led the unification movement, agreed to let the little republic continue to exist, and thus a strange little political quirk was created.

And here, high up on a shoulder of Mount Titano, was the hermetic cave of Saint Marinus (the stonecutter deacon was canonized, of course)! There isn't much to see, which is perhaps why there weren't any people there and the stairs were overgrown with grass and weeds. A few plastic flowers and icons were tucked into two nooks in the rock. It is surprisingly shallow and small - a good hideout, but not somewhere I would want to live.
Here is the view from the cave. It is much changed, I would guess, from the days when Marinus slept here. Industrial buildings on the outskirts of the town of Aquaviva dominate the valley. Higher up, a dirtbike course winds its way around the hillside. It was a still Sunday afternoon, and the roar of motorcycles and sportscars wafted up from the highway below.

Extraterritorial Vatican City

The sovereign state of Vatican City is not completely contained within its walls. There are a few buildings scattered around Rome, and just outside, which were given extraterritorial status in the Lateran Treaty of 1927. It's basically the same as a foreign embassy- it is under the jurisdiction of its sovereign state(Vatican City) within the territory of another (Italy). Among these are three basilicas: St. John Lateran, St. Mary Major and St. Paul Outside the Walls. They, along with St. Peter's, make up the four 'major basilicas' - the highest church status possible.

As you can probably tell by the name, St. Paul Outside the Walls was a little ways away from us, so we only ventured to the other two, starting with St. Mary Major. This is the largest church in Rome dedicated to the Virgin Mary - hence the "major." Its construction began back in the 420s, which is even more amazing because it is the only one of the four basilica maior that retains its original structure. Sure, there have been many renovations and much rebuilding over time - most notably after the great earthquake of 1348 - but its core remains unaltered.

Walking in was such a different experience than Saint Peter's. For starters, there was no line. People observed the request for silence and no flash photography. It was quite big and really beautiful, but I think it struck us as especially lovely because of the serenity. It felt holier, somehow and more ancient. A single stained glass circular window shone sunlight into the long, rectangular space. In one of the side chapels, a man in a Lenten-purple robe presided over a hushed mass to a handful of worshipers.

Don't get me wrong, though. The basilica was definitely not quaint. In fact, to call it palatial would be particularly fitting, as it was actually the Palace of Popes for a short time after the papacy returned to Rome (from Avignon). A large canopy structure stood at the front altar, similar to the one at Saint Peter's and the wall behind it was covered in an enormous golden mosaic. The details were all amazing and even without having to shuffle behind a tour group or wait our turn to take a peek at certain things, we found ourselves moving around slowly, attempting to take it all in.

In another side chapel was the oldest image of Mary in Rome, which we were not allowed to photograph. Legend has it that Luke the Evangelist painted it himself out of wood from a table from the Nazareth family home. (Which I'd assume would have been built by Joseph. He was a carpenter, right?) Part of what makes a basilica 'major' is its status as a pilgrimage site for Catholics, specifically during a Jubilee year. That means, every 25 years pilgrims from all around the world flock to Rome to visit the four major basilica. After walking through the Holy Door of each (sealed shut any time other than a jubilee year) all their sins are forgiven. I can imagine that Luke's image of Mary is a particularly amazing sight for each visitor.
Then, we walked over to Saint John Lateran - the single most important church in the Roman Catholic faith, the "ecumenical mother church" or "mother church of the whole inhabited world." The only person who is allowed to conduct mass here is the pope himself, or someone specifically chosen by him. One priest who almost certainly cannot is Nicolas Sarkozy. The French president holds honorary priest status at this basilica, a tradition which started with King Henry IV and has survived longer than the monarchy itself.
I'm not sure the average Christian knows that Saint John Lateran is actually more important than Saint Peter's because, again, it was stunningly empty. Also like Saint Mary Major, those inside remained quiet and reverent. This was the first basilica to be deemed 'major,' so in that sense, it is the oldest. However, not much of the original structure or its original treasures remain. Most of the current basilica, including its facade are relatively new. Of course, I'm speaking in Rome terms here, so by 'new' I mean the 1700s.
The first version of Saint John was so splendid that it garnered the nickname "The Golden Basilica." That was just asking for trouble, and in the 5th century, it was heavily looted. I can say that it is quite golden once more. We couldn't help but notice that five different organs were present. Each one of them was gorgeous, but this was our favorite. I'm not sure why there is such a collection, but in my current state of church-fatigue, it made Saint John Lateran stand out.
It felt especially nice, on our final day in Vatican City, to feel like we had space to move around. We felt like we had both basilicas almost to ourselves. Another jubilee year occurs in 2025 and part of me is curious how transformed the spaces become when filled to the brim.

Fun fact: Saint John Lateran actually honors both John the Evangelist and John the Baptist. In case you were wondering.

Gypsy Kitchens: Braising Octopi

Before we leave Vatican City, Rome and our kitchen behind, we thought it would be nice to give our readers one last food post. So, here is how to make simple, delicious, braised octopus.
There are a lot of complicated recipes out there for cooking octopus. Many of them actually take less time than this method, but involve more work. We didn't make anything easier while here in Rome. The problem for many people will be finding octopi - all Italian fish markets have a few lying around, but they're rarer in the US. Apparently, using frozen octopus can actually work quite well because the tentacles are softened with freezing. That may or may not be true, but it's probably more convenient for a lot of people. We started with two medium-sized, purplish, fresh squigglers from a gruff man at Trionfale market.
The body can be discarded for this recipe, which saves a lot of work - frankly, we don't know how to clean out the ink sac or remove the beak. Cut the tentacles off right at the base, where they come together, making sure to get as much of the thick meat at the fattest part. Also, snip off the very ends of the tentacles if they are very thin and threadlike - one of our octopi had this problem, the other didn't. It's easy meat to work with, because it holds together well yet cuts easily. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees fahrenheit.
When you're finished, scald the tentacles for thirty seconds in boiling water. Make sure that your pot is big enough and that you have enough water - if you have a small pot, like we did, dunk the arms in batches, letting the water come back to a boil in between. Let the octopus dry in a colander.
Now, you're almost done. Put the tentacles in a heavy pot with a good cover. Don't add any liquid - the liquid in the picture above was entirely extruded from the tentacles during cooking. Quarter one yellow onion and halve four cloves of garlic, then add them to the pot. Don't salt it! There's a lot of salt in the meat already.
Cover the pot and put it in the oven. Keep the pot in there for five hours at 200 degrees. Open the windows, because your kitchen will begin to smell strongly of octopus.
After five hours (maybe a little less, if you know how to test octopus for doneness), take the pot out of the oven and let it cool to room temperature. Then, strain out the liquid - I'm sure you could reduce it to make a sauce, but we didn't - and serve.
We ate the dish with maltagliati pasta "al nero di seppia," which is essentially raggedly cut, flat pasta blackened with cuttlefish ink. Also, chicory hearts, pear and shaved brussels sprout salad. The black pasta seemed appropriate; it had a nice, hearty, nutty flavor that didn't need any sauce aside from olive oil and parsley. The chicory hearts were so prettily curly that we knew we had to put them on the same plate as the spiraling tentacles.
Here's a picture of the maltagliati before it was cooked. The pieces look just like blue corn tortilla chips, don't they?
For those who need it, here's the recipe:

Ingredients:
1 or 2 medium to large octopi
1 small yellow onion
4 cloves garlic

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees fahrenheit.
Rinse the octopus very well in cold water, then cut the tentacles off at the very base. Discard the body.
Blanch the tentacles in boiling water for 30 seconds, then let drain.
Put the tentacles in a large pot (preferably cast iron or something else heavy) with the onion (quartered) and the garlic (halved). Put the pot in the oven and bake for 5 hours.
Remove the pot from the oven and let cool to room temperature.

Saint Peter's Square

We spent more time in Saint Peter's square than in any other part of Vatican City. Why? Because it's easily accessible, it is the front lawn of the country and it is a pleasant space to sit and look at the wonders of the basilica and the papal apartments. We went to two papal audiences there (one and two), and seem to always cut across it on our way from place to place. It's a grand courtyard, but a welcoming one, and we thought it merited having its own post.

The square is really not a square at all, but an ellipse with two trapezoids attached. There is a colonnade around most of the ellipse, designed by Bernini to hide the buildings that encroached on the open space. Around the top of the structure, 140 statues of saints are positioned, framed against the sky. It's very cool - even during the heat of midday - amongst the columns. Hidden there are several banks of security metal detectors, used during audiences and other events.

A large space near to the basilica is typically reserved for rows and rows of empty chairs - they are removed and taken inside when not needed, but there are so many events here that they seem to be a constant presence.
Saint Peter's is the only part of the Vatican that - on most days - one doesn't need to pass a checkpoint to enter. People wander through unaccosted by security and groups of people hang around. The square is actually under the jurisdiction of the Italian police, rather than the Vatican guards, although it is considered to be part of the holy state. Mehmet Ali Ağca, who attempted to assassinate Pope John Paul II in 1981, found this out the hard way: when the pope tried to pardon his attacker, he was rebuffed by the Italian authorities who insisted on persecuting Ağca. Because the attack occurred in the realm of Italian responsibility (though on Vatican soil), Ağca was sentenced to life in prison, instead of going free immediately, as was the pope's wish.

There are three major landmarks in the square: the obelisk, in the center, and two giant fountains on either side. The fountains are original to the space - though they were built about fifty years apart. The first was designed by Carlos Maderno, and built in 1612. The second was built by Giancarlo Bernini as part of his grand design for the square, and was finished in 1677. Both fountains were originally powered solely by water pressure from a dedicated pipeline from the Aqua Paola aqueduct, which had enough pressure to propel the water 20 feet into the air. The modern fountains are a little more sedate, with a lot less oomph behind the water jets.
The obelisk is a much older thing, and is one of the only remaining artifacts from the original Vatican basilica. In fact, it was erected in 37 BC at the center of the chariot fields upon which the first church was built. But it was carved some 2,000 years before that, even, in Heliopolis, Egypt. The huge granite rod was brought to Rome by the Emperor Caligula, and then moved by Pope Sixtus (in 1582, almost 1,550 years after the first move and 3,500 years after it was built) to the center of the new public space from its old station nearby. Today, it sports a Christian cross and 17th century brass adornments. The white markings in the cobblestone around it act as a sundial, though the shadow's passage is difficult to follow from ground level.

The square is empty in the mornings and becomes quite full as the day goes on. Men wander around selling rosary beads and others try to coax tourists into paying for phony tours. A line snakes along one side as people wait to gain entry to the basilica. There's a Vatican post office van, security forces and many, many groups of pilgrims. For a few days, the state fire department was conducting some kind of test with the manholes, and we saw their vehicles stationed here and there. If you click on the picture, notice the "SCV" license plate - one of the rarest in the world, this is the official vehicle tag of Vatican City.

A few nights ago, we cut across the square at dusk, just as the sky began to light up behind the basilica. It is a magnificent space - not just because it frames the grand buildings so well, but also because of what it is itself. There are few public places in the world that are as open and as harshly cobbled as Saint Peter's, yet that remain as welcoming and pleasant as this place.

Gypsy Kitchens: Roman Artichokes

A lot of people asked us "what the hell are you going to do in Vatican City for two weeks?" Well, as you can probably tell, a huge part of our time here has been spent cooking. (Though, it's not like there has been a lack of sights to keep us occupied). We wanted to try our hand at as many of the dishes and utilize as many of the most common ingredients around here as possible. I would say that the most ubiquitous vegetable in Rome/Vatican City is the artichoke - which also happens to be one of the most intimidating.
We kept putting off artichoke night. It all just seemed so difficult, the trimming alone gave me the jitters. Steaming the whole thing and dunking its petals in some hollandaise was simply not an option. They're never served like that here! I wanted it to look and, hopefully, taste just like the ones I eat almost daily. Carciofi alla Romana. Artichokes you could eat whole. Artichokes you could just pick right up by the stem and bite the head (and heart) right off of.
When we visited the awesome Trionfale Market right outside the Vatican wall and saw carciofi for sale already trimmed up and ready to go (as shown above), we knew that it was time to take the plunge. All that was left for us to do was remove the chokes. We slammed the artichokes face down on the counter to loosen the petals a little and burrowed a hole down the center with our index fingers. (Be careful, some of those inner leaves are pretty sharp!) Merlin used a knife to scrape out the choke and I used a small spoon. I really wished we had our grapefruit spoons with the serrated edges - but, really, how often do those come in handy? It was quite the workout. At first, I was worried about all the tiny leaves that were falling out along with the furry choke bits. But when Merlin told me they'd been the ones that had attacked my finger, I was glad to see them go. As was my esophagus.
It would have been much simpler if we'd just split them all in half like this, but I really wanted to stay true to the Romanesque way of doing things. Many recipes suggest coating them with lemon juice or putting them in an ice bath after your initial trim to prevent discoloration. The man at the market hadn't done so, but we thought the purple discoloration was just lovely.
When all eight artichokes were cleaned up, we fit them snugly into a pot with some bay leaves, a half a bottle of white wine, three lemon halves and enough water to cover them. Then, we turned on the heat, waited until it hit a boil and then turned it down to cover and simmer for about 35 minutes.
While they cooked, I made a sauce of olive oil, lemon juice, fresh mint, garlic, salt and pepper. I probably should have gone with a little less lemon, as the halves in the cooking liquid did more infusing than I thought they would. Still, our carciofi alla romana were absolutely delicious. The hearts were perfectly softened and if you've never had the stems before, they also have that great creamy artichoke flavor. I think they were a little better the next day- making for an excellent cold, midday snack.

I would love to tell you how to trim an artichoke, but being as I didn't do it myself, I don't feel like I am the right person to explain it. To be honest, I'm still pretty intimidated by the process and have yet to work up the courage. But we're about to spend two weeks in San Marino (another microstate surrounded by Italy). So...

Castle Hunting: Castel Sant'Angelo

I'm sure most people have assumed that I wouldn't be doing a castle hunting post for Vatican City. Well, I am, and it's not even that much of a stretch. Castel Sant'Angelo is a two minute walk from our apartment, and we pass it so often that it's blended into the scenery. It used to be the papal fortress (it's now owned by the country of Italy), and was a refuge for various popes during troubled times. I took a few of these pictures early one morning, and most of the rest on an afternoon visit with my brother.
The fortification has a long and unusual history. The base of the main building is a huge cylinder of limestone, built between the years 123 and 139 by the Roman Emperor Hadrian as a tomb for himself and his family. Inside, a defensible passageway circles up through the stacked stone blocks and once accessed a high, parklike space on top. It's use as a resting place was brief, though. In 401, the huge mausoleum was incorporated into the new city walls and fortified - the tombs were desecrated after the fortress was sacked in 410 and much of the original statuary and decorations were destroyed to be used as ammunition against the Goths who had besieged the city in 537.

The gradual fortification of the structure was accelerated when the papacy purchased Hadrian's tomb in 1277. The walls were strengthened and heightened, and a second defensive system was put in place around the outer perimeter in the shape of a square. The popes were concerned, at the time, about their safety in Rome, and wanted some kind of fortress in case of invasion. This is the view from the top of the walls, with the basilica rising against the sky on the left. A long wall is visible on the right - this contains a passageway, called the "Passetto di Borgo," which connects the Vatican's main complex to Castel Sant'Angelo. It was used infrequently for actual escape, though I am told that it is featured in several works of fiction. I have never read Dan Brown, but apparently everyone else has and knows about this walkway.

The upper walls enclose a pretty little collection of courtyards and buildings - there is now a cafe and an art museum housed in the castle. It's a little warren-like, and it's easy to miss the directional signs, but the sun was pleasant and the views out over Rome are spectacular.
The popes made many renovations that were non-military in nature, and the uppermost spaces are beautifully decorated with frescoes and plaster moldings. Inside, where the art museum now is, the rooms are nearly as fantastic as those in the Vatican museums. Photography is prohibited, but I can assure you that it's striking. This is certainly unlike any castle I've ever seen. There is, for example, a church on site that was designed by Michelangelo.
The Sant'Angelo bridge was also erected by Hadrian, in part to access his new tomb. It has survived remarkably well, and is now decorated lavishly with renaissance-era statues. Here it is, stretching across the muddy, springtime Tiber.
Roman history is different - this is a city that has so many old things that millennia seem shortened and antiquity has become part of everyday life. This castle is amazing. It is no longer part of the Vatican, and it's military importance has long been minimal, so it appears now as a kind of layered story in stone. The great cylinder is like a giant, archaeological core sample of the past two thousand years: ancient rome at the bottom, the later finery of the renaissance on top, the middle ages sandwiched in between.