A Very Red Museum

To be fair, not all of the cars at the Ferrari museum in Faetano, San Marino, are red. But the emphasis is on "rossa" cars. Most of these rare specimens were driven in actual races, some are still raced today, nearly all are covered with decals and competition numbers. This is a peculiar place that is probably (but not definitely) worth an hour or so of your time. It is officially known as "Maranello Rosso Ferrari Museum," and also houses a Fiat Abarth exhibition, that we didn't see.
The museum is located right on the border with Italy in the town of Faetano, which doesn't seem to have much else to offer. Across the international boundary - which I say in jest; there isn't even a sign - is the airplane museum that we inadvertently visited a while ago. That first trip to this corner of San Marino was actually made to visit the Ferrari Museum, but there was a note on the door that said they were closed because of "extraordinary repairs," or something like that. When we came back, we were let in by a woman who seemed a little inconvenienced by our presence. She sold us tickets (12 euros each, which is outrageous) and turned on the lights for us. Nobody else came in while we were there.
The space itself is tight and strangely lit, with chandeliers and streetlight-styled fixtures casting difficult glimmers onto the mirrored walls. There are some carved doors and oversized urns that - I think - are supposed to evoke a swanky salon where someone has decided to park their collection of exotic cars. Each of the models is hemmed in by a guardrail thing, which makes them impossible to photograph whole and are also tripping hazards.
A good deal of the museum's literature and information is devoted to Enzo Ferrari, the racing champion and founder of the company, who apparently spent a lot of his life in San Marino. Wall plaques and photographs showed the man next to a wide selection of his quotes. Unfortunately, the museum also featured a large number of stills and "behind the scenes" photos of "Ferrari," a movie written about Ferrari by his son and featuring many of the cars in the Maranello Rosso collection.
This is a factory frame, used to form and fit pieces of sheet metal to the shape of the finished car.
In the museum's defense, the close quarters, gauche decor and questionable information displays couldn't cover up how beautiful the cars were. Rebecca, who has always said that Ferraris are ugly, admitted that she was struck by the looks of these models. They are all low slung, with curves and details that are more striking in person than in any picture.
The majority of them date from the late fifties to early seventies, with a few more recent outliers. This particular car was owned by Marylyn Monroe, and was the only white vehicle in the place.
In the end, it's mesmerizing to be there. There are twenty-five cars, many of them easily recognizable. It's a bizarre, mirrored, cramped museum that is probably worth the twelve euro admission price if you are really into cars or Ferraris. If you aren't, it will seem too expensive but may still charm you.

Vivi Tipici

First off, it's not "vivi tipici," it's "vini tipici." We have been calling it "vivi" because of a typo on a road sign. At least, we think it was a typo.

San Marino has a small wine consortium that produces almost all of the alcohol in the country. There are a few older vintages left over from more fragmented times, but today it is mostly about cheaper whites and reds that are sold in bulk to bars and (sometimes) in bottles to tourists. It's not bad, but it's best drunk without thinking about it. The bottles above, which are two of the better products, cost €4.50 and €2.00 (left and right), and are definitely palatable.
At the wine consortium in Borgo Maggiore - which is the town at the ocean-side foot of Monte Titano - the fermentation tanks dominate the parking lot. It's quite the sight, but it's also a pretty small scale operation when you consider that it's the entire county's output.
This Saturday, a surprising number of people were driving in, parking and unloading empty bottles from their trunks. The bottles ranged in size from one liter plastic things, to larger glass jugs to these enormous vessels. There are four gas-pump type filling stations in the shop - two for white, two for red - and a bleary eyed man running the nozzles.
The price per liter was €1.65 at three of the pumps, and €1.25 (marked as a sale!) on the fourth. Most people seemed to want this red, but we opted instead for two others: the Riserva Titano Brut Frizzante and the Castelli Sammarinesi Vino Bianco. Both were in bottles. We might have filled up our own containers, but didn't have anything that seemed suitable.

Most of the customers were older and seemed to know the pump attendant. I'm sure some of them were picking up orders for restaurants, but some obviously were just getting their week's supply of table wine. At €8.25 for five liters, i'd say they were getting a deal.

Later, we stopped at a vineyard on the way to Faetano. The leaves are just beginning to unfurl from the vines. They're a magnificent spring-green. In the background, Monte Titano rises up and the edge of Borgo Maggiore can be seen (the cluster of houses at right, under the cliffs). There is quite a bit of land under vine in little San Marino, but it appears to be secondary to olive production.
We drank the frizzante last night with our picnic of tomato, cheese, lambstongue, artichoke and piadina. It wasn't optimally cold or served in the right glasses, but that doesn't really matter. The bottle certainly emptied quickly enough. It is probably our favorite of the San Marino wines, though we are fond of the frizzante served on tap in all the bars.

Gypsy Kitchens: Mare e Monti

San Marino doesn't have its own cuisine, per se, so we've been extra perceptive of menu trends and things they seem to particularly like. When I first saw "mare e monti" as an option on a pizza list and read that "sea and mountain" meant shrimp and mushroom, I felt that there was finally a pizza option designed just for me. No more sighing wistfully at Merlin's proscuitto e fungi pizza while cutting up my own protein-less variety. The combination has since popped up on every other pizza list, as well as pastas. It makes perfect sense that San Marino, with its views of the Adriatic and the Appenines, would embrace the combination as sort of a signature. So, for our first Sammarinese home cooked meal, we decided to try to make mare e monti ravioli.
We procured fresh pasta from the nearby grocery store, shrink wrapped wads of folded sheets most likely intended for lasagna. The plan was to make one batch of mare ravioli (shrimp and red pepper flakes), one batch of monti (mushroom and parsley) and then top them both with some sauteed tomato, basil and oil. As we lifted the pasta off of its styrofoam tray, we realized that it was too thick and, when wetted, didn't stick together at all. Definitely not ravioli material. The mushrooms were already diced and cooking, but we left the shrimp whole while we decided on a plan B.
Thinking back to our good ole eating-out-too-much NYC days, Merlin thought of the 'raviolo' he was once served. Basically, it was one single pocket of pasta, created simply be folding a sheet of pasta over its filling. Right up our alley! Unfortunately, fresh pasta doesn't come with instructions and neither of us quite knew how to get it right. Our sheets all got stuck together and we managed only a handful of large enough shreds. "We just won't put this on the blog," Merlin said to me as he struggled to tear apart a boiling hot cube of starch. Oops.
The thing is, our stomachs don't have eyes (hence, my love of cheap Indian). The shrimp were as sweet as their color had suggested (did you see how pink they were raw?) The pasta itself was delicious enough to make us stop cursing the day it was born and our filling and sauce were pretty darn perfect, if I do say so myself. Our mare e monti was a delicious failure of a meal.

Sammarinese Mercatale

Borgo Maggiore is one of the nine castelli in San Marino and also happens to be the name of that castello's largest town. Early in its history, around the late 1200s, it was called "Mercatale" (marketplace). The most important market in the country still takes place here every Thursday. Parking was tight and people trudged up and down the hills with their plastic bags filled with rainbow polyester. Instead of in a market square, the vendors spilled through all the narrow streets of the pretty town.
We went with a shopping bag and a hope to find dinner. Passing by the few fruit and vegetable stands we saw at the very beginning of the sprawl, we hoped to find a larger collection of food sellers. Instead, we found the Borgo Maggiore market to be exactly like most European markets we've visited: filled with more fabric than food. Curtains, blankets, blouses, silk flowers that the mosquitos still swarmed around and poked at. I understood their disappointment.
We found cacti and t-shirts with Christina Aguilera's face on it, but no cheese or wine or meat or fish... Then, we spotted a little boy digging down into a greasy paper cone and walked in the direction from which he'd come. We smelled fry wafting in the air and finally stumbled upon a stand which churned out helping after helping of freshly fried seafood to very eager customers. Just a few feet away stood two identical porchetta stands, with competing pork and tins of crackling. While both things were enticing, we were after something a little more - raw.
The goods seem so random and mass produced, yet these markets are always bustling. I honestly wonder how many of the customers are resellers. In San Marino, it seemed like a lot of people just stopped by to chat with their friends. You definitely overheard more gossiping than haggling. It also seemed to give people an excuse to have a pre-10am glass of wine - sort of like brunch or Wimbledon.
I may or may not have purchased my very first cheap, European market undergarment- but that's neither here nor there. We struck out on dinner ingredients, but managed to procure a little food for the walk back down.
This table appeared to be run by the food collective of San Marino and the youngish unsmiling man was very keen on explaining which grains were used to make the small variety of bread he had for sale. There were pale, round loaves that looked exactly like enormous sugar cookies (complete with liberal sugar dusting). We opted, instead for this sheet-bread thing. It was very oily and sort of bland but pleasantly dry somehow. We think he said it hadn't been baked at all. The huge crystals of salt on top really helped it make the jump from 'interesting' to enjoyable.
The most impressive part of this generally unimpressive market was the fact that under the eaves, in the narrow passageway which wound around a strip of stores, they had actually found some level ground. As we pulled a little basket on wheels around the produce section of a supermarket later that day, I felt awful that I hadn't purchased more from the market. Merlin made me feel better immediately, though. "All the market stuff was imported from Italy, too." Sammarinese produce basically consists of olive oil, wine and cheese. We, dutifully, had a large helping of all three with our dinner.

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.