Now that was a surprise.

After yesterday’s frustrations, today we decided to hire a guide. I was taken aback by the price, but when’s the next time I’ll be in Rome? Possibly never!

Back in ’72, which is a great Bob Seger album unavailable on streaming services, you flew to Europe for $200, bought a Eurail pass and the goal was to spend as little as possible, to come home with money, and that was a mistake. When you’re confronted with an entrance fee, any fee at all in a foreign country, and you desire to partake, pay, you’ll regret it if you don’t, when you’re home.

So we said yes.

And walked down to the lobby this morning to find a little old man and a driver and from the moment we pulled away from the curb this little old man with the vigor of someone decades younger started to speak. And he didn’t stop speaking until we were dropped off three hours later.

Giancarlo started with facts and figures, the number of palaces, the number of churches, while telling us the layout of the city is the same as two thousand years ago, it’s the same buildings, redone.

One palace had two thousand rooms, that’s where the Pope used to live, before the Vatican.

And I’m positively riveted. Paying attention. This is the learning experience I didn’t get in college.

Then I thought about it… The college teachers were pedigreed with a degree, there were no teaching assistants where I went to school, the professors had their doctorates and they couldn’t have been more boring. But Giancarlo?!

That’s why I became an art history major. Because the teachers were all good, it was a pleasure to go to class. I remember Art 101, which I only took as a sophomore because everybody recommended it, John Hunisak showed us some slide and said there was a great ice cream place around the corner… In art history you could think for yourself, do your own analysis, whereas in the English department it was all about someone else’s theories, too much was set in stone instead of being vibrant and alive like in art.

Giancarlo is telling us how Napoleon was Italian. And then the French took over Corsica… And after becoming emperor, Napoleon built a palace for his mother and brother in Rome, with a veranda where she could look down on the hoi polloi, unseen. It’s still there!

And then city hall, redone by Michelangelo… The walkway is built of stones ripped-off from the Coliseum.

Our ultimate destination was the Catacombs, since we’d been to the usual tourist sites on previous visits to the city.

So what you had was the pagans. They thought life ended with death. Done, gone. So to preserve your memory, they created a sculpture of you and posted it on the Appian Way. There are thirty thousand of these sculptures in the Vatican Museum.

But the Christians were persecuted, at least until Constantine conquered Rome in the fourth century, and they believed you never really died, you went to heaven, hell or purgatory. So, you “rested in peace” until this happened.

So because of this persecution, the Christians buried their dead underground, they dug into soft volcanic rock, made a hole big enough for a wrapped body, and then put a marble plaque over the whole thing to signify who was there. If you were a martyr, you were buried under an arch. There are four levels and forty seven miles of paths and this is not the only catacombs. Giancarlo told us we’d see no skulls, but there might be some bones. And he reached into one of the graves and pulled out a humerus or something and it was absolutely creepy. And he pulled out a fragment of a ceramic jug. And he’d sift his hand through the dirt for bone fragments… I thought in a museum you looked but did not touch, but I guess there are so many graves…

And they had these carved out spots where they put these little pots of deodorant. It smelled like hell down there back in the day.

So when we came back above ground, we had to get Giancarlo’s story. Turns out he has a Ph.D. And taught not only in Italy, but at Penn State and the University of Phoenix. If only I had a professor like this…

And from there we went to the Appian Way, which for years I thought was just a home pizza kit. And on each side of the Appian Way are these giant tombs, like houses. And the road goes on for seven hundred kilometers, and it used to be smooth before they ripped up the paving stones to lay modern utilities and just put the stones back willy-nilly. Giancarlo kept on telling us that back in the day they had what we do now, newspapers… Until the Mongols came along and wiped everybody out with the plague they carried.

It was mind-blowing, I didn’t want it to end.

And then I thought of my mother going to Elderhostel, now known as “Road Scholar.” Yes, old people go to some far-flung place and learn.

And I thought of how life was the same at the beginning and the end. In the beginning you know nothing and go to school to learn. And when you get out of school you think you know everything. But when you get old and retire you realize all you don’t know, you’re fascinated by history, imagination, you contemplate how much you’ll never know, never experience.

Made me want to go back to every city and hire a guide, but I’m not rich enough to do that. When I was in Rome half a century ago, it was like my art history courses come alive. But Giancarlo filled in the details between the paintings and sculpture. Furthermore, you could tell he enjoyed doing this, it just wasn’t a gig.

He’s eighty four, although he has the vim and vigor of someone much younger. And a girlfriend in Dublin who he owns a house with who is dying of brain cancer after their twenty years together, her sisters don’t want him to visit her in the hospital for fear he’ll convince her to give him all her money. And he’s got a son. And he keeps pushing the envelope.

I hate to tell you this, but life has no meaning, it is what you make of it. No one is keeping score, and I’m down with the pagans, there is no afterlife. So you have to gain your own perspective.

In school they tell you what to do, how to behave. And the freedom of graduating feels so liberating. But then you get older and there’s no structure, no one telling you what to do, no scorecard that applies to all.

Some just put one foot in front of another at a job, whether it be digging ditches or being a doctor. Others lament that they didn’t pay more attention in school for a better adulthood. And some have families, but eventually even the children grow up and have children of their own. So what do you do?

That’s the big question in life, what do you do?

Ultimately it’s your decision, even though you might feel parental or societal pressure. It’s tough to go your own way. Even worse, when people truly have freedom, they’re so often paralyzed.

And you can’t do everything, and a lot of times we can only do the same thing, Giancarlo told us he took Bill Gates and his family on a tour of the Vatican… I can go on that tour too, and so can you!

But deeper…

Most people live in a bubble, because to contemplate what is going on outside it is too overwhelming. That’s what being in Rome is like, overwhelming. There’s so much to learn, so much to see. And you realize the people two millenniums ago were really no different from us. Which is hard to fathom.

So I learned plenty today, it was utterly fascinating. Will there be a test, will I get a gold star? Absolutely not. I’ve got to get off on it for itself.

And I did.

Giancarlo Alú: https://shorturl.at/tM056

Make reservations.

Andrew Zimmern and David Kuller recommended the restaurant Roscioli. Andrew wrote “you’d be hard-pressed to find a better griciathan than at Roscioli.” Honestly, I had to look up “griciathan.” Turns out it’s pasta with three ingredients: Guanciale (pork cheek), pepper and Pecorino Romano cheese, and that appealed to me. So we went downstairs to the concierge and announced we wanted a reservation.

And they pooh-poohed the restaurant. This makes me crazy, like when the guy at the shop said there are better skis than Peaks. Well, Peak is direct to consumer only and you can’t sell them… But I stood my ground and said we wanted to go anyway.

No problem, we could get a reservation on June 19th.

Well, that took us aback. But the concierge said he knew an even better place around the corner and…

The fact that the place was empty should have been a heads-up. But it was after one and…

The salad was substandard. And the pasta… Was oversalted.

This put me in an extremely bad mood. I know my food, it was one of my father’s priorities, if I’m paying I want the best. Yes, I’m that person, I need the best. I want the iPhone 15 Pro, not the one with last year’s chip. Sometimes the best is the same price as the also-ran, usually it’s just a little bit more. And you do your research and…

Most people just ask their friends. Our world runs on misinformation. Everybody thinks they know the most and have got the best spot and it drives me crazy.

And I was beyond frustrated over our meal. I mean with just a bit less salt the pasta would have been agreeable, but I’m wasting all these carbs and eating something substandard? Put me in a really bad mood.

And then Carrot said there was going to be thunder, lightning and rain. (You can’t trust Apple Weather, it’s worthless, somehow Cupertino bought the best weather app, Dark Sky, and positively ruined it. The worst thing is it never says it’s going to precipitate…and then it does.)

So we got our rain gear and entered the Borghese Gardens and it starts to sprinkle and then the thunder claps and Felice gets reluctant. The day is going from bad to worse, she doesn’t want to be out in the rain, but I’m in ROME, I don’t want to waste any of my precious time.

So I say let’s go into the Gallery. But Felice is anxious that I’m going to spend too much time there…

Yes, I’m that guy. As in a quick walk through is not enough. I just don’t want to say I saw it… No, I want to consume it, I want to explore every nook and cranny, I want to drink up the experience…and most people don’t want to do this.

So we parted ways. Maybe not a bad idea after a week together with her family. And I go to enter the museum and…

It’s sold out. There’s a waiting line, but the information desk says I probably won’t get in. So I pop my umbrella and go out into the rain and ponder my next destination. And for some reason the Piazza Navona comes to mind. I remember sitting in a metal chair at the end of the square on a Sunday back in ’72 and at least I can connect with that.

So I start walking and…

What kind of crazy, f*cked up world do we live in where Apple Maps is better than Google Maps? Remember when we used to argue over cell phone providers, over which map apps to use? My default has been Google, I remember when Apple Maps launched and took you far from your destination.

But in L’Aquila, Google Maps steered me wrong, very wrong. And wasn’t so comprehensible. Furthermore, the blue dot wasn’t always accurate. But when I switched to Apple Maps? Everything was hunky-dory.

So I fired up Apple and started walking to the Piazza Navona.

And I was in one of those moods where I wasn’t sure who I was anymore and how I fit in. I could have taken a cab, or even an Uber, but I’m walking half an hour… Do I still have college values, have I not grown up? And others don’t even bother with the sights, that’s not what travel is about for them. But that’s what it’s all about for me. I don’t want to lie on a beach, I want to be stimulated. I could go to museums all day long, every day.

And I’m feeling so alienated. Thinking about how different I am. I mean did you read that “Wall Street Journal” article about the high end confabs? Do I really want to hang with a bunch of rich people and feel fabulous? And to tell you the truth, I’ve done that, and it’s all about networking and that’s not who I am. I’m not looking to use you, and I certainly don’t want you to use me. And lifestyle is not everything.

And my feet are hurting on the uneven pavement and I’ve got no idea where I am, but I’m just following the blue line and then…

I arrive. And it’s crowded. The opposite of the empty plaza from half a century ago. They keep making more people, but they are not making more sites.

So I find a spot on a bench and sit down and…

My pants get wet. That’s why I could find a space.

So I end up finding a railing where I park my ass and start researching on my phone.

And that’s when I read about the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, known in English as the Fountain of the Four Rivers…

Wait a second, this rings a bell. Doesn’t one person have their face covered because they didn’t know the source of the Nile back then?

Is this even the same sculpture?

Meanwhile, I’m looking at the nearby fountain and it’s not resonating.

So I stand up and walk to the center of the Piazza and…

There it is. Straight out of the 1600s.

Bernini didn’t want to do it. But at the last minute he was convinced to send a model to the Pope, who immediately green-lit his vision.

That’s how it always is. There’s a level of talent above the rest, and too often the rest don’t like it. They want you to believe they’re just as good, even though deep down inside they know this is not true. And the most talented are often mercurial, anything but warm and fuzzy.

So there it is, the river god of the Nile, with his face covered.

And suddenly there was a spark, a connection to college, to who I once was, and my mood changed.

And under the god representing the Americas, there was a stack of coins, because the new world was seen as the land of riches.

But it was the feet that truly impacted me. I noticed the second toe of one god was longer than the first. And it rose above, just like a real person. There were all these nuances. Bernini had to get it right, every little thing. He wasn’t making it for a price.

Yes, Bernini was better than the rest. Just like the right restaurant and the right phone, it feels so good when you experience it. It’s not about status, but an inner mounting flame, a good feeling inside. You feel whole.

And nothing else matters.

Bernini has been dead for nearly half a millennium. He’s not bitching about Spotify payments. All that’s left is the work. This is the opposite of Gene Simmons saying that it’s all about money. It’s not. When it’s art.

So what is art?

I don’t want to define it, I’ll just say on the opposite end of the spectrum is commerce.

Now when I went to college there was no commerce. No business classes. College was not seen as a career prep, but an enrichment of the individual, of their mind. This was back before being an art history major made you a pariah.

Yes, I was an art history major. And I never wanted to work in a museum, I didn’t want a job in the art world, but there was a sensibility…in the art, in the art department, that was different from the usual subjects, that impacted me.

I’m all about splitting hairs, trying to reach the zenith, whereas too many people say good is good enough.

And this makes me feel alienated.

But in truth the great musical artists were all alienated. Bob Dylan? John Lennon? These were outsiders commenting on a world they were not a part of. They couldn’t sell out, even if they wanted to, they constitutionally didn’t know how to. They were on their own journeys.

And people don’t like it when you go your own way. Especially now, when it’s all about groupspeak. Reviewers are afraid to say anything negative about the new Taylor Swift album for fear of backlash, or appearing a hater.

As a matter of fact, you need to read the comments on the Swift articles in the WaPo and the NYT. Readers are APOPLECTIC! Can these outlets stop writing about Taylor Swift! The readers are maxed out, and they have no intention of listening to the music, they’ve checked Swift out and she’s not for them. What’s interesting is the blowback is more about the press than Taylor or her work. Dedicated readers wonder who these papers think their audience truly is. But Taylor Swift has been anointed the biggest story in the land and if you don’t agree…

What if you don’t agree? What if you’re not part of the mainstream? What if you want to go a different way?

Be prepared to go it alone. But know that you have forebears.

Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi centered me, made me feel whole and good. Maybe not connected to society, but I could feel the thread back to college and Bernini and his fountain. There was meaning, there was elation. And it wasn’t about money, but it was truly inspiring.

Funny how your mood can change on a dime.

But that’s the power of greatness, that’s the power of the long ball. It’s not about hype, it’s about the work itself. It may need to be interpreted and explained so you can understand it, but the penumbra is irrelevant, the trappings don’t matter, the art stands on its own, makes its own statement. And greatness lasts while the rest fades away.

So I didn’t feel closer to society looking at the Fountain of the Four Rivers, I felt closer to myself. Yes, this is who I am. This resonates, engenders a feeling inside that makes me whole. That explains my life. That makes me feel I’m o.k.

Tune in Saturday April 20th to Faction Talk, channel 103, at 4 PM East, 1 PM West.

If you miss the episode, you can hear it on demand on the SiriusXM app. Search: Lefsetz

This was the unexpected highlight of our trip. We came for last night’s concert, but going to the birthplace of Quinto Mancini? WOW!

So according to Wikipedia, Scanno is a town on a lake, southeast of L’Aquila, but with a higher elevation, as a matter of fact it snowed there last night, and not just flurries, it was still on the ground when we got there.

I pictured some low-lying village, a bit industrial, the kind of place where you could earn a living, but thought of a better life in the United States.

That’s not how it was at all.

Now if you’ve ever been to the Alps, you know they’re staggering. The only equivalent I’ve ever come across in the USA is the Tetons, but they’re just a small row of peaks. Although the Alps are lower in altitude than the Rockies, they jut up straight from the landscape, and they’re craggy and rugged and I didn’t expect the Apennines to have the same character, but they do.

So we’re on the freeway, passing villages with castles, and then we get off the highway and…

It reminded me of Vermont, the road to the Middlebury Snow Bowl. Uphill, twisty and turning…on steroids.

I didn’t know we were climbing to an isolated mountain town. On a road that was a death trap. If you’ve ever lived in the hinterlands, you know drunk driving is a feature, not a bug. And young people lose their lives in accidents all the time. At certain points on the road it was one car only. At others they had mirrors on the curves. And no one was going twenty miles per hour, rather closer to fifty. You know the drill, when you surrender your life to the unknown driver, hoping they have experience.

Turns out ours did. He was a policeman, in uniform and everything, from Villalago, a village fifteen minutes from Scanno. We’re driving over these bridges with insane drops. It was truly a stairway to heaven.

And we’re in these deep valleys and up on the peaks are these communities… They look kind of like that house the Branch Dividians lived in, as in they’re all attached, like one big building, and outside the building are cliffs.

So we ultimately get to a mountain lake, you know, the kind whose color is a cross between silver and green, made up of mountain runoff.

Turns out this is the lake, but Scanno is not built around it. A few kilometers on, you come around a corner and right in front of you is a ski area, with a lift as steep as the one in Val d’Isere, the kind you get freaked out about going up.

And it turns out Scanno is another one of those villages where every building is attached.

So first they bring us to the town hall for a meeting with the mayor. Who smiled and spoke, but not in English, Daniela translated. There was all this pomp and circumstance because the three were the kids of Henry Mancini. The guy’s smiling and…I’ve never gotten such an official reception.

And then we get back in the van, drive in a giant circle, get off and we’re at Henry Mancini’s street. He’s the most famous guy with roots in Scanno, check Wikipedia, they only mention Henry and a guy who hid out there during the War and ultimately became president.

That’s another thing about being in Europe, it’s hard not to think about the War. We haven’t had one in the U.S., we think we’re immune. We’re not worried about our neighbors invading, Canada and Mexico are not up to that. But in Europe, all the countries are squeezed together. And it’s not like your town is so far from the action. 9/11 happened in New York, we didn’t feel it quite as deeply in Los Angeles, because it was three thousand miles away. But when some army can invade and come to your burg in a matter of days, you’re going to sleep with one eye open.

And then they took us to Quinto’s house, just a door in the endless building in the center of the village.

Now I can’t go in search of my relatives’ homeland. Because they’re in Ukraine and Russia. My parents once went to visit my mother’s cousins in Russia, but those who didn’t leave for the U.S. went to Israel. Our aunts, our grandfather’s sisters, came over by boat in the early sixties for a few weeks, and we’ve all been over there, but to see exactly where your relative lived back in the day?

And nothing has changed. I grew up in a split level house that was new construction. But where these people live…the buildings are hundreds of years old, you’re reminded every day that you’re just part of a long continuum.

So it turns out there are only 1,800 people in Scanno. And nineteen churches. And with little work, the young people are leaving. But we met this young reporter who moved here during Covid, she wanted to get out of the city. And the town swells in the summer, thousands arrive, to hang out in their second homes, to vacation.

But the rest of the year… Scanno didn’t even have a cinema when Quinto lived there.

So Quinto, so named because he was the fifth child, was born in 1890. And he emigrated to the U.S. when he was in his early twenties. And I’m picturing him there back in Scanno… There was no future, I can see getting out, as it was there were twenty guys who looked like they were out of a black and white film from a hundred years ago waiting for the bar to open just before we left. That’s another thing about the mountains, the hinterlands, alcohol consumption is rampant, there’s little to do and the nights are cold and long and…

Ultimately, after lunch, there was another concert of Mancini music, in a converted church. Unlike in the U.S., the exteriors of many churches are flat and bland…but the interiors are luxurious.

And that’s where we met…THE RELATIVES!

Yes, the descendants of Quinto’s brothers and sisters, the kids born in the fifties, just like us. It was positively overwhelming, inspiring, yet somewhat strange. It was a complete surprise, we didn’t know they’d be there, no one did. And they’re so excited to meet Felice and Monica, I’ve never experienced anything like it. They shared blood, but no everyday history, not even the same language. How do you catch up after all these years? It was like royalty come to visit, very rare, and they roll out the red carpet and are so thrilled you’re there.

So much of this official stuff is pomp and circumstance with little meaning. But today was all about meaning.

And twenty of us went to lunch, and the breadsticks enclosed in plastic…trumped every breadstick I’ve ever eaten. They were somewhat salty and ribbed and far from dry.

I guess maybe if you too live in the hinterlands, you can understand. If you were born and stayed in the same place, with few people there, off the radar screen. It’s a complete society, but for those of us who live in Los Angeles, you can never forget the starmaking machinery. You bump into household names at the grocery store. You feel a connection to the outside world, it’s palpable. But in Scanno? The roads are treacherous both in and out. It’s perched on the side of a mountain. I can’t figure out why people moved there to begin with.

Normally it’s easy to figure out. There’s a body of water for transportation of goods, or a river to provide energy. But what inspired people to build a community in the middle of nowhere with no obvious economic advantages?

The mayor told me the business was cows and sheep, as in farming. And tourism. And ever since Covid, the area’s been somewhat depressed. The mayor’s the lawyer in town. As for a doctor… THEY DON’T HAVE ONE! They’ve got a helicopter pad just in case, but if you need treatment you’ve got to drive twenty kilometers just to see a medical professional, never mind a specialist. And they’d love to get a doctor there, but most people want to specialize these days, there are fewer general practitioners, and do you really want to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere?

Oh, it’s spectacular. With vertical walls of mountains rising into the stratosphere.

And you could see satellite dishes. So it’s not like you’re completely isolated. But…

What would it be like to grow up there? Over a hundred years ago. When life was not much different than it had been for centuries? I mean normally you think about people immigrating to avoid war, you think about how hard it would be to journey so far and start over where you didn’t speak the language. But I can’t believe it was that hard to convince Quinto to go, I mean what’s your future in Scanno? Then again, what did Quinto think when he got to New York?

He ultimately ended up in the Cleveland area, working in a steel mill. The life of an immigrant is never easy. You start at the bottom, usually with manual labor, and you work hard to provide, to get ahead.

Henry was his only son, only offspring at all. And at a young age, Hank was at the cinema, heard the music and said…I WANT TO DO THAT!

Hank played the flute, like his dad. And he didn’t quite come from the Liverpool docks, but he made it all the way to the Hollywood Bowl.

Sure, there’s luck. But there’s also desire. And also taking advantage of coincidences. After losing his job at Universal, walking away from a building on the lot that now bears his name, Hank ran into Blake Edwards, and there ensued a relationship…

You don’t know what you’re doing when you’re doing it, you’re putting one foot in front of the other, it all makes sense in retrospect.

Quinto did not leave Scanno to have a famous composer son. He just needed a better future. Then again, in today’s world of income inequality, where financial shenanigans are employed to ensure generational wealth, there are tons of rich do-nothings, but it’s always those who come from the bottom, immigrants, who change the world and make a difference.

We all come from somewhere, and today we experienced the roots of Henry Mancini, who is still Scanno’s favorite child, even though he was born in the United States.

But if his father wasn’t from Scanno would Hank have made it, been so successful?

We’ll never know, but that’s the American Dream, to start from nowhere and make it all the way to somewhere. It’s what inspires us, keeps us going.

Perception is they don’t have the American Dream in Europe. You’re born to your station and…

In truth, the American Dream, the ability to rise up on hard work, has diminished in America, your odds of moving up are actually better in Canada and Europe.

It’s the little things that surprise you, where they’ve got systems figured out better than the States. And sure, the States are more efficient, but they’re far from perfect. We could learn from our brethren. Even worse, America has stood for peace, the future, it has been the guiding light, ensuring world order. But now Europe has lost confidence, they don’t look for America to save them. As a matter of fact, the EU is the harbinger of regulation these days. The EU stands up for the public in a way that the American government does not. And when Lina Khan blows the whistle on corporations there’s all this backlash…

It’s different here. And I could live here, but not in Scanno, certainly not in the days before modern transportation and communications.

Brought tears to Felice’s eyes. It was overwhelming. After all these years to encounter your roots?

I hope you have the same experience.