#335 Reroaming Rome: 64 perspectives you may not have noticed the 1st time
... still here, in Rome. For the most part it's been rainy ... the norm for November. Before we lived here it seemed we always visited in November for some reason & usually it amounted to day after day of rain. Nothing like the winter of 2010 when the Tiber almost flooded its banks, but the river is now above the running/bike path & rising ...
Mostly we've just been flâneuring & eating our way across Rome these past few days ... revisiting old haunts but also trying to find things we never saw, or seeing them in a new light. Won't bore you with the reminiscing (or bitching) about the good old days, but will just shut up & show visuals or angles that you, dear Internet, might not have recorded in your recesses ...
The current exhibit at the Galeria d'Arte Moderna (where the above were spotted) profiles various Italian writers & poets (including Pirandello, who we talked about in the last post), with either art by or about them.
Not sure we ever mentioned it here, but the Quartiere Coppedè is one of the best kept secrets of Rome (if you are into architecture anyway), a whole neighborhood designed by the eccentric Gino Coppedè ... like the mutant brainchild of Gaudí (but more practical & livable) & Escher.
At this point we were venturing into new territory. Before this was the end of the road on our downriver runs, but it seems they finally finished this pedestrian bridge spanning the Tiber from Portuense to the gasometro. Of course the bridge dead ends on the other side (typically Italian), but offers some nice views into this abandoned industrial area around the gasometri (the shells of cylindrical tanks that someone told me once were used to measure air tho that sounds ludicrous). And now the path continues on downriver on the Portuense side (for who knows how long ... perhaps today we'll run down & see for ourselves).
Not pictured is the glorious din of starlings we awake to each morning, chattering as they make their plans until all at once they shut up & take wing & then all you hear is the sound of millions of wings quietly swooshing, darkening the sky for a good minute or two until the entire swarm emtpies from the trees ... & of course each evening we've been divining their murmurations, from the Aventino or one of the bridges, but we've already said our piece about that ...
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