Notes of Travel

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 10, 18 March 1925, Page 25

Notes of Travel

(By J.K.)

A fast boat ' brought us across the waters of the English Channel, which were at their worst. After the bustle of the French Custorus' Office we quickly found ourselves speeding south, across the undulating country between Dieppe and Paris, through which in old days I had pushed my way joyously on an ordinary bicycle. We left Paris quickly, and I leave it, in these notes, for another time. In the morning, day break found us well south of Dijon, where the country begins to be interesting, Soon it assumed an Alpine aspect, and the hills became more rugged as we went on until at last, as we skirted Lake Bourget, there was snow on all the summits.

:, Came Aix-les-Bains, clean and beautiful, above the dark wafers of the lake, its stately halls and hotels framed in a background of ■■■ V Alpine scenery. Culoz gave us a glimpse of jd the road to Geneva, but we kept on towards '•W Modane where the first welcome sounds of ) the Italian tongue were heard when the ] Customs' officers boarded the train. Finally, amid the clangor of a great station, ••ye moved into Turin, the noble capital of V . g Piedmont. :

Next day came Genova the superb, a great and glorious city, spread out on the hills and looking towards the golden west, whither in days long ago its son, Columbus, sailed on his eventful voyage of discovery. Here, too, our own O'Connell died, on his way to Rome. And here also is the marvellous Campo Santo, where the Genoese dead sleep in a cemetery that is a treasury of sculpture, Then, on the last day of the old year, a last long run to Rome. Once more I saw the lovely Riviera di Levante, with its blue bays, its scattered cities, its picturesque mountains, and its gardens of olives and oranges all along by the sea. A halt at Spezzia gave us a look at the bay where

Shelley was drowned. And an hour later we came in sight of Pisa, with its noble ecclesiastical buildings—the Baptistry, the Duomo, and the leaning Campanile. Later, after a rapid passage through the now well cultivated acres of the Campagna, we stopped at Civita Vecchia, which used to be the port of the Papal States before they were taken by the Sardinians. Then, well up to time, the lights of Kome and at last the great train came to rest in the

V—AVE ROMA

Central Station. According to my invariable custom I sought a real Italian hotel, knowing from past experience how much more comfortable they are than Cook's, caravansaries, where you pay twice too much for everything and are surrounded by the sort of people you want to escape. And after our long journey it was early to bed in order to enjoy fully New Year's Day in Rome. But it was not by any means early to sleep. The Roman people were seeing the old year out, and the din of crackers and the merry calls kept us awake until well after midnight. Next morning we said Mass in the Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli which is built

among the ruins of the Baths of Diocletian. Then, to give my companions a general idea of the city, we walked down to Santa Maria Maggiore, on to the Lateran, then to St. Clement's, to the Cqloseum, the Forum, the Capitol, St. Paul's, St. Peter's, i and finally to San Pietro in Montorio, where, as became good Irishmen, we knelt down and prayed on the graves of the exiled princes of Tyron and Tyrconneli v: yi ~ & v>v; 1 Later, when the sun went down, ';I went

to see a dear old friend whose loyalty through trying times has been one of the things that made life worth living, and then a walk back to the hotel, through the gay throng of joyous people who were making their holiday for il Capo d'Anno. Tivoli called from the past, and on a golden day, with a cloudless sky above, I f went again to the old town where in the down-gone years I spent , many a month of summer holidays. There was the old Villa dei G-reci where we lived, the great ' olive groves on the hills where we walked or read, the magnificent waterfalls where the river Anio plunges into a ravine seven hundred feet deep, and the fading glories and ' the haunting beauty of the Villa d'Este, so eloquent of the past. A) Under the columns of the Temple of Vesta I'l dined on a Friday and had a pfanzo di * magro such as one can get only in Italy. Trout from the Anio, real maccheroni which you know nothing in New Zealand—and a real omelette, light as whipped cream and wonderful as to flavor. Then a walk up the hills where I sat and smoked and

watched another sunset beyond the Campagna, while memories of old, old days came back, and thoughts too deep for tears were born.