post-dated post script: manerba del garda

The town on the southwest side of the lake is the namesake Minerva (according to legend though some argue it was a later Roman assimilation and syncretism of a local deity) and is dominated by the promontory of the cliff of Manerba (previously) jutting out into the waters.
The rocky outcropping itself covered in the ancient remains of a high fortress where the local population is to seek refuge during raids—the Rocca, and other strata of ruins that document over ten thousand years of human occupation.

Thirteenth century medieval towers are built on the foundations of older Roman forts, which in turn follow the outline of a Copper Age necropolis, only discovered through excavations some four decades ago.  The entire site is well-marked and there is also a museum nearby with exhibitions of artefacts recovered from the area.
The shrine to the Etruscan and Roman equivalent to—wise and born fully-formed though less warlike than her Greek counterpart, Athena is found here with a view over the lake and countryside. Below is the peninsula and island of San Biagio, where we are staying.

post-dated post script: shore birds

We’ve returned to a very fine campsite on the southern end of Lake Garda (previously) but this time were graced with a pitch directly on the water, just behind a copse of reeds that despite the foot-traffic of campers and dogs, a variety of sea birds use as a living and breeding habitat.
There were the familiar friends in mallards and those more mysterious and wary black plumed birds with the white beaks that I called Nō theatre ducks until learning that they’re properly called bandicoots (Fulica—Latin for coot, a mud hen, apparently oder eine Blässhuhn) but judging by the multi-voiced chorus each morning, a crescendo of calls that formed this wall of sound, there were more sorts of birds hiding in the tall grass.
Later some sea gulls, crows, pigeons (the latter being strange candidates for cohabitating I thought) revealed themselves but we still weren’t able to identify all the cries, which was quite the persistent wake-up call with no snooze option. For warmth, growing ducklings sleep all tangled up, like a rat king.
I recall reading how in huge colonies, bats and other swarming creatures distinguish their vocal signatures by choosing unique places in terms of frequency or pitch but in situations where range is shared, I wondered how confusion was avoided—except that these diverse species seem to respect one another and wait their turns, going in a sort of coordinated, pre-arranged sequence. Here are a couple of audio samples, which became a pretty endearing accompaniment over the next few days. I wish I had taken a recording during the first few days before the weather turned stormy as the sounds seemed more distinct and there was less lapping of waves but happily all the residents and the reeds weathered the winds and driven rains just fine, if not a bit off key.

 

 

otium

We here at PfRC will be on a short sabbatical whilst we return to the Italian lake district for vacation. Please stay tuned for further adventures but expect that posts might be less frequent. The title, Latin for leisure, signals withdrawing from daily business—that is, negotium, to engage in more enlightening and edifying endeavours.We have a lot to be grateful for. Ciao, ci vediamo presto!

valhalla

Strange Company’s always engaging weekend link dump directs our attention to a website called “Plodding through the Presidents” and their expertly curated gallery of unexpected commemorative statues of past administrations plus the current pretender to the office. From a nude Zeus-like George Washington, a bronze George W Bush with terrier in a fast food parking lot in South Dakota, to this 1941 shirtless, sexy Abraham Lincoln by artist James Lee Hansen, what’s more striking than the fact that some of these likenesses were created in the first place is that they’ve been given a home that’s accessible to the public—though tracking down some of these might pose more of a challenge than others.