Robert left on a beautiful blue skies morning, Ubering to the airport in a black Mercedes. I missed him right away. He spoils me. I admit it. On the bright side, it will be easier to catch up on the blog, since that’s my solo evening activity of choice. 
To console myself, I decided to visit the Doria Pamphilj Gallery. On the way, I passed this man at work and dropped five euros in his collection box. It’s hard on the streets for an artist.
The Doria Pamphilj Gallery is the standout favorite in my memory. It’s more intimate in scale than imperial, with an inventory that includes three Caravaggios and a renown Velasquez. Add to that, the founding collector preferred, as I do, the northern renaissance.
One of the charms of this museum is the audio guide narrated by a scion of the family that includes his childhood recollections of roller skating in the ballroom and having to polish the Cotto floors by hand with beeswax sourced from the family farms.
From my two prior visits (2004, 2008) I noticed paintings have been moved. The Pope Innocent X by Velasquez was repositioned from a corner alcove to the prime spot of the hall of mirrors.
The Carravagios, which were scattered here and there, are lined up together, a trifecta of artistic triumph.
On a humbler note, one of my favorite paintings was this lovely portrait of *another* fully clothed Magdalen. Dare I hope it’s a trend?
As it happened, the day I visited they were filming a documentary, complete with Steadicam action. I had a brief chat with the sound technician and made sure to stay out of sightlines. The other thing I spotted was someone actually cleaning. I have long wondered who they find to clean irreplaceable, priceless furnishings. Here she is in action, using a soft brush for the crevices of an elaborately carved and gilded table.
On my way out, I saw this cherry red Ducati, parked well inside the palazzo. Nice ride.
Looking for a place to eat, I mistakenly wandered into the maze surrounding to the Trevi fountain. How did I know? The population suddenly quadrupled, streets packed out with hucksters, performers, souvenir sellers, costumed mimes, ticket touts, and tourists. So many tourists. My idea of Hell. I bailed on my Googled restaurant choice and gladly walked another 15 minutes to eat at Valentino’s again. I drew postcards while I waited for my order, surrounded by contented Romans dining well. Afterward, I spent a happy half hour sitting by a fountain in a little garden behind the Jesu church, before wending my way Trastevere-wards.
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