When in Bologna...

eat the pork.

No really. I have eaten the bologna in Bologna and it is not, I repeat, NOT the bologna of my youth. Sadly, however, I did not photograph it. My apologies. It was gone too fast? You'll have to take my word for it. The business. (Vegetarians may be excused to eat the eggplant tagliatelle or the porcini ravioli. Not that I managed to photograph those either.  Don't fire me yet, I'll make it up to you…) 

Next, bask in the ever-lovin' History, motherpluckers. Everywhere you go, hardcore virtuosic Art and Architecture threaten to smother you with the weight of their age and awesomeness. In a good way, though.

There is, I tell you what, a leaning tower of Bologna. FOR STARTERS.

Also, a Basilica at every turn. It's compulsory, I guess.

Still Mike, with architecture.

 Oh yes, I am here with Mike. Mike is an all around swell dude, as witness: he is letting me crash on his Hackney living room floor until I find a more permanent London home (that's not a slight, btw, his living room is located in Hackney). He is also the Bologna Enabler, so there's that. More on him in a bit.

Inside your local Basilica (and there is practically one on every corner), might you find, perhaps, a set of fourteen life-size terra cotta statues from the late 15th century? Distinctly possible.

I mean, really, the f#$!ing ceilings, people. Amirite?

A massive multi-tier ornate altar of doom.

And on the altar (lest you miss it): a tiny gold closet. I like to think of it as a Royal Hobbit door to Narnia.

Standard windows.

Standard floors.

Just generally pretty standard.


For your consideration I also humbly submit: random keyholes of Bologna!

Pretty sure these represent some serious antique theft deterrent. Take note, Weglet.

Under the circumstances, the awesomeness of the hundreds of old-school wall paintings came as no surprise.

More surprising were that they made such convincing Harry Potter illustrations.

Last but not least: I even found you a parrot, Ma. Viva Bologna.

 More soon!