Thursday, July 19, 2012
A few days ago, I visited Virgil's tomb. It wasn't on my itinerary, nor is it on many, but it was mo
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Virgil, to me, is a little bit like an old friend. Granted, it's a one-way friendship, and it's more of an "I'll follow you on Twitter but I totally event and travel planning understand event and travel planning if you don't follow me back" type of thing than a real "chummy" relationship he kicked the bucket a full 19 years before that Jesus dude showed up, mind you but I still feel like I've gotten to know him.
I read his 10,000-line masterpiece, the Aeneid , in eleventh grade, event and travel planning and the Eclogues and Georgics in my freshman year in college. I embraced the grand themes of the Trojans' journey to Italy, and hacked my way through bucolic passages about different types of dirt. All the while, I came to revere this guy's words, as esoteric as they sometimes seemed.
A few days ago, I visited Virgil's tomb. It wasn't on my itinerary, nor is it on many, but it was more of a personal pilgrimage than a sightseeing opportunity. There's not a whole lot to see, anyways. You get there via a metro station underpass that's littered with vestiges event and travel planning of Naples' trash strike days, followed by an unexciting hike up an unassuming hill.
Inside, there's a modest marble bust of the poet next to a long inscription. Further up is his simple funerary event and travel planning structure surrounded by ivy-overgrown walls. No big casket; just a tripod burner overlaid with a browning rose.
It was hardly the most elaborate thing I've ever seen, but in its own humble way, it felt all right. I didn't leave wishing there was something more. Like anyone who makes a point to visit this tomb, I knew that the better event and travel planning memorial was in the words he wrote. Some of his final ones made it to the inscription near his likeness.
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