Second wake-up call. We are on a plane of volcanic tuff, this place is like Monument Valley. We had set up our tents in the saddle of three small hills. A number of ancient caves are here, and we are only a few paces away from the Fosse Ardeatide and the San Callisto Catacombs.
Last night we cooked a huge barbecue with some guests, some of whom remained. Now the group is a bit larger. Marco (Giovanna's husband) arrived, Guido (a geologist), and Silvana. They joined our committee originally composed of Aldo "Tromba," Giovanna, Massimo Martini (who considers himself too old to camp the nights with us), Francesco "Piccio," Paolo "Pinnochio," Romolo, my brother Valerio, and yours truly, Lorenzo. Last night at dinner we also had over Carlotta, Caroline, and Ilaria. This morning Ilaria came back to join us, and Andrea left his Fiat and is coming with us. Andrea has suggested that we reflect on the word "waste" (scarto). For him, it is a question of being outmoded; Tromba, who was also in on the conversation, thinks that regardless of whether an object still has use, it is just garbage. I would like to give more space to an epistemological researdh on the word "waste," but I have another issue in mind, and very little time to write notes before we start up again.
Last night we slept at the place where ancient Christians once gathered to celebrate, in secret, their own rituals. This place has always remained outside Rome's official history.
