Symptoms

There seem to be symptoms in everything these days. Symptoms of illness, symptoms of pain, symptoms of problems, symptoms vs causes, symptoms of a corrupt political establishment, symptoms of much bigger problems, symptoms of mental illness, symptoms of hypertension, symptoms of anemia, symptoms of fibroid pain, symptoms of fatigue, symptoms of depression, symptoms of demise…

the-tempest

I had made myself a promise to step back and redirect my focus towards what’s real and right in front of me, the relationships I need to build, the loved ones I care for, the child I mother, when I can, or am allowed!c5

Sometimes after I’ve been away for awhile I come back and I’m relieved. I’ll have missed the latest atrocity, or it’s a slow news day, or I manage to immerse myself in Amazon binge-watching of…whatever and stay distracted.

I want to say there’s a third of me who wants to retreat and hide. Who just wants to live her life, like we all do.When can we go back to that quiet existence where politics didn’t matter, and if it did, we could still just ignore it?

(…I’m not really asking those questions.)

I can’t ignore anything anymore. I can only escape for small spurts of time. It’s not that apathy has reasserted itself. In fact, apathy would be easier, almost welcome.

No, it’s the place where radicals like me land once we transcend that space of apathy and fall instead right down the heart of a checked, but brewing anger. It’s the right kind of anger, though, that fuels me into action. An anger that says, “we’re full up, here. There’s nothing left to take, there’s no more blood in these veins to drain, no essence left to strip from my existence.

And not just me, my fellow man, who feels the wall, too. The wall we’ve hit with blow after blow after blow after blow…after blow…after blow…where what we feel and hear inside says, “Nope. that’s as far as we can go.’

I’ve written about this place before and wondered when it would come. If it would come. When I myself would meet a place where one more step forward would kill my soul.

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There’s just a place, beyond anger, beyond hopefulness, beyond despair. It’s a tired draggy, slow-walking shed of what’s no longer allowed.

These layers, this acquiescence,

“don’t rock the boat”, “just get along, now”

They are falling from my sleeves.

the sanders secret

They are not being picked back up. They’re staying there, dead, along with all my other upheavals, my other tentativeness, my doubts. There are no more doubts. Just truths too precious to squander, they’re so rare now to find.

The truth for me is, I’m not giving up, I’m not giving in, I’m not getting out of the way. I’m not moving on or being pointed in another direction. No.

  • My direction is clear, and the buck stops here. 
  • There will be no more railroading without resistance. 
  • We will not be bullied or sidelined or ignored. 
  • We will be heard. On our terms, set in our way, where and when and how we want.
  • The consequences of this be damned.
  • Some things are worth fighting for.

You don’t want to come to me? Walk my line of compromise? See who crosses first? Fine. Because it won’t be me. While you negotiate how close you’ll come or far you’ll step, I’ll be immovable, watching TV. Compromise?  What’s a compromise?

Well, it’s not the game you’re playing, so I’m done playing too. I’m taking my ball back but I’m not going home. I’m standing my ground and speaking my mind and no one has to listen but all of it must be said.

I was reminded today about compromise, which isn’t the daily word- that word is “symptom.” Well, compromise is a symptom of the fallacies of hypocrites. I hear their voices, but they aren’t allowed in. They’re only warning shots in the dark that danger is near. So is being sucked up into their sweet-talking syrupy assurances that everything will be alright, just trust me, and go back to sleep, now. When you awake it will all be better…

Huh, not falling for that one anymore, either.

The time for compromise is over. We’re at war. What I consider domestic terrorists have hijacked our government with their corporate lobbyist and dirty campaign money, their lying propagandized media reframing and their legalized bribery and corruption is Done. I’m Done.

Done. Done. Done.

I’m here. You’re there. And when we meet it will be on MY battleground, when I say, and there will be nothing you can do to change my mind or silence my voice, other than kill me…

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I won’t be waiting for that, but I’ll willingly put my life on the line for a righteous and noble fight.

Saving democracy sure ought to be one.

Tishacp

 

SymptomSymptom

Daily prompt:Sandwich​

Daily prompt: Sandwichdeath-valley…so here’s the sandwich:  WE’RE THE SANDWICH.

Those of us who still feel the Bern, but don’t hate, or even dislike our now newly Green friends.

Those of us who haven’t unfriended the people we’ve known all our lives, or even just the ones on Facebook, for supporting “Her”.

Those of us genuinely terrified of Trump, and equally afraid of a continued tyrannical reign of  Tea Party Republican radicals dominating our entire Government, and possibly  all three houses of government.

Those of us who’ve stayed in the party, but joined Our Revolution.

Those of us who come up against our same old struggle: Do we abandon our principles and vote for the common good, or will our acquiescence mean we’re co-conspirators in  everything we know is wrong and corrupt and in need of change, and won’t ever as long as someone’s  standing ready to sell us their stories that the alternative would be SO MUCH WORSE. And there’s always someone standing ready, telling us this story. And we know the alternative has the potential to be so so much worse…

…Believe me, We get that. That’s why were sandwiched in the middle.

Those of us who know there’s always going to be someone worse and things will never really start to change until we stop our perpetual flop, till we decide we’re finally ready to take out our permanent markers and draw unerasable lines in the sand.

And we also know our time is running out.

And now that we’re awake, we can’t go back to sleep, or ignore our crumbling. We’re sandwiched , solidly in between, unable to decipher definitely the bigger risk and what we’re really sacrificing when we choose.

We’re sandwiched between our allies now arguing with each other from either progressive poll, defiantly perched on   Jill or Berniecrat campgrounds, bickering endlessly over who’s the “real” sell-out instead of getting to work on real issues at hand, at our real enemy’s door, and in our real fight where we need our should-be allies to stand up with, united against  real opposition, threatening  progress and possibly our very existence. That fight is lost if we stand alone. And that fight, my friends, has barely even begun.

Sandwiched, nice and snug, tightly in between that old familiar haunt at the corner of  a Rock and A Hard Place where nothing ever feels good and no decision right.

I’m neither a Hillary hater nor a Jill Lover. I believe one is terribly flawed and forever compromised in precisely the wrong direction, and the other politically inexperienced without political allies or a chance in hell of getting elected with only 3% of the vote. And who, quite frankly, just doesn’t inspire the same passion so recently experienced under the warm glow of the Bern.

Not to say that I don’t agree with just about everything she says. or that I haven’t felt the let down so many of us have experienced at our Bernie-abandoning. So, I’m sandwiched here, too.

Perpetually sandwiched, unable to get out, get free, get to higher ground where I can clear my head and see things farther, look out and over, above the fray,  where the whole big picture seems perfectly crystal, where I can hear my instincts ringing loud and strong  like thunder, pointing me in the right direction.

Or at least away from the one that’s wrong…

I know I’m not the only one stuck here in this nebulous middle. According to some recent poll or other, there’s a whole whopping 17% of us wafflers who don’t like our odds in any direction.

I keep half expecting something definitive will happen so I don’t have to be in this difficult place, but I know that’s all just so much wishful thinking…

Sometimes there just aren’t any good choices.

Just hard decisions you eventually have to make…

T.

Sandwich

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sandwich/”>Sandwich</a&gt;

Daily prompt:Sandwich

Daily Prompt: Melody

 

cat singingWhen I was 7 years old I joined the San Francisco Girls Chorus, and there I learned what has served as my musical foundation throughout my life.Thinking about Melody made me remember those early days singing, as a complete beginner, and those first few weeks and months of rehearsals every Monday and Wednesday afternoon in the SFGG Training Group…

I don’t remember my first conductor, but I do remember feeling very special, for some reason, after I was assigned to the 1st soprano section. I don’t know what it is about some of us soprano’s, but even at that early age, I had the distinct impression that we were the special ones…

Mostly because we can sing really really really high, much higher than anyone ELSE can, plus we get to sing the melody, which, I mean, it just so happens to be THE MAIN PART OF THE SONG! is all, So, you know, we must be pretty special…

(…such was my  seven-year-old reasoning.)

I remember I was handed some sheet music I was expected to look at which immediately made me frustrated. I could read, of course, but I didn’t know what most of the notes meant. I didn’t know how I was supposed to follow along…but mostly I HATED that I couldn’t just automatically read the music.

How I was ever going to learn these songs is impossible if I am forced to look at music all the time that I can’t EVEN READ, already!!!                                                                                                  

 Hmph! This is very disappointing.  (At this point, I’m sure some serious pouting was going on).

Also, how I would ever possibly learn to read these notes just by LOOKING at them? I’m pretty sure I can’t just FIGURE IT OUT, after all!! Someone is going to have to TEACH it to me, and when is THAT ever going to happen, because, it’s been 15 whole minutes already  AND NO ONE’S EVEN EXPLAINED ANYTHING TO ME, and STILL!!

Hmph!This is very so annoying… (Definitely some more pouting).

After a few rehearsals, I did finally have  music theory, which we then devoted a half an hour to, I think, every Monday and Wednesday, and eventually Friday.

I LOVE my two teachers who didn’t even make me look at my music sheet and instead taught mostly on a chalkboard..and I learned sign language called solfege which is very neat and also hard and besides I like it a lot, so there!

After this initial solfege memory, I think I had a similar experience learning to read music as I did learning to read. My Grandmother taught me how one summer when I was  5, before kindergarten,  and I remember being very motivated because I hated having to ask  what each word said and how to spell everything. I wanted to be able to read my mom’s letters  and I wanted to write letters back and I hated not being able to do that, so I buckled down and made like a sponge, absorbing it all as quickly as I could. Consequently, I don’t remember when I suddenly knew enough words that I could actually read something besides See Jane run. T

The same is true for music. I have no real recollection of learning. I only know that somewhere along the way I could and by the following summer I had the basics down. I’d memorized all the time signatures, I knew the Circle of Fifths and note values, basic music dynamics and could transpose basic melodies on the piano and on the staff.  I knew my clefs, much better than I do now, and was learning how to invert triads, which I thought was very cool…

But I was suffering from what many young singers suffer from, especially us sopranos, or those of us for whom music and singing come somewhat naturally. I was already  lazy and undisciplined and I was only seven! I relied entirely on being able to hear the melody for figuring out where I was musical. I rarely counted and I started getting into trouble for not paying attention and talking too much during rehearsal. I didn’t like standing by the altos or 2nds because sometimes they threw me off and made me lose my place, which was embarrassing and made me impatient. Basically, I was skating.

Then Arden came to teach our class. She’s one of the only conductors I still remember. This might be because I studied voice with her later as a teenager, but I like to think it’s because  when she was my conductor when I was still so very new, and what happened because of her in those early days of my musical experience, has shaped so much for me and started right at the beginning.

Now, The San Francisco Girls Chorus was pretty sedated, and there were definitely rules that I didn’t always remember to follow, and as I said, I got in trouble a lot for talking too much, and sometimes for being too loud. I got other girls in trouble too, for talking to them when I shouldn’t, and this definitely didn’t win me any points either. Consequently, I never established any close friends. They were mostly from a different world than I was, definitely more privileged, for the most part. Nearly all were from wealthy families. Often I was the only kid that went to public school and didn’t wear a school uniform, and I was such a tomboy that my rough-and-tumble t-shirt and jeans, always with rips in both knees, tennis shoes I was forever outgrowing and an adamant defiance against any skirts or dresses of any kind, if I could help it, certainly didn’t help.

I remember once going to the symphony with a couple of  girls and their mother and showing up in my one dress from the summer before  that no longer really fit, two big red newly scabbed knees and no band-aids, my Nike tennis shoes because they were the only shoe’s that somewhat fit. No jacket, no sweater, and no sleeves on my ill-fitting summer dress, at Davies Symphony Hall  on Van Ness in my windy San Fransico city, just as the habitual late afternoon fog rolled its lumbering way in… Needless to say, I did not receive another invite to the Symphony again..I seem to remember the mother being somewhat embarrassed for me, or maybe herself, and withstanding some, not all that unfamiliar teasing for wearing tennis shoes with a dress.

Also, because I started out so young and at the time there were only three levels in the girl’s chorus, eventually I was in the concert group with the teenagers and I was only 10, so THAT didn’t help my popularity any. There were two of us, by then. There was a girl who was 9 and I was 10,  and everyone else was at least 13,

But at least we get to sing  all the best Descants that soar out over everything and for some reason are so very fun, even if mostly everything  is in french or latin and  very annoying… and also hard to remember. Mostly I just sing WATERMELON when I can’t remember my words, and we get to sing my favorite 2 songs ever: Kyrie and This Little Babe from a ceremony of carols. I love that one so much I could sing it all day long it’s so exciting!!.

(I definitely wasn’t ready for the Concert Group!  However, I still love This Little babe!)

       …But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Back to ArdenL

After a few weeks,  she reassigned me…to the 2nd Alto Part!

 This is so mortifying! Why did I get punished? What did I do that was so bad I have to sing in the basement with the low people? Why has she taken me off  melody, and, you know, the LEAD part, and buried me deep in the basement where I couldn’t possibly sing because it is WAY TOO LOW FOR ME!!! anyway!

(this is something I made sure to announce loudly, and as often as possible, so she’d remember and move me back, which of course didn’t work at all.) 

And suddenly, things weren’t so easy. If I couldn’t hear the girls next to me I couldn’t find my part, and sometimes I wasn’t sure which note to sing because I was used to looking at the top note, not having to dig into the middle and lower notes,

NOW sometimes I am actually having to read THE BASS CLEF WHEN I am SINGING! Oh, when will this horror ever end I hate this!!!? Why is my teacher torturing me?!!

After a few weeks Arden finally told me why she’d moved me, and of course,  I now realize the colossal favor she did for me musically. She recognized the “Lazy Skate”, my skimming by with the least possible effort. She was familiar with the well-known curse of  natural ability. I was coasting by on raw talent and nearly no skill, and in the soprano section, that’s a very easy thing to do. I could hide behind the identifiable melody without being required to actually use any real musical skill. I was surfacing the music. I had no innate understanding harmonically, couldn’t pick out the inner harmony to save my life. If it wasn’t the cursed melody, I had no idea where I was! Suddenly I had to start counting, too, because it  wasn’t always that easy when I couldn’t rely on just instinctually knowing where and when to come in because I WAS SINGING THE MELODY! Now, what I was singing was sometimes even percussive, or rhythmically very different. Starting notes weren’t always discernable, I kept wanting to float back up to the comfortable territory on top, and always heard the melodic part first.

I had to sort of find myself off of that criterion initially, which meant doing something like retranslating my part in relation to its relation to the melody. If a piece was in A Major and the melody started on an A, but my note was a D#, I’d have to sing the notes down by step to find my note initially with any kind of confidence, which of course I couldn’t do in rehearsal, but I could do when I was practicing by myself. Then I started to recognize some intervals and chords. I could find the root of the fifth or the fourth, and ultimately  started  hearing the individual notes within a chord and  could pick out or find the 6th or the minor 3rd, or whatever  without needing to backtrack to the melody to find it. I could keep my key center. That was extremely helpful, and after I had my little meeting of the minds with Arden, I started enjoying this new challenge a little. Also, she said she wouldn’t move me back to the soprano section until my musicianship improved, so, again there was an incentive. As it turned out my hiatus buried in the basement (with the bass’s and the bass clef- that’s why I thought of it as the basement, for some reason!), which opened up a whole new world of harmony to my little ears, was short-lived, and I was back in happy melodic soprano land long before our next concert. Still, my love for harmony has stayed with me ever since.

That early foray into harmony helped shape my musical experience. Once I caught on to some of the elements of music that lay beyond just the Melody, I would spend countless hours in my dad’s studio, writing songs, transposing pieces, attempting to write down music I’d only learned by ear, and spent many hours at the piano figuring things out, which definitely helped my singing. Those countless hours engulfed in my own musical solitude is something I still miss.

…and I really wish I’d kept up the piano!!

I wanted to mention one other thing, While choral singing is all about harmony and the presence of each note in a chord makes or breaks the color of the piece and the interplay is more instrumental than vocal, in my opinion, each note key and vital, when singing a role or playing a part where I don’t have the “melody” a different set of skills is applied. In those instances, I often find I need to think of my part AS THE MELODY, not just a part interplaying with and off of the melodic line. With solo singing this is often the case, especially when on stage and  telling a story.

…although, in classical music, sometimes the harmonies found in duets, trios, and ensembles are the best part and most fun to sing.

…At least in my opinion.

 

Daily Prompt: Melody

via Daily Prompt: Melody

Daily Prompt: Shiver

Daily Prompt: Shiver

 I do not deny that I planned sabotage. I did not plan it in a spirit of recklessness nor because I have any love of violence. I planned it as a result of a calm and sober assessment of the political situation that had arisen after many years of tyranny, exploitation and oppression of my people by the whites. -Nelson Mandela

We’d once again conceded victory to corrupt establishment politics we now pretended to endorse. So someone we suspect is worse isn’t elected in our selected electorates place. And daily allowed ourselves inundated,  awash in unethical persuasions, criminal coercions, and bottomless, un-endable deceit.

Unfathomable is the haranguing, turning fault into evil, evil into normal and values into vitriol hurled relentlessly at our door. No decision escapes derision, opinion it’s hefty scathing, and any and all directions land us legs upended, rugs pulled out from underneath.

Pondering this I sat, wondering: at what point has the table tipped? The worser of two evils’ lean now solidly towards democratic un- favor? When did we simply call “uncle”, give up, surrender? Decide all the same blunder? That idea’s of compromise mere white towels thrown feckless at enemy feet?

Unanswered, this question lies silent. Instead, numbness setting in. The devoid-of-feeling mindset too weary and wary to feel helpless anymore. Or, at least, too tired and hopeless any longer to care.

We know were we hit all at once with the horrendous pile of the intolerable we now tolerate, doled out incrementally in tolerably swallowable bites, we would be immune. The waves of  desensitized infection wafting around and all over us. Blotting our senses from what’s beyond reason and unacceptable, something we somewhere inside still intuitively are aware.

Yet powerlessly, we surrender. We accept and accept and accept. We deny and deny. And unendingly, we blame…That sinewy revelation sends a shiver at us. A slippery cold sliver of slithering excuses still nags and bluff.

When will we heed this chilling creeping, warning up our spine?  When will we face-forward and answer, planted resolutely, firmly immovable, unshakable, at last? When is enough is enough really enough? 

And when will I reach my ultimate ending?  My own inevitable spot, where finally, knowing, I draw uncrossable lines indelibly in the sand?

via Daily Prompt: Shiver

Witness

music notes

blue music notes on sunny sky

 

I went searching today. I was remembering an old writer’s saying: write what you know. So much of what I’ve been writing has been nothing at all that I know anything remotely about, and while I don’t consider myself a writer, and was mostly fine with not taking myself too seriously, I  also don’t like sucking. If I can do better, even if what I’m writing isn’t real, just stuff spewed out for someone else who wants some particular and meaningless thing, that I could still do a better job, and thought perhaps the place to start would be to only write about what I know when I’m not writing for someone else…so I went exploring. I found my way to the pages here with connections to music and I read and listened, and remembered.

Some time ago I took myself out of all of it… I stopped performing, I stopped practicing, I stopped singing…I stopped listening. I sidelined myself, for many well-remembered reasons, and for a long time that was ok. I was happy out of the interaction, out of the engagement, out of the connection, the constant necessity for connection. I needed to be silent. I wanted to be still and separate, and out from under all the pressure, constantly, pressuring, and mostly self-imposed. I needed to lick my wounds awhile and figure out who I was if I wasn’t the girl with the beautiful voice. Who I was beyond that, who I was… who was I?

And so I sat back and I watched, and rarely commented, and the world passed and I still sat by, just watching.

Then last spring something started changing, a slight shift, somewhere, and sudden, there I was engaging, slightly. I started these fledgling attempts to write things, probably mostly because I needed, or wanted to be heard by someone, somewhere again, even if it was from behind the safety of my little laptop in my tiny room and despite the fact that I may not have anything important or even interesting to say…but these last few have been silent months, too. Vocal in words, and I think for a while that was also enough. Then today I went searching and as I read the posts about music and listened to the music that inspired the beautiful poems and stories, two things hit me and cut me quick, and  I’m still reeling. These two simultaneous thoughts that buckled my knees and devastated me to the floor, and this unabated unending stream of tears poured out and shook me of my energy, like a ragdoll splayed out on the sidewalk, half stuck where she’s landed from someone’s careless toss. These two things, I thought:

I Am the Witness. I am the silent witness of my own life. When I removed myself from the world, I also removed myself from me…which is the 2nd part of what hit me:

This notion I’ve had that I could somehow divorce myself from music, that it was a foreign thing, and maybe only something I borrowed and not a part of who I was, was utter nonsense. There isn’t a separation between the artist and the art. I am not me without the part of me that is fully a part of music. My soul sings constantly, silently, inwardly. I am always moved from the center, and the deep and when I connect and when I allow myself those moments I am home, and bereft, and filled with such longing and love and pain like I’ve abandoned my child, because what I did abandon was myself. I can’t be separate from the part of myself that is the core of me. That’s like cutting myself in half and pretending I’m still walking around a whole person and not this missing person. Not even half a person, but a nonperson. I may not want to be this person sometimes, or work hard to convince myself  I don’t, but if that were really true why when I stumble back upon myself do I miss me so much?

I don’t want to be the witness anymore. I don’t want to be the silent nonperson whose been abandoned by herself. I want my voice back. I want to connect, to feel and hear, to know…and be a part of, at least the music itself and not necessarily even for anyone else, except that abandoned part of me, maybe… but maybe not. Maybe it’s time to stop being afraid of myself, of how other people might make me feel, and realize there are worse things. Walking around without my own self for 3 years is worse. So much worse, and I’m more resilient than I  sometimes remember. So, I’m letting it all back in. I’m letting the music in, I’m letting me back in and I will stop trying to redefine myself as something other than who I am which is me, Tisha, the musician, the artist, the singer, the mother, the activist, the alcoholic, the manic depressive, the daughter, the friend.

That’s all me, I can’t wish any one part away without losing my entire self. So, no more witnessing life, no more abandoning, leaving my soul silent and bereft in some exile self-imposed and pointless, gut wrenching and alone and just oh so lonely and disappointing, where there’s nothing but the abyss and the cliff, that tempts and pulls and coaxes and convinces it doesn’t matter anyway because everything is meaningless and always pointless,  the voice that replaced my beautiful musical soul, the soul that loves and is passionate and feels and cares and tries, and fails and gets up and tries again. The one that devastates and hurts and lets everyone down and then picks us up again with the sheer forcefulness of her will, my will, and the insistence of my heart. A mixed bag of jumbled flaws and sharp edges, strangely odd disconnects, and a wildness that scares even me.

T.

 

 

What You Need to Know Traveling from Berlin to Rome

Berlin-Free-tours-by-foot

Full of rich artistic traditions, and home to some of Europe’s most prominent historical landmarks and profound world events, Berlin is the culturally vibrant city linking progressive German innovation  with its colorful and complex past.

Not only a place full of stunning architecture, legendary concert halls and grandiose institutions steeped in artistic excellence, Berlin is also an example of  modern-day Germany and its efforts to redefine itself. berlin-76509_960_720The reconstruction of the Reichstag Capital building is a purposeful redesign, an all glass dome addition  centered prominently atop the legendary building’s roof, offering a 360- degree unfettered view of the  main floor of parliament, and all the daily goings-on of  its elected officials. This transparent access to government symbolizes a new open and inclusive Germany, whose citizens can stand witness to governmental practices, unobstructed, a deliberate step away from the country’s secret and oppressive political past.

The vibrant city of Berlin is currently undergoing an airport expansion that will dramatically alter flight and transit access in and out of the city. Tegel Airport, just 8 miles north of  Berlin and currently the 3rd largest airport in Germany, will soon be replaced by the New Brandenburg Airport. Under construction next to the Shonefeld Airport, it sits just 11 miles south of the city center. ber2With 52+ airlines already flying in and out of Berlin, there will be plenty of airline carrier options that offer frequent flights from Berlin to Rome, including Swiss, Air France, and Ryanair.  Brandenburg Airport and Shonefeld Airports will both operate international and domestic flights once the expansion is complete.

Traveling to Rome

Shonefeld Airport’s several transit options are located right outside the airports 4-gate terminal, and an S-Bahn train station is within easy walking distance. Smaller than Tegel Airport, Shonefeld will remain open and offer overflow service for adjacent Brandenburg Airport. Both will continue frequent flights from Berlin to Rome, with Brandenburg Airport soon becoming the 15th largest international airport in the world.

Once construction is complete, Brandenburg Airport will replace Tegel Airport as Berlin’s main hub for international flights in and out of the city. The 6-floor building  will adjoin 2 parallel runways, with quick onsite access to S-Bahn train service, located just below the main terminal. Regional, long-distance, and airport express trains will make frequent airport stops for easy access to flight connections out of Berlin, in addition to direct routes  by car, taxi or bus to and from the city center.Italy-Colosseum-In-Rome

Reaching Rome

One of the oldest cities in existence, Rome holds some of ancient Europe’s epic historical sites. Once holding up to 50,000 spectators, the largest amphitheater of its time, Rome’s Coliseum still ranks high among  the favorite and  frequently visited tourist spots in Europe, along with the frequent Catholic pilgrimage to visit the omnipresent Vatican City for a glimpse of the Pope.trevi

Trevi Fountain’s depiction of Neptune’s conch-like chariot led by 2 seahorses, an homage to the volatile duality of the sea,  and 17th century St. Peter’s Basilica, the largest Roman Catholic Church ever built all reside within Rome’s city limits. Each is a comfortable walk  from Rome’s city center. Or, you can hop on one of the several trains or buses operating routes throughout the city. Travel from any of Rome’s airports is an easy car or taxi ride away, with public transportation options existing at each.

Getting to the city center

Rome has two airports near the central part of the city.free basilica The smaller, budget-friendly Ciampino Airport offers regular deals on cheap flights from Berlin to Rome for travelers who want to save a few dollars.

In addition to the convenient and regular transit available at both airports by car, taxi or bus, Rome’s main Fiumicino Airport also has convenient and regular train service aboard the Leonardo Express. Only a 30-minute ride to Rome’s main Termini Station, the Leonardo Express runs twice an hour to and from the airport. FL1 trains also run every 15 minutes,  however, with multiple stops and a train transfer on route to Rome, it is not the most efficient way to get to the city’s center. Unless you’re renting a car or prepared to pay a hefty mile rate via Taxi, Leonardoardo Express is the fastest, as well as the most economical route to the heart of Rome.