Momentary Blindness no. 1

In great need of rest after a busy, informative, and delicious tour of the Jewish Ghetto, as well as the ascent up the Aventine Hill, I opt for a semi-secluded spot on the grass. I have sat on many types of rock while in Rome, and perhaps even a few patches of grass here and there, but it feels especially necessary to choose a softer product of the earth in this moment. The ground is sturdy and surprisingly comfortable. I have strategically positioned myself underneath the shade of the orange trees that are unique to this park. A strong breeze intensifies the coolness, giving me chills all over. I accept the chills and their rarity, for my time in the sun has been excessive. Though I try to relax and be 'zen,' I cannot help but hear sounds of a large group of people crossing through the park to exit. Their chattering peppers the air while their feet move leisurely through the small pebbles, resulting in a host of sort of pleasant clinking noises. Though I'm unable to make out what they're saying, I can tell that they enjoyed their stay. A much more mellifluous sound, bicycle bells begin to go off. The delicate and delightful 'ting' of the bells marks what sounds like the arrival of another group. I imagine them to be a friendly bunch in search of splendor in the grass. The trees begin shake in the wind. I brace myself for more chills as the gusts get stronger. I hear more evidence of humans: an airplane soars past overhead and the siren of an ambulance or police car wails faintly in the distance. Though these sounds clash with my serene and natural location, they generally do not bother me. I find them to be nothing compared to an average sampling of Manhattan or even Philadelphia's racket. The antithesis of this is the nearby birds, who sing out the most beautiful of songs. Their chirping brings me immense joy, not unlike the city that I find myself in. Out of the blue I finally catch a whiff of the heavenly oranges that grace this garden. Finally. My survey of Roman senses is satisfied.

(Giardino degli Aranci, Aventine Hill, Thursday, May 28, 2015)

Voyeur no.1: Holier Than Thou

Sticking out among the colorfully-dressed, 'can't contain my excitement' crowd was an older white-haired man dressed in a brown robe. His frock was not unlike the ones I've seen on friars in Luther; Romeo and Juliet; and the first episode of Sex and the City's fourth season. Well beyond his notable-to-me style of dress was his defiant body language. Unlike just about every other audience member, his back was turned to St. Peter's Basilica, where Pope Francis would soon address and #bless(ed) those who came to see him.

That morning he woke up at 6:00 am in the modest and inexpensive hostel he was staying at to begin preparing for his day at Vatican City. He had voyaged to Rome on pilgrimage, and he felt a need to maximize his stay. His preparations for the day involved a streamlined routine of putting on his brown friar robes, fastening his hard-working feet into a trusty pair of comfortable white sneakers, and slinging his Canon EOS Digital SLR camera across his chest, followed by a meager breakfast. As a Franciscan friar, he lived a simple life (not to be confused with the reality television show of the same name) below the poverty line. His trip to the opulent Eternal City was no excuse to participate in its long tradition of excess.

The friar was eager to take part in the morning's grand activity, but his expectations were quickly shot. When I encountered him, it was quite clear that his experience was being sullied. He stood still,  hands at his side but dangling in the air, almost in disbelief. He squinted his eyes coldly, pointing them out at the masses of people making their way toward him to join the audience. He wasn't doing a very good job of concealing his disapproving countenance. Who could blame him? We were all there; we witnessed the barrage of selfie sticks ("Will these tacky metal rods please fade out of popularity before they're no longer a joke," he wondered with disgust), the tour guides attempting to capitalize on the holy site, and the plebes who clearly had no business being there, at least in his mind. With his back to the Papal show, for lack of a better word, he silently rejected all of us narcissistic ne'er-do-wells.

(Papal Audience at Piazza di San Pietro, Wednesday, May 27, 2015)

Giornale no. 3: Chiesa del Gesù

Giornale no. 2: Keats-Shelley House

The first half of my day off on Tuesday was decidedly English, and I'm not even mad! I woke up with a plan to trek over to the Piazza di Spagna to visit Babington's Tea Room and the Keats-Shelley House, a museum dedicated to English poets John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, and Leigh Hunt.

Before heading across the Tiber, I enjoyed my usual cappuccino and croissant from Gourmet and browsed the shops on the nearby Via Cola di Rienzo. I left empty handed but excited for the rest of my day.

I crossed a bridge and made my way into familiar territory: the Piazza del Popolo. Unlike on Saturday, when we entered the Piazza from the Pincian Hill, I came to it from behind the brick walls that held smallish statues of Egyptian sphinxes. I walked through the Piazza and onto Via del Babuino, where I looked around in a lovely stationery store and passed the talking statue "Babuino" for the third time. His silly pose and smushed face never cease to make me smile. Finally at the seemingly always busy Piazza di Spagna, I walk up to the Keats-Shelley House. To my confusion, it was closed! For once in my life the Blue Guide: Rome failed me! The hours posted on the door differed only slightly from those reported in our hallowed class text. Alas, I decided to do Babington's until the museum opened.

I had taken a quick peek at Babington's once before also on Saturday, in between site reports at the Piazza del Popolo and the Ara Pacis. I found the establishment thanks to the book I've previously mentioned here, Rome's Cream of the Crop, but the Blue Guide even gives it a shout out! Due to our fond, fond love of tea, Ally and I made a point to check it out. I was glad to be sitting down for tea.

Just to the left of the Spanish Steps, directly opposite the Keats-Shelley House, the restaurant/tea room was elegantly decorated in a 19th century style, perhaps with some original elements from its 1893 opening. I not only appreciated the place's dedication to tea, but also its logo: an adorable black cat. I can't think of anything better than tea and cats together.

Since I wasn't hungry I ordered the "Special Blend" tea, which did not disappoint. Even though the prices were kind of steep, I didn't mind paying a bit more than was probably necessary. The building was beautiful and historic, I had never been to a 'fancy' tea place, and it's in a prime tourist location. It was an experience, especially considering the people to the right of me. An older Anglo man and a seemingly much younger Asian woman, huge designer shopping bags in tow, sat down next to me after another twosome had departed. I found the contrast between the woman's giant black flower-adorned Chanel shopping bag and her fake straw fedora hat, complete with an Italian flag ribbon wrapped tastelessly around it, clearly bought off of the street from a hawker or in a junky gift shop, to be quite funny. What's more, the two were engaged in the most daft of conversations. In a patronizing tone the man began detailing what the woman had bought on their trip. She just seemed sort of confused, and seemed unconcerned. She wasn't really flippant about it, but innocent and harmless, even letting out what sounded like a lighthearted giggle. She had a strange childishness to her, but at the same time she seemed to know how to enjoy herself. After revealing that her expenses were in the thousands, he calmly told her, "You're done." It's safe to say that I was ready to get out of that weird sugar daddy nightmare.

After leaving Babington's I crossed the front of the Spanish Steps, entered the Keats-Shelley House and walked up the stairs to the tiny museum. Having just reopened for the afternoon, it was empty except for me. After turning my ticket over to a girl reading a book nonchalantly on an old chair (with a British accent no less) in the main exhibit room, I quickly went into the room off to the right. It was appropriately covered in wall-to-wall bookshelves, and on the them hung placards of timelines and biographical information, and also various works of art, mostly illustrations and paintings of Keats and those related to him. In the center of the room was a case made of wood and glass that held a number of old books containing Keats' works, including Endymion.

I did not know much about Keats. I had only read his poem Ode to a Grecian Urn as a senior in high school and I knew that he was a British Romantic poet. I did not know that he had a tragically short life. Born in 1875, he died in Rome, in his bed, in the Keats-Shelley House that still stands today, at the age of 25. I learned that he moved to Rome in hopes of the warmer climate being better for his tuberculosis. Unfortunately, he died from the disease some months later.

Ekphrasis no. 1

A mass of glossy, unruly black matter. Out of it appears the small figure of a young boy, seemingly no older than a toddler, baby fat still intact. Below him is a wrinkled, lived-in (well-loved?) sheet. He is lying on his back, his body on a slope. His right leg sticks out toward my view. It is calm and clearly resting. The left leg is in a more engaged stance: the knee is bent and the foot sits firmly on the cloth. The boy's torso curves slightly back and to the left, as if he is reaching for something. His right arm extends behind his head, elbow bent and hand gently clenched. Near this hand is the crown of his head, where pomegranates and leaves are nestled into his flowing locks of hair. His left hand is also closed, this time resting on the sheet beside his abdomen, pomegranates present. The boy's face explains it all. He is in an ecstasy-inducing sleep: his eyes are shut tightly but softly, his tiny lips are pulled apart just enough. But he is not the only one who sleeps. Below the left side of his head, which is presumably off in a grand dreamland as his countenance would suggest, is a squirrel. It is curled up to the sheet, front legs kept close to its head, where there are holes instead of ears. The tail end of the squirrel is elevated, while its head is further down. Its fluffy tail hangs lackadaisically off of the base, reflecting the states of both boy and squirrel.

(Il Sonno (1635/1636) by Alessandro Algardi, Galleria Borghese)

Site Presentation Complete!

"Don't bother me."

I just got back from giving my site presentation on the Area Sacra di Largo Argentina! Praise the cats!

Orange creamsicle kitty

Space and Place no. 1: Palatine Hill

After walking through the covered entry point we came to a beautiful outdoor area. I was immediately excited, hoping the site would be botanical garden-esque, perhaps somewhat similar to Longwood Gardens, where I visited last summer. There were three sets of stairs, one leading straight ahead, another to the left, and the third set leading to the right. This overwhelmed me only because I had no way of grasping the magnitude of the place. I was also nervous about not being able to see everything, especially since we were not staying together as a group. 

Ally, Elyssa, and I chose to buddy up and head to the left. Birds were tweeting and singing so charmingly, which added to my contentness. As we walked on a designated path, we saw a series of brick arches. The large amount of grass struck me as something rather distinct. Though it is tucked away from a busy area near the Colosseum and Forum Romanum, it still exists as a green space in a large city. I have a hard time finding comparable examples in the other cities I have visited.

We continued on the path, coming across countless formerly marble buildings (now orange-hued brick). It was incredible to think of what they once were. Continuing to a higher level, I 

(Palatine Hill, Thursday May 22, 2015)

Giornale no. 1: Markets of Trajan

On Tuesday, May 19th Sarah planned a solo excursion to the Markets of Trajan and generously offered all of us Rome kids to tag along. It seemed perfect for the first one, so I was eager to take advantage of the opportunity. The antiquity did not disappoint.

Before meeting others at 9:00 am in the 'map room' of St. John's, Sarah, Mark, Ally, Elyssa, and I went to a cafe on our street. When it came to my turn to order I unexpectedly sprang for a cappuccino. I had never had one, and I am not a coffee drinker, but it seemed like the right thing to try while in Rome. I was rather amazed to find myself enjoying it! It was a swell start to a day of taking in the Markets.

Cappuccino a go-go

We made our way to the Metro for our inaugural ride and exited at Colosseo. Much like our first night in the city, we had a ‘sneak’ preview of a site we would soon be visiting. The Colosseum was immense and absolutely striking. We didn’t have much time to take it in, as we headed down the road, coming upon the Column of Trajan. After shamelessly snapping a few photos, we turned right, ascended some stairs, and came to the Markets.

After paying for our tickets in the gift shop, Ally found a tiny book called Rome’s Cream of the Crop: Sweet and Savory Tips for the Eternal City. We vigorously flipped through the pages of this little gem, taking pictures of the recommendations that caught our eye. We would return to this book for guidance in the next couple of days.

Making our way into the main hall of the museum, I was decently surprised to find modern elements unrelated to the Markets. The floors were covered with mirrors and fluffy white tulle dresses floated from the ceiling, twirling ever so slightly. I appreciated the museum’s exposed brick walls as well as the natural light that came through. The space seemed fresh and well kept. I carried on to one of the side rooms, where two gorgeous couture gowns stole my attention. At first confused by their presence, I gathered that they, in addition to the floating tutus and the other garments I would wander upon, were part of an exhibit being housed in the museum. The first set I came across were from the 1950s, one made by Christian Dior. I enjoyed their elegance, feeling that they somehow fit with the museum.

With the dresses off to the side I noticed what was in the center of this room: a hulking statue of a male figure’s armored torso, headless and fragmentary. Made of thassos marble, the statue was made in 112 CE and resided in the Forum of Trajan. I was intrigued by this work and wondered what purpose it served in the Forum. Its smoothness baffled me. Moving through the other rooms on the first level I came upon many a statue and fragment and many a garb. The apparel’s common thread (hehe) appeared to be inspiration taken from food. What a glorious muse.

Ready to bust out of the museum portion, I exited the building at the back. I was not expecting the grandeur of what I saw next. I went up to the main concourse, basking in the view of the Markets’ ground level, the ‘wedding cake,’ and the sweet Roman sky. The curved structure of the Markets was a pleasing terracotta hue, fitted with a plethora of arched windows. Scattered down below and on the structure itself was another example of the present meeting the past. Modern black and white swirled sculptures littered the space. While walking past the Markets on our way there, these works distracted me. Yet I found it easy to ignore them once I was in the Markets. Unfortunately I was nearly impossible for me to imagine how the place would have been run, let alone how it looked, in antiquity. The vastness of the structure was a little overwhelming. The best I could do was go off of Sarah’s mention of the Markets’ small shops.

This did not ‘ruin’ the site for me at all. I was still able to marvel at its beauty, complexity, and the structure itself. Like a full-on tourist I could not stop myself from taking dozens of photos, hoping to preserve the memory of this remarkable antiquity. I am thankful to have so many things at my fingertips to explore at my leisure. I am looking forward to the next solo excursion!