Saving the Best for Last

Every fragment of every shattered building, every chip in every weathered statue exudes a sense of history here. Not simply because of their age, but because of Rome's influence on Western Civilization. So much of what I have learned throughout my life happened on these grounds. Despite this, I know nearly nothing of Rome.

I just want to take a minute and bask in reminiscence.

Rome, a place of legends. Rome, a cloud of life crawling over fallen, sprawling ruins, oblivious.

Rome.

I can hardly bare to break its spell, to taint it with such vulgar memories. Alas: I was suffering from a terrible cold when I arrived in Rome. Or did Rome come to me? Either way, I believed that my allergies were accosting me once more, and was exultant to perceive drop of rain after drop of rain falling gently from the heavens. But the expected relief never came.

I love the rain. It had not rained since before my Mom arrived in Aix, but it was finally raining once more. But I can no more describe my love of rain than I can convey my awe of Rome. The combination of the two was anything but upsetting.

Trying to capture the scale of St. Peters Basilica - pictures do not do it justice.

Thursday, it was supposed to rain, but it never did. In anticipation of the imaginary deluge, I visited yet another country: Vatican City (one of the more indoors destinations available). Ironically, I was still toting my matzah around. Unfortunately, most likely due to my caturrhal haze, I was largely unimpressed. Although the Vatican City museums admittedly harbored a large variety of objects, I failed to see what differentiated them from so many other statues pandemic to Italy. Even the Sistine Chapel at the end was a bit of a letdown, being small, and as filled with people as I was with snot (sorry for that image). From there, we moved on to Saint Peter's Basilica. It was clearly the church of churches, the cathedral of cathedrals. It was massive, intricate, beautiful, more so than Il Duomo. However, I did not enjoy the view from the top of the cupola. This was less because it wasn't worth the 500-something stair climb than because my cold assaulted me with redoubled efforts as soon as I cast my eyes over the Roman skyline.

Statues overlooking St. Peters Square on the climb to the cupola

From there, we began our wanderings. We walked around the western bank of the Tiber River (Trestavere), and then headed into the main historical center. We enjoyed some tartuffo nero (black truffle) in Piazza Navona, but didn't make it much further than that.

Ah Friday.

Flash forward to Saturday: it certainly rained Saturday. A steady downpour mourned our looming departure. We attempted to visit the catacombs dug by early persecuted Christians, but the lines were long and the prices had undergone severe inflation since my guidebook - from which I had torn out the section on Italy for easier traveling - was written (not a problem for me, but I wasn't leaving Kim alone in the rain). So we contented ourselves with wandering around outside the city and gazing out upon the Roman countryside. It was scant kilometers from those catacombs that Spartacus and his rebels were executed, but it seemed so peaceful. Have I mentioned I love the rain?

We visited Palazzo Massimo alla Terme, where my statue-sore eyes recovered among rich mosaics.

But then it was time to leave, and we took our bus to the airport, our plane to Valencia. We stayed in the airport overnight, I ate the last of my matzah, and we were already in the sky, heading back home - France - when the sun joined us among the clouds the next morning.

Home - for 9 more days.

But the memories will last.

Friday, my cold lifted.
Friday, we went to the Colosseum. Normally, I reserve a large amount of skepticism for anything that draws such large crowds, for anything so universally and unquestioningly accepted as majestic. And now I find myself one of its disciples.

As I floated through the ancient ruins, I acutely felt the missing majesty. Where was the stench that had once enveloped these grounds? Where were the throngs? And most importantly, where was the roar of the crowd?

Where was the roar of the crowd?



Eventually, I tore myself away, and approached the Roman Forum at the base of Palatine Hill. As we strode through the abandoned grounds that had once housed the center of the Roman Republic, an ominous thunderstorm sounded in the distance. But as long as I walked amidst the ruins, it dared not approach. And when, after hours, we finally headed out, the thunderstorm fled back to the east.

The Lapis Niger, covering Romulus' grave, or so they say

And the day was not over. We made our way through Rome's historical center.

First stop: Spanish steps. They were steps.

Second: Piazza del Popolo. Some nice statue/fountains/twin churches, but nothing too impressive.

Then the Pantheon. It seemed so inappropriate as a church, with alcoves clearly designed for Greco-Roman deities holding saints.

Fourth up: Trevi Fountain. Gorgeous. They say if you throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain, you ensure your return to Rome. My pocket is a little lighter today.

Finally, before returning to our (new and second) hostel for free pasta, we made our way to Piazza del Campidoglio, which originally housed the temples of Juno and Jupiter. Supposedly Brutus hid here after socking it to Caesar.

The sun set, and having been told the Trevi Fountain was even more gorgeous under night's blanket, we made our way back. I don't think it looked significantly different, but I really want to come back a third time, so I threw another coin in.

Was all that real?