Arrivederci Roma

October 27, 2003- Stupid Americans
(photos:Sistine Chapel,
Vatican's Swiss Guards,
Me at Coliseum)

I thought I was finished writing last night and sent the email out. We then proceeded to have an adventurous dinner. We walked the short block to the Via Veneto and found a reasonable bar/restaurant/gelati place. Our waiter didn’t seem to want to be there. He dumped our breadbasket on the table with our cutlery and napkins in it. We each ordered pasta fagiole (bean soup with pasta). David had roast chicken and potatoes and I had gnocchi. We ordered a large bottle of water and I had a banana for dessert. The meal totaled EU 40. How did that happen? The banana was served on a plate with knife and fork and cost EU 2. We’ve been paying EU 1 on the street. The water was EU 5. As always, everything about meals in Italy was slow. It’s an age for the order to be taken. There’s a long wait for the food to arrive. We kept hearing a bell ring and David thought they were microwaving our food or sending out to the restaurant down the street.

Food in restaurants arrives in no particular order. At lunch my soup came after the pizza. Getting the bill is another trick. Tonight our waiter piddled around clearing tables, serving patrons outside, text messaging on his mobile phone, and chatting with other servers. All this was after we’d asked for the bill. We weren’t in a rush. First we watched a couple order espressos then eat pastry they’d brought with them. Another table was filled with a group from Wales. They were in Rome for a three day holiday and were real characters. They said they were embarrassed when visitors came to Great Britain because of the poor quality of food and service. They loved going to America. They began blowing into their umbrella covers and making duck call sounds. I tried doing to the same with my cover only to produce an un-duck-like blat. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t blow anymore when they “fessed up.” They all had kazoos hidden in the umbrella covers.

On the way out of the restaurant I noticed a frozen food case. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Our dinners were on display. They’d been frozen meals all along and the bell we heard was a microwave. Now that’s the stupidest of all stupid American taxes we’ve ever paid.

We met a couple from the San Francisco area staying at our hotel. They’d rented a house in Umbria for ten days with the idea of living there for a year. He’s a rare book dealer and would close his business for a year. They’re not going through with it. Although the house was outstanding, he went stir crazy.

Illusionists

I’m so done. No more lines, no more tours, no more frescoes. Unfortunately, no more sunshine, no more energizing crowds, and no more gelati.

Our Vatican tour started with a brief drive through the Bourghese Gardens. We took the tour because we were told that the lines were huge and tour groups took priority. As we approached the entrance to the Vatican we saw a line that was four blocks long and five people across. We knew we made the right decision. That was until our bus unloaded us at the end of the line and our guide explained that it was the only line. We skipped the line at the ticket window but our wait was still fifty minutes. We enjoyed the company of a couple from Worthington, Ohio. They told us that we didn’t need to be so lost during our travels. There’s a map-quest-type site for Europe. Too little too late.

Vatican City became an independent country in 1929. The museum was originally the pope’s private art collection and a warehouse for antiquities and treasures obtained from around the world. There are over four miles of corridors and exhibits. One of the first statues pointed out to us was the Discus Thrower, a 2nd century marble copy of the original Greek bronze. It amused us that a replica was so ancient and is as great a work as the original. The halls we walked through were decorated with paintings, 16th and 17th century Flemish tapestries, bas-reliefs, and paintings that looked as three-dimensional as the bas-reliefs but were painted flat on the walls and ceilings. Renaissance Italians must have had strong neck muscles or spent a lot of time on their backs because every ceiling was decorated. We were walking on ancient mosaics and 17th century floors. It was bedecked and encrusted. My eyes were jumping in my head trying to grasp all the stimuli. The Map Gallery was fascinating and depicted detailed cartographer’s renditions of the entire papal state of 1580. Pope Gregory of Gregorian calendar fame was the patron of the project.

The pope’s residence was in St. John’s Basilica in Rome for 1,000 years. Avignon, France became the seat of the papacy for seventy-three years before returning it to St. John’s in Rome. In the 15th century the Vatican was built and each pope has enlarged it. Many of the rooms we saw were part of the former papal apartments and were decorated with paintings by Raphael. The restoration of the Sistine Chapel took twelve years and was financed by a Japanese television company. This should sound familiar to those who’ve been reading the emails. They reap all royalties from printed or photographic material until 2005.

The Chapel is supposedly the same size and structure as Solomon’s Temple. The lower half of the walls are covered with paintings of faux draperies. The top half is covered with frescoes. Parallel depictions of the story of Moses and Jesus are on opposite walls. In 1508 Michelangelo was asked to paint the ceiling. He didn’t like to paint and had never done a fresco. He was thirty-four years old when he started and it took him four years working alone to complete it. His work links the Old and New Testaments and integrates the pagan gods in an attempt to merge it all into the new true religion of Christianity. Twenty-four years later he did the Last Judgment that covers the front wall of the chapel.

This is a disclaimer: David and I had similar reactions to the Sistine Chapel. These are our opinions and are based on our thoughts and emotions during the fifteen minutes we were allowed to be in the room. As we emerged from the cattle chute of a staircase leading to the entrance, the first word I wrote on my notepad was “disappointing.” The next word was “dim.” Signs cautioned “No photography and no talking.” But there was a low murmur as we entered the room. Michelangelo’s talent was obvious and his skill in proportion and dimension on the curved surface was awesome. But he was a better sculptor. He diligently painted what he was told to paint but it didn’t seem as if his heart was in it. His sculpture is so elegant and the lines so clean and precise. This was overblown. Raphael might have done a better job. I guess the pope never heard the phrase, “Less is more.” The representations of details of the ceiling I’d seen in books and on TV seemed more vivid. Distance was the issue here. The ceiling is so far above that the impact of scale is lost. But I think Michelangelo had a sense of humor. In the Last Judgment Jesus is depicted as a Greek god with a body to die for. David quipped,” That really shows that God is love.”

We exited into St. Peter’s Square where we gazed at the 17th century Bernini colonnade of 284 columns. The square is built on the site of Nero’s Circus where Peter was martyred. The dome of St. Peter’s is the highest dome in the world. Peter’s tomb is in the basilica under the massive Bernini canopy and present day altar. Sitting alone in a side chapel of the church is Michelangelo’s Pieta. It was put behind protective glass and isolated from the public after it was defaced in the 1970’s. He carved it from a solid piece of marble when he was twenty-three years old and immediately left for Florence to do the David. The sight of the Martyr’s Door moved us. On one panel were tortured figures wrapped in what seemed to be barbed wire. Some hung by the neck and some upside down. The opposite panel was of popes looking stoically across at them. As we were leaving we saw adorable cherubs sitting on a half shell. It was an elaborate receptacle for holy water and it had sprung a leak. Amidst the splendor of soaring columns and Renaissance architecture, Michelangelo’s magic, and Bernini’s masterful construction sat a black plastic garbage bag catching the leaking water.

David remarked that Jesus got the moneychangers out of the Temple but they ended up in Vatican City. The halls of the Vatican Museum are interspersed with gift stands and there’s no shortage of street vendors. The tour ended in the school where artisans are taught to make religious artifacts. The art objects were for sale, of course.

Stadia, Stadium

We walked to the Coliseum for the fourth time but this time we went in. The first thing I saw as I entered was a huge wooden cross behind which were the ruins. I was reminded of our visit to New York last summer and the cross hovering over the destruction of the World Trade Center site. We wandered around on our own. If I want to see a better version I’ll rent Gladiator with Russell Crowe. We did hear a guide tell his group about elevators bringing animals up to the arena. He said that a stream runs under the structure and Romans filled the center with water and staged naval battles. The floor was made of timbers sprinkled with sawdust to absorb the blood. The word arena comes from the Latin for sand. The best seats were in what we’d call the orchestra level. The worst were at the top where the poorest people sat in an area called the fornicatum. That’s where prostitutes plied their trade. Our word, fornication, derives from that.

A stadium is a stadium. Perhaps the Coliseum steps leading to the upper levels sloped down due to the passage of time and earthquakes. Perhaps there were not the toilets of Jacob’s Field. But the layout and shape is undeniably that of our present stadiums. There are even perimeter halls that circle each level and lead to different sections of seating.

Another thing that made it all feel familiar was that when we offered our binoculars to a couple and struck up a conversation we learned they were from Dorchester Rd. in Akron, Ohio. He’s an attorney and knew about everyone we did. He even knew the former owner of our house. That brings us full circle. We’re going to dinner tonight with the rare book dealer and his wife we met last night.

We leave tomorrow morning and will be in Akron late Tuesday, the 28th. It’s been twenty-one days of learning, walking, climbing, picture taking, eating, and writing. I’m ready to hold Daniel, Vikki, Alex, and Talia in my arms and to call Wendy and her partner and speak to them for as long as I want. It’s time to come home.

Toby