.
We were missing Rome and found a cheap flight on Ryanair from Bordeaux, where we left the car in the airport parking lot.
The return trip ticket for the three of us was about 250 euros. Also, it was November and hotels were empty and much cheaper than usual.
.
We stayed at this cosy place in my old part of town, Trastevere. The breakfast room overlooks the Vatican's legal affairs building.
Very friendly staff - but all the people we met in Rome were charming, in a simple, low-pressure way. Maybe it's because we were almost the only tourists wandering about, off the usual beaten paths. I had been dreaming of visiting some of Rome's little known medieval churches, where mosaics similar to those in Ravenna can be found, and that meant poking around in a lot of obscure parts of town. The prime real estate locations were all taken up by the big Renaissance churches and palaces, in the 16th century, but in the east of the city there are lots of medieval remnants, giving us an idea of what the city looked like before the "Michelangelo Machine" hit it.
This is the Vatican's legal affairs office on Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere. 50 years ago I got into conversation here with, and fell sort of in love with too, a liberated young romana who was trying to get her marriage annulled, and had to read a huge book to see how it was done.
Our hotel is down the street, on the far side of the ministry.
The ancient piazza, where I met the lady at a café table just about where I took this picture, is one of my favourite places in Rome.The church of Santa Maria in Trastevere is medieval, but has a Renaissance porch built in front, with the bishops lined up on the balustrade. The four bishops were a 19th century addition, but they're still my favourite part of the church's exterior.
The first morning, I paid the ancient church a sentimental visit. The Roman columns were taken from the ruins of the Caracalla Baths, and the walls are covered with beautiful 13th century mosaics.
Splendour of the Middle Ages! I never could understand why, in the year 1500 (the Renaissance, it is called) everyone had to start mass-producing impersonal Greek look-alikes, when the art of the preceding centuries was so rich and expressive. But what seems to attract most people in art is power rather than delicacy.
There is a funny story about these columns. In the 19th century, an archaeologist identified a carved face on one of the column heads as being an effigy of the Egyptian goddess Isis, about which there was nothing surprising since they came from an ancient Roman building. But the narrow-minded Bishop was so upset to learn that there was a pagan symbol in his church that he had it chopped out, leaving the gap you can see below.
Isis' head jutted out above the curlicues in the middle, but all that's left is the back of her neck. That archaeologist should have kept his mouth shut, shouldn't he? A graphic demonstration of ethical cleansing.
We crossed the Tiber on the graceful Ponte Sisto (made by the same Pope who gave us the Sistine Chapel) distinguished by its great round "oculus" in the middle. Pilgrims approached Saint Peter's on the Sant'Angelo bridge and went back on this one. You can see August and Wijjie on the left, above the first arch.
I had promised August a visit to the city of his namesake, the Emperor Augustus. In fact, he was named for my dad August Edward, and his great-grandfather - August is quite a common name in Germany.
It was worth taking him out of school to discover all this, even if it meant playing hookey! Since he's going to a Catholic school in France, they didn't mind too much when I said he had been in Rome.
August and mother choosing some fresh fruit.
A distinguished Roman lady doing her shopping. I love her get-up!
Piazza Navona only had a few dozen tourists - amazing!
Wijjie and August by Bernini's "Fountain of the Four Rivers".
The column of Marcus Aurelius, in the Piazza Colonna. I wondered what the white string was leading up from the building. Could it be an electric cable for lighting up the statue at night? Looks a bit funny.
The Spanish Steps, with just a few tourists sitting on them, compared to high season. This was a big pick-up place when I was a student, and not only for boys looking for girls. Rome was homosexual heaven in the 60's and most of the gigolos on the Via Veneto weren't there to cater to rich women as shown in Hollywood movies.
The Spanish Embassy to the Vatican stands nearby in a great palace, hence the name "Spanish Steps".
Fontana di Trevi - there are always lots of tourists there, no matter what time of year. A lot of them still throw "three coins in the fountain" too, as the song suggests they do, and quite a lot of money can be seen at the bottom. A few years ago the police caught a man raking up all the coins, which are supposed to go to the city coffers. As for Anita Ekberg who made the fountain famous, bathing in it in La Dolce Vita, she is now living in an old age home on the outskirts of Rome and recently asked the city government for financial assistance. Poor old thing! But the Romans are big-hearted, and really owe her a lot for the publicity she gave them.
The little ones take a rest by the water. The fountains of Rome are like petrified theatrical sets with actors and animals all leaping about - thanks to the Renaissance, I'm forced to admit.
A riot of movement frozen in time. You can hardly tell where the real bodies end and the marble ones begin.
Back in Trastevere, looking for lunch. It's a down-home, working-class sort of place, with many less tourists than on the other side of the Tiber. The name means "across the Tiber", trans Tiberim in Latin, and the inhabitants consider themselves to be the "real" Romans.
Wijjie popped into to a candy store while August sat on the stoop outside, in the midst of some local colour.. Granny - "la nonna" - is coming out with a treat for the baby. Dig the daughter-in-law's sexy sports clothes, blonde hair-do and trendy track shoes, huge sunglasses etc. Magical photo, isn't it? - one of those unrepeatable human scenes you sometimes catch on the wing, before you have time to think about it.
There are still lots of "mom and pop stores" and neighbourhood cafés, which makes Trastevere seem very old-fashioned and ungentrified, almost in a time warp of its own.
Romans seem to be dog-lovers nowadays, and I regretted not having brought my dachshund Froggy along... When I lived here as a student, I had my mom's dachshund Delilah with me, and she was greeted everywhere with fascination, just because there weren't many dogs around. Dachshunds literally run in the family.
The window of our hotel room is in the middle of the façade on the left, overlooking a sprawling and nondescript piazza, and the medieval church of San Cosimato.
When we came out of the hotel the first morning, we were intrigued by the restaurant down the street with the sign reading "HERE, THE FAMOUS DEMOCRATIC RIGATONI". I wanted to try some of that political pasta!
We had our first lunch here. Wijjie is eating a risotto with squid, and August is finishing his first helping of rigatoni (the big round noodles in the bottom of the picture). The waiter, Paolo, explained that they are so called because back in the 1950's the owner was an ardent supporter of Italy's Christian Democrat Party and created a special dish to honour it. It is delicious, but sticks to your guts - I asked what was in the sauce and was told "parmesan cheese and cream". There are crunchy bits of bacon sprinkled on top just for good measure.
The antipasto buffet was first rate - especially the marinated artichoke "a la romana" and fried-and-marinated aubergines. But my digestive system isn't what it used to be, after so many years in the tropics, and I prefer French food nowadays. It took my intestines a week to get over the food, after we got home, but that happens every time I go to Italy. A small price to pay for all the pleasures!
The next day we came back and August had plain old bolognese. We had lamb chops, fried to a crisp but tasty. Make no mistake, this is a really nice restaurant with at least one very kind and patient waiter (Paolo was the one who served us), beautiful food and average-sort-of-prices.
An afternoon walk down memory lane, to the Via Garibaldi where, after failing my exams at the Sorbonne and deciding to drop out of academic life forever, I spent the month of September 1963 in a small pensione, wondering what to do next. I went back to Greenwich Village...
The pensione was somewhere up on the right, but it isn't there any more.
I often had a glass of grappa at the café on the corner, which hasn't changed much since.
Via Garibladi, which leads up to the Gianicolo Hill,
starts near the Porta della
Settimiana, a gate that was part of Rome's ancient Aurelian Wall.
It was restored in the 19th century with the addition of the medieval-style
battlements in the "Guelph" style, which, although corny, make it so picturesque.
Rome is the only city I know of in Europe where, in any noticeable numbers, you still see coiffed nuns and priests with cassocks going about. I caught this one marching up to her convent on the Gianicolo Hill, undoubtedly.
Rome is the only city I know of in Europe where, in any noticeable numbers, you still see coiffed nuns and priests with cassocks going about. I caught this one marching up to her convent on the Gianicolo Hill, undoubtedly.
Every morning we set out from Trastevere to cross the river, passing by this unfamous but striking church - typically Roman, with its medieval belltower and Renaissance façade and loggia. Many of the churches in Rome that seem at first glance to be 16th century are in fact 13th century with 16th century fronts. You can always tell by the belltowers, since they were too chunky to cover up.
If the God can't cure your ailments, go next door for some antibiotics. There might even be an inner door to go from church to drugstore. If so, it could be used in the other direction too, when science fails!
The Trastevere branch of the Italian Communist Party. It takes you back to the days of Don Camillo and Peppone, even if it is the "refounded" version. Doesn't seem to be mobbed by the populace nowadays, though.
This bust near the bank of the Tiber is of an early 19th century painter who was famous for depicting the low-life of the dwelllers of the Roman slum which was Trastevere. Everything here has a leftist bent.
The great "poet of Trastevere", Giuseppe Belli, whose
lusty, even obscene poems in local "Romanesco" dialect made fun of the
uncouth populace and the corrupt priests who fed on them, so he wasn't a genuine leftist. Later
he took the side of the establishment and got a job as a national
censor, banning the works of other poets like William Shakespeare as heretical.
How far right can you go?
His statue stands in a small park by the Tiber. I liked the image of the poet as man-about-town, complete with the symbolic bulge on the left side of his pants. He ended up an embittered old man, famous for cynically declaring "I am a dead poet". Anthony Burgess translated his poems so there must be something in them, but my Romanesco isn't up to it, and I only read poetry in the original.
His statue stands in a small park by the Tiber. I liked the image of the poet as man-about-town, complete with the symbolic bulge on the left side of his pants. He ended up an embittered old man, famous for cynically declaring "I am a dead poet". Anthony Burgess translated his poems so there must be something in them, but my Romanesco isn't up to it, and I only read poetry in the original.
On our way to
the "Mouth of Truth" (explanation follows)
we crossed the Tiber by the Ponte Cestio, the bridge that joins
Trastevere to the great in the river, called Isola Tiberina. Since
antiquity the
island was where sick people were brought, first just to
prevent disease from spreading and later to treat them, with the
help of first
a pagan temple, then a great church and nowadays several Church
hospitals. In the background is the island's ancient church, San
Bartolomeu, with its medieval belltower and Renaissance
façade.
This is the view from the Ponte Cestio, looking downstream at a (relatively) modern bridge, and, on the left, the remainin arch of an ancient Roman bridge, known as Ponte Rotto or "broken bridge". Most of it was swept away in a flood. In the background is the belltower of the "Mouth of Truth" church, where we are headed.
My family had an orange juice in a nearby café while I popped into the church for a look. Wijjie says the guy sitting behind her looked like a gigolo hunting for tourists - I can't think what he'd find in off-season, but in Rome, who knows? Here in the photo he looks more like a wet-behind-the-ears computer geek to me.
Not a great beauty, but it dates from the 10th century. The building on the left was a lazzaretto where plague victims were kept in quarantine, and given the last rites.
The church was average, but my curiosity was rewarded by this medieval masterpiece surrounded by four saints which is said to have been the drum or head of a well. It is rather out of place amid all the baroque luxury, embedded in the stairs leading up to the altar, but is clearly a jewel of Romanesque (read: early medieval) sculpture.
The foot bridge on the other side of the island, Ponte Fabrizio, is Rome's oldest ancient bridge that is still intact, as it was built before the birth of Christ. Many Roman bridges are still being used, and not just for foot traffic, throughout Europe.
Walking downstream, the southern tip of the island. Since ancient times it was protected from floods by pointed dykes which gave it the appearance of a ship, and these barriers are now reinforced with cast concrete. Here the river is low, but sometimes the dykes are covered by the water.
Ponte Rotto again, standing all alone in the stream. The surviving arch looks pretty good, considering it's over 2,000 years old.
...and looking east, the ruins on the Palatine Hill, with the Forum behind.
On the left bank of the Tiber we came to the Forum Boarium, on the site of the "cattle fair" where Romans came to buy the meat and farm produce unloaded from the barges that sailed up from the sea. The great food market was protected by two temples, the one above which was being renovated and the circular one below, often said to be the Temple of Venus, perhaps because it is so beautiful!
I missed a long shot of the church so I copied this picture from the Internet. Santa Maria in Cosmedín, which is its curious name, has the highest medieval belltower in Rome. It was built by Greek monks who called it "cosmedín" because in Greek the word means "adorned, decorated", like our cosmetics. Saint Mary with her make-up on, in other words. Sadly, the famous decorations they were talking about have all disappeared.
We crossed the very busy and noisy avenue. Once upon a time, the church stood on a field that sloped down to the waterside.
The door is flanked by two Roman columns taken from the nearby ruins. In the Middle Ages, the ancient buildings which weren't buried too deeply under the ground were used as quarries, and there were even professional scavengers who sold to builders what was called "spoliae", or "spoils", in other words, plunder. So now you know where all those missing slabs of marble in the Forum went to...
As the signs show, Santa Maria in Cosmedín is still home to the Greek Melchite Church.
In the portico, there is a huge round foot-worn stone fixed to the wall which was a fountain or drain cover in ancient times. Legend has it that if a liar puts his (or her) hand in the mouth, it will be bitten, hence the name "mouth of truth". Audrey Hepburn gingerly tried it in the very beautiful film Roman Holiday...
...and half a century later Wijjie Bohme did too, much
more bravely. But she never lies, or so she says... There are
signs with instructions such as LINE UP HERE and ONE PHOTO
EACH, even MAX. 30 SEC. PER PERSON, but we luckily had the
Bocca della Veritá all to ourselves.
The "mouth" is mostly famous because of a movie which very few people nowadays have ever seen it because it's so old, in black and white and much too unsexy by modern standards, so let's hope they don't just buy one of the cute posters of Audrey Hepburn being sold outside, but also take a look at a DVD of this enchantingly spontaneous film.
The "mouth" is mostly famous because of a movie which very few people nowadays have ever seen it because it's so old, in black and white and much too unsexy by modern standards, so let's hope they don't just buy one of the cute posters of Audrey Hepburn being sold outside, but also take a look at a DVD of this enchantingly spontaneous film.
The interior has not fared well after so many centuries, and the legendary decorations were covered by baroque frescoes which have now been stripped away, to reveal a few remaining scraps of the original. The church contains some fascinating relics though, such as the only known vestige of the old Saint Peter's, a great medieval church which was destroyed to make way for the current, domed one. What a pity!
It is this 8th century mosaic (a fragment of a much larger work) showing the Holy Family, which is displayed, very inappopriately, in the gift shop! It could be a liberal-minded, well-educated agnostic family of our times, with their confident smiles and thoughtful eyes.
This is a 19th century engraver's vision of what the medieval Saint Peter's looked like, based on the descriptions which have come down to us, and before the Renaissance church we have now was built in its place. The long building facing the courtyard (which is the nave of the church itself) was the original Roman basilica, which simply meant "assembly hall", and which, in this case, was built above the grave of Saint Peter, who met his death in the stadium down the hill by the Tiber. The naves of most Roman churches were originally basilicas which, after the conversion of Constantine, were turned into Christian temples.
The other curiosity is the "head" or skull of Saint Valentine, crowned with flowers, which is brought out for a procession every February 14th. Gives you second thoughts about falling in love again, doesn't it? Sorry to say that I was so busy poking into the other obscure corners of this dimly-lit muddle of a place that I forgot to ask where the reliquary was, and only remembered once we were on our way to the Forum (as the joke goes). So I had to pinch another picture of Valentine to include here...
The floor is the work of the famous Cosmati brothers, in a style that became known as Cosmatesque, examples of which can be seen in many of Rome's churches.
There are also
some murky old frescoes that badly need restoring, or at least
illuminating. I would like to point out that although I have one of the
best pocket cameras available, it is still just a pocket camera and not
what is needed for photographing artworks in poor light conditions.
For a full array of professionally taken pictures, (another) indefatigable and well-funded Australian has a very complete site for European monuments in general, called paradoxplace.com. The colours are too bright under relentessly blue skies, making our misty climes feel like sunny Australia, but his choices are all good, especially on medieval art, and his equipment excellent, with tripods that can reach up to catch details in high places. In fact, there's nothing else on the Inernet like it. This said, he recently made it impossible to copy his photographs, which I think is rather unsolidary, since the only people who might want to do so are disinterested aesthetes like me. Are we civilizationists, or aren't we?
For a full array of professionally taken pictures, (another) indefatigable and well-funded Australian has a very complete site for European monuments in general, called paradoxplace.com. The colours are too bright under relentessly blue skies, making our misty climes feel like sunny Australia, but his choices are all good, especially on medieval art, and his equipment excellent, with tripods that can reach up to catch details in high places. In fact, there's nothing else on the Inernet like it. This said, he recently made it impossible to copy his photographs, which I think is rather unsolidary, since the only people who might want to do so are disinterested aesthetes like me. Are we civilizationists, or aren't we?
From there, we climbed over the Palatine Hill towards the Forum. I'm not an expert on Roman temples so won't try to identify the various ruins.
The arch of Septimius Severus - I looked this one up on Wikipedia.
I wonder if it looked as good when it was new as it does now. Time can work wonders, on stone at least.
As we headed for the Coliseum - which was the highlight of the trip for August, who knows all about the gory things that went on there - we passed the Forum of Augustus on our left. Poking up above the hoardings is Augustus himself. Hadrian's more recent forum was built on top of it, so things get confusing here, as elsewhere in Rome... The long curving row of arches behind him is Tavern Street, although the arches contained offices as well as drinking places, it seems. The leaning tower above them is not "ancient", although it is often called "Nero's Tower" and said to be where the mad fiddler watched Rome burn, but this is just another phoney legend. It is a medieval military tower called Torre delle Milizie and is part of a 13th century palace which was built into the ruins. Quite a sight, isn't it?
August approaches the Big Daddy, but he didn't take any notes, not yet being able to write very well. He'll get there...
The tourist crowds get thicker here, but in summer you wouldn't be able to see the pavement in front of you.
There were lots of Russians, such as this well togged-out family (I listened in to hear where they were from). The daughter was only about 15, although when seen from the back with those stockings you wouldn't have thought it. Dad had a toupee, which I missed in the photo. He looked like one of those plutogarchs or whatever they call them, wanting to impress the Italians with his family's sartorial splendour.
These Russians
I saw inside the Coliseum, outside the gift shop while I was waiting
for Wijjie and August, were less
stuck-up, to be sure, prosperous sons of the soil I would say.
Looks like the belly on the guy on the left is going to get as big as
the belly on the guy on the right, possibly his father, when he reaches
his age, but it doesn't seem to bother either of them.
When I go to touristy sites like the Coliseum I often get more interested in the tourists than the sites. Strangely, there weren't many Chinese. Maybe they were too busy at home filling Christmas rush orders for American department stores.
When I go to touristy sites like the Coliseum I often get more interested in the tourists than the sites. Strangely, there weren't many Chinese. Maybe they were too busy at home filling Christmas rush orders for American department stores.
The queue was long, but imagine how it would have been in high season...
...at least, that's what I told Wijjie to cheer her up. The carabinieri in the background are there to check on the pick-pockets and hustlers.
Italians love big IT IS FORBIDDEN signs everywhere, like religious edicts. Must come from the days when the Pope could send you to the stake. Whether everyone obeys them is another matter, of course.
As a former translator, I enjoy checking up on the English
in foreign countries, where you read menus with things like "meat in
spit" for shish kebab (from "broiled on the spit", get it?), or,
in one Swiss restaurant, "Salad of the Führer" for Chef's salad.
This sign wasn't as bad as most, but was pompous and funny nevertheless. For example, not introducing skateboards is one thing, but not introducing animals? You mean if I went in with my dachshund I couldn't introduce him to some other four-legged friend I ran into there?
As for eating meals in the Coliseum, I might surreptitiously pull out a piece of pizza to have a bite, but not the full-course soup, meat and dessert sort of thing. Maybe the Emperors partook of a baked gladiator thigh during the show, but standing up it would be difficult.
This sign wasn't as bad as most, but was pompous and funny nevertheless. For example, not introducing skateboards is one thing, but not introducing animals? You mean if I went in with my dachshund I couldn't introduce him to some other four-legged friend I ran into there?
As for eating meals in the Coliseum, I might surreptitiously pull out a piece of pizza to have a bite, but not the full-course soup, meat and dessert sort of thing. Maybe the Emperors partook of a baked gladiator thigh during the show, but standing up it would be difficult.
Since I was last in the Coliseum, on my first visit to Rome in 1962, they have reconstructed part of the arena floor so that people can see what it was like, composed of planks spread over the underground passages and covered with sand. Interesting.
This is not a saucy Syrian captive who has just been given the "thumbs up" sign by a doting Emperor, as you may have thought.
August was impressed to see the passageways under the arena, and hear me describe how the captives and beasts waited there to go up to be torn to pieces. Even though the Coliseum is very ancient, seeing it has an upsetting effect on me all the same. I've read too many history books, I suppose. So I was glad to get out.
Addio, Coliseo mio! Did you know that it is called the Coliseum because a statue of Nero once stood nearby which was so big (he erected it himself) that it was called in Latin the "Colossus"? After it was torn down by Nero's numerous enemies, the nickname passed over to the stadium, whose real name is the Flavian Amphitheatre.
We were pooped, and took a taxi home. The driver reminded me of a very jolly Roman emperor, and he was the first Italian I met who said he loved Berlusconi, even though the man's political career was on its last legs (after all, somebody had to have voted for him, to stay in power so long). What he admired most about il cavaliere was that he was a lover of beautiful women, he said, and that he was "simpático". Reason enough, I suppose!
We raced past the foot of the Campodoglio at normal Roman speed...
...and swerved around the Syrian Embassy, which Wijjie pointed out to me...
...getting a fleeting glimpse of the Theatre of Marcellus - Teatro di Marcello, in Italian - on top of which was built a 16th century palace, later divided into apartments, which are still there. I prefer seeing these ancient monuments with the medieval and Renaissance encrustations still on and around them because it gives me a stronger feeling of Rome's many layers of history. Mussolini tore a lot of them off in a restoration campaign aimed at making the Italians prouder of their national heritage.
Back in peaceful Trastevere, on the street where our hotel was (near the end on the left, just before you get to the trees of the Gianicolo Hill, and the white fountain you can see at the end).
One evening I went to the Pantheon for a drink at one of the cafés there. The place has a mysterious presence that grows and grows on me every time I come back to Rome. It was built as a pagan temple, at one end of a long, walled compound, and cloistered away from the rest of the city until the fall of the Empire. It was also an imperial mausoleum.
I took the following pictures during the daytime. Above, the oculus, the huge "eye" which lets in the temple's only supply of light, and once let out the smoke from its sacrifical fires. Staring down from Heaven, the oculus had a mystical symbolism of its own.
The dome was
made of cast concrete poured into wooden
moulds, assembled with coffered indentations to lighten the weight by
leaving
the intersecting ribs to bear the load of
the ceiling. The shell of the Pantheon's dome grows thinner as it rises, to further lighten
the load at the top, where strength was less needed. Also, towards the top, the
cement was mixed with increasing amounts of lighter, volcanic sand.
The Romans were the first to invent the equivalent of today's Portland cement, but the formula was lost when the Empire crumbled and not rediscovered until modern times (when steel reinforcement was added to make it stronger still). For well over 1,000 years, large buildings like this one had to be made either of masonry or different types of mortar, which was much more fragile than concrete.
The Romans were the first to invent the equivalent of today's Portland cement, but the formula was lost when the Empire crumbled and not rediscovered until modern times (when steel reinforcement was added to make it stronger still). For well over 1,000 years, large buildings like this one had to be made either of masonry or different types of mortar, which was much more fragile than concrete.
All around the
Pantheon were temples to the many
pagan
gods, where priests made the necessary animal sacrifices.
The
Romans
had deities for every action they performed during the day, and
reverence had to be paid to them to ensure success in marriage,
child-bearing, farming, business, war - everything. Christianity,
only concerned with sin, redemption and the afterlife, shattered this spiritual system which guided the Romans in
their everyday existence and gave them their sense
of social purpose. Edward Gibbon and other historians after
him have even blamed Christianity, rather than the barbarians, for causing the collapse of the Empire by destroying the
converts' allegiance to the Roman cause.
In this chapel Umberto I, King of Italy, is buried. The
Pantheon has survived the ages in near-perfect condition only because it
was never, like other Roman monuments, abandoned, pillaged and left
to ruin. It was transformed from functioning pagan temple to
Christian church in the year 609, and dedicated to all the
martyrs who had given their lives for the faith. Since then its
official name - there are several popular ones too - has been "Church of Saint
Mary and the Martyrs".
Since the oculus was never covered, everyone asks where the rain water went. The Roman architects laid the marble floor - the very same one we see here - with an imperceptible dip in the middle, and discreetly carved out several holes for drainage. Here we see two larger holes in the middle, and, below, smaller peripheral ones.
The marble that covered the outer walls was pulled off for use elsewhere, leaving an ugly surface of brick and concrete.
The stone
arches imbedded in the wall, under the eaves, were built to provide
extra support for the huge weight of the dome.
The word "dome" in English is a mistranslation, given that in Italian "duomo" (as in Latin "domus") means simply "cathedral", the "home" of God (as in our word "domestic"). Dome in Italian is cupola, "cup".
The word "dome" in English is a mistranslation, given that in Italian "duomo" (as in Latin "domus") means simply "cathedral", the "home" of God (as in our word "domestic"). Dome in Italian is cupola, "cup".
Just behind the Pantheon is the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, with a famous obelisk in front called il elefantino - a baroque fantasy. It was being cleaned when I was there so I pinched this picture from you-know-where...
This is the only Gothic church (with pointed arches) in Rome, named for the temple
of Minerva which stood here in pagan times - "Holy Mary
above Minerva", literally. Like many medieval churches, attempts
have been made (mostly in the 19th century) to paint the interior with
the bright colours so beloved by the worshippers of the Middle Ages,
but we can't be sure if they are realistic. And by this time we
have become so used to seeing the natural stone that the
paint-ups seem gaudy.
The reason is that in the Middle Ages people seldom saw any bright colours at all, except in great churches or palaces, and nowadays we see them everywhere we go. Because we are literally saturated in colour, we prefer to dress in discreet browns, greys and dull blues. But in the 13th century, most people were forced to wear sack-cloth, and only the Prince could dress up in vermillion and purple robes. So there was nothing gaudy about bright colours, then.
The reason is that in the Middle Ages people seldom saw any bright colours at all, except in great churches or palaces, and nowadays we see them everywhere we go. Because we are literally saturated in colour, we prefer to dress in discreet browns, greys and dull blues. But in the 13th century, most people were forced to wear sack-cloth, and only the Prince could dress up in vermillion and purple robes. So there was nothing gaudy about bright colours, then.
The famous Florentine painter Fra Angelico is buried here, and I asked a priest to show me his tomb. He was a great master of colour, and even invented a tone known as "Fra Angelico blue".
August wanted a picture with that skull!
I had read about the Church of San Clemente, one of the oldest in Rome, with its deep catacombs.
Here once stood the home of a wealthy Roman called Clement who became a Christian and used the cellar as a temple. From the outside, it now looks like an elegant Renaissance building, with a cloister surrounded by Roman columns.
...and a magnificent Cosmatesque floor of inlaid marble.
There are splendid medieval mosaics in the apse, showing Christ on a cross bearing a flock of white doves.
Exquisite! Thanks to the person who took this and the next picture...
...of a very strange fresco on one of the chapel walls. It's a sort of medieval comic strip showing the tale of a wealthy Roman
whose wife had become Christian and was, in his opinion, spending too
much time down in Clement's basement, praying with those other
monotheistic loons. He went down to fetch her but was temporarily
struck blind by God so that he couldn't distinguish her among the
worshippers. He had his henchmen with him and, desperately grabbing a
fallen column, ordered them to drag it home, thinking it was his wife.
The words he purportedly used to urge them on are said to be the first transcription of vernacular Italian - rather than classical Latin - that has come down to us: "Pull harder" he screams, and naming his servants one by one insults them as "sons of bitches" - FILI DELE PUTE, as you can see in the middle of this detail. God then said to him scornfully, "Your heart has become as hard as the stone you are trying to carry away", but I couldn't find a photo of that detail...
The words he purportedly used to urge them on are said to be the first transcription of vernacular Italian - rather than classical Latin - that has come down to us: "Pull harder" he screams, and naming his servants one by one insults them as "sons of bitches" - FILI DELE PUTE, as you can see in the middle of this detail. God then said to him scornfully, "Your heart has become as hard as the stone you are trying to carry away", but I couldn't find a photo of that detail...
We went down the steps into the various layers of cellars, where pagan rituals were performed before the Christian ones took over, where an underground spring rushes through a channel, all getting darker and clammier as we went. Photos were forbidden but I sneaked this one of a sinister corner that was used for some ceremony, I can't remember what - we were listening to someone else's guide, who spoke in Italian. Finally my natural claustrophobia took over and I led my brood back to the light.
Up the Esquiline Hill we went, to our next medieval church...
There are ruins of every degree in Rome, first degree ruins, second degree ruins, and even diagonal ruins that have been neatly dissected so you can see the decay inside...
Some of the original mosaics are still visible in the upper part of the apse.
On the
left side of the apse, we
see Saint Paul presenting the holy martyr Praxede to God,
with his arm affectionately placed around her shoulders. She and her
sister Pudenziana were slain for having given Christian burial to
the bones
of martyrs they dug out of a pagan cemetery. The man on the left
with what looks like a glass box around his head is Pope Paschal, who
built the church in the 9th century and holds a model of it in his
arms. The "box" is a square halo, which has this
shape to indicate that he was alive at the time of his portrait.
That must be why his face is so realistic and homely,
compared to the handsome saints next to him. The mosaic
artists he hired must have worked from a preliminary sketch.
But the real jewellery case of the church is tucked away in Saint Zeno's Chapel, seen here through a tiny window.
Inside, several cubicles are paved with gold and rich colour, undimmed by the centuries. Mosaic is the eternal painting, and is so called because it was considered to be the "art of the muses".
Of the few early Christian mosaics I had time to see in Rome, these were the ones that came closest to the churches of Ravenna, with their irresistible vision of heavenly delight.
In the early period of Christianity, to attract people to the new faith, artists showed it as a creed of happiness and hope, unlike the dour, intimidating Byzantine style which later came from the East. In the Ravenna churches there is not a single crucifixion scene, and I didn't see one in their Roman counterparts either.
Gorgeous when seen out of context, but in Rome the mosaics are just forgotten scraps that, because of their value as relics, were allowed to survive in newer churches, while in Ravenna they are the churches themselves.
A Cosmatesque altar. Could any art be more Italian?
The lovingly carved tomb of the martyred sisters "Praxedis and Pudentiana". Their father Pudens was the first Roman pagan to be converted by Saint Paul, and he found martyrdom with his daughters. Future archaeologist and art historian August Hassan Bohme poses on the left.
On top of the hill we come to the great basilica
of Santa Maria Maggiore which, as its name indicates, is the largest or
"major" church in Rome dedicated to Mary. It belongs to the Vatican and
was often used by Popes as their "other church in Rome" after Saint
Peter's, and as a palace for living in as well, as you can see from the buildings which flank the colonnade.
It is popularly called Our Lady of the Snow, because of a charming legend. A wealthy Roman couple, recently converted to Christianity, wanted to have a church built to the Madonna, and asked God where it should stand. He soon sent them a sign that couldn't be ignored. On a hot August day, snow miraculously fell from the sky on the top of the Esquiline Hill.
It is popularly called Our Lady of the Snow, because of a charming legend. A wealthy Roman couple, recently converted to Christianity, wanted to have a church built to the Madonna, and asked God where it should stand. He soon sent them a sign that couldn't be ignored. On a hot August day, snow miraculously fell from the sky on the top of the Esquiline Hill.
There are some fantastic medieval mosaics on the walls but they are either too high up, poorly lit or eclipsed by all the baroque clutter, so I refer you to other sources to get a proper idea of their beauty. There are many other treasures in Santa Maria Maggiore that we didn't get a chance to look at closely, because I was afraid of not getting to the next medieval mosaic by closing time (which is what happened). Have to wait for a future visit to Rome, which I hope will be soon.
I was greatly impressed, however, by the very baroque naturalness of the Crypt of the Nativity, at the bottom of a staircase in a sort of grotto below the altar, where a fragment of wood from the Holy Crib is said to be contained. That Pope could suddenly gather up his robes and walk off to meet his Cardinals, couldn't he? This highly theatrical or should I say operatic ensemble is popularly known as "the Bethlehem Crypt".
Some people still go to church to confess their sins, as you can see from the white hair of the elderly priest and the black pants and shoes of the kneeling old lady. But they're seldom the ones who have serious things to be repentant about. I had to explain to August what she was doing and he listened in astonishment. When I showed him this photograph at home and asked him if he remembered what the two of them are doing, he said that the old lady was telling the priest about the bad things others had done to her, as when he and his classmates complain about each another to the teacher.
Around the back of the great basilica and down on the left to our next medieval mosaic. Apart from the fascination of tracking down these obscure treasures, they led us into some obscure and even seamy parts of town we would never have seen otherwise.
When we got to the Church of Santa Pudenziana - the one I was most eager to see, because of its single and historically unique mosaic - the caretaker had gone home for lunch, for three long hours, and there was only a derelict camping out by the gate, with his bags and bottles. So rather than make the whole expedition again the next day, we went off for lunch ourselves, and some exploring afterwards. All roads may not lead to Rome, but in Rome all streets lead to something worth looking at.
We soon found ourselves in a more atmospheric and welcoming part of town called Monti, once a working-class area which has recently become unobtrusively gentrified. This house artistically covered in ivy is an interior decorator's shop, I believe. An identifiably "bobo" - bourgeois bohemian - gal is chatting in the foreground, so we felt at home.
We soon found a cosy place to eat, and the food was good! Pasta as usual, of course.
This was the best dish I ate in Rome - big fat beans and square chunks of pasta in a meaty, peppery broth. Romans are very fond of beans, and since they are very fond of pasta too, they briliantly cook them together. Wijjie has since tried the dish at home and it was even better, because she didn't use so much pepper. For Italians the pasta is just the entrée before the "real" dish, but like most faint-hearted, calory-conscious foreigners we stopped there.
See that little guy on the left with the big wristwatch, shovelling up the spaghetti? Afterwards he ate a big pork chop too... At one point a lot of smoke billowed out of the kitchen door but to my alarm no one seemed to notice it - they were too busy talking their heads off, even the waiters. When the owner served us our dishes I pointed at it and in my best Italian asked him "Is there a fire?" (Ché fuoco?). He excitedly waved his arms and shouted across the tables, "Eh, what's happening?", and then assured me with a smile that it was just the ventilazione. I was glad we were sitting next to the door, though. Romans don't like wasting time on potential problems, it seems.
We proceeded up another hill past Trajan's Market and the Forum of Augustus with its massive ruins, across the avenue from the "main" Forum by the Coliseum.
That is an arch! It's called Arco dei Pantani, Gate of the Swamps, because it was marshy there before the Romans drained the land. Most of it is underground now, though.
I had wanted to take a picture of August in front of the Tomb of Augustus, but there wasn't much there to photograph so we had to make do with the Forum.
A great medieval palace was built right into the ruins, as was the custom, to benefit from the existing columns and dintels, as you can see below.
Many of the Roman monuments became feudal castles in the Middle Ages, such as Hadrian's Tomb - now called Castel Sant'Angelo - and the Tomb of Augustus, of which so little is left because the enemies of the family that fortified it had the whole thing torn down, to prevent anyone else from taking it over. The same thing would have surely happened to the Pantheon, if the Pope hadn't staked his claim and turned it into a church.
We had no idea where we were or what it was called, but it was all beautiful so we kept going, up another hill. Have to burn off all that pasta!
Looking back down the hill, I noticed just just how much the Torre delle Milizie - the medieval tower that was part of the palace we just saw - is leaning, when seen alongside the other buildings around it. Rather scarey, but then, as we know, Romans don't worry about things that haven't happened. It originally had another section on top which fell off at some point, but that was a few centuries ago.
August was intrigued by this man's breasts, but I think it's meant to be a mythological witch of some sort.
I didn't realize it at first, but we were standing on the top of the Quirinal Hall, the highest of the seven hills of Rome, where the Head of State lives in the palace called Il Quirinale.
It only dawned on me after we had moved on, so it was too late to get a picture - this one is from Wikipedia. If we had seen Berlusconi coming out we would have known what it was, but he may have been recovering from one of his bunga-bunga parties with the young TV hostesses called veline. This curious but very popular name means "thin and flimsy", in reference to their garb. The palace was originally a Papal residence.
This is not a velina, but the very personable waitress in a café where we rested up before our final onslaught.
August recently declared that he wants to wear a tie, because a photograph of me at age 4 shows me wearing one, like a good little English boy. His mother found him one in a children's clothing shop that same morning, and he put it right on.
This is the picture he'd like to look like. And so would I!
Finally, back to the Church of Santa Pudenziana, open at last. You can see how it's sunken down below the street level, which is why there's a flight of steps down to the entrance. Over the centuries, erosion and crumbling buildings washed mud and rubble down the hillsides of Rome into the low-lying places between them, burying whole areas like the Forum. That's why the famous seven hills no longer look as high as they did in ancient times, when each of them had a citadel or fort on top, for fighting against one another of course.
Santa Pudenziana is now the church of the Filipino community of Rome. It was Saturday and there was going to be a wedding, with the well-lunched caretaker hosing down the floor inside and out, as you can see in the picture. A gaggle of excited Filipinas was milling around to see the preparations inside, and they must have wondered why we, and a few other arty foreigners who appeared, took such an interest in their little church. The answer is the solitary marvel at the top of the next picture...
...and below in close-up. Nothing less than...
...Rome's most
original and beautiful and almost-oldest Christian mosaic, dating from
the
year 390 which is not long after Christianity began to rise, at the
turning point between the ancient world and ours.
In appearance it couldn't be more Roman, showing a human-looking gold-clad Christ speaking to his disciples, dressed in togas like senators, in an idealized Jerusalem in which the basilicas and jewelled cross on Calvary Hill are said to represent the monuments built there by the Emperor Constantine and his mother.
Therefore the mosaic isn't at all medieval, but in the classical style of Antiquity, perfectly proportioned and elegantly composed, almost photographically realistic. What makes it different from the mosaics found in places like Pompey, showing scenes from everyday life, is its transcendental spirit, the ecstatic faces of the listeners, the feeling that they have received glad tidings from above in the turbulent sky, where we see the winged angel, lion, ox and eagle symbolizing the Four Evangelists.
That such a testimony of what was certainly the greatest change in men's hearts of all history could be there for us to see is in itself a miracle. It is true that most of the figures on the right hand side had to be remade in later centuries with the suppression of two of the disciples, and that the lower parts of the bodies were removed to make way for the plaster cornice which was part of the inevitable Renaissance remodelling, but the rest is all as this illuminated team of artists created it at the end of the 4th century. The women on either side, holding wreathes above the heads of Saints Peter and Paul, are the two sisters, Praxede and Pudenziana, of which the one on the right is part of the 16th century restoration, as we can see by the lighter skin tone.
This detail shows the original, unrestored part of the mosaic, except for the too-white hand of the apostle on the right.
Finally, I had seen the main thing I came to Rome to
behold, after which I could concentrate on showing August a
famous monument (as welll as the Coliseum) that he could tell his
teacher about when he got
home.
In appearance it couldn't be more Roman, showing a human-looking gold-clad Christ speaking to his disciples, dressed in togas like senators, in an idealized Jerusalem in which the basilicas and jewelled cross on Calvary Hill are said to represent the monuments built there by the Emperor Constantine and his mother.
Therefore the mosaic isn't at all medieval, but in the classical style of Antiquity, perfectly proportioned and elegantly composed, almost photographically realistic. What makes it different from the mosaics found in places like Pompey, showing scenes from everyday life, is its transcendental spirit, the ecstatic faces of the listeners, the feeling that they have received glad tidings from above in the turbulent sky, where we see the winged angel, lion, ox and eagle symbolizing the Four Evangelists.
That such a testimony of what was certainly the greatest change in men's hearts of all history could be there for us to see is in itself a miracle. It is true that most of the figures on the right hand side had to be remade in later centuries with the suppression of two of the disciples, and that the lower parts of the bodies were removed to make way for the plaster cornice which was part of the inevitable Renaissance remodelling, but the rest is all as this illuminated team of artists created it at the end of the 4th century. The women on either side, holding wreathes above the heads of Saints Peter and Paul, are the two sisters, Praxede and Pudenziana, of which the one on the right is part of the 16th century restoration, as we can see by the lighter skin tone.
This detail shows the original, unrestored part of the mosaic, except for the too-white hand of the apostle on the right.
Saint Peter's, as it is known in English. I couldn't face the crowds in the Sistine Chapel but at least had to show him this.
Back to tourist territory - the Vatican isn't even bothering to post up up all those funny translations any more, which I may even miss once they're gone. Soon we'll all be talking in sign language with a few grunts in global English - "globish", I call it - like "OK" and "NO" thrown in to signify "good" or "not good", and everyone will understand without going through all that trouble. Even the Pope up on his balcony may use them to express his feelings about gay marriage and condoms.
The only things I really like about Saint Peter's are the colonnade outside, and Bernini's towering (20 meters high!) baldachin in the middle. This monumental canopy stands over the precise place of Saint Peter's tomb...
...and directly under the great dome. As for the rest, oversized, ostentatious and boring!
August posed in front of the Swiss Guards, who, I explained to his confusion, aren't really Swiss. An awful book recently written about Rome (by another Australian) on which I foolishly spent my money, says that the Vatican policemen at the entrance gate frisk you for weapons as if you were boarding a flight. But all they did when we went in was wave a metal detector in our direction, as if they were sprinkling Holy Water on our heads. September 11th is wearing off, thank God!
I had read
about this tiny chapel in the cloister of the Franciscan monastery San
Pietro in Montorio, and after leaving the Vatican we took a taxi there
over the Gianicolo hill - very beautiful at dusk, with its spreading
pines and marble palaces. The monastery is part of the Spanish Academy,
now used for cultural purpose. The "capella di Brancusi", as it is
called, was in its day considered to be the consommate model of
Renaissance beauty, admired by Italians and foreigners who came from
afar to see it.
Although it doesn't have the same effect on me aesthetically, what does interest me is that it was commissioned by Spain's Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand, to give thanks to God for their conquest of Granada from the Moors. That brings it very close to home for me, so I had to at least have a peek. The cloister was already closed for the day, but I was able to see and photograph it through the grilled gate.
Mássimo, the friendly desk clerk at the hotel - a white-haired and very dignified man who spoke remarkably unaccented English - knew all about Rome's hidden treasures including the capella di Bramanti as it is called, and told me that he was baptized there, which somehow gave the place a special charm when I saw it.
Although it doesn't have the same effect on me aesthetically, what does interest me is that it was commissioned by Spain's Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand, to give thanks to God for their conquest of Granada from the Moors. That brings it very close to home for me, so I had to at least have a peek. The cloister was already closed for the day, but I was able to see and photograph it through the grilled gate.
Mássimo, the friendly desk clerk at the hotel - a white-haired and very dignified man who spoke remarkably unaccented English - knew all about Rome's hidden treasures including the capella di Bramanti as it is called, and told me that he was baptized there, which somehow gave the place a special charm when I saw it.
From there, just as Mássimo explained that morning, it was two long flights of steps down into Trastevere, where the street lights were already coming on.
We had already had a drink at this café near the hotel, and decided to have a sandwich there for supper, being somewhat stuffed with so much pasta.
They had some very tasty hot paninis, with cheese and eggplant in them. But I was more interested in the bevy of local signorinas on their Saturday night out, and pretended I was photographing tired and hungry August just to get a picture of them. The plastic curtains had been lowered which made the little place, so full of chatter and gaiety, feel very cosy and intimate. And the girls reminded me of the señoritas of my own Spanish town on a winter night, except that these ones all had smartphones which they excitedly showed one another with the photos of their boyfriends and baby nephews. The forceful-looking romana on the right even rolled her own cigarettes...
...and almost started a blaze with one, as you can see above.
All very pleasantly provincial, in spite of the smartphones and cigarettes, almost as if the legendary Roman razzmatazz didn't exist. And two tables to the left sat what may have been their mothers and grannies - le nonne - having their coffee by the kerosene heater (the girls were slurping up brightly coloured cocktails). My feeling was that Italy got stuck in a time warp back in the 1970's - even Spain today seems much more (unpleasantly) up-to-date. At least that's the archaic impression Wijjie and I got, this time around.
Sunday was our last day in Rome, and since it was sunny I set out after breakfast on my own to once more see some of my old haunts. This is the far side of my beloved Porta della Settimania, in the tender light of dawn.
The view up the Tiber, with a restaurant barge moored on the left bank. All so peaceful, early on a Sunday morning!
The Poste Sisto, with the oculus in the middle, and the dome of Saint Peter's. The Tiber still looks like a real, wild river, rather than the walled-up, spruced-up Seine on its civilized way through Paris (although it's beautiful too, in a more orderly way).
And yours truly, shooting himself (just with a camera).
There was one
place on my wish list that I couldn't leave for the next visit, and
that was Il Testaccio, a sort of hill on the downstream side of town.
It's hard to really see it from the street since it's just a huge
mound of what seems to be earth with a few trees on it. But it
has a truly amazing history, of which I was totally unaware until I
read an article about it, five years or so ago, in a Spanish
archaeological review.
The ancient Romans got most of their olive oil from southern Spain, a colony they called Baetica. Small boats carried it from Cordoba down the river to the sea, where it was transhipped on board galleys that unloaded it at Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber. From there river barges took it to Rome and unloaded the amphoras where the Aurelian Wall meets the left bank of the Tiber.
The earthenware jugs had to be emptied into new, larger ones before being sold, because the olive oil left a sediment inside which fermented on contact with the unglazed clay and could spoil the taste of the oil. These old amphoras were carried to a dump near the river, broken into pieces and carefully stacked one on top of the other so as to create a sort of pyramid. Special appointed foremen ensured that the slopes of this shard-heap, which reached 100 meters in height, remained tightly packed and stable, in order to prevent landslides.
With the collapse of the Empire, earth collected on the surface and grass and trees grew, so that through the Middle Ages no one remembered how the hill got there. A chapel was built on top of it with a crucifix, so that it could be used at Easter as Rome's stand-in for the Calvary Hill.
Since parts of the hill remained bare, and caves were dug into it for different purposes, the Romans knew that it was made of shards, which is why they called it Il Testaccio, "Skull Hill", since the chunks of pottery resembled skulls.
Modern archaeologists studied the hill and its broken pots, and found that they were all stamped with the names of olive oil merchants from the city of Cordoba, enabling them to retrace the history I have just described. Thus, we know that a large hill in Rome is entirely made of jugs made, in turn, of Andalucian clay.
The ancient Romans got most of their olive oil from southern Spain, a colony they called Baetica. Small boats carried it from Cordoba down the river to the sea, where it was transhipped on board galleys that unloaded it at Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber. From there river barges took it to Rome and unloaded the amphoras where the Aurelian Wall meets the left bank of the Tiber.
The earthenware jugs had to be emptied into new, larger ones before being sold, because the olive oil left a sediment inside which fermented on contact with the unglazed clay and could spoil the taste of the oil. These old amphoras were carried to a dump near the river, broken into pieces and carefully stacked one on top of the other so as to create a sort of pyramid. Special appointed foremen ensured that the slopes of this shard-heap, which reached 100 meters in height, remained tightly packed and stable, in order to prevent landslides.
With the collapse of the Empire, earth collected on the surface and grass and trees grew, so that through the Middle Ages no one remembered how the hill got there. A chapel was built on top of it with a crucifix, so that it could be used at Easter as Rome's stand-in for the Calvary Hill.
Since parts of the hill remained bare, and caves were dug into it for different purposes, the Romans knew that it was made of shards, which is why they called it Il Testaccio, "Skull Hill", since the chunks of pottery resembled skulls.
Modern archaeologists studied the hill and its broken pots, and found that they were all stamped with the names of olive oil merchants from the city of Cordoba, enabling them to retrace the history I have just described. Thus, we know that a large hill in Rome is entirely made of jugs made, in turn, of Andalucian clay.
I photographed the two pictures above from a panel in front
of the Testaccio Museum, which stands half way up the hill but was
closed on Sunday, along with the hill itself, which I sadly couldn't walk explore.
The first one is an aerial view, showing the hill's triangular shape, and the warehouses (now abandoned) along the riverside, where the barges once unloaded the amporae.
In the extraordinary picture above, we see a bare patch on the hill with the broken pots stacked tightly together, and their mouths gaping darkly like the eyes of skulls, which was what the Romans once compared them to. The rubble on the left of the picture is also shards, but in smaller pieces.
The first one is an aerial view, showing the hill's triangular shape, and the warehouses (now abandoned) along the riverside, where the barges once unloaded the amporae.
In the extraordinary picture above, we see a bare patch on the hill with the broken pots stacked tightly together, and their mouths gaping darkly like the eyes of skulls, which was what the Romans once compared them to. The rubble on the left of the picture is also shards, but in smaller pieces.
We walked around the hill, and saw how bars and night spots have been installed in the old caves. It's all a bit Bohemian, like the Sacromonte in Granada today, except that there are no gypsies. Just above the walls you can see the reddish shards on the hillside, the very same colour as the soil in the Andalucian olive groves.
All pottery shards, 2,000 years old.
We'll have to go back to Il Testaccio for a drink one night, on our next visit to Rome.
Close by, and tucked behind the old Aurelian Wall, is a
very romantic 19th century cemetery where many Englishmen and foreigners are
buried, including several famous poets and writers. It is
popularly called The English Cemetery, but it's real name is Cimitero acattolico, "the
non-Catholic cemetery". After all, this is Rome and you shouldn't mix
the napkins with the dish-towels, even if the illustrious unbaptized
inhabitants have names like Shelley and Keats.
There is also Axel Munthe, the Swede who wrote (in English) "The Story of San Michele", one of my favourite books, as well as Goethe's son and, for fans of Beat poetry, Gregory Corso, who even a non-fan like me has to agree was a very funny guy. But guess what - the cemetery wasn't open on Sunday! Maybe it has something to do with not being Catholic.
So all I could do was walk around it and look through the bars of the iron gate. To to tell the truth, I don't like Shelley or Keats any more than Corso, even less in fact, but they do belong to a certain past. It all makes this place the Roman version of Père-Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, but on a much scaller scale.
There is also Axel Munthe, the Swede who wrote (in English) "The Story of San Michele", one of my favourite books, as well as Goethe's son and, for fans of Beat poetry, Gregory Corso, who even a non-fan like me has to agree was a very funny guy. But guess what - the cemetery wasn't open on Sunday! Maybe it has something to do with not being Catholic.
So all I could do was walk around it and look through the bars of the iron gate. To to tell the truth, I don't like Shelley or Keats any more than Corso, even less in fact, but they do belong to a certain past. It all makes this place the Roman version of Père-Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, but on a much scaller scale.
Next we came to the Pyramid of Caius Cestius, a Roman who wanted to have a tomb just like the pharaohs of Egypt. It's smaller, and more pointed than the ones we're used to seeing, but it's still there with its stone surface intact. The Egyptians couldn't have made theirs so pointed because they didn't have Roman cement to keep the sides up.
After which, the Porta di San Paolo, a medieval gate leading to Ostia at the mouth of the Tiber.
By noon we were starving again, and went back to Trastevere to eat at another trattoria we knew. It rained so we had to move inside.
August got his last lasagna romana, stuffed with ricotta.
I had gnocchi in a sauce of porcini mushrooms and meat broth. Tasted strongly of meat cubes, I thought. But it's one of the things that are considered "normal" nowadays, like sauce made of tomato paste instead of fresh tomatoes, which I am often forced to put up with. I guess it's because I have a very good cook at home who spoils me...
We were up at dawn to get the plane and posed for one last picture in the hotel. Next time we'll ask for a room on the side of the building where the wi-fi works properly (not the side with the view of Piazza San Cosimato).
They kindly served breakfast early for us. Addio, Hotel Trastevere! The nice mural behind the desk is of the nearby church, Santa Maria in Trastevere.
Wijjie says that the face in the upper left is really a live girl, not another cosmetic ad. You can't tell an Italian girl from an American one, these days.
Arabian tigress and cub.
Nothing to rave about Ryanair, but nothing to complain about it either except the awful yellow paint. It's cheap, clean and takes off more or less on time.
Bordeaux, à nouveau!