It was near the end of the day when I heard the music. Drifting through the closed windows in the back of my apartment was a haunting yet jazzy melody. I’ve heard this same tune before, but never figured out where it was coming from. I went out onto the balcony and listened. It was loud, filling up all the space between apartment buildings and coming from the south. I went to the front of my apartment and threw open the windows. Nothing. Not a single sound besides the cars driving by could be heard. How could something so loud on one side not reach the other, two rooms and a hallway away?
This was the day to finally investigate. I had shut myself in all day working and now I would discover the origin of the mysterious music I heard weekly. Maybe it was a band playing at a cool club. Maybe it was a weekly open air concert at a park. Maybe it was a traveling guitarist, roaming the streets in search of fans. Whatever it was, I’ve heard it for over two straight months and I had to know.
The night was clear and warm, something that had become rare during my stay here. I followed the street toward the closest point to the music I now wasn’t hearing, but no matter where I walked, I couldn’t hear it. Could the apartments be that good at blocking noise? Frustrated, I decided to just continue my walk, going down a street I had neglected these past weeks.
Restaurants, cafés, patisseries, all empty. Waiters sat outside smoking, watching me walk by. No one was on the street at all. I checked the time: 7:05 on a Sunday night.
Continuing my walk down I began to think I was on some sort of highway. There were green signs posted every once in a while telling me the direction of large Italian cities. Suddenly, the buildings stopped and fenced in field started. I looked through the bars and was shocked to see a lit castle-like structure, complete with tall circular guard posts, which I immediately hurried towards. Through twisting streets and renaissance buildings I finally reached the structure and realized it was actually a wall, the same wall by my apartment, and inside was a park, Parco degli Scipioni.
Somewhat disappointed and somewhat delighted about how common antiquity was in Rome, I decided to venture down another nearby street, turning this way and that before soon realizing I was lost. Damn. As it was the midpoint in the term I was really getting annoyed at how often I could get lost. I thought about the path I took but was still utterly confused, and so I chose a direction and stuck with it. Ten minutes later I noticed a leaf covered sign: Napoli. Highway? I live next to a highway type thing! And thus, five minutes later, I was saved.
It’s weird how much a place can change in about an hour. At 8:35 the streets were filled, the restaurants had lines, and light flooded the area. I walked back to my street by the park and faintly heard a jazzy tune drifting down to the street, out of a bedroom window above.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Roman Catacombs
I visited the Catacombs of Domitilla at the beginning of my time in Rome. It is the largest of Rome’s catacombs, containing over 450,000 bodies and the only one to still contain bones. Amazingly, the entrance is through an underground sunken basilica that was rediscovered in the 1500’s.
The tour is pretty straightforward: you get a tour guide, he tells you about the church, the history of the catacombs, and gives you a basic run through of Christian symbols you’re about to see before taking you into the maze of tombs itself. The great part about Domitilla is it’s infamous for having funny tour guides. I guess they figure if you’re already going to be spending an hour below ground amongst the dead, you’re bound to appreciate a little bit of morbid humor.
I wonder what it would be like, leading people through a place like this everyday. When you are hired, they have you wander around the catacombs, granting you access to every floor, every room, so you can familiarize yourself with the area and choose the paths you’ll lead people through. This also serves as a mini-initiation to their group, as most people get hopelessly lost for hours in the beginning and the experienced others leave them to find their own way out.
The actual catacombs are cold and damp, which for some reason came as a surprise to me. Water dripped off the walls even though it was a warm and sunny day outside. This is actually a result of all the people that go into the complex daily, as the moisture from our breath has no where to go. The unfortunate side effect of this is that it creates the perfect atmosphere for moss, which in turn is destroying many of the perfectly preserved frescoes. I was lucky enough to see a beautiful fresco in a wealthy family tomb, as our tour guide informed us that it would be closed to visitors forever starting in March. In the top corner of the room was a huge green mass was creeping into the more colorful parts of the artwork.
Many of the tombs are unsealed and empty. This is a result of various invasions of Rome, when invaders opened thousands of tombs looking for valuables. Unfortunately for them, Christians at the time believed in being buried as Jesus was: wrapped in linen with no possessions. For some reason, after discovering numerous tombs like this, the invaders reasoned that they should continuing opening tombs, as the first couple hundred that contained nothing couldn’t possibly mean the next hundred wouldn’t as well. This is amazing logic for people who just successfully toppled an empire and managed to conquer its capital.
I think the part that stuck with me the most though was the air shafts. Catacomb workers were pretty much their own bosses, deciding where to dig and how many people they could fit into a wall. This lead to a series of unorganized, maze-like pathways that went deeper and deeper underground. To get supplies in an out, and to keep the area livable, workers carved out large shafts to the surface to let in air, light, and to provide a means to lower down supplies. The curious thing is, they also used these as a shortcut to get outside. Within the air shafts are carved small holes for feet and hands so they could climb out. It is mind blowing to think about the skill and lives of these workers, carving holes in wall as they climb up, spending their days in the dark with the dead, and figuring out how to fit another body in an already cramped section as if they were bottles of olive oil on a shelf.
Each catacomb of Rome contains something different from the rest, whether it be ancient papal tombs or the first depiction of a bearded Christ. They might not be as grotesque and flashy as the Parisian catacombs, but their subtle charm and humble modesty, combined with a good sense of humor, is sure to bring me back before the end of my stay.
The tour is pretty straightforward: you get a tour guide, he tells you about the church, the history of the catacombs, and gives you a basic run through of Christian symbols you’re about to see before taking you into the maze of tombs itself. The great part about Domitilla is it’s infamous for having funny tour guides. I guess they figure if you’re already going to be spending an hour below ground amongst the dead, you’re bound to appreciate a little bit of morbid humor.
I wonder what it would be like, leading people through a place like this everyday. When you are hired, they have you wander around the catacombs, granting you access to every floor, every room, so you can familiarize yourself with the area and choose the paths you’ll lead people through. This also serves as a mini-initiation to their group, as most people get hopelessly lost for hours in the beginning and the experienced others leave them to find their own way out.
The actual catacombs are cold and damp, which for some reason came as a surprise to me. Water dripped off the walls even though it was a warm and sunny day outside. This is actually a result of all the people that go into the complex daily, as the moisture from our breath has no where to go. The unfortunate side effect of this is that it creates the perfect atmosphere for moss, which in turn is destroying many of the perfectly preserved frescoes. I was lucky enough to see a beautiful fresco in a wealthy family tomb, as our tour guide informed us that it would be closed to visitors forever starting in March. In the top corner of the room was a huge green mass was creeping into the more colorful parts of the artwork.
Many of the tombs are unsealed and empty. This is a result of various invasions of Rome, when invaders opened thousands of tombs looking for valuables. Unfortunately for them, Christians at the time believed in being buried as Jesus was: wrapped in linen with no possessions. For some reason, after discovering numerous tombs like this, the invaders reasoned that they should continuing opening tombs, as the first couple hundred that contained nothing couldn’t possibly mean the next hundred wouldn’t as well. This is amazing logic for people who just successfully toppled an empire and managed to conquer its capital.
I think the part that stuck with me the most though was the air shafts. Catacomb workers were pretty much their own bosses, deciding where to dig and how many people they could fit into a wall. This lead to a series of unorganized, maze-like pathways that went deeper and deeper underground. To get supplies in an out, and to keep the area livable, workers carved out large shafts to the surface to let in air, light, and to provide a means to lower down supplies. The curious thing is, they also used these as a shortcut to get outside. Within the air shafts are carved small holes for feet and hands so they could climb out. It is mind blowing to think about the skill and lives of these workers, carving holes in wall as they climb up, spending their days in the dark with the dead, and figuring out how to fit another body in an already cramped section as if they were bottles of olive oil on a shelf.
Each catacomb of Rome contains something different from the rest, whether it be ancient papal tombs or the first depiction of a bearded Christ. They might not be as grotesque and flashy as the Parisian catacombs, but their subtle charm and humble modesty, combined with a good sense of humor, is sure to bring me back before the end of my stay.
The Rain in Rome
Is it really supposed to rain this much? Before I got here I expected a few weeks of scattered showers, but suddenly the sun would break through the clouds and people would sing and dance in the streets. Kind of like Mamma Mia, but the Italian city version.
This has happened a couple times (the song and dance provided by me), but it’s always been a false alarm: a few days of sun, but once you put away the heavy coat forever you hear torrents of rain coming from the open window. This was al tolerable at first, but as midterms approach at school, I’m making the realization that half my time here, in sunny Italy, is going to be spent under an umbrella.
The Italians seem unperturbed by it, though inexperienced with it. They smack the umbrellas into the side of walls, street signs, and passersby. Getting anywhere has become a game of dodging the metal tips of umbrellas that follow you wherever you move. It’s no wonder half the population seems to walk around with broken umbrellas and street vendors are at every corner dangling their wares in your face, people here must got through an umbrella per week!
It’s also become clear that the rain is out to get me, like a personal vendetta for doubting its existence. My roommates decide to stay in, I make plans to go out: cue rain. I run out of eggs or milk: cue rain. I decide to work on my homework in the living room: cue an instant hurricane outside that knocks the windows open and drenches the papers that are now flying about the room.
When I decided to come to Italy, it was a decision based on wanting something different. I wanted a different culture, a different language, a different way of looking at life that would open up new ideas for me. Well, it doesn’t rain in Los Angeles, so I guess this is something different.
This has happened a couple times (the song and dance provided by me), but it’s always been a false alarm: a few days of sun, but once you put away the heavy coat forever you hear torrents of rain coming from the open window. This was al tolerable at first, but as midterms approach at school, I’m making the realization that half my time here, in sunny Italy, is going to be spent under an umbrella.
The Italians seem unperturbed by it, though inexperienced with it. They smack the umbrellas into the side of walls, street signs, and passersby. Getting anywhere has become a game of dodging the metal tips of umbrellas that follow you wherever you move. It’s no wonder half the population seems to walk around with broken umbrellas and street vendors are at every corner dangling their wares in your face, people here must got through an umbrella per week!
It’s also become clear that the rain is out to get me, like a personal vendetta for doubting its existence. My roommates decide to stay in, I make plans to go out: cue rain. I run out of eggs or milk: cue rain. I decide to work on my homework in the living room: cue an instant hurricane outside that knocks the windows open and drenches the papers that are now flying about the room.
When I decided to come to Italy, it was a decision based on wanting something different. I wanted a different culture, a different language, a different way of looking at life that would open up new ideas for me. Well, it doesn’t rain in Los Angeles, so I guess this is something different.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Trevi Fountain
Walking through Rome, sounds can be a pretty predicable thing: cars honking, people chatting, the wind through the buildings, until, suddenly, sounds of a rushing waterfall?
Yes indeed, the infamous Trevi Fountain. You hear it before you see it and the intriguing sound draws you in till suddenly you’re in a medium piazza with a large fountain, one of the most famous fountains in the world for that matter. Unfortunately, the sounds that brought you here, aided by guidebooks, tour guides, and buses, also brings hundreds of others every single day to this little spot, turning a visit into a nightmare of navigating the crowds and vendors to a suitable spot to take it all in.
The fountain itself is absolutely amazing, to put it lightly. The first time I saw it I couldn’t speak for a moment as my mouth hung open in awe. The smooth white carvings of the massive stone gods give way as crystalline water flows through the course rocks to the sparkling blue waves below. It commands the piazza and from the side Neptune seems to hold up his hand to order his audience into silence.
But no one is listening. They are too busy yelling, stick fighting, staring at their gelato (never buy anything in the piazza while you’re here, about a block away is the best gelato I’ve ever had in Rome, so hold off temptation for this Italian obsession until you’re ready to leave), doing anything and everything except looking at the fountain. Even the people taking pictures do it only as something to cross off their list. For an instant they are as motionless as a statue, but if they just turned around and looked, they would see how true art really moves with such a still force that it is impossible to be captured with a camera. The horses charge toward the crowd and the Tritons strain to hold them still as hundreds of people sit along the cold white seats unaware of the force in front of them. It’s a madhouse of tourism, children climbing on the rocks, police whistles pierce the air, an annoying scent of tobacco everywhere, I’m constantly getting elbowed by someone and am chased out of the center by all the noise, though the second I move an inch, I’m in the way of someone’s picture. A rare few sit and soak in the artwork, and I instantly love them.
Just sit and look at something, just his leg, the musculature, the size, it’s beautiful. The more you look, the more it reveals to you. The coral on the sides, the roughness of the stone, you want to play with it, explore it, this place does not exist for visitors, but for lovers who can’t get close enough. Night falls and light dances off the caves of stone as a warm breeze drifts past. Time doesn’t deter visitors so it is best to find a seat on the side where it’s calm and lose yourself in Nicola Salvi’s masterpiece for a while before heading back into the chaos of the Roman streets.
Yes indeed, the infamous Trevi Fountain. You hear it before you see it and the intriguing sound draws you in till suddenly you’re in a medium piazza with a large fountain, one of the most famous fountains in the world for that matter. Unfortunately, the sounds that brought you here, aided by guidebooks, tour guides, and buses, also brings hundreds of others every single day to this little spot, turning a visit into a nightmare of navigating the crowds and vendors to a suitable spot to take it all in.
The fountain itself is absolutely amazing, to put it lightly. The first time I saw it I couldn’t speak for a moment as my mouth hung open in awe. The smooth white carvings of the massive stone gods give way as crystalline water flows through the course rocks to the sparkling blue waves below. It commands the piazza and from the side Neptune seems to hold up his hand to order his audience into silence.
But no one is listening. They are too busy yelling, stick fighting, staring at their gelato (never buy anything in the piazza while you’re here, about a block away is the best gelato I’ve ever had in Rome, so hold off temptation for this Italian obsession until you’re ready to leave), doing anything and everything except looking at the fountain. Even the people taking pictures do it only as something to cross off their list. For an instant they are as motionless as a statue, but if they just turned around and looked, they would see how true art really moves with such a still force that it is impossible to be captured with a camera. The horses charge toward the crowd and the Tritons strain to hold them still as hundreds of people sit along the cold white seats unaware of the force in front of them. It’s a madhouse of tourism, children climbing on the rocks, police whistles pierce the air, an annoying scent of tobacco everywhere, I’m constantly getting elbowed by someone and am chased out of the center by all the noise, though the second I move an inch, I’m in the way of someone’s picture. A rare few sit and soak in the artwork, and I instantly love them.
Just sit and look at something, just his leg, the musculature, the size, it’s beautiful. The more you look, the more it reveals to you. The coral on the sides, the roughness of the stone, you want to play with it, explore it, this place does not exist for visitors, but for lovers who can’t get close enough. Night falls and light dances off the caves of stone as a warm breeze drifts past. Time doesn’t deter visitors so it is best to find a seat on the side where it’s calm and lose yourself in Nicola Salvi’s masterpiece for a while before heading back into the chaos of the Roman streets.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Gibberish By ME
I’ve noticed that all my writing thus far as been pretty calm and pensive. True, as my teacher said today, blogs tend reveal what your personal style may be, but I’m not sure how much I like this “style” I’ve been following.
So, to break away from that momentarily, I’m going to write a post about Margaret’s recent visit to Rome, in the style of how I would talk to Margaret, if she were still in Rome. And so it begins:
It was a dark and stormy morning when I woke up to my alarm. “da hell???” I was freaking exhausted from a whole night dedicated to not sleeping and I tossed my iphone to the floor before I had this epiphany: that is an iphone, the only one you’re ever gonna get, and you just threw it on the ground.
Shit.
After making sure my baby was okay, I opened the blinds and oh my god, it wasn’t dark and stormy afterall. It was scarily bright and I scarily had to go make breakfast already as my roommate laughed and went back to sleep. Effffffff.
So, I made this toast thing with eggs and a plate under it and ate it with a fork. Yup, that’s right ol’ Margaret, a flippin’ fork. Bet you didn’t see THAT one coming, eh? By the way, never put a piece of bread on a frying pan with eggs and expect that something amazing will come out of it because it doesn’t. You just get some bread-egg thing that tastes like bread. And eggs. And some salt, cuz you put salt in it.
Ok, moving on! Oh my god I thought I was gonna be late because I left with a half hour to spare, which is usually the amount of time I take to get to school which is like half the distance to Margaret’s hotel all the way by the Vatican. And I was like, oh my god, she doesn’t have a phone, what am I going to do? But I got there ten minutes early, so that was weird.
Long story short, we saw stuff. Old stuff, cool stuff, new stuff, and I finally tried using my guidebook, which miffed Margaret because I tried out using a map, which never works in Rome, which I knew, but tried anyway. Also, there was a foot, a freaking marble foot. So marbley and awesome that I couldn’t believe it. Whose foot was it? An emperor? A god? No one knew! Because it was a foot! (Actually, it was probably a god’s they think) Anyway, the utter amazingness of this foot is amazing. It’s probably the best thing in Rome. But I never actually saw it, because ol’ Margaret wanted to take it easy and not obsess over the foot briefly mentioned in the page I opened my guidebook to. But one day, yes, one day, I will find this foot. I will see the glory that is the marble foot of Rome. Yes, and then you shall see, Margaret, you shall see….
And I’m going to stop there, because I just realized I like writing in a more structured way and I’m kinda tired right now anyway. Though I learned some things. What these things are are now in my head and may come out in the numerous writing I have ahead of me. Thank you random blog post.
So, to break away from that momentarily, I’m going to write a post about Margaret’s recent visit to Rome, in the style of how I would talk to Margaret, if she were still in Rome. And so it begins:
It was a dark and stormy morning when I woke up to my alarm. “da hell???” I was freaking exhausted from a whole night dedicated to not sleeping and I tossed my iphone to the floor before I had this epiphany: that is an iphone, the only one you’re ever gonna get, and you just threw it on the ground.
Shit.
After making sure my baby was okay, I opened the blinds and oh my god, it wasn’t dark and stormy afterall. It was scarily bright and I scarily had to go make breakfast already as my roommate laughed and went back to sleep. Effffffff.
So, I made this toast thing with eggs and a plate under it and ate it with a fork. Yup, that’s right ol’ Margaret, a flippin’ fork. Bet you didn’t see THAT one coming, eh? By the way, never put a piece of bread on a frying pan with eggs and expect that something amazing will come out of it because it doesn’t. You just get some bread-egg thing that tastes like bread. And eggs. And some salt, cuz you put salt in it.
Ok, moving on! Oh my god I thought I was gonna be late because I left with a half hour to spare, which is usually the amount of time I take to get to school which is like half the distance to Margaret’s hotel all the way by the Vatican. And I was like, oh my god, she doesn’t have a phone, what am I going to do? But I got there ten minutes early, so that was weird.
Long story short, we saw stuff. Old stuff, cool stuff, new stuff, and I finally tried using my guidebook, which miffed Margaret because I tried out using a map, which never works in Rome, which I knew, but tried anyway. Also, there was a foot, a freaking marble foot. So marbley and awesome that I couldn’t believe it. Whose foot was it? An emperor? A god? No one knew! Because it was a foot! (Actually, it was probably a god’s they think) Anyway, the utter amazingness of this foot is amazing. It’s probably the best thing in Rome. But I never actually saw it, because ol’ Margaret wanted to take it easy and not obsess over the foot briefly mentioned in the page I opened my guidebook to. But one day, yes, one day, I will find this foot. I will see the glory that is the marble foot of Rome. Yes, and then you shall see, Margaret, you shall see….
And I’m going to stop there, because I just realized I like writing in a more structured way and I’m kinda tired right now anyway. Though I learned some things. What these things are are now in my head and may come out in the numerous writing I have ahead of me. Thank you random blog post.
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