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Colosseum in Rome by Jeff Moriarty
The first step in the Caesar Shuffle is the Colosseum. I had seen pictures of the site on TV as early as February and I was not expecting to be “Wowed”. I figured the pictures and guide books only showed the good side and the rest would be tumbled down. I was mistaken and I couldn’t be more delighted to be wrong. The arches high overhead that mark the entrances to the building were magnificent. They really give you a sense of how 50,000 people could be moved in and out for an afternoon of games and entertainment. You can see how designs of current sports arenas were influenced by Roman ingenuity.
Step two is Palatine Hill. The birthplace of Rome tells the tale of Romulus and Remus of Augustus and Julius. Part of the House of Augustus tour gives you access to three rooms that have been restored with the original frescoes uncovered. The artwork is a vibrant red with tall columns and haunting figures of Romans with only sketches to define their forms. One was rumored to be Augustus’ study. What decisions were made where I am standing that affected 2,000 years of civilization? We stop and ponder over a picnic of olives, cheese and fruit that we brought on our trek.
Step three is the Forum. The layers of history are evident. When we think of history we think in terms of 18th century or in some cases 20th century. Here we are talking about 100 years BC or 2,100 years ago when 1,000,000 Romans inhabited the space where we stood. As facades were built around old temples and Roman architecture others were buried by years of neglect and “progress”. The result is a jumble of ancient sites that overwhelm the senses with a swirl of marble and brick. One particularly poignant site was the Temple of Caesar. A stream of people stopped to pay their respects to a man that crossed a river, ended a republic and altered the face of the Western World.
We had a fantastic time doing the shuffle with Julius and the crew. My impression of how ancient Roman men and women lived has changed. I thought they were simple people who were led around by whatever idol was handy and ritual was popular. I found that they were as vicious as any present day politician and I would not want to meet them in a dark alley.
I have a new found respect for Italian women (minus one – I’ll explain in a minute) for two reasons:
Now, to the minus one… I was entering Piazza Navona after a trip to the hotel room and was presented with a woman who asked everyone passing in the opposite direction a question in Italian that I translated to be a request for money. She wore a white blond wig with bright pink bangs. Given her appearance and questionable mental state, I was hanging back and giving her space. It became necessary for me to pass her and thank goodness I gave her a wide berth as she tried to spit on me.
One does not ruin the image of sophistication and funky fashion that is the Italian woman for me.
(Note: This is Dannie’s take. Jeff’s take on Italian women will have to wait a bit…)
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One thing you know I had to have noticed is dogs in Italy. When dogs are such a big part of daily routine, it is hard to be away for any length of time without experiencing pooch withdrawal. You begin to look for furry surrogates to pet and you can usually work up to the occasional snorgle. Here in Italy, the snorgle has been elusive and even pets do not seem to be encouraged. So far, I have only experienced one pet that turned into a half snorgle with a French Bulldog outside of a restaurant. I don’t know his name and we have never seen each other again.
There are many breeds here in Italy. Smaller dogs seem to be the norm. We have seen quite a few Pugs, Poodles and Dachshunds. We saw a pug with long hair like a Pomeranian. On the larger side, we have seen one Dalmatian, a Golden Retriever and an Afghan Hound. Curiously we have only seen one Italian Greyhound.
There is no grass in Rome unless you go much farther afield. The dogs here learn to do their business on the cobblestones of the city. Despite that, the streets are kept quite clean due to diligent dog owners who follow along with bags at the ready. Dogs being slaves to their instincts, they still try to bury the evidence by scratching the cobblestones. Perhaps I could offer to pick up after a dog in exchange for a snorgle.
In Naples, stray dogs of all types roam the city. One particularly tenacious pair was staked out at the food court in the train station. Looking for scraps of food, they barked and snapped if you tried to move past them without the proper offering of a morsel. In Pompeii, stray dogs were given the run of the ruins. You would think that stray dogs would be the perfect quick snorgle. They don’t get a lot of affection and there are no owners to be concerned if you approach their precious Gigi with outstretched hands. This is not the case. We think the dogs in Pompeii had recently been fed because all of them were stretched out in a patch of sun sleeping. One in particular who looked a little like Monty with similar markings was sleeping in the flower bed at the entrance. It was difficult not to wake him to see if he was friendly.
So, I keep looking for a sympathetic owner who will recognize the tell tale soft liquid look of a fellow dog lover in distress and let me have a pity snorgle with their furry friend.
Our fourth day we woke (very) early and caught the express train from Rome down to Naples. We thought we might snooze on the way but ended up in a compartment with fairly talkative Americans. George and his friend “Sid” (Some Italian Dude) were both from New Jersey. George had been backpacking around Europe for several months, and Sid had come over for a few weeks to see Italy and meet some distant cousins of his in Naples. We talked about Italy (all liked it), which country was the friendliest to tourists (Germany), whether Americans were actually rude tourists or if we just got associated with our country (both), and where the Statue of Liberty is really located (New Jersey).
From Naples we caught a commuter train down to the ruins of Pompeii. We got seriously confused trying to buy a ticket for the commuter train, but Dannie made friends with a homeless, toothless man who insisted, no, demanded that he help us. After defacing our travel guide and yelling at us, we ditched him and found the long walkway down to the commuter train. It was here that we jumped on entirely the wrong train.
Realizing we were screwed shortly after the doors closed, some very helpful locals who spoke very little English helped us figure out how to get back on track. There were some stressful minutes on a very nasty, dirty station in the middle of nowhere, but it all worked out.
I’ve always been fascinated by ancient things, so Pompeii was basically a must-stop for us. I knew a lot about the history, but was surprised at how large the excavation was or how much they let you wander around. We picked up a free booklet and set out for three hours of wandering the bumpy cobblestones.
After the size, the biggest surprise for me was how little had changed in 2,000 years. The streets were a grid, with major thoroughfares, side streets, one ways, and pedestrian walkways. There were sidewalks. Little houses and apartments butted up against huge homes. Bakeries made bread for street vendors to sell. Fast food shops (McPompeii’s?) lined the major streets where people could grab a quick bite and get back to work.
Strangely it was the streets that made the place real for me. Every day Pompeii flooded the streets to wash them clean throughout the city. So across the end of each street they put large stones that were the height of the sidewalk and shorter than the width of a chariot. That way pedestrians could walk across when the streets were flooded, and the chariots could drive over the top. To the side of each of these stones were ruts dugs into the hard cobbles by the chariot wheels. It was such a little thing, yet so practical and real that it somehow made it all hit home more than the crumbling walls and pillars. Twenty thousand people.
Many of the buildings were in amazing shape, with the images still clearly visible on the wall. The Pompeii citizenry was much less hung up on the topic of sex than we are today. One building had a large picture of Priapus, weighing his… asset… on a scale. It was a blessing of fertility and prosperity. The brothel had pictures on the walls of many different sexual positions, possibly for use as a menu for customers.
Pompeii is home to a large number of stray dogs. Friendly and pretty darned cute (if a little scruffy) they snoozed in the shade and gardens of ancient homes. Crowds going by didn’t disturb them in the least until they got hungry.
We caught the train back to Naples with no wrong turns this time, and took some time to poke around Naples near the train station. Similar to Rome but a little grittier, maybe on a future trip we can spend more time. We rolled into Rome about 9:00pm (Dannie slept most of the way), and tried some more wine and another Cuban cigar until we basically passed out. Another good day.
(We’re adding to our photoset each day here)
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I love coffee in Italy. I’m a light coffee drinker, and enjoy a good espresso from time to time, but more often favor sweeter drinks like lattes and mochas. I try to frequent independent coffee shops, but Starbuck’s is fine in a pinch.
In Rome coffee shops are little bars. You pay the cashier for what you want (cafe espresso, capuccino, etc), then take the ticket to the bar. The barista takes the ticket and whips out a saucer and spoon. A few moments later your drink appears. Drink it up then make way for the next customer. The barista does nothing but make coffee, and never has to handle the dirty money and keep washing his hands.
And the coffee is just so very good. I’ve had one bitter shot the whole time I’ve been here, and even tiny little places make better shots than I get anywhere in Arizona. The cappucinos are my favorite, with a light foam that’s worlds different from the heavy stuff I’m used to. On the funny side, I’m obviously enough of an American that they keep assuming I want “cafe americano” or “American coffee” and I have to clearly ask for the espresso.
I wish we had places like this in the US. Maybe in large malls or some place you could get lots of walk-up traffic to help it catch on. I’d go out of my way for coffee like this regularly, and I am sure others would, too.
I’m also fascinated by how people smoke cigarettes here. First, it seems like everyone smokes. Babies smoke. Dogs smoke. Most of the statues smoke. The difference is many of them smoke as an accessory rather than just for a fix. I’ve seen both men and women chain smoking to keep themselves hopping, but I also see many people light a cigarette and just wave it around for emphasis and punctuation, barely taking a puff or two. Women seem to do this more than men, and I’ve found that as much as I dislike cigarettes they can actually make it quite sexy. Freudian metaphor at work on my subconscious? Maybe, but it still connects. I just wish it wasn’t so stinky. Or so fatal. But other than that it’s pretty cool.
St. Peter’s Basilica; Yeah it’s a church… I especially liked the comparison of the largest churches in Europe laid out with markers on the floor showing how much larger St. Peter’s is by comparison. It’s the proverbial pissing match of Christendom. Seriously though, there is no other way to really grasp size and scope of St. Peter’s Basilica. Six acres of dead popes, giant statues, shiny carvings, and glittery relics. We were stunned beyond words. I had to remind Jeff to take pictures. At one point, we were trying to get a picture of the papal altar with the bronze canopy and we had to keep backing up to get the whole thing in.
Yes, there were more dead popes around. I’m really curious how many bodies are in this place, including, of course, the supposed remains of Saint Peter himself. You can see the glowing hole that leads down to his burial area, but it isn’t open to the public.
No less impressive than the whole rest of the building is La Pieta to the right of the entrace. One of Michaelangelo’s masterpieces (I think even the stains on his dinner napkins were heralded as masterpieces, but this one is legit) it rests behind bulletproof glass after a fool smashed at it with a hammer in the 70s. How anyone can pull something so beautiful from a block of marble completely escapes me. Amazing.
I don’t care which religion you are or what you believe, you really must see St Peters if you are in Rome.
Then we got the brilliant idea to climb to the top of the dome of St Peters. You take a lift to the bottom of the dome where you get an amazing view of the inside of the church below. Then you climb the staircase of doom to get to the very top. It starts out narrow and steep, then gets narrower and steeper. Then you think “Holy crap, this is the narrowest and steepest thing I’ve ever climbed,” and it gets narrower and steeper. At one point it is so narrow you have to lean on the curvature of the dome to keep walking – the whole hallways leans in. Then it goes up a winding staircase where only your toes can fit on each step, and you have to hold a vertical rope to keep yourself balanced.
The view at the top is astounding. You want to enjoy it as long as possible for the sheer grandeur, and to postpone having to do the stair thing in reverse. Fortunately there are separate stairs doing down (just as tiny) that prevents traffic jams. As we went down a small boy was shrieking in terror as his parents tried to tell him he had to go down the stairs again to get out. He is probably still up there judging from his take on things.
This also turned our already wobbily legs into tapioca. Painful, shrapnel filled tapioca. I bought a knee brace to help my aching right knee, and Dannie made odd grunting sounds every time we came to a step.
We went to a wine bar to medicate ourselves, and by a seriously bizarre coincidence the owner has a good friend in Phoenix who ran an Italian restaurant. The place is Marcellino Ristorante at 1301 East Northern Ave, which we’re going to have to try when we get back into town.
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My name is Jeff Moriarty, and this is my personal blog. It has no intent beyond a place to express myself, and no warranty is expressed or implied for the content you may find within. More...
