I've done the thing I said I wouldn't, which is not being on top of the whole "semi-regular posting" thing. The past few weeks got a bit hectic and, as always, time has flown much faster than expected. Which means it's already spring break and I'm sitting in a modest flat in Athens typing this on my phone, missing London just a little bit, but getting excited to look at a ton of old stuff tomorrow and Saturday.
I spent the first half of the week in Rome, exploring the Eternal City almost entirely on foot, having a pasta-piphany (which is the symptomatic enlightenment that occurs when one eats the best bolognese of his or her life), munching on artisanal pizza, fumbling through the language while attempting to remedy my incompetence with patchwork AP Spanish, and catching up with two of my best St. Lawrence friends.
I'd wager that Rome tops the hypothetical list of most desirable getaways. It's romantic, picturesque, steeped in ancient history and aged beautifully and robustly. Additionally, us mangy millennials covet a special Roman fantasy heavily influenced by the seminal classic, Disney's The Lizzie McGuire Movie, in which title character and charming heroine Lizzie embarks on an uncanny adventure, zipping through the winding streets on a Vespa, trying on designer clothes in a goofy music montage showcase of eclectic outfits, and is ultimately mistaken for an Italian born, international pop sensation. There's self discovery and a long awaited romance, all sealed with a kiss at twilight. It also has a killer soundtrack, which played on a continuous loop during a decent chunk of my preteen years. And so, my travel/romance/tween fantasy fulfillment expectations set impossibly high, I hit the cobblestone to make the most of my four days in Roma.
I stayed in a neighborhood called Trastevere, home of the Basilicia di Santa Maria and it's accompanying Piazza. One could wander the ancient streets for hours and never lose the feeling of being utterly smitten with the colorful terraced buildings, tucked away bars, and lively piazzas, where students, tourists, and locals gather. The best way to find stuff in Rome is to stumble upon it. Eventually, you find what you're looking for or you find something else and it's exciting because you've found it through your own, semi. This, I found, is a very Roman philosophy. Hold the hustle and bustle, lay on the leisure.
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| I was totally charmed by Trastevere and definitely overdid it on the artsy street shots. |
Of course, there is no shame in consulting a good old fashioned guide book. Particularly for the many of us that find certainty=sanity. I navigated by guide book, map, Gabby (my SLU roomie), and once by flashlight and tour guide during and excursion through the catacombs where Saint Cecilia was buried (oldest Christian cemetery in Rome!).
On day one, I ambled (though my ambling pace was considerably quicker and more destination oriented than my Italian counterparts') to the center of Rome, stopping for espresso twice along the way. Once the second bitter-sweet shot of caffeinated gold hit I was not only ready to walk the original Marathon but super psyched about the Roman Forum, Rome's first meeting and marketplace where ancient Romans bought and sold goods. It's remarkable how well preserved this area is; one can easily envision the daily activities that took place amidst the crumbled stalls and columns.
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| Even though it's a forum, I think it deserves *five* stars |
Side note: there so many ruins just around Rome. While traversing the streets through alleys and piazzas, I was constantly passing by ancient architecture. But, whatever, just casually passing another ancient ruin from the 3rd century. Oh, is that just more tangible proof of a highly skilled and advanced society millennia before our modern technology and construction tools and dependence on digital screens? No big deal. Mere lawn ornaments.
Anyway, I headed in the general direction of the Pantheon, admired the famous dome and temple front, and then wandered until I encountered the masses at the Trevi Fountain, where I was a minority as one of a few other tourists without a selfie stick. The fountain itself is enchanting. Completely pristine white marble. Hunky Roman heroes, chiseled to classical perfection. The whole intriguing sea/horse metaphor, in which the panicky, wild horse on the left represents a rough sea and the placid, tame horse to the right a calm one. It would be a perfect backdrop for a happy love story if the imaginary lovers weren't constantly at risk of getting selfie-sticked (which is the term for when one is impaled by a waywardly wielded prosthetic appendage used for the sole purpose of photographing oneself with his or her iPhone) Anyway, I tossed in a five pence coin and a wish deep from my heart of hearts (that WAS NOT to return in eight to ten years to my own Trevi Fountain romance scene) and was off.
That night, I wandered Trastevere in search of artisanal pizza and founded it at Ivo Trastevere, where I also savored a fried zucchini flower- crispy, melty, and cheesy, a truly tantalizing trifecta of taste. I went for a white pizza with salmon, arugula, Pecorino Romano, and roe. It was salty and crunchy and I shamelessly devoured the whole damn thing. Add arugula to anything and it instantly becomes a health food.
Day two involved another wandering session throughout Trastevere, which was quickly becoming my favorite place in the area, and a trek to the Vatican. I'm not a particularly religious person, but so much of faith is spirituality, and St. Peter's Basilica is magnificent enough to inspire the good spirit in even the unholiest of visitors... Probably. First of all, it's absolutely massive. Secondly, it positively glows. When the stained glass and gold leaf are infused by sunlight, the atmosphere is illuminated by a welcoming warmth.
I also climbed 520 steps to the top of the Basilica for a heightened, panoramic view of Rome. At this point, I was thankful for both the espresso and the countless hours of endurance work I've put in as a runner. After a fine showing of stair climbing prestige, I'm proud to announce that I'll be representing the US in the First Annual St. Peter's Basilica Stair Olympics. Currently looking for sponsors.
Anyway, the view was stunning and breath stealing and almost dizzying if it wasn't so interesting. I could have gazed across the Vatican and beyond at the crowded landscape for hours. It's a transfixing mosaic of grand domed roofs and terraced houses, winding streets dotted with cyprus spruce trees, and intermittent patches of verdant greenery, all melding together and sprawling out toward the mountains in the distance. Eventually, I got most of my marveling out and descended back down to inhabit the mosaic again.
And before you ask, no, I did not see the Sistine Chapel. I know, "how can you go to The Vatican and not see the Sistine Chapel?" I'll tell you how. Sometimes, one just has to draw the line when the queue is too insufferable. This is an admittedly lame excuse, considering Michelangelo spent four years suffering the physical pain of the world's worst neck crick and going nearly blind while painting the masterpiece. But alas.
In the evening (after refueling with yet another pizza, this time with fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, folded like a sandwich to go) I met up with friends at an enoteca, where Gabby (who has been taking a wine class) assembled an excellent pairing of wines and cheeses for us to sample. We tried two wines, both from the north, one red and one white with some complimentary northern cheeses. A brie, a Pecorino Romano, a blue (I think), and another one that was baked and warm and creamy. When a wine and cheese are paired well, one should be left with a clean palette- no unsavory aftertaste or sour-sweetness lingering on the tongue. It wasn't until we had left the enoteca and, feeling a little flushed and giddy from the tasting, I realized that my palette was completely clean. I have composed a formal letter to Gabby's wine professor insisting she deserves a 4.0 for her impeccable demonstration of gastronomic knowledge in the subject. Also the fact that this counted as homework is baffling in the best possible way. Which means I'll also be composing a formal suggestion to the SLU London Programme insisting they consider adding an intensive course-study on fish and chips. Or bangers and mash. Or pudding (which is English for dessert. And Brits love their desserts. See: Great British Bake Off).
Day three began with a rainy hike to the top of Gianicolo, which is sandwiched between Trastevere and the Vatican. I hid under a tiny archway for about 10 minutes while puddles widened on the cobblestone. Gianicolo is a little bit off the beaten path, and it was a sleepy morning. The rain brought a temporary hush as wispy gray clouds swept over the tiny homes and stirring streets. Also, there were no gypsies around to push a cheap umbrella and/or selfie stick on me, a welcome reprieve from their constant presence near popular tourist sites. Eventually, the sun broke over the city again, and the uphill trek and rain delay was worth it.
Next stop, Colosseum (after another casual ruins-appreciation stroll). It also happened to be International Women's Day, so I got in completely free! Props to all the International Women who saved me €8 that day (but, let's be honest, every day should be International Women's Day, am I right, ladies?). The Colosseum is as massive and astounding and you'd imagine. The sturdy walls have seen everything. From battles to the death between gladiators and wild beasts, to visits from the Pope, to a frenzied arrest after some miscreant tried to carve his name into the stone. And it still maintains its grandeur and dignity. I really hope I age as well as Ancient Rome. Perhaps the most amazing thing, however, is all the languages, nations, and countries represented among the tourists that visit. Though everyone communicates a bit differently, we all want to be humbled or stunned in the presence of something incredible. Awe is a unifying experience.
For my final excursion of the day, I trekked along Appia Antica to the Christian burial site/catacombs where Saint Cecilia was buried. This would probably go in my "absolute must do activities in Rome that don't involve battling with selfie-sticks for viewing space" list. I was the last tour of the day, along with two other English speakers. We descended into the subterranean obscurity and were guided past graves of varying sizes (smaller for infants and larger for adults). The catacombs occupy about 90 acres and four levels underground, and the ancient Romans maximized every last corner and nook of space. It was, oxymoronically, pleasantly eerie. Our guide pointed out remarkably well preserved frescoes, a few of which date back to the 3rd century, decorating the crypts of popes and wealthy families. The ordinary graves are dug into the wall and covered with plaster, so there are multiple rows on one wall. It resembles a slightly macabre dormitory, which is exactly what it was intended to be (minus the macabre)- simply a resting place before ascending to the next life. Kind of peaceful, really. We did get to see some exposed bone fragments, however. Apparently, all other pieces had been removed from the level that's open to the public, either by archaeologists or curious tourists who beat them to it and pocketed rather grim souvenirs.
Later that night (considerably later- Romans eat late and stay long), I met up with Gabby and Sydney for authentic Italian specialities in a homey little hole in the wall place to the east of Via Trastevere (less touristy than the west) called Da Enzo. Gabby and I split a carafe of their house red wine, and the three of us piqued our palettes with a crispy fried artichoke- a dish influenced by local Jewish culture. The main course was absolutely divine. We ordered three dishes to split and spent the following twenty minutes attempting to maintain the self control necessary to allot the meal the thoughtful savoring it deserved but also battling the urge to reenact Meg Ryan's famous When Harry Met Sally restaurant scene in order to adequately convey out satisfaction. Gabby insisted on the bolognese, Sydney the amatriciana, and we all agreed to try the tripe, based on a recommendation from one of Gabby's professors. The pasta was cooked al dente, as it is in most Italian restaurants, to the perfect degree of slight chewiness. The bolognese, which is properly made with egg yolk and not cream, was still creamy and buttery and the porchetta basically tasted like meat candy. I give equally rave reviews to the amatriciana, which is served with tender pieces of pork cheek, and the tripe, which practically melted in my mouth. I would have been perfectly satisfied to drown in any of the sauces and spend my sweet (and savory) final hours in the aforementioned pasta-piphany bliss. Fresh ingredients and perfect portion sizes made for a hearty, filling, and comforting meal.
By far the best part of the evening was getting to sit down with two of my favorite humans in that tiny spot where each of our European adventures intersected. Rome, while mysterious and seductive and dazzling in many respects, can be frustrating. It is a city that has seen so much time that it seems to disregard it, or has at least adapted it to its own design. There are thousands of years in the streets, what difference does it make if the tram is 15 minutes late? The unhurried attitude toward everything from public transportation to dining to customer service feels tedious and exasperating, especially combined with the mass movement of visitors and locals throughout the city on a daily basis. This was a culture shock until I conceded to the uncertainty and (after promptly deciding to abandon a reliance on public transport) reveled in lengthy strolls from points A to B. And one thing the Romans do especially well is dine. I would argue that, of all the great art to emerge from Italy, the art of the languid, endless dinner is the most universally appreciated. It's one that takes a bit of patience to fully perfect, but doing so means getting the most out of the food and the company it's being shared with. It's good for the soul- fortifying for the body and the kinship around the table. We talked about everything and caught up through the main meal and a delectable tiramisu and it was just like being cozied up in our dorm room at SLU (only I wouldn't eat the tripe at SLU). By the time we'd scraped the tiramisu dish clean, split the tab, and reluctantly got up to go, my watch read 11:30, a bitter reminder that time still exists in Rome, though much of its beauty seems to be frozen in it. But, to our credit, we sat and ate and talked for almost three hours, so I'd say we nailed the whole "cultural immersion" thing. Though for a place called the Eternal City, you'd like it'd have a little eternity to spare.
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| "Drove my Chevy to the Trevi 'cuz the levy was dry."-Don McLean, after visiting ancient Rome. |
Day two involved another wandering session throughout Trastevere, which was quickly becoming my favorite place in the area, and a trek to the Vatican. I'm not a particularly religious person, but so much of faith is spirituality, and St. Peter's Basilica is magnificent enough to inspire the good spirit in even the unholiest of visitors... Probably. First of all, it's absolutely massive. Secondly, it positively glows. When the stained glass and gold leaf are infused by sunlight, the atmosphere is illuminated by a welcoming warmth.
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| Basking in the beauty of the Basilica. There were countless languages and nationalities represented among the varied visitors to this sacred space. |
Anyway, the view was stunning and breath stealing and almost dizzying if it wasn't so interesting. I could have gazed across the Vatican and beyond at the crowded landscape for hours. It's a transfixing mosaic of grand domed roofs and terraced houses, winding streets dotted with cyprus spruce trees, and intermittent patches of verdant greenery, all melding together and sprawling out toward the mountains in the distance. Eventually, I got most of my marveling out and descended back down to inhabit the mosaic again.
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| I went to Rome and got super high (pictured, the Vatican and everything else). |
In the evening (after refueling with yet another pizza, this time with fresh tomatoes and mozzarella, folded like a sandwich to go) I met up with friends at an enoteca, where Gabby (who has been taking a wine class) assembled an excellent pairing of wines and cheeses for us to sample. We tried two wines, both from the north, one red and one white with some complimentary northern cheeses. A brie, a Pecorino Romano, a blue (I think), and another one that was baked and warm and creamy. When a wine and cheese are paired well, one should be left with a clean palette- no unsavory aftertaste or sour-sweetness lingering on the tongue. It wasn't until we had left the enoteca and, feeling a little flushed and giddy from the tasting, I realized that my palette was completely clean. I have composed a formal letter to Gabby's wine professor insisting she deserves a 4.0 for her impeccable demonstration of gastronomic knowledge in the subject. Also the fact that this counted as homework is baffling in the best possible way. Which means I'll also be composing a formal suggestion to the SLU London Programme insisting they consider adding an intensive course-study on fish and chips. Or bangers and mash. Or pudding (which is English for dessert. And Brits love their desserts. See: Great British Bake Off).
Day three began with a rainy hike to the top of Gianicolo, which is sandwiched between Trastevere and the Vatican. I hid under a tiny archway for about 10 minutes while puddles widened on the cobblestone. Gianicolo is a little bit off the beaten path, and it was a sleepy morning. The rain brought a temporary hush as wispy gray clouds swept over the tiny homes and stirring streets. Also, there were no gypsies around to push a cheap umbrella and/or selfie stick on me, a welcome reprieve from their constant presence near popular tourist sites. Eventually, the sun broke over the city again, and the uphill trek and rain delay was worth it.
Next stop, Colosseum (after another casual ruins-appreciation stroll). It also happened to be International Women's Day, so I got in completely free! Props to all the International Women who saved me €8 that day (but, let's be honest, every day should be International Women's Day, am I right, ladies?). The Colosseum is as massive and astounding and you'd imagine. The sturdy walls have seen everything. From battles to the death between gladiators and wild beasts, to visits from the Pope, to a frenzied arrest after some miscreant tried to carve his name into the stone. And it still maintains its grandeur and dignity. I really hope I age as well as Ancient Rome. Perhaps the most amazing thing, however, is all the languages, nations, and countries represented among the tourists that visit. Though everyone communicates a bit differently, we all want to be humbled or stunned in the presence of something incredible. Awe is a unifying experience.
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| 1,946 years and a few blood battles to the death later and still pretty damn spectacular. |
Later that night (considerably later- Romans eat late and stay long), I met up with Gabby and Sydney for authentic Italian specialities in a homey little hole in the wall place to the east of Via Trastevere (less touristy than the west) called Da Enzo. Gabby and I split a carafe of their house red wine, and the three of us piqued our palettes with a crispy fried artichoke- a dish influenced by local Jewish culture. The main course was absolutely divine. We ordered three dishes to split and spent the following twenty minutes attempting to maintain the self control necessary to allot the meal the thoughtful savoring it deserved but also battling the urge to reenact Meg Ryan's famous When Harry Met Sally restaurant scene in order to adequately convey out satisfaction. Gabby insisted on the bolognese, Sydney the amatriciana, and we all agreed to try the tripe, based on a recommendation from one of Gabby's professors. The pasta was cooked al dente, as it is in most Italian restaurants, to the perfect degree of slight chewiness. The bolognese, which is properly made with egg yolk and not cream, was still creamy and buttery and the porchetta basically tasted like meat candy. I give equally rave reviews to the amatriciana, which is served with tender pieces of pork cheek, and the tripe, which practically melted in my mouth. I would have been perfectly satisfied to drown in any of the sauces and spend my sweet (and savory) final hours in the aforementioned pasta-piphany bliss. Fresh ingredients and perfect portion sizes made for a hearty, filling, and comforting meal.
By far the best part of the evening was getting to sit down with two of my favorite humans in that tiny spot where each of our European adventures intersected. Rome, while mysterious and seductive and dazzling in many respects, can be frustrating. It is a city that has seen so much time that it seems to disregard it, or has at least adapted it to its own design. There are thousands of years in the streets, what difference does it make if the tram is 15 minutes late? The unhurried attitude toward everything from public transportation to dining to customer service feels tedious and exasperating, especially combined with the mass movement of visitors and locals throughout the city on a daily basis. This was a culture shock until I conceded to the uncertainty and (after promptly deciding to abandon a reliance on public transport) reveled in lengthy strolls from points A to B. And one thing the Romans do especially well is dine. I would argue that, of all the great art to emerge from Italy, the art of the languid, endless dinner is the most universally appreciated. It's one that takes a bit of patience to fully perfect, but doing so means getting the most out of the food and the company it's being shared with. It's good for the soul- fortifying for the body and the kinship around the table. We talked about everything and caught up through the main meal and a delectable tiramisu and it was just like being cozied up in our dorm room at SLU (only I wouldn't eat the tripe at SLU). By the time we'd scraped the tiramisu dish clean, split the tab, and reluctantly got up to go, my watch read 11:30, a bitter reminder that time still exists in Rome, though much of its beauty seems to be frozen in it. But, to our credit, we sat and ate and talked for almost three hours, so I'd say we nailed the whole "cultural immersion" thing. Though for a place called the Eternal City, you'd like it'd have a little eternity to spare.
On my final day, I slept late, did more wandering, and met up with Gabby and Sydney near the Spanish steps for some quality people watching and then a long walk through the Villa Borghese gardens, an sprawling and verdant property which houses the late Borghese's art collection, among other equally impressive villas. At this point, I was only a Vespa and chain-smoking habit short of fully assimilating to the Roman lifestyle. We sat down for apertivo at around five, which is basically a happy hour thing in which you get a little snack or appetizer with each round of drinks. I ordered a glass of Prosecco from THE motherland of Prosecco, Veneto. I have just now dubbed myself a connoisseur of cheap Prosecco, and even though it's hard to compete with Costco's Kirkland brand of the bubbly stuff, I'm gonna have to give Italy the win for this one.
We apertivo'd for a good two hours and stayed well after the the fuzzy affect of the bubbles and wine had come and gone to our heads. Then, not ready to part ways and in want of something sweet, we found a gelato place that met Gabby's Essential Statute of Gelato Limitations, which are as follows:
Do not offer patronage to a gelato establishment if a.) a small is more than 2 euro and b.) one is not allowed at least two different flavors in a small. There are gelato places on every corner in Rome, so its important to have very specific standards in order to ensure one is getting the most bang for her buck. We found a bright little place and got our fix and, essentially, I had Nutella and caramel gelato for dinner. Later that night, Sydney and I met up again for drinks at a local bar in Trastevere until a drunk, bearded backpacker repeatedly stumbled into our conversation and we decided to call it for an evening. We both had early flights the next day.
Rome is very much a twilight zone. Sydney commented that being there for the semester sometimes feels like "living in someone else's vacation," which can definitely get exhausting. Hordes of people come to look and leave (just imagine the place at Easter), looking for an "authentic" experience and taking the same pictures as everyone else. Meanwhile, the whole atmosphere has been altered to attract, convenience, and extract money from tourists- lights, handicap accessible ramps, bathrooms, cafes, tours, souvenir shops. And there are gypsies all over the place, buzzing about like mosquitos trying to force flowers into the hands of unassuming tourists or trying to push selfie sticks/umbrellas on those who appeared to be lacking. I learned immediately that a pointed lack of eye contact and a touch of resting bitch face, paired with a purposeful stride, usually kept them from swarming. Still, I think there should be a law against the aggressive peddling of selfie sticks in sacred spaces, namely the Vatican (if you can't tell, my mind is still a little blown by the prevalence of selfie sticks. As humans continue to evolve, we will develop a new appendage solely for the taking of selfies). I kept asking myself "why am I looking at this?" Why was it important for me to see the Colosseum? Did it make me a better person to tour the Vatican (the answer: doubtful)? Sometimes, I felt self conscious of my tourist-ness- embarrassed when I couldn't speak Italian or when I gawked at a national architectural treasure.
Now (nearly three weeks later) in the end, I've come to terms with the fact that, when visiting famous places and sites, I may never be able to carve out a truly, purely authentic experience. But that's because I'm not an ancient roman selling oranges in the forum or an armored gladiator waiting in the wings of the Colosseum. And that's perfectly fine. In fact, I kind of prefer being me.
There is definitely a novelty to seeing all the things we're taught in history books and art classes, and to feel connected to an ancient civilization. Like I said earlier, awe is unifying. It brings us together, regardless of class or language or culture. Also, looking at super old stuff is just pretty damn cool.
We apertivo'd for a good two hours and stayed well after the the fuzzy affect of the bubbles and wine had come and gone to our heads. Then, not ready to part ways and in want of something sweet, we found a gelato place that met Gabby's Essential Statute of Gelato Limitations, which are as follows:
Do not offer patronage to a gelato establishment if a.) a small is more than 2 euro and b.) one is not allowed at least two different flavors in a small. There are gelato places on every corner in Rome, so its important to have very specific standards in order to ensure one is getting the most bang for her buck. We found a bright little place and got our fix and, essentially, I had Nutella and caramel gelato for dinner. Later that night, Sydney and I met up again for drinks at a local bar in Trastevere until a drunk, bearded backpacker repeatedly stumbled into our conversation and we decided to call it for an evening. We both had early flights the next day.
Rome is very much a twilight zone. Sydney commented that being there for the semester sometimes feels like "living in someone else's vacation," which can definitely get exhausting. Hordes of people come to look and leave (just imagine the place at Easter), looking for an "authentic" experience and taking the same pictures as everyone else. Meanwhile, the whole atmosphere has been altered to attract, convenience, and extract money from tourists- lights, handicap accessible ramps, bathrooms, cafes, tours, souvenir shops. And there are gypsies all over the place, buzzing about like mosquitos trying to force flowers into the hands of unassuming tourists or trying to push selfie sticks/umbrellas on those who appeared to be lacking. I learned immediately that a pointed lack of eye contact and a touch of resting bitch face, paired with a purposeful stride, usually kept them from swarming. Still, I think there should be a law against the aggressive peddling of selfie sticks in sacred spaces, namely the Vatican (if you can't tell, my mind is still a little blown by the prevalence of selfie sticks. As humans continue to evolve, we will develop a new appendage solely for the taking of selfies). I kept asking myself "why am I looking at this?" Why was it important for me to see the Colosseum? Did it make me a better person to tour the Vatican (the answer: doubtful)? Sometimes, I felt self conscious of my tourist-ness- embarrassed when I couldn't speak Italian or when I gawked at a national architectural treasure.
Now (nearly three weeks later) in the end, I've come to terms with the fact that, when visiting famous places and sites, I may never be able to carve out a truly, purely authentic experience. But that's because I'm not an ancient roman selling oranges in the forum or an armored gladiator waiting in the wings of the Colosseum. And that's perfectly fine. In fact, I kind of prefer being me.
There is definitely a novelty to seeing all the things we're taught in history books and art classes, and to feel connected to an ancient civilization. Like I said earlier, awe is unifying. It brings us together, regardless of class or language or culture. Also, looking at super old stuff is just pretty damn cool.
