When in Rome

There was only one thing on my ‘absolute musts’ list when I went to Rome and I was determined not to go home without experiencing it. I was fitting in the Eternal City around commitments on a business trip. It was hard to make time for the glories that I knew to be around me, although the warm evenings after meetings were more comfortable for sight-seeing than the baking heat of day. As a first timer in the city I had done what I always do: researched as much as I could before setting off so that I could have the best possible time and not waste a minute. I had a notebook full of ideas and addresses and I had bought a map as soon as I arrived at the airport, to help me find my way to the gems I had identified.

It would have been impossible to see everything in just a few days, during snatched hours between report writing and emailing my office, but I had pages of potential sights to ensure that I would always be near something I could enjoy and treasure. I had already found many of the wonders detailed there. In The Pantheon, with its miraculous concrete dome that demonstrates the building skills of the ancients who established the city, I had sat on a wooden seat and craned my head back to see a tiny hole so far above me. The roof thickness tapers towards its top and the mortar is mixed with lighter materials to reduce the burden on the arches beneath, ending in a circular gap where the light passes in a bright column to the floor. The dome forms a perfect half sphere and I was so delighted by its geometry that I forgot where I was, and I had to keep rubbing my neck after I left because it hurt to look around at ground level.

I discovered very little more of Ancient Rome, although I found the towering Trajan’s column as I wandered near the Forum, deciding whether to spend time among the ruined market area or to continue my exploration of the Baroque city. The triumphal pillar commemorates the victories of a pagan conqueror and yet, like so many other structures in Rome, it is now surmounted by the statue of a Christian saint. The stately Piazza Navona owes its shape to the stadium that once stood on the same site. Its elongated oval, now covered by a road, was the race track, and the central section would have held monuments and altars to the gods. A tiny section of the original wall is still visible beneath a church at one end, a pleasant surprise that my study of the city guides had failed to reveal. Today the central section holds delightful fountains and statues and very many souvenir stalls. 

Rome has fountains, hundreds of fountains, and many are world famous. The largest is the Trevi, which even starred in movies and had a song named after it. The sculpture from which the water flows is probably beautiful, but the throng of tourists who gathered there made it impossible to tell. Traditionally, if you want to ensure that you will return to Rome you should throw a coin into this fountain and it is said you are bound to come back. Tradition carries little weight with the officious guards who patrol the area, however. When I attempted to throw a coin I was rounded on and severely reprimanded. I hope that surreptitiously dropping in a coin counts just as well or I have wasted several cents, which might have been better used towards the cost of a flight.

The fame of the Sistine Chapel, with its Michelangelo ceiling, meant a long queue had formed even late in the day, so I eschewed its treasures, but was still brought close to tears by the elegant beauty of St Peter’s Square. I stood transfixed by the sweep of colonnades around me, the patterned paving and the imposing buildings of the Vatican. I managed a quick look inside the Basilica itself, which is huge and ornate and slightly confusing, as if several churches have been thrown together by some sort of earthquake.  With other visitors I stood, pilgrim-like, before the Pieta, the wonderful sculpture of the Madonna weeping over the crucified body of her Son, in awe of the artist who created it, but ashamed that I belong to the same species who have forced it into isolation because they want to damage it. It now stands behind bullet-proof glass to protect it from vandals; separated from the world in a way that neither its creator nor its subject would have wanted.

In the shadow of the brooding Castel Sant’ Angelo I stopped for a cold beer to rest my feet and establish my bearings. The nearby bridge was not on my list but Bernini’s magnificent angels shone with their own almost heavenly light in the evening sun. Each silhouette against the pure blue Roman sky was a work of art in itself. Their perfect marble features were a highlight of my visit and I wonder that they are not mentioned in more guides. But Rome has many such delights to discover and sometimes they are more wonderful than those that we recognise or know in advance.

After a while I mastered the city’s Metro system and the strain on the feet grew less but it was still restful to stop along the way and drink a cool beer or sample a tasty, ice-cold gelato while the well-dressed residents strolled by, or rode past on their ubiquitous little motor scooters. No-one wears crash helmets in Rome because that would ruin the fashionable line of their carefully chosen outfits. Style is a way of life in the city and nothing must be allowed to interfere with anyone’s image. They ride, perfectly poised, on the tiny bikes and never have a hair out of place. I even saw one woman pillion, riding side-saddle so she would not crease her immaculate skirt. On her lap was a small basket, from which peered a tiny dog, its hair tied up in a matching ribbon bow.

The Colosseum, or Flavian Amphitheatre, was another monument I chose not to explore. I went to see it, since it has a Metro station named after it, and felt slightly off balance when I emerged from the dark tunnel and saw it straight ahead. It has such a familiar outline and the image is used in so many ways that it is somehow unreal when it is right in front of you. It is as if it should not actually exist except in the mind or as a concept of Romanness. But there it was, and there I encountered men dressed as gladiators who would happily pose for a photograph for a few Euros. I declined. There is a strange and unpleasant smell around the Colosseum and I chose not to stay.

I had seen all of these marvels but had still not found what I believed to be the one essential thing in a trip to Rome. Throughout my treks I had kept an eye open for a hint of where I might find it, but it was not until my last night when I was lost in the rambling, twisting streets of the Trastevere area that I spotted my goal. There it was, a small, hand-written sign, fixed to a batten on a crumbling brick wall. In front of it were two flimsy tables covered in red and white checked cloths. The paper was pinned up with a rusty thumb tack and many people would have passed it by without a second thought, but I knew I had found my holy grail. A broad smile spread across my face as I read: spaghetti vongole.  I took a seat and enjoyed the best of Rome. 

February 2011