Our first stop today are The Diocletian Baths, an enormous complex located a short ways from the city center. Over the years, the Baths have been broken up and integrated into the urban flow of Rome. How could such a feat of hydro-manipulation be carried out, day after day, without electricity? Ah, slave labor!

The main entrance area, a soaring vaulted structure, was incorporated during The Renaissance into the chiesa San Bernardo alle Terme by Michelangelo. There have been extensive renovations and only his unpainted ceiling remains to be seen as he designed it. There are some first-rate oils which were donated by the Pope, I’m not sure of the dates, but they are badly lit. One thing about using the baths for a church, there is a scheme of natural lighting laid out by The Romans and incorporated by Michelangelo into his design which does not lend itself well to large hung paintings; the light source is too high in the vaulted space, causing a terrible glare.

The Diocletian Baths had four turrets which are now dispersed among several city blocks. In one of these is a little museum with more stone busts – there’s a second city of carved faces here in Rome. In another turret is a church, the name of which I forget, but we saw a charming scene when we wandered in. The place was empty save for a priest sitting in the pews and a group of three nuns walking the periphery. At one point, the nuns approached the priest and asked about the history of the church (we heard “ero curiosa” – I was curious). We imagined the nuns just wandering by on a sightseeing trip, post pranzo, spotting the unassuming chiesa in its ancient stone turret and wondering what it might be. The priest is clearly happy to oblige and the four of them engage in a lively discussion, low-voiced of course, but so friendly and full of comradeship.

We descend The Spanish Steps where poor old Keats gave up the ghost. It’s a lovely section of Rome but for the flash-poppin’, fanny-packin’, foreign-actin’ tourists everywhere! We move on back to Piazza del Popolo with its awesome Twin Chiese. Fellini lived on a shady little street nearby which reminds me of Greenwich Village in New York. We have an excellent lunch at a tavalo caldo place called Canova on the piazza. It’s an elegant, venerable joint and, by coincidence, we are seated in the Fellini room – presumably he ate here himself in days past? There are sketches and photos of the great man covering the walls, brings to mind another Rome of the more recent past, nonetheless ghostly and ancient somehow.

We visit Santa Maria del Popolo which has two awesome Caravaggio paintings and a georgious alter by Bernini. I dog Bernini as a brilliant hack, but there was, indeed, a special gestural life in his sculpture. We view one of the Twin Chiese, much cooler from the outside, wander back to the San Eustachio cafe where we buy some gift items. One last visit to the mystical, harmonious, mellowly lit Pantheon which, at this point in the day, is nearly empty. We have a beer on the stone bench of Palazzo Farnese, our favorite spot to rest our weary feet after these intense sight-seeing excursions and watch the daylight fade.

Back at the apartment, we do a mellow cena of salad and watch Rai Uno, Berlusconi’s flagship channel. “The Pupo” has a new gameshow!

Today we “do” the Forum, a vast stretch of ruin on sunken ground which abuts the Capitoline Museums and the Palatine Hill, running all the way down the Via Sacra to the Coliseum. Seemingly, every bus and taxi in Rome stops at the adjacent Piazza Veneto, right at the base of the monument to Victor Emmanuel. Built in the late 19th century and derisively labeled by the Romans “The Wedding Cake” or, my personal favorite, “The Typewriter,” this oversized columned structure reminds me of the Washington, DC style, that inaccurate architectural ideal of an all-white ancient Rome. The monument’s hundred plus years makes it a rank upstart in the context of this city.

One must circumnavigate The Typewriter to access the Forum, which is several city blocks worth of scavi. Right off the bat, there’s the super ornate arch of Septimius Severus. The relief carvings on this triumphal arch are just insane, densely packed with a tight swirling compositional motion, worn by weather but bristling still with detail. We move past what was once the courthouse. There is a circular game board carved on one of the marble steps where Romans waited to see the judge. The house of the Vestal Virgins is closed off for excavation, but you can peer through the gate into the vast complex. Nearby is an altar in which the Virgins kept a flame burning continuously. Their institution was very sacred and important. If a man was caught defiling a Vestal, and apparently it happened with some frequency, he was taken outside the city limits and beaten to death with metal rods.

Basilica Maxentius is enormous, reminds me of Grand Central Station. The soaring remnants of the domed ceilings are coffered with massive concrete forms as in the Pantheon. The brickwork in the grand sturdy walls of the ruin is so tight and sophisticated, this could be a 20th century building bombed out in WWII. Naturally, signs of wear over the centuries can be observed, but its bones, in all their massivity, are in every way contemporary. We walk past the Arch of Titus down the Via Sacra. To the left are the grounds of what was once the enormous Temple of Venus where the Colossus of Constantine stood. To our right is the rise of the Palatine.

We tour the Coliseum [Flavian Amphitheatre] which is awesome, but I prefer our lovely and still functioning Arena di Verona. The Arch of Constantine surpasses the Arch of Septimius Severus for dense ornament and grand scale. Nearby are the half-excavated ruins of the Meta Sudans, a fountain of conical shape which “sweated” (sudare means “to sweat”) water rather than jetting it from the top.

We climb the Palatine Hill, where the top nobles kept their palaces. At this point, the batteries of the digital camera died (because I had stupidly neglected to put in a fresh set this morning). As a result, we have no shots of the beautiful Palatine Hill, such a cool spot. The palace scavi are incredible. Again, the masterful construction and solidity of the brickwork blows my mind. It simply does not look “ancient.” To see such advanced endeavor being carried out by a people who had no electricity, were unaware of the microscopic world, were acting under a radically different set of assumptions but who, in day to day life, set up living environments just like ours; makes me feel so close to them. In the grand sweep of Earth’s history we city dwelling humans are just a partially written page. We stroll around contentedly for almost two hours. The Palatine is a peaceful breezy place, not swarming with tourists, shaded by vividly green umbrella pine and cypress and quiet enough to pick up that faint murmur of history which is so often drowned out in the more crowded spots.

We stroll down off the hill, past the grounds of the former Circus Maximus, which is now just a giant empty field of grass. We visit Santa Maria in Cosmedin, where the Bocca della Verita’ is located. Once used as an ornamental drainspout, it’s an oversized stone face with open mouth. Legend says a liar will lose his hand in the bocca [mouth]. When we arrive, there are thirty tourists waiting in line to see it. No one cares about the church, but Lawren and I love it. It’s 6th century with patchwork marble floors marble looted from the Forum, of course by the Cosmati family. The church is dusty and humble in the manner of San Zeno di Verona. Back then, Christianity still had that human-scaled underdog appeal, a quality which is squashed in proud, rich, and fattened places like St. Peter’s. Across the street are two of Rome’s oldest temples, the round Tempio di Hercules and the Tempio Portunus, which somehow survived all the sackings and burnings intact and now sit nestled in the lap of the urban crossroad like jewelboxes.

We walk along the Tevere, past the Ponte Rotto and the Isola, end up again in the Jewish Ghetto near Teatro Marcellus. We visit an incredible Kosher bakery, buy honey cakes and the best macaroons ever. Back at the apartment, we get dressed up after a short nap and return to the Ghetto for dinner at a place we spotted earlier. It’s called, appropriately, Il Ghetto. Great atmosphere but only OK meal. The Pro Secco was warm for cryin’ out loud and the waiter wouldn’t let us speak Italian.

How are we supposed to see it all in one day?
500 years seems “doable”.

Steve & the Classics: The Laocoön.

Viewing the Raphael Room.

Steve & the Classics: The School of Athens.
Steve was happy to learn that Michelangelo was also a Pisces. Do they look alike to you?

This pigna was originally a Roman fountain.
[2000 year old bronze, at least 10 feet tall!]
There are spout holes at the tip of each scale.

L. and I always respond to the early Christian relief sculptures with their simplified, cartoonish figures. They remind me of R. Crumb’s drawings. It’s the same look one sees in San Zeno, Verona. The Giotto altarpiece has smoothly rendered drapery and the colors are truly richer and deeper than those of his contemporaries. Can I say without condemning myself as an aesthetic heretic that I am not so wild about Raphael? To my eye, his poses are often stiff and I don’t really feel the unity of his color. The Vatican has, of course, the world-famous “School of Athens” and other other grand freschi in the Sale di Rafaello. I have always admired the “School of Athens” and it’s great to finally see it for real, indeed there’s no disputing the man’s mastery. He just doesn’t sing for me somehow [L. note: his tapestries blew me away].

Now, the Sistine Chapel is another matter. This is an example of a work of art reproductions can never do justice, especially the “Last Judgement” wall which seems at every moment to be imploding. The manner in which natural light from the chapel windows activates the forms and colors of the massive fresco is something that must be seen for real to truly experience. As the old saying goes, I strained my neck gazing at the chapel ceiling which is so chock full of gesture and compositional device as to be almost absurd, yet the unity of Michelangelo’s vision prevails and the whole crazy thing ends up making sense. One must be quiet in the chapel, not out of reverence, but to minimize damaging vibrations. Also, no photos are allowed. Nippon, the Japanese company which funded the chapel’s recent cleaning, owns the rights to all reproductions of Michelangelo’s mad commission.

We head out of the Vatican Museums and take the bus to Trastevere. This is a genuine “Roman” borgo the guidebooks say, but today there seems to be an influx of college-aged Americani looking for a shooters bar. Also, we spot perhaps one too many grungy rocker hobos with dredlocks and scraggly dogs, the type one sees in C-ville on the Downtown Mall. We struggle to sightsee. The famous Santa Maria in Trastevere is closed, also the nearby Villa Farnesina. We head over to Piazza Navona, built on the open space of a Roman circus, and view Boromini’s Sant’Agnese in Navona. The saint was a little girl, forced into prostitution during the reign of Diocletian. Her intense piety caused miraculous hair growth, which shielded her privates from view. In a side chapel, her shorn tresses and rather evil-eyed little monkey skull are on display. Christians are so creepy. Also funny is Bernini’s “Four Rivers” fountain in front of the church. Boromini and Bernini were arch-rivals and the figures of the fountain statuary seem to recoil from the chiesa’s façade.

We revisit the Trevi Fountain as night falls, standing cheek-to-jowl with swarms of littering tourists. Mellow cena back at our apartment.

Pantheon Dome

X-Large Column.

more scale.

We get off the bus at Via Argentina where the Roman Senate used to meet more than 2000 years ago and where, in 44 BC, Julius Caesar was knifed. You can look right down on the spot where it happened, now criss-crossed by stray cats and strewn with trash. The Romans have a litter problem!

We are finally able to get into the Pantheon, L.’s favorite place ever when she visited Rome as a nine year old kid. A noble, mystical space! We gaze at the play of natural light on the perfect forms of the coffered ceiling. The weathered bronze doors and columns are of Titanic scale. The whole thing was constructed beneath a great mound of Earth which served to support the evolving structure and from which the finished temple was dug out, an awe-inspiring statement of religious and civic ambition. Raphael is buried here as is Victor Emanuel, first king of unified Italy. We briefly visit San Agostino where there is another tall, dark photo-real Caravaggio. Today, apparently, is a celebration day for this particular saint so we are brusquely ushered out. Next, to Santa Maria Sopra Minerva with Bernini’s elephant obelisk, the Lippi freschi, the tomb of Saint Catherine of Sienna, after whom L.’s grandma Spera was named, and the unfinished Michelangelo Christ statue (the master himself did not sculpt the head, which is obvious at first glance).

We have lunch next to Hadrian’s Temple, with its long, columned façade. We view and photograph the Pié di Marmo, a colossal, sandalled Roman foot carved of marble, set on a pedestal in an unassuming side street just like our “Pigna” here in Verona. We walk to Piazza del Popolo, with its twin chiese, view the Trevi Fountain at daytime, so cheerful with all that running water and the grand stone figures bursting from the very face of the building they adorn. Puts you in a good mood.

Beer in a cup from a thoroughly American bar on the Campo dei Fiori (the bartender even says “two dollars” instead of “euros” when he quotes us the price). We drink our beer on the long stone bench of Piazza Farnese as the light fades and the lamplight rises. Back to our ‘hood for an excellent cena at a nearby restaurant recommended by i padroni of our rental called “Il Forno Vecchio.” The place is located on a most unscenic street far off the tourist path. They offer a buffet of excellent antipasti, L. has a perfectly broiled whole fish and I try the Roman-style pizza which is thin and crisp as a cracker.

Porta Portese flea market finds.

more Porta Portese flea market finds.

Climbing up the dome of St. Peter’s.

“Senza Ascensore” means “without elevator.”

We have a long morning ramble through the famous Rome flea market. One guy is selling vintage school supplies, illustrated notebooks, packs of colored pencils, even sample blush kits from ‘The London Academy of Beauty.’ We spot Oscar-winning actress, Hillary Swank, and her man in the crowd. Maybe she’s in Italy for the Venice Film Festival (three days later, she appears on the cover of Vanity Fair. Coincidence?). Ducking into a coffee bar as a hot late morning rain erupts, we spy them again across the room, smooching. The little bar is vintage-sheeny. We decide it reminds us of a lunch place in Paris. I say, in my usual booming voice, and I swear it was unintentional, “Yeah, that place was swank, real swank.” L. is horrified. I am so clueless, I don’t realize what I’ve said. Ten seconds later, H. Swank and her companion seem to fly out the door with the rain still spitting. They were recognized!

On to St. Peter’s where we are amazed and appalled. There is a good deal of hubris on display here, though the architectural achievement is undeniable . Inside the massive cathedral is perfect balance. The over-sized columns, the vast dome, the portals, niches and chapels are perfectly scaled to the giant statuary. Scurrying around far below all this vaulting ornament, we tourist rabble with our multi-colored travel clothes, our babble of different tongues, our tiny points of flashbulbs going off continuously, are truly shown in all our relative insignificance. Of course, the best piece is Michelangelo’s Pieta. To me, Bernini was a bit of a hack, a brilliant draper in stone of obese human ego, but Michelangelo was one who felt and fought his art. We climb the dome, designed by Michelangelo as well, dig the view of Rome from the cupola.

Back across The Tevere (Tiber River), we find a cool old coffee bar called San Eustachio, sit outside in the waning light next to a table of clueless Americans. It’s a Mom and Dad and their two daughters. The girls don’t like the drink they were brought, but Dad insists they drink up. These things cost money! Mom says, “Well, it’s just so hard to know what you’re ordering.”

Dinner at a nice place nearby called Due Collone. Delicious Roman-style batter fried veggies.

View from the recently-renovated Capitoline Museums.

Where’s Mary?

One of several colossal … ahem … body parts.

San Giovanni Battista, Caravaggio, ca. 1602.

Another installment of: Steve and the Classics.
This time with Moses in the chiesa San Pietro in Vincoli/St. Peter in Chains.

A slightly clearer view of the art.

Today is L.’s birthday. She is ????? years old. Yikes, we are getting kinda aged, aren’t we? Oh, well, we’re in Rome on a breezy, sunny day, ready to tour the Capitoline Museum. Not a bad spot to be at any age.

First off, though, we must do some grocery shopping around the corner from our pad on a bustling, 4-lane shopping street, like a shabby 5th Avenue. I cook eggs and toast then we hop a bus to the museums.

Incredible art at the Capitoline. We photograph ourselves next to the giant appendage chunks of the Colossus of Constantine, see awe-inspiring view of the forum below, the perfect painting by Caravaggio of John the Baptist, eerie Roman busts, the world-famous Estruscan she-wolf statue with its 15th c. add-ons of the suckling babies Romulus and Remus. We view Trajan’s column which is partially sheathed in scaffolding, cannot visit Trajan’s Forum due to ongoing renovations.

On to San Pietro in Vincoli to see Michelangelo’s Moses, who looks to us exactly like Charlton Heston. It’s clear to see Michelangelo is just the best. He works the surfaces of his sculptures one degree deeper than anyone else. We stroll by the Pantheon which is closed. Looks amazing from the outside though- right in the midst of a piazza with the flavor of Fellini’s Italy, there’s this great, dark, columned facade, singular in scale and aspect, draped in ancient aura and massively venerable.

Back home for a salad [L. and I have been eating a lot of salads lately]. Rome is playing Inter [a Milano team] on TV tonight so our whole apartment complex is buzzing. It feels homey in the warm evening with the doors open and folks loitering on their balconies. Sadly, Rome blows a three-goal lead and loses like dogs to loudly-voiced dismay of our neighbors.