A Roman Holiday

Rome is a timeless and vibrantly colorful city near Italy's western Mediterranean coast, about half way up the front of “The Boot”. Rome's history spans nearly three thousand years and its influence has, since the early Roman Empire, permeated cultures around the world. Arguably, the Roman Empire was the most influential of all the great empires and today its structural and artistic legacies are still visible and visitable.

Oh, I didn't tell any of you I was going to Rome? Oops.

In front of the Pantheon

Pantheon, right

After my weekend holiday in Italy I can now say I've visited a grand total of three different countries. If I were to compare the three, I'd first toss out the US. Without any substantial history or influence and arguably very little man-made aesthetic beauty (natural US has its own loveliness, but I digress...), Italy and England have the US beaten to a pulp before any side-by-side lineups begin.

 

I've been warned, on multiple occasions, that visiting countries in Europe outside the UK will dissolve my love of this country and desire to “stay here forever”. But I can say now after having seen the legacy of the greatest empire on Earth that I will never love any place more than I do England. Don't get me wrong, Italy is outstandingly, indescribably beautiful and Rome's history, in particular, is incomparably rich and fascinating. But arriving in London Sunday night at 10:30PM felt like coming home. And for a girl who's been to 11 schools and lived in 3 states and has moved around so many times without ever making real connections to any place in particular, that feeling of belonging somewhere means more than any historical timeline or amount of ancient ruins ever could.

Pantheon

In addition to this hugely personal epiphany, my two days in Rome reignited the candle in the dark corner of my brain where the file of 'ancient history stuff to know' is kept. Each of those two days encapsulated a combination of refreshing history lessons from a personal tour guide and touristy photo shoot sessions.

Small piazza with and even smaller trattoria

Day 1 began at 1:30AM. I awoke and prepared myself for the flight from Standsted Airport, about an hour out of London. We arrived in Rome early enough to enjoy a full day. What struck me first was the warmth of that city. The browns and oranges and tans and pinks of the buildings themselves against an analogous clear blue sky reminded me of Florida with full palm trees dotting the landscapes. Even this late in the year the day was warm and perfect for exploring new territory on foot.

With time to spare before we met up with out guide outside the Vatican Museum, we chose to spend the morning getting ourselves lost in Rome. Camera in hand, we wandered the narrow alleys, climbing hills and avoiding a combination of tiny-car traffic, mopeds, and pedestrians. Rome undulates like the surface of the sea it sits near, very unlike the smooth predictability of London's streets, and the winding roads follow only the pattern of history, a link to the tracks used by ancient civilizations. Without any resemblance to a grid the layout of the streets feels completely arbitrary, thus getting lost is easy to do. 

Pantheon piazza

Where roads converge, linking one to the rest, you'll find seemingly endless named piazzas, as if someone just took a stamp and went wild over a map of Rome, dotting the city with these “squares” (though the spaces are rarely square in shape). Each one has its own statue, obelisk, or carved fountain at its the center, and some of the bigger ones have more than one or a combination of these. Typically, small eateries line the borders of these squares, all serving traditional Italian food; pizzas, pasta, cheeses, cuts of meat, and plenty of olive oil and wine. Each trattoria, or casual Italian-style restaurant, has most of its seating outside under a canopy with covers a small section, enclosed by small fences that are short enough to allow the guests to look out on the piazza and people-watch.

It's less common to find “other” cuisines in Rome; you will have to dig a bit if your stomach is craving a burger or sushi or, surprisingly, take-away coffee – Italians take their coffee in a single espresso shot and just down it in a single swallow at the counter. For that reason alone I could never live in Rome. No, I'm just being facetious. It's more likely the deciding factor would be the language barrier; not as many people speak English with fluency in the EU as “they” lead us to believe. 

Our pre-guided tour wanderings on Day 1, like I was saying, were choreographed and semi-spontaneous. We ended up, first, at Palazzo Barberini, the converted residence of Pope Urbano VIII which houses the Galleria Nazionale di Atre Antica (...cognates, people: The National Gallery of Antique Art). The building itself was designed by the greatest architects of the time, Borromoni and Bernini. The rooms, in sequence, trace the development of religious art, primarily in paintings. However, the hanging paintings hardly rivaled the ceiling frescoes, in my opinion.

Palazzo Barberini

Palazzo Barberini

Prime Minister's House, right side of the frame

Next, after passing a few other piazzas and the house the newly-resigned Italian Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, which happens to be surprisingly lackluster and unobtrusive compared to many of Rome's important political buildings (the foreign Embassies, for example), we stopped at the Pantheon, one of Rome's best-preserved temples. It's been in constant use for 2,000 years, notably as a burial site for the famed painter Raphael (among others) since the Renaissance, and is still used for Masses even today. The building's consecration as a church saved it from the abandonment and destruction that befell the majority of ancient Rome's buildings during the early medieval period, though much of the decorative marble on its exterior was removed and used elsewhere. Thankfully, the lavish marble interior survived, as did the structure of the the Pantheon's dome, famously the world's largest unreinforced concrete dome. 

Prime MInister's windows

Pantheon and piazza

We had lunch on a quiet side street at Da Francesco and, like proper Europeans, chose an outdoor seat. An adorable gay couple from New York sat down next to us and we compared itineraries and must-sees of Rome over plates of pizza, pasta and, in my case, a surprisingly white, flat, layered “salad”. In the mean time, I think I got some sort of food poisoning (can you get food poisoning from mushrooms or Parmesan???) but did not let my melting intestines stop me from enjoying Italy and our tour of the Vatican that afternoon.

Lunch here

Vatican City, as most of you know, is a sovereign city-state on the west bank of the Tiber River, ruled by the Bishop of Rome – the Pope – with a population of just over 800. Like all of Rome, there is an unbelievable amount of history and far too many people involved in the establishment of Vatican City and everything it encapsulates to describe here in blog-form. Heck, entire volumes have been written on every miniscule element of that place; I can't compete with that.

The Pope lives up there on the top floor.

I was lucky enough to hear all about it, though, from our personal tour guide, Stefania, but again I am in no way going to attempt to duplicate her story-telling abilities in a blog. I'll merely pick out a few key/favorite elements to touch on.

Stefania is an art historian and hiring her to lead us through the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica (on Day 1), and the ruins, Colosseum, and several other churches (on Day 2) was probably the best decision we made. Walking aimlessly among other tourists in crowded hotspots, merely browsing, would have been a waste of time compared to the one-on-one attention of a trained guide who could describe, in detail, all those miniscule aspects of the city that transform exploration into an educational experience. She could rattle off dates and names as if we were having a casual conversation over lunch about the weather; second nature. 

She lead us through back roads, underground, and into the little niches of the city where some of the real gems of Rome are found. Plus, she let us choose what we wanted to see and was open to spontaneous changes in direction or length of stay to accommodate our personal interests. The malleability of the schedule, in contrast to what would have been a strict, time crunched group tour, synched perfectly with the relaxed attitude of our Roman holiday and with the peaceful, laid-back locals, themselves. Bonus: We got to skip all the lines of people waiting to see the attractions, lines that wove on and on and on, saving precious hours during that weekend.

Rafael's Thinker, which inspired many of Michelangelo's figures

 We met up with Stefania outside the Vatican Museum. I'll let the photos speak for themselves.

the longest hallway...

Laocoon

Room with only animal sculptures, the most difficult of all subjects to duplicate in marble.

St Peter's Basilica, with the museum on the left

Inside St Peter's

Inside St Peter's, Bernini's arch thingy and pure gold statue in the back

From the Basilica, looking out on St Peter's Square

St Peter's Basilica, left, integrated with a snack cart, right

Inside St Peter's Basilica

I loved that I got to see, in person, so many of the pieces I'd learned about in my own art history classes. The best of these, not surprisingly, were Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel and his Pieta.

But I'll stop here. Tune in next time to hear about Michelangelo's masterpieces.

All photos, credit: ME

The Camden Markets

Switching gears from the gold and glitz of the ungodly rich, I finally got on my hiking boots and trekked up to Camden. Not literally; I didn't hike there. And the aforementioned boots with their tall heels and decorative ties would hardly be suited for the 10 mile jaunt if I did, in fact, go on foot. So really the 'trek' was more of a leisurely weekend tube trip one misty afternoon. But hey, I needed to look the part when I got there, right? Camden is known all over and everywhere for its punk and goth scene (and may be the one place where dressing in your favorite Halloween costume is appropriate year-round). It's where [the late] Amy Winehouse made a name for herself, so what do you expect? So those boots were a necessary addition to my wardrobe that day, paired with plenty of black layers and heavy, dark eyeliner.

Oop! There she is! The real Amy Winehouse in one of Camden's African-themed food joints.

Geared up and ready to go, I found the famed Camden Market without difficulty. All you have to do is cruise with the crowd, estimated to reach 100,000 visitors per weekend, from the tube station and you'll be carried through the gates. Unless of course you're stopped like I was by a half-naked yogi trying to pawn religious books on the side of the road. It's good to note that you can only alight from the tube station on the weekends, to prevent dangerous overcrowding in the tunnels. To leave Camden, you have to take a bus, taxi, or (god forbid) walk a little until you find another tube.

First, you'll hit a colorful wash of narrow stores lining both sides of the street. These are mainly shoes stores and clothing retailers displaying the hottest new goth gadgets and costumes, with private tattoo consultations and piercings offered downstairs. Peek inside for some serious PVC and rubber clothing...all the rage this season, I hear. Pair that with a coffin-shaped handbag and mile-high lace-up work boots in patent leather black and you're sure to look totally and 100% stylin'.

Feel free to dress like this happy couple. Lookin' sharp!

Heading south, you'll cross the bridge over the locks of the canal, with stilled water closing in on complete stagnation, before you come to the walled-in Camden Markets on the left. Hidden behind the visual barrier of stone, the expanse of the market is beyond comprehension and knowing at first glance. It is deceptive, and more vast than you would ever expect.

 

My journey north from little Roehampton took so long I didn't reach the markets before nightfall...at 4:30PM. Lovely. But I wasn't about to let the combination of dodgy appearances and dim lighting deter me. No way. So throwing caution to the wind like the ash from the thousand cigarettes being smoked along Camden's high street, I hopped across the street in my little heels and breezed through the gates.

The first thing I realized was how bad an idea it was to wear those same heels. I didn't find it amusing in the slightest to be twisting both ankles, time after time, on the rounded, sloping cobblestones that made up every floor surface. But I pressed on, if not daintily for fear of full fracture. My second thought, after gracefully overcoming the first obstacle, was to browse the lanes first and get my bearings before I did any serious stall inspection. But not minutes into my wanderings I realized I was already completely turned around and it was unlikely I'd be finding myself back at my starting spot at any point during that evening unless it was by luck alone. Rarely do I lose my sense of direction but inside the walls of the market, while the lanes twist and converge and lead on and on to different levels, linking additional marketing areas and stalls and kiosks, I was admittedly quite lost. It felt like more of a hedge maze than a shopping center. 

Notice the roof, or lack thereof...

 Overhead, the lanes were only partially covered by tent-like overhangs from adjacent stalls that barely overlapped, when they did at all. The gaps let the blue-black evening sky peek through sometimes to the restless, moving hoards of shoppers. Often I found myself sidestepping them, the shoppers, as I slowly moved ahead on tiptoe to avoid catching a stiletto heel in the cracks, only to end up underneath a dripping, rainy sky, when one hadn't been there a moment ago, when I'd been protected by the white cloth of a tent.

As I walked I visually absorbed my surroundings (as people unaffected by blindness often do), and I began to notice a familiarity and an obvious repetition in the merchandise. Most stalls had sister stalls spattered throughout the market. And frankly, this trend was not cleverly disguised by the warning signs telling tourists 'Do Not Take Photos' placed in full view at the front, as if the items beyond them were highly prized, individualistic pieces. This wasn't always the case, however. Plenty of vintage clothing, record/music, and accessories stalls intermingled with their wanna-be competitors. And with the plethora of smoke shops I doubt anyone but me was clearheaded enough to notice these details, anyway.

The Stable Market was, by far, the most recognizable and interesting part of the whole...and of my entire evening as well, I'd have to say. After all, it's inside a giant, giant stable that was converted from a horse hospital (for the horses that pulled barges along the canal) to what it is now, a market using each separate horse stall as its own tiny shop. In there, chain stores are not permitted, I found out, and thus many of the 450 “shops” (just in this one market section, mind you, because there are 6 in total) choose to sell antiques, each stall specializing in one very particular kind of item....

Books, for example, or vintage suitcases made of hard brown leather, cracked from age. There were stalls selling only mink jackets at bargain prices right next to the hayloft room dealing in retro men's shoes. As part of the renovation, horse sculptures were installed...at least I'm assuming it was after the real, live horses vacated the premises. I can't imagine dozens of larger-than-life horse statues would have been necessary in the horse clinic's heyday.

As much as I loved horses as a child (oh, let's face it, I still do), I probably would've peed my pants with excitement in here. Though I do not recommend taking children here, actually. To do so would be a poor choice and demonstrate a serious lack of judgment and common sense.

And they all wear orange...

I am convinced that wherever people gather there will be food. And in the markets, where 100,000 people visit every weekend alone, like I said, you can imagine there's LOTS of food. People have this thing for eating, you know, to sustain life and all that nonsense. Me, I wasn't much interested in it at that time of day but its pungent presence was literally unavoidable. You're walking along, minding your own business when suddenly you hear, “Hello, darling,” coming at you from all sides, aimed at you and all the others around you, one hundred times over. You're not sure where to direct your attention, which “Hello, darling,” to attend to first. You're senses are mildly confused by the auditory repetition of that small phrase, which lingers in the air with forced continuity. And then, just as you've made up your mind to close your ears and run for it, there are skewers of chicken fluttering and waving under your very nostrils. “You want chicken, yes? Crispy chicken for you?” It's tempting when that food is floating within your grasp, smelling so nice, but don't take the sample unless you plan on buying....or else face the death stares that appear on the faces of what were, moments ago, cheery faces of teeny-tiny Asian girls.

And that's all I have to say about that.