Envoi

Last night, I came home, took a hot (at last!) shower, and immediately fell asleep. I woke up early this morning, and, for a few moments just sat in my bed. Everything seemed far too normal. I believed for a moment that the last two weeks had merely been a dream. (I suppose the fact that my dreams had involved the Trevi fountain and the Pantheon didn’t help.) But, I definitely have memories that my subconscious couldn’t have created.

I remember I was terrified at the airport. I’m a worrier, (I swear, I inherited this from my mother,) and had so many fears running through my mind at that moment. I had a small panic attack (consisting of “AHH! I can’t believe this is happening!”  said on repeat to my parents.) I couldn’t believe that I was in fact going through with one of my plans, that I would soon be abroad, that nothing had canceled the trip like I was sure would happen. My other worries, though, I didn’t voice to my parents. What if I got there and found myself so out of my depth and too homesick that I wouldn’t enjoy it? What if I didn’t befriend anyone? What if I got bored? (Two weeks? In one city…?)

 I cursed myself for not taking at least one class of Italian, for not pestering my friends that took Italian this past semester for pronunciation lessons. What was I thinking, going to a foreign country where I couldn’t speak the language?!

…What if I hated it?

             

Now, I’m looking back on those two weeks, and I can, in all honesty, say: those were some of the best two weeks to my life. I made excellent friends, and had some lovely adventures. I learned (some) Italian, most of it admittedly gleaned from the repeated directions on the Metro. I got to solidify what knowledge I had of the city, and expand on it. I was able to turn Rome from a soft city to a hard city made up of wonderful art, fantastic food, gelato, and a combination of tourists and locals.

And, above all, I fell in love. I fell in love with Roma.

Beyond the obviously wonderful food and awesome coffee that I loved, I enjoyed the strange layout of the streets, the way you could know exactly where you were going, and still end up somewhere else. How everything was so close together that you could stumble on some places while walking, and indeed that for the most part you could walk everywhere. Of course, the Metro did help, as did the buses (when the right ones came.) And yet, even if I could easily get lost, I felt utterly comfortable walking around, more so than walking around Boston, a city that I have been walking in for years. Rome possesses a busy atmosphere that, at the same time, manages to be relaxing.

And, the incredible monuments! They towered over me, to a greater extent than I thought they would. I knew that they would be immense, but neither Piranesi's sketches nor any Google images truly prepared me for the real grandeur of these buildings. The breath-taking Pantheon, the gigantic Basilica Maxentius: the only thing more amazing than the size of these buildings was their age. Then, beyond the ancient places, the art! Oh, the art: the Berninis spread throughout the city, in the Vatican, in Santa Maria del Popolo, and the Piazza Navona. The awe-inspiring statues he created, that stand in the Galleria Borghese that made me come so close to crying, but that also brought me the greatest joy. And, to add to Bernini’s masterpieces, the gorgeous ancient paintings that the popes took for themselves and the (for the most part) wonderful modern art in the Galleria d’Arte Moderna, the Caravaggios, and the work of Nicola Salvi. Rome proved to be heaven for an artist. Even outside of the museums, beauty shone in building facades, and in the lines of the buildings piled upon one another.

Now, having spent just over a day away from Rome, I miss the trees (where else could you find Italian cypresses, normal pine trees and palm trees all together?) the seagull that squawked in such a bleating manner outside the room I shared with Katie every morning, without fail. (It made me laugh, every day.) I miss the way that the birds circled above the Wedding Cake and Termini even though that rather scared me, reminding me too much of vultures in a desert. And, above all, I will miss the beautiful swallowtails that swooped and twirled around the Trevi fountain (and pooped on Gia, Melissa, and me when we went there one night.) I tried to draw their graceful shapes in my sketchbook, but only managed to create blocky versions. While I won’t fully miss the Campo de’Fiori because my town has its own farmer’s market, and I will miss being able to, however briefly, converse with a stall-keeper in Italian: to be able to pretend that I was someone else, a local Italian.

I learned so much from this trip, from the actual history of the city to little realizations about myself that the trip gave me, to the way that the course changed the way I see things now. The writing assignments forced me to actively take in my surroundings, and to consciously think of how I felt in a space, and all the details that I could notice, from people to the art.

A toast! (of sorts) to Rome: to the layers of the city, to the wonderful people with whom I traveled, to the people who humored my attempts at terrible Italian, to the night life, to the beautiful hidden spots, to the woman who was just as struck by Bernini’s work as I was and who told me so: Thank-you!

Oh, and, I won’t miss needing to have correct change.

(I never did have it.)

Giornale 5 (Santa Maria del Popolo)

I put off my last solo excursion for a few days because I didn’t want to acknowledge the nearing end of the seminar, so I ended up going on the 4^th, our last full day in Rome. I meant to go in the morning, but, instead, went with Erika in search of Caffe Sant’Eustachio. Thankfully, we found it with very little difficulty, thanks to a map and a storeowner’s quick directions. After we bought some coffee to take home, I walked Erika to the Piazza di Spagna, so that she could go to the Keats-Shelley museum, and I could take the metro to Piazza del Popolo. Unfortunately, I got there a little too late, after the church had closed for the afternoon. Having assumed before arriving there that I would be too late, I had made plans to go back and to finish packing and writing some blog entries. I occupied myself with that (and a couple orders of wonderful gelato) until 4, at which point I rushed to the metro, passing Katie and Sandy who, along with some other people, were returning from their day’s adventures. I arrived at the piazza, and stood outside the church, unimpressed by the exterior.

Entering the church, I blinked to let my eyes adjust from the incredibly bright sunlight outside to the darker interior. While I was walking around, I look down and was a little surprised by the lack of mosaics. Many of the other churches that I had seen, such as Santa Maria in Trastevere, had very lovely swirled mosaics inlaid into the floor. Throughout the rest of the church, I was struck by the beautiful masterpieces in the chapels, and in the aisles and apse. The statues of the angels were stunningly beautiful, and seemed quite Bernini-esque in their design. Unfortunately, I did not have my Blue Guide with me at the time, and so I could not look up who built the church. Later, I was able to look in the book and see that I was indeed right in thinking that the statues looked as if Bernini had made them, seeing as he had contributed to a renovation of the church interior. Among the other artwork in the church, the organ, and the bronze oak tree intertwined with the pipes of the organ, utterly floored me. I couldn’t find any mention of who created the tree in the Blue Guide, although the Internet informed me that, once again, it was Bernini’s doing. Raphael’s mosaic in the dome of the church also amazed me, as did a few of the other paintings. Despite all the other great work in the church, Bernini’s work left the greatest impression on me.

 I ended up rushing out of the church a little, since I had seen a priest come and prepare for a mass (I’m not quite sure, but that’s what I assumed he was doing.) Since I had seen the sign asking visitors not to come during prayers, I left, so as not to disturb and disrespect anyone.

However, I’ve always felt a little disrespectful when visiting churches, since I’m not religious. While I do admire the art and the structure of the building, I’m aware that I’m doing it not as a believer of some faith, but fully as a tourist, as a total outsider. And, as with other places, the fact that there were so many tourists took away from any feeling of holiness that should occupy such places of worship. I felt bad for adding to that crowd. It also rather bothered me that there were some tourists that were taking photos of things that they were asked not to photograph. Out of all the places, I feel that, even if they are not religious, the visitors ought to not take photos out of respect and reverence for the church, and for others who do find these places sacred.

Giornale 4 (Campo De'Fiori)

Walking behind Jackie and some of my classmates as we head to the Campo de’Fiori, I think back to the first time I saw it. It was after dinner on our first night in Rome, when a few of us walked back to St. John’s with Dan. I remember just walking down some streets, and then suddenly coming out onto the Campo de’Fiori. I saw a rather large and busy square, with a lot of full restaurants on all of the sides and a statue in the middle. At the far end, I saw a fountain. While I knew that it was a place that many tourists went to, for some reason at that moment, it didn’t seem particularly touristy. We walked through, past the people talking in groups and past the vendors, who were tossing spinning glowing circles into the air and shoving roses at people. That night made me think that the piazza would be similar in the day, although I imagined that it would have more people.

We reach the square, and I almost stumble over the cobblestones and my own feet as I try to take in the bustling piazza. I definitely did not expect the farmer’s market that took up most of the plaza! The tents left only a small space on the sides before the patio areas of the restaurants began. I follow our group down to the far end, near a sandwich and pizza shop named Forno. Seeing as I had a lot of pizza in the past few days, (and seeing as I don’t particularly like most pizza,) I decide to go get a sandwich. I stare at the options, trying to figure out what the Italian descriptions are saying. After a while, the man behind the counter asks me, “Prego?” and I make a split-second decision and point to the “vegetriana.” He hands me the sandwich, wrapped up in wax paper, and I head to the cashier to pay. I internally wince as I hand over a 10 euro bill. The cashier seems annoyed, but accepts it, and I walk back out onto the square.

Ducking into the shade of an umbrella, I bite into the sandwich. It’s DELICIOUS! Examining it, I try to figure out how to make it and find a strange sort of orangey-green leaf in my sandwich. I take a picture of the leaf with my camera, so that I could find it online later, or ask someone about it. Finishing my sandwich ahead of the rest of the group, I quickly duck into the market, to purchase the plump strawberries that I had seen from afar. While trying to find the best priced berries, I see the same orange-green leaf that was in my sandwich. Ah-ha! A sign! The little sign stuck in the crate announces that these are not leaves at all, but zucchini flowers. I make a small mental note to try and find these when I return to the states. I find some cheap strawberries, and purchase a small carton. I eat them quickly, delighting in the fact that these are definitely real strawberries, not the ones in supermarkets that taste delicious, but cold. These strawberries taste sweet, and have clearly ripened in the sun at their own leisure. I smile with delight, and go to purchase more berries, while making a promise to myself to visit the Campo de’Fiori as often as I can.

In the subsequent times when I have visited the market, I have delighted in the fact that my Italian is getting better, and that the market allows me to feel as if I’m a local. I know that I stand out like a sore thumb, but still, the ability to have a whole exchange in Italian with the sellers gives me a certain joy.

Space and Place 2 (Vatican Museum)

I was very excited to go to the Vatican Museum, because I was sure that this would be a fantastic experience. After the class split up in the courtyard with the giant pine cone, I wandered through the museum, starting in the gallery with all the ancient statues. I'm not exactly sure where I went from there, as all I did was to follow the signs for the Sistine Chapel. I tried to enjoy the art that I encountered on the way, but I ended up getting really frustrated. I felt rushed, and didn’t feel that I could give the art the attention that it deserved.

 I was really eager to see the Sistine Chapel, but I found myself really disappointed by my experience. The art was utterly gorgeous, but being literally herded by the guards to join the pack of people standing on the floor, craning their necks up, was unpleasant. I wanted the opportunity to quietly and calmly observe the masterpiece, but, unfortunately, it was impossible to do so. I tried to view as much of the ceiling as I could, and then I left promptly. I felt more discomfort when I tried to go back to the courtyard with the (drinkable) water fountain. I was left with no choice but to follow the signs for the exit, which led me past several gift shops, and past the courtyard, to the post office. At this point, I was actually a little bit scared that I wouldn't be able to get back, and I was getting really annoyed, at the fact that I felt so out of control and so guided. I did eventually end up at the courtyard, but it took me quite a while.

 Although I did have a more pleasant experience in the less crowded rooms with religious paintings, and the Faberge exhibit, overall I didn’t like the museum because of the way that they guide the visitors, and the large masses. I feel that, like the museum in the Villa Borghese, that they should limit the amount of people allowed in a time, although that would make the lines even longer.

Giornale 3 (Keats-Shelley Museum)

Entering the Keats-Shelley museum, I gave a sigh of relief to be out of the strong sun. I climbed up the stairs, and, following the signs, headed into the gift shop to purchase my ticket. There I saw a young woman scurrying around, talking on the phone and searching for something at the same time. I awkwardly stood there for a few minutes, while she finished talking and then turned to me. I felt such a rush of relief when she began talking to me in English. While I enjoy being in a foreign country, it is sometimes comforting to be able to speak English, instead of horribly mangling Italian. We chatted for a brief moment about money, and how it has taken both of us a little while to get used to paying with correct change. I bought a museum guide, thanked the woman, turned around and headed up the stairs to the floor with the exhibit. I handed my ticket to the guy sitting in one of the main chairs lining the walls of the first room. He was also very nice, and quickly told me the layout.

I headed into Keats’s bedroom to start with. Having utterly no previous knowledge of Keats’s life, (and knowing only a sparse few facts about Shelley’s life,) I found the museum fascinating. I began with the description written under a portrait of Keats's sister, done in her old age. He often wrote to her, and, apparently, her letters were buried with Keats, along with the unopened ones from Fanny Brawne (his fiancé, who was the daughter of his neighbor, and 5 years his younger.) I continued to read all of the descriptions that I could find, finding most of them to be more about Keats’s acquaintances, than about events in his life. I found that a little odd, although it does make perfect sense considering that he died at such a young age.

I learned a great deal from the exhibits, such as the fact that Shelley's heart was saved after he was cremated, along with a few bone fragments. These were given out to friends, while his widow kept his heart. The museum has a jar containing a fragment of his jaw bone. The museum also had some locks of hair from Shelley, Keats, and another poet named Hunt (who was not described, and was entirely unknown to me.) I was intrigued by all the mentions of their friend Trelawney, (whose grave is also at the Protestant Cemetery.) He seems like a generally fascinating fellow, and quite a character, according to the descriptions. He apparently lavishly embellished many of his tales.

I found it a little odd to have a spot devoted to Shelley in the house where Keats lived, although I understand why, seeing as both are buried in Rome and both were Romantic poets. A few of the letters about Keats’s acquaintances seemed to me to be unnecessary as they did not really add anything to my understanding of the man or his life.

I was a little rushed at the end, since I was taking the time to read everything that I could. However, by skimming the last few descriptions of some letters pertaining to Shelley, I was able to finish with a little time to spare.

Momentary Blindness

There’s a sound of cars in the distance rushing behind me. It mixes with the sound of people in the park talking, the chirping and twittering of various birds, and the crunch of pebbles grinding against each other under the feet of passersby. Somewhere in front of me a fountain burbles. The different noises do not clash, but meld together to become abstract background noise, while, for some reason, I’m drawn to focus on the sound of the water overflowing.  In this moment, I can easily imagine myself to be anywhere: standing, years ago, in the forest near my childhood home, lying on the green at Skidmore, or sitting on the boulders on the beach of the reservation across the bay in front of my house. The wheels of a stroller on the rough gravel ground, and an Italian woman harshly speaking, I assume on the phone as I could only hear one pair of footsteps, disrupts my peace. I notice a slight smell of exhaust, coming from the cars on the road behind me. A soft breeze picks up, bringing refreshingly cool air near my face, sweeping away the fumes. Still, while the fresh air is nice, it doesn’t compare to the air in many of the streets in Rome, perfumed by the numerous white star jasmine plants that grow along the walls and fences.

Voyeur (Piazza Navona)

I noticed her out of all the other tourists in the piazza because she lightly tripped while taking out here camera, and covered that up by gracefully twirling around to snap a photo of the fountain, her long, but light, dress swirling around her. Her long auburn hair compliments the hues of her yellow and brown patterned dress. She walked over with her companion, who was dressed in a royal purple jumpsuit to one of the stone benches surrounding the edge of the square. Sitting down, she took off her sunglasses, and then her white shoes. The woman then sat cross-legged on the stone bench, facing the second woman. I saw that she had a light blue rectangle hung on a similarly colored lanyard around her neck. Having seen the same sort of lanyard on other people who belonged to a Russian tourist crowd, I assume that she was part of that group.

I wondered where she lived in Russia, guessing that she probably came from one of the cities: either Moscow or St. Petersburg. Part of me also wondered why she was here instead of going to a dacha (summer house in the country,) but I, of course, completely understand the whole idea of traveling to another country, particularly to Rome.

The woman took out a cigarette and quickly smoked it while talking and laughing with her friend. They then took pictures of each other sitting on the bench, and then, upon some signal that I couldn’t see, stood up to meet up with their tour. I could also easily see the woman coming back to her hometown and showing the pictures from this trip to her family and friends, possibly during some dinner in a small apartment, or while having tea and pastries in the afternoon.

Castel Sant'Angelo (Giornale 2)

We've finally gotten to go to the Castel Sant'Angelo! Huzzah! It has been on my list of places to visit for a while. A group of my classmates and I have been trying to get to it for a few days now. Having most of the day off, we've been able to go to it since we were sure that we would have enough time to fully explore the place.

Getting off of the crowded bus, we push our way through the crowd of tourists and vendors towards the entrance of the Castel. While the line is not at all that long, we still need to wait a few minutes until a group of tourists exit and we are let in. At the ticket office, I panic a little as the first ticket seller tells me that she does not have a change for a twenty (which, alas, is the only money I have on me, having spent all my change elsewhere, for fear of incurring the wrath of Italian cashiers who hate giving out change.) Thankfully, I find that the second ticker seller not only is able to break my twenty, but also does not comment on it. After I fumble with my wallet, dropping a few euros onto the ground making me awkwardly scramble around for them, I join the rest of the group and we head into the Castel. As soon as we take only a few steps down, the temperature drops to a deliciously cool temperature and I smile in relief.

While these medieval castles must have been utterly awful to live in, in the winter, and excluding the fact that they did not have modern toilets and other "luxuries" (that we now see as necessities,) I cannot help but think that it must have been awesome to live in one during the summer since it would be, quite literally, cool.

 Heading up the spiral walkway, I feel excited, but not entirely sure of what I’ll find inside. As we continued, I began to feel a little bored, as stone walls are not particularly fascinating things (the Fora Romanum is an exception, of course.) Wandering still further, I wondered why I felt bored. After all, I was so excited about this, not five minutes ago! Then a realization hit me. I had been thinking about this from the mindset of a tourist who had no previous knowledge of the fortress, and who was there solely to see the monument as something that they knew that they "should" see. I stood still for a brief moment in a room where there was a large circular window set high in the wall, and began to reflect upon the history of the monument. I set in mind who would be walking around the part of the building that had been built around the tomb, and began to imagine the pope and other church officials, and servants, walking throughout the building. Imagining the rustle of velvet, silk, and other fabrics in the stairwell and the conversations held in the doorways (however serious or mundane,) reinvigorated my excitement, and I went up the stairs to the courtyard. I whip out my camera and take a few obligatory pictures, and then spot a sign for the art exhibit and head in.

  Retrospectively,  I didn’t like the exhibit very much. There were wonderful things, and it was lovely to see, (and a little ridiculous to imagine living with such beautiful things every day,) but I didn’t feel that the exhibit was organized well. Every exhibit should have a good flow, allowing the viewer to walk comfortable around, and to properly enjoy the pieces. This had awkward corners and spaces, because of the small size of the room, which also meant that you couldn’t stand back to take in large pieces as a whole, and that you constantly had to be aware of other tourists walking behind you.  I enjoyed walking on the battlements and the rooftop, and through the corridors, because of the view of the city, and, once again, because I was imagining living there, and of the past that must have occured in all those places.

Madonna col Bambino ~ Pompeo Batini (Ekphrasis 2)

The infant in the woman’s arms looks up at her face, craning his neck only a little. However, instead of gazing back at her child, she looks down, past the child, almost ignoring him. And yet, the way that she holds her left hand against the child’s back, and the way that her mouth curves up ever so slightly in a gentle smile creates an idea that she is, perhaps, thinking about the child. These things, in addition to the left hand of the child, which caringly touches the woman’s right cheek, generate a feeling of tenderness. The soft colors of the painting, from the dusky pink of her dress (which is echoed by the dusky pinkish red on the apple,) to the strong, but dull, blue of the cloth around her arm and shoulder, and the off-white cloth and moss green pillow on which the child sits emphasize this gentle emotion.

Santa Maria in Trastevere (Giornale 1)

I slowly ambled into the courtyard of the Santa Maria in Trastevere, behind some other tourist, and was immediately struck by the fragments mounted on the walls of the church’s courtyard. I examined them for a while, finding them fascinating since they stand as mementos of some of the many people that had lived here in older times. Many of these fragments had lovely carvings, either intricate patterns or animals, such as a lion, or small carvings whose lines seemed almost sketch-like in quality. I found that both types had their own sort of beauty.

Passing through the courtyard and entrance passage into the actual church, I was struck by the gorgeous artwork inside, from the stained glass windows to the mosaics to the paintings hidden in the side chapels. It was quite unexpected because, although there is a mosaic depicting the Madonna and her child surrounded by ten women who are, for the most part, dressed very elegantly on the outside of the church, the rest of the exterior of the church is very drab, and almost disappears into the surrounding buildings. (Thinking back on it, I am very surprised that the mosaics on the outside of the church are still so vibrant! I would have thought that time, and weather, would have tarnished and dimmed the colors of the mosaic.) I headed straight towards the altar in the front, almost bumping into people as I examined the mosaic swirls on the floor. Green and red mosaics created lines with geometric patterns within them, lines which twisted around each other down the aisles, leaving room for mosaic circles in between them. The dark green and reds contrasted beatifully with the rest of the mosaic floor, which was a off-white color.

Arriving at the front altar, I sat at a pew in the front, and spent a few moments just gazing at the wonderful artwork in the apse. I liked the sheep that represented the followers of Christ, since the artistans who decorated the apse had made the patterns that represented the wool of the sheep different for every other sheep. I was suddenly startled when the lights illuminating the apse dimmed, leaving only the meager light from the candles, and the stained-glass windows. I then realized that to turn on the lights you had to pay, which disappointed me. (Not for the fact that one had to pay to see the artwork, but that the church used it to make money. Neither am I upset that the church is making money from this, as I know that the money will go to the upkeep of the church. I’m more disappointed that something that many find holy was used to generate money. It seems to take the mosaics out of the realm of the sacred to a level that seems a little cheap, even though the artwork is still as lovely as ever, and most certainly not cheap.)

Sighing, I stood up from the pew and continued to walk around the church, exiting the church after peering into all the side chapels and admiring the art in them.

Q and A

I was confused by a few things on the Palatine hill. One of these things was the remains of a giant marble foot that we found among the ruins of the Domus Flavia. Since it was a fairly big foot, the rest of the statue must have also been magnificent and awe-inspiring. And yet, I could find no mention in either the Blue Guide or the internet of who that foot belonged to, whether it had been a statue of a god or an emperor.  I find it odd that there would have existed such a large statue without any mention of it in any ancient writings.

                In addition to the foot, I was struck by the wall painting hanging in the Domus Augustiana. What surprised me, and confused me a little, about that wall painting was how modern it seemed. While it seemed classical in the fact that it used geometric shapes, the lines and colors seemed to come straight from modern times, and seemed out of place in my idea of ancient Rome.  The Blue Guide does mention these wall paintings, but I still cannot fathom that these paintings existed in those times, and that the rooms would have been full of them .

Head of An Amazon (Ekphrasis)

A short stub of marble neck, cut at an angle a few inches down from the chin, sits on a beautiful pedestal. The whole head tilts at a slight angle to the left, giving The intricately carved hair is parted at the middle, and sweeps back in a simple hairdo over the ears, almost completely obscuring them. At the back, a few short tendrils of hair escape onto her neck.  She has large eyes, and a long, slim nose, directing the eye down to the lightly downturned mouth.  Altogether, her face, and the angle of her head convey a sense of a little wistfulness, or, perhaps, sadness. And while her features seem delicate, and might portray sadness, this woman is by no means weak. There is strength in the line of her neck, which is echoed in the lines of her firmly set mouth and eyes, and, even, the careful hairstyle (even with the few tendrils escaping in the back.) The lighting throws her left side into shadow, and highlights her right side, and emphasizes the sense of strength emerging from the Amazon.

Space and Place

Honestly, walking through the Fora Romanum made me a little bit sad, because of all that was not there. When reading about the Fora Romanum, even though I knew it did not exist anymore, I still pictured a bustling area, filled with many buildings. In a way, it was, except all the people around me were tourists, and, unlike our group and the ancient romans, I’m sure that at least some did not know the history of all the buildings and ruins, and thus could not appreciate them as much. (I feel that knowledge of the history, of the events that occurred there make the place have more significance.  Seeing the floor of the house where the Vestal Virgins existed was really cool because I knew who these women were, and their duties. Instead of being just another ruin, it connected with the soft, ancient city that I had in my head, and gained meaning.) After going through the forum, I was left with a feeling of regret, that I was not able to see the forum in it’s full glory, with all the temples and buildings still standing. Considering that just half of a Basilica filled me with awe, I can’t imagine what it must have been like to walk through the streets surrounded by more amazing buildings.

I agree with what many people mentioned about how they felt in the forum. I did feel very guided through the forum, with the railings and pathways dictating where I should go (as well as the fact that there are only a few places through which you can enter and exit.) I really wish that I could walk through the forum as the ancient romans would have, to enter the buildings, and to not only keep to the paths set out for tourists.

All in all, I definitely felt like an outsider, although I did not feel entirely like a tourists, since i had spent the whole semester learning about Rome, and so felt a little connected to the monuments.  And, unless I went back in time to Ancient Rome, I don't think I will ever not feel like and outsider in the forum.

Prediction

Blearily rubbing my eyes as I headed into the lobby to join the rest of the group, I rued the fact that I had been unable to sleep on the plane. I had been excited and, to be honest, a little terrified during the flight, because I simply couldn't believe that it was actually happening. I was going abroad! And to ROME! Not to mention the fact that I was on a large plane for the first time in my life. All of these did not help me sleep on the trip over to here.

As I stood among my classmates, I sympathized with those who looked just as weary as I felt, and envied those who seemed refreshed. I resolved to buy some espresso as soon as I could, in the hopes of waking myself up. I didn't want to miss a single second of my being here, least of all for a silly (to my mind) reason such as lack of sleep. As we headed out for our first walk to the Campo di Fiori, I felt the warm sun on my back and shoulders, and relaxed a little. As we walked, I heard Dan and Jackie argueing over which cafe had better coffee, and what restaurant we should all go to. A group of young men on motorcycles passed us by, a few of them giving our little group a second glance. "PAULO!" someone shouted, and the the whole group burst out laughing.

I looked around as we kept walking, constantly spotting little details in the buildings, and interesting people that the artist in me wanted to stop and sketch. Seeing as I couldn't do so at this very moment, I began to keep mental tabs of the buildings that I wanted to draw, of the intersections of the lines from various buildings, and of the various colorful shapes that I saw around me. The lines and shapes I would probably end up doodling somewhere over and over, as soon as I found some particular arrangement that really struck me, until they ended up in one of my final pieces of artwork. And, oh! All the lovely combinations of colors that I kept seeing everywhere. I mentally kicked myself for not bring my colored pencils and wondered if I should buy some while I was here.

             As we kept walking, I began to wonder about our free time, and how much I would actually be able to do during it. I had wanted to try and search, at least a little, for the grave of my grandfather, who died while leaving the Soviet Union and coming to America. Unfortunately, I didn't know how feasible that was, particularly with all the other sights that I wanted to see. Setting aside this thought for a later time when I was more wide awake, I tuned into the group discussing things that we absolutely had to do tonight, including get our very first Italian coffees, and our first real gelato! I grinned at the thought of gelato, remembering the delicious gelato that I could find in Boston's North End, and wondering if this gelato would or, even, could be better.

            We reached the Campo di Fiori right as my stomach gave out a huge grumble. I looked at all the people passing by, and wondered where they all came from. I gave a start as I realized that Dan and Jackie had reached an agreement, and were leading us to the restaurant. I followed the group, and smiled, excited that I had a whole two weeks to spend in this fantastic and inspiring city.

Reflections

When I first applied to Reading Rome/Writing Rome, I was merely doing it because I wanted to travel, and because it seemed like something that I normally would not have done. However, over the course of the semester, I've become very interested in the eternal city. I entered Reading Rome without prior knowledge about Rome, besides from the very basic facts of its mythological foundation, as well as a few bits and pieces of the lives of various emperors. I was a little taken aback by how much of Ancient Rome we studied, and how in depth we went. I had expected more tales and accounts of travels to Rome, and more discussions of how these accounts differed, and what varied perspectives they offered on the eternal city.

In truth, we did do this towards the end, and I'm very glad that we did learn about the foundation of Rome.  It has given me another reason to desire to visit Rome, as I know want to see the structures that we learned about. Seeing these old ruins and monuments will have a lot more meaning, since I know the history behind them. Otherwise, I think I would have normally viewed them as almost any other tourist would: ruins that I was supposed to go to, and supposed to find cool and interesting, when, in fact, they would have probably held my attention for, at most, five minutes, before I would want to go look at something else. Learning the history and the events that have happened makes the fact that people have walked on that ground thousands of years ago, and built those wonderful things more real (versus a vague thought in the back of my mind.)

I also think that it will be interesting to compare the Rome that I created in my head from all the readings and pictures that we used in this course, with the real Rome. The other desire that I originally wrote about in my essay, (aside from my desire to travel) to see the art in Rome and to see how Rome itself inspires me is still one of my main reasons for wanting to go. In fact, I think it has intensified as I have learned more about Rome, and about the intricate monuments. I've become fascinated by the details that these possess, such as the thirty plant species depicted in the Trevi Fountain, and the various pieces that create the Arch of Constantine. (Alright, I'll admit it; the thirty plant species may have become a slight obsession with me.)

The accounts made by various travelers also helped to prepare me for the idea that Rome may well be very jarring at first, merely because it will be a different country with a different culture. I'm hoping that I will either not be affected by that, or will adjust quickly to being in a different place.