The Eternal Day

I’ve been told that Rome wasn’t built in a day. The thing they don’t tell you, though, is that if you commit yourself to three days, you can do a decent job of seeing what there is to see. There’s a lot of it though—this whole chunk of the story only accounts for the first 24 hours, so bear with me.

Rome made a fitting spot to visit, after spending a week in Greece—both civilizations gave us the frameworks of some of the most important institutions we have today, like democracy and the arts. More to the point, the Greek influence on classic Roman society is hard to overlook, from the columned architecture to the gods presiding over everything (although the Roman gods went by different names—Zeus became Jupiter, Hades became Pluto, and Apollo stayed the same and felt a little bit ripped off).

I think it makes sense to kick off with a brief history of Rome, because in between gladiators, Julius Ceasar, pizza, and the Pope, it can all get a bit confusing and overwhelming to dive in without any context.

Rome has earned the nickname “The Eternal City” for good reason—its history goes back thousands of years. The founding myth (how many other cities can you name with legendary circumstances precipitating its inauguration?) is that twin brother Romulus and Remus (whose father was Mars) were left abandoned by the Tiber River, raised by a she-wolf, and had such an intense fight about the location for their new city that Romulus killed his brother and named the new kingdom after himself. The monarchy lasted a few hundred years, before shifting to a Republic that grew to encompass the entire Mediterranean.

Despite the power and the wealth of the Roman Republic, it only lasted until the Ides of March in 44 BC. Julius Ceasar, self-described “Dictator for Life” was causing dissent within the Senate, culminating in an assassination by a group of conspirators. Brutus and the other senators-turned-assassins were unable to reclaim the Roman Republic, though, and were defeated by the Second Triumvirate—Mark Antony, Marcus Lepidus, and Ceasar’s heir, Octavius. After a falling out within the Triumvirate, Octavius went on to rule Rome, dubbing himself the Princeps Civitatis, or “First Citizen of the State.” The Senate preferred to call him Augustus, signaling the start of the Roman Empire, one of the largest in history and with some 1400 years of operation.

The next part of Roman history gets somewhat overlooked by our Western fascination for the ancient world, but it’s no less interesting. In 1453, Constantinople (the relocated capital of the Roman Empire, in present day Istanbul) fell to the Ottoman Empire, and it wasn’t until the 1800s that Italian Reunification was made possible, and Victor Emmanuel II was appointed as the King of Italy. The capital, as of July 2, 1871, was once again in Rome.

My trip to Rome was a solo mission, the first one of those in a while. With Kayla in the United Kingdom for the week though, I seized the opportunity to have this adventure in a part of the world that she’d already visited.

I touched down in the Eternal City in the late afternoon, catching the next shuttle bus to Termini Station in the heart of Rome. Alessandro Downtown Hostel of Rome was only a five-minute walk away—I dropped my things in a small dorm room and decided, since I missed seeing the Acropolis illuminated at night, the least I could do was see the Colosseum.

There’s another part of ancient Rome that is firmly fixed in our imagination, the Colosseum. It’s the largest amphitheater ever built, able to accommodate around 80,000 people in tier seating. Apparently, in antiquity, dudes fighting to the death drew as many people as the Rolling Stones do today. The Colosseum was actually a bit of a political move by the Flavian dynasty—see, Nero, the Emperor who supposedly fiddled while Rome burnt in the Great Fire of 64, appropriated the land where the Colosseum stands for his own personal use, including constructing an artificial lake. The Colosseum was a bit of a gesture then, to the public, to reclaim that space.

It really has remained a pretty busy hub, though the site will only allow 3,000 visitors at a time, a far cry from 80,000. All on the outskirts of the Colosseum is a paved plaza, where you can buy a selfie stick from the insistent salespeople or get your picture taken with a gladiator.

I bought my ticket online the night before, so come Thursday morning I was able to skip the lineup of those who still needed to buy their tickets. During the summer months, this strategy is absolutely crucial, as the Colosseum is blocked. On an early November morning, I had no trouble getting into the building.

Just so we’re clear, the Colosseum wasn’t just about the gladiators. Performances (which were free) were lengthy spectacles that began with staged hunts and moved into the lunch break—otherwise known as the time when condemned criminals were executed ad bestias, or by wild beasts that tore their naked bodies to shreds. Jugglers and acrobats lightened the mood before the afternoon gladiatorial combats, usually by prisoners of war or slaves, but occasionally by free men seeking fame or, in Russell Crowe’s case, an Academy Award.

For some reason, I was expecting the seating area to have survived. Instead, when you enter the Colosseum and climb to the second level, you can walk around the entire thing and look down (the floor has mostly been removed, revealing the extensive underground system), but the gaps in the structure reveal the effects of nearly 2,000 years. The scale in this place was absolutely immense, and trying to picture someone being the centre of attention when this place was at its raucous capacity took a stretch of the imagination.

A ticket for the Colosseum also allows entry to the Roman Forum, the centre of Roman public life. It was here that speeches and marketplaces and gladiatorial marches were held, in the small valley between Palatine Hill and Capitoline Hill.

The day was absolutely beautiful, with the full force of the sun and clear blue skies. From the lush heights of Palatine Hill, where several Roman Emperors had their official residences and elaborate buildings, you get a clear look at the Circus Maximus, a long stretch of public park that used to be where the chariot races were held, and overlooking the rooftops the cupola of St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican.

Walking through the Forum though, despite the fact that there was still a level of disconnect between what I was looking at and trying to conceptualize it in the height of its glory, it somehow still looked like what I picture when I think of Ancient Rome. Walkways through rubble and isolated columns that once housed massive temples—the Forum wasn’t high on my list when I got up that morning, but I’m glad I got to spend a few hours wandering through its nooks and crannies.

I ended my visit just at the right moment though, because the first specks of rain barely dampened my t-shirt before the clouds burst. I huddled with a crowd of strangers beneath a tree for imperfect cover, waiting out the worst of it before continuing on.

Just a short distance from the Forum is the Altare della Patria. The simple explanation is that this white building is the monument for Italian Reunification, featuring Victor Emmanuel II (he himself is seated on a horse at the top of the stairs—in statue form, obviously) and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. But what it was for me was Rome personified. Not Ancient Rome, not like anything I’d seen earlier that day—or maybe the right way to put it is it’s Ancient Rome when it was contemporary. The building was absolutely massive, and I didn’t think pictures would do it justice but I had to at least try to capture something of the overwhelming sense I got, standing on the staircases and looking up.

It has vocal critics, right from when construction started in 1885 to the present day—it’s too large, it looks too much like a typewriter. But correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the reason we care about the major landmarks around the world, from the Colosseum to the Parthenon to the Great Wall of China, precisely because they’re so big? Isn’t this a case where size does matter, and where being humbled in the presence of architecture is part of the feeling, and why people actually flock to these things instead of being satisfied looking at a picture? Ancient relics, like coins and vases from antiquity, are all important, but let’s be honest—if those were the only things that survived from earlier times, would historical tourism be anything compared to what it is today?

So, I was impressed. I also imagined that the Roman Forum was rows and rows of buildings like that one, with the Colosseum at the end in its full glory. Rome, you officially have my attention.

In between all this looking around, I’d somehow neglected a lunch break. I found a café where I made sure to get a local beer and a pizza, topped with fresh Parmesan and arugula. When the sizzling pizza showed up at my plate I vaguely wished I’d ordered just a single slice, only to find that asking for a takeaway box would have been wasted breath, given that only crumbs survived.

Now I was ready for just about anything, so I continued down the rain-slicked streets, taking my life in my hands at every crosswalk (apparently stopping for pedestrians is just a suggestion for drivers). It wasn’t long until I stumbled across another imposing façade that just so happened to be the backside of the Pantheon.

The Pantheon, constituting the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome, is the real deal. It has survived for the past 2,000 years, due to the fact that it has been in continuous use since its inception. Beneath the large columns stands the portico, the porch leading into the circular church.

Again, pictures can’t capture the essence, and I doubt my words can either. Essentially, the Pantheon is a dome, a Catholic church with an oculus looking to the open sky (there was still a light rain falling through the opening—holes in the floor prevent flooding) and emblazoned with altars around its circular procession. It was also a hive of tourists, peering upwards or at the tomb of Raphael, feeling that same little shiver that draws people here, to this ancient structure plunked down in the middle of a busy city like some alien life form.

The Pantheon stands at the front of the Piazza della Rotonda, and today the fountains were giving an extra effort.

Speaking of fountains, the Trevi Fountain was nearby. I’d heard that was another notable Roman monument to see, so I veered that way.

Apparently the Trevi Fountain had, up until a few days ago, been in the midst of extensive renovations, so the fact that I got to see it at all was a lucky break. I guess if it had been covered I wouldn’t have known what I was missing, but here too was another thing that just immediately grabbed hold of me. The Baroque fountain comes from 1762, and it’s an entire building that happens to have a scene of white stone giants splayed out on its front, while a sizable pool of beautiful blue water collects at its forefront. The crowds that day were out in full force—perhaps because it had been concealed for so long.

There were also more than a few city police around, blowing their whistles every few minutes because someone insisted on standing on a slippery railing or going past a partition for that perfect pose. I hope they only have short shifts, because none of them looked like they were having a lot of fun in that chaos.

The Spanish Steps were, unfortunately, still undergoing renovations. Maybe they are really impressive and I’d go on and on about them if they were uncovered—maybe it’s a good thing I’ll never know.

At any rate, the afternoon was nearly spent as I found myself at the Piazzale Napoleone I, looking down at the circular Piazza del Popolo and the obelisk in the centre. From up here, you were afforded another panorama of Rome—and, off in the distance, the setting sun illuminated the sphere of St. Peter’s.

My decision was pretty clear—another thing that people say is that all roads lead to Rome, and during this moment in Rome, all the roads before me led to the Vatican. I was looking forward to making my own pilgrimage to the centre of Catholicism—but first, a well-deserved sleep.

Cheers,

rb