Circo Massimo, Le Terme di Caracalla, e La Bocca della Verità

After my latest trip on Wednesday, I'm pleased to say that I'm already reaching the end of my "Essential Roman Sites" list. Rome is absolutely HUGE, so I had to make a game plan in order to tackle this beast of a city. Never been one to procrastinate, even when it comes to travel. I'm looking forward to spending the final weeks here shopping, browsing museums, and revisiting favorite areas in a more leisurely, less stressful fashion.

Directly across the street from the metro stop, I found Circo Massimo (Great/Large Circus) waiting for me. This was formerly a massive stadium (the first in the Roman Empire too!), which showcased Roman chariot races and religious festivals. Very few architectural ruins remain now--only the brick that you can see in the far left corner of the green--but at it's peak, the arena could hold as many as 150,000 spectators (about three times that of the Colosseum).

Next stop was Le Terme di Caracalla. The baths of Caracalla were built under Emperor Caracalla between 212 and 216 AD. Originally exclusive locations for important Roman leaders and the very wealthy, these particular baths are significant since they were free and open to the public. As I wandered the campus, I was struck again by the enormity of the structures...and these were just the ruins. Suddenly, I felt very small, in every sense of the word.

What did you do at work today? 

incredible mosaic floor

just some 2,000-year-old artwork 

This is where the pool used to be--can you see the steps that still remain in the far left corner?

Normal? Man walking to work, motor traffic, and ruins on Palatine Hill...all on the same street.

Piazza della Bocca della Verità

Writing on the wall...waiting in line to see La Bocca della Verità (mouth of truth) in the portico of La Basilica di Santa Maria in Cosedin. There's little certainty about the sculpture's history, but it is thought to have belonged to part of a Roman fountain or manhole during the 1st century AD, representing an unknown god. La Bocca is popular today among tourists and Romans alike, which was made clear by the line I discovered wrapping the church entrance. Medieval legend has it that if one tells a lie with his/her hand inside the mouth, it will be bitten off. Not so surprisingly, I managed to leave with wrist, palm, and all five fingers still intact. I couldn't lie if I wanted to.

 And now for the embarrassing touristy shots with La Bocca della Verita. OK fine, really not embarrassed I just wanted to sound hipster.

Never Lost in Rome

Last Monday, I finally had my run along the coast in Ostia. A breathtaking view of the ocean, cabanas, and a gentle breeze made five miles easy. I stopped at a beachside cafe for sparkling water and un cappuccino freddo (closest thing I've found to an American style iced coffee here), and plopped down at a table facing the water to write some very overdue postcards. I can't even put into words how beautiful it is here. Everything looks fake. 

Wednesday, I hit the beach again (really loving the new school schedule), this time to veg and pretend it's still summer. After a couple of hours, I decided I'd had enough skin cancer for the day and headed to the bus stop for Infernetto. I had only made it a few blocks when I heard "signorina, scusa, permesso, ce, etc..." coming from behind me. I thought I might have dropped something, so I finally turned around. We'll call him "Luigi" since I can't remember his real name that I'm fairly certain also started with an "L." Beginning in Italian, Luigi explained that he had been too scared to talk to me on the beach and so he'd followed me there instead. He went on to say that I seemed like a really "relaxed girl" (yeah cause most people are severely stressed when lying on the Mediterranean Coast?) and even though he didn't know me, he really liked me somehow. I tried to play the foreigner card by saying, "mi dispiace ma non parlo italiano," but then he switched to English without missing a beat. Poop, now what? I felt like I was being interviewed. Luigi wanted to know my name, age, where I lived, my country of origin, how long I'd be in Italy, etc. I gave him a flat "Sarah, United States, and 23," which was received with a big fat kiss on my hand. When he asked if I would come see him at the beach the next day, I recycled my "no Italian cell phone" excuse and made sure to mention my American boyfriend several times. The last straw was taking off my sunglasses so he could see my eyes and saying, "Oh mama mia, I want to kiss your eyes." And that's when I threw up a little in my mouth. Here ends the most aggressive pick-up I've ever experienced, which is actually not so uncommon here. I'm just glad no one was around to see how incredibly awkward and embarrassed I was.

Tuesday, I visited the city center. I hopped off the metro at colosseo, passed the Roman Forum and Piazza Venezia before finally arriving at Il Teatro di Marcello and Il Portico d'Ottavia, which Augustus built in honor of his sister, Octavia, in the early 30's BC. Il Teatro was constructed towards the end of the Roman Republic and housed dramatic and musical performances in an open-air setting. Unfortunately, no one is allowed inside the amphitheater today and the arch is currently under construction. Womp womp. This is when it pays to still have a childlike imagination I guess.

After visiting the neighboring Isola Tiberina (tiny random island in the Tiber), I happened on The Jewish Ghetto. I watched as a mob of worshippers filed out of the main synagogue and into the streets. I couldn't figure out why everyone was leaving such a beautiful building. I was just trying to get IN. Although I didn't see anyone resisting the flow of traffic and entering the church, I decided to make my way towards the entrance anyway and see if anyone tried to stop me. In retrospect, this is a pretty accurate analogy for my attitude towards life in general. Besides, I'm foreign and don't know any better. Well I did get stopped, by a fussy old man. "Signora! E chiusa!" Worth a try, always.

Having prematurely plowed through my list of sites for the day, I decided to brave the VERY LONG walk along the Tevere (Tiber) River and tour Castel Sant'Angelo instead. This is also known as the Mausoleum of Hadrian, which Hadrian commissioned for himself and his family in the 130's AD. The edifice has since served as an elegant home to popes and is now a museum as well.  

One of the many statues lining Pont Sant'Angelo which leads to the Castle

Top terrace of Castel Sant'Angelo

St. Peter's and Vatican City in the background

Maria Maggiore (Cavour area)

Saturday evening, I met two friends I'd made through NATO Defense College functions for a happy hour near the Colosseum. Giulia (Italian, 23) just returned from an "Au Pair" experience in San Francisco, which sounded a lot more like a cultural exchange with an insanely wealthy family. And Theo (Greek, 22) is currently an intern at the College where his father also works. As we talked, laughed, sampled aperitivi and sipped on birra bionda (literally "blonde beer," but refers to light) in a swanky bar in the artsy district of Cavour, I had another one of those "this is my life" moments. 

Sunday funday in downtown Rome! Not-so-fun, however, is the Sunday bus schedule. Had I anticipated a forty-five minute wait for the 070 to EUR Fermi, I might have made it to church on time. At least I had good company. I'm convinced you can make friends just about anywhere if you really want to. I'm not sure we ever exchanged names, but I soon found myself deep in conversation with an older woman from Moldova, who was also working as an Au Pair in Infernetto. I had to laugh as someone who had lived in the city for two years was asking me for directions via Roman public transport. I still get lost in Falls Church City, and yet here I was escorting this lady to the train station in downtown Rome. Go figure. Between waiting at the stop and riding both the bus and the metro, we had spent nearly an hour and an hour and a half together before parting ways--my longest and most successful Italian conversation to date! Little by little, I uncovered more of her story and of her life here in Italy. After her husband left her for another woman, she had no choice but to say goodbye to her two daughters in Moldova and search for work in Italy. Without a contract or any form of legal documentation, she has zero protection against a family that clearly mistreats her. She is literally trapped. It was a heavy morning to say the least. There are so many women in similar situations and worse, even in a western European country like Italy. At least her job is legal. Miss Moldova would hardly refer to her work as an "Au Pair experience" as I have. Freedom is something I have come to expect and certainly take for granted on a regular basis. I am so fortunate.

Later that morning, I found myself "cruising" on the Tevere, the river that once carried goods between the ancient city of Rome and the harbor in Ostia. I welcomed this change in perspective. Enjoy the view from below!

Thirty minutes later, I jumped off at l'Isola Tiberina and tried once again to visit the Jewish synagogue. Thankfully, no cranky men tried to stop me this time. The tour was fascinating and I learned so much about the history of Jews in Rome, a community over two-thousand years old. For instance, during WWII, Rome was the only place from which the Jews were not expelled.  The Great Synagogue of Rome was constructed shortly after the unification of Italy in 1870 and was capped with the only square dome in the entire city. It is honestly one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever been inside, and this is saying a lot. I almost wished I was Jewish just so I could worship there. Of course, photography was strictly prohibited, but enjoying a big fat falafel shawarma from a nearby cafe in The Ghetto lifted my spirits almost immediately.

Outside the Synagogue

This is a random cathedral I peeked in on l'Isola Tiberina. While impressive, the Jewish synagogue puts this bad boy to shame!

Thermal Baths--you know, the kind you find in the middle of your average Roman intersection

And I couldn't end the post without first explaining the title. As many of you may know, I have one of the worst senses of direction known to mankind, so you can be certain I've been lost in Rome. While technically this is true, when in a place so rich in culture, history, and beauty, can one ever really be lost? I've come to realize that no matter where I find myself in the city these days, I am always in the "right place," exactly where I want to be. As someone whose heart and mind are often busy spanning the lengths of time and space, this realization is a valuable reminder for me to take time and be still, to be fully present and live in the moment. 

San Francesco d'Assisi, La Giostra della Quintana, e Cioccolato di Perugia

Since June I have anxiously awaited our trip to Umbria and this weekend it managed to live up to my lofty expectations. Several years ago my parents visited San Gemini (also in Umbria), which we happened to pass on our way to relatives in Foligno (fo-leen-yo). It was one of their very favorite spots from their travels in Italy and now I know why.

Friday night dinner in Foligno was hamburgers. Hello? There must've been some mistake. Surely Giovanna had told Norma and Pasquale (Benito's sister and brother-in-law) that I genuinely love all things Italian, specifically food. Yes, the cheeseburger will have my heart until the day I die, but I suggest leaving BBQ to the Americans and pasta to the Italians. I realize it was meant as a kind gesture, yet somehow this meal disappointed me far more than it should have.

After dinner, Pasquale and Benito dropped me off at my pensione (much like a B&B). This alone is proof of the stark contrast from what I experienced in Madrid. In Spain, I routinely shared a bed with one of the children when we traveled. When Benito explained to me that there was not enough room in the Foligno apartment for all of us, I assured him that I could fall asleep just about anywhere---couch, chair, hammock, desk, floor. Anyone who's ever watched a movie with me can certainly attest to this. Apparently Benito interpreted this as just another one of my hilarious jokes, because it threw him into a laughing fit. No, I would be put up at a B&B and I wasn't allowed to breach the topic again. Night and day experiences, praise God! We arrived at the inn well after dark and were welcomed by the man we would later affectionately dub "Mr. Eight." Mr. Eight was a confused man. Even after confirming backwards and forwards (in both English and Italian) my 8:30 breakfast time for the following morning, he still concluded the conversation flashing eight fingers in my face. Surely he was joking. He wasn't.

The following morning, I drew the blinds in my bedroom and stepped out on the terrazza to survey the day's forecast. I couldn't believe I had spent the night there without any clue where I really was...engulfed by tranquil Italian countryside. I grabbed my camera and was snapping a few shots when I suddenly heard a bellowing "GOOD MORNING!" from below. Good ol' Mr. Eight was waiting for me at the entrance. How long he had been standing there I'll never know. I only wish I had put real clothes on first.

Buongiorno, Foligno! 

Downstairs, Mr. Eight insisted on "practicing his English," which consisted of about ten disjointed, nonsensical words; meanwhile, I enjoyed nutella on toast (it is a sad, sad day here that I go without nutella) and watched as he brewed me a luscious cappuccino. Afterwards, I was introduced to his "husband," who looked much more like a "wife" to me. Please, Mr. Eight, let's just stick to Italian and we can skip the charades.  

Saturday was Benito's birthday and we all piled in the car in pursuit of Assisi, just thirty minutes outside Foligno. ATTENTION ALL RIVENDELL TEACHERS! I do remember something from the units! Even though I recalled very little detail about the man's life, the infamous name that goes along with the town of Assisi will be forever imprinted on my mind....Saint Francis. Just eleven years later, my middle school humanities classes had come to life. We spent the cool morning roaming cobblestone streets, perusing quaint shops with wooden toys, herbal soaps, and pottery, and stopping every now and then for espresso. Soon we had reached the main attraction: La Basilica Papale di San Francesco, the resting place of the saint's earthly body. Save for the ground, every inch of the interior was adorned with murals dating back to the 13th century. Here I felt my first wave of fussiness in almost six weeks when I discovered there was no photography allowed. Rough life I lead these days.

Scenes from Assisi 

Cousin Giuseppe's not so sure about the strange American Au Pair girl...

La Basilica Papale di San Francesco

Back to Foligno for lunch, Norma and Giovanna whipped up an impressive spread: spaghetti with fresh roma tomatoes and olive oil, an assortment of meats and cheeses, and salad (well, lettuce and olive oil). It seems that every time we get together with family and/or friends I am forced into a deep food coma after each meal. I have no choice really. Of course, this was an everyday occurrence in Spain, so I'm thankful for the only occasional gluttonous feast here in Italy.

YOM

Once I regained consciousness, "Jo" and Norma gave me a high profile assignment: I was to be the accomplice in distracting Benito while they executed "operation birthday cake." Norma shoo-ed us out the door to survey the progress of the evening's parade preparations, and handed us a list of medieval taverns to visit along the way. I was just the girl for the job too. I assumed Italian walking pace and asked even more questions than usual. 

Setting up for la Giostra della Quintana (parade/festival/jousting competition). Also notice the pinkish stone used in the cathedral's construction--I'm told this is very typical of Umbria.

After snarfing down a fatty pan-seared steak with rosemary and plenty of salt, it was time to unveil the surprise cake. Surrounding the "Auguri Benito" written in melted chocolate, Giovanna and Norma had cleverly dyed whipped cream frosting in Napoli's team colors, what else? Inside was a fluffy white cake layered with sweet custard and strawberries. Fine, if you insist.

Giovanna had carefully planned her gift for Benito weeks in advance and registered him for a trial saxophone lesson. This man certainly has eclectic interests--just when I thought I'd figured him out. Well, clearly Giovanna has, because not twenty minutes later Benito had promoted me to part time Au Pair and full-time musical agent. No self-esteem issues there. Norma commented on our natural banter, that I didn't miss a beat with Benito's humor. But then again I am fluent in sarcasm too, one language in which we share the vernacular. 

After dinner, Giovanna, Benito, Norma and I left tired children at home with Pasquale and set out to enjoy the parade component of "La Giostra della Quintana." The festival celebrates their history and simultaneously serves as a jousting competition between le rione (essentially neighborhoods). Unfortunately, we were ticketless and unable to witness this very packed stadium event.

Sunday morning I had to say goodbye to Mr. Eight, which turned out to be a much longer process than expected. Thankfully for both of us, the innkeeper had decided to stick to Italian this morning and as he pulled out a chair to chat, I knew he was in it for the long haul. Like a fool, I had chosen a seat with my back to the clock and knew Benito would be waiting outside the gate at 9. This scenario might have been stressful for me in the States, but somehow it wasn't here. In Italy, "late" is the new "on time" after all. Eventually, Benito had found his way inside and Mr. Eight and I were to part ways, for real this time. I would later find out that he had given me far too many kisses than is appropriate for an Italian who has just met you. And so, although Eight had made me promise to return and stay at his pensione again, Vitolo family consensus dictated that I'd be sleeping elsewhere next time in Umbria. But just in case Eight and I did cross paths again, they taught me the Italian hand gesture signifying, "I'll kick your ass." Somehow, I'm not sure it has the same effect when you have the hands of a five-year-old. 

Later that morning, we drove just twenty minutes to Perugia. Perugia is both the sister city to Seattle, Washington (not sure why) and, more importantly, famous for Italian chocolate. Due to a number of prestigious international universities, the area draws a multitude of students from all over the world. It is also a very nostalgic place for Benito as he attended the Miltiary English School there before he and Giovanna were married.

Here, we traveled like true Italians, where our only agenda was to soak in the sunshine, ancient architecture, and beautiful panoramic views of bushy green mountains, olive groves, and terra cotta roofs. Primary on the "list" of course was to sample our fair share of heavenly chocolate. In one particular shop, the storekeeper had foolishly offered us chocolates from a dish at the register. Having just finished a milk chocolate piece, I reached for a dark without giving it a thought. Giovanna was pleased to see how Italian I'd already become.

As we headed back to the car, I was dragging my heels. Just one more picture, please. Oh wait can I go look at those postcards really quickly? I was always in the back frantically trying to absorb the experience, following the yawning natives all the while. Oh Perugia? Yeah, mmhmm it's OK, I guess.

Back home in Foligno, the highlight of lunch was undoubtedly omelet made with local truffles. Long after there was nothing more to eat or say, we eventually hit the road. Apparently, the term "immediately" as in "be ready because we are leaving immediately after lunch" is a relative one in Italy. This time, I didn't mind.

The center building was the location of the Amanda Knox trial

Not bad, if you like this kind of thing...

Family photo :)

More scenes from Perugia 

Oh just a sign outside the chocolate store indicating walls from 3rd century B.C. 

Europe is OLD.

Buonanotte, Umbria. Alla prossima volta!

This Week's Adventures

Living just three months in Bella Roma, one would expect I'd be darting out the door at any free moment to visit the city center. Thus far, however, this has not been the case...a surprising reality to myself included. I'm quickly finding that even a slower week here is chock-full of mini adventures, both planned and unplanned, leaving me craving just a little bit more "down time" that seems to slip through my fingers like sand on the beach. 

Wednesday afternoon, I got just that. Having completed English lessons with the children and a series of household chores by 2:30, Giovanna granted me the rest of the day to do as I pleased. The choice was easy really. I grabbed a towel and my book (I'm currently re-reading The Great Gatsby--my high school English teachers would be so proud) and hopped on the 06 bus. In just ten minutes time, I was already stepping onto a beautiful (and free!) beach in Ostia. Despite the INTENSE PDA, g-strings, and excess of bikinis and speedos (this seems to be the only available bathing suit cuts here), I had no trouble unwinding in my very favorite kind of landscape. One of these days I'd like to run along the coast; as for today, I was going to clock in some solid horizontal time. Reading and falling asleep to music in the afternoon sun, I was in my element--on a beach in Rome.

The only caveat to choosing a "free beach" in Italy is that you will be continuously bombarded by vendors begging you to purchase cheap and unappealing merchandise. At this point, I am used to having to either say "no grazie" upwards of 6 times or just pretend I am asleep. This time, however, was different. My ears perked. Women were offering MASSAGES. Long massages for just 5 euros. I beckoned over one masseuse and made sure forwards and backwards, in both English and Italian, that this was really true. I raised a finger. "Why yes, I will be taking one of those after all." Quicker than you can say "Ciao, Bella" my top was ripped open and I felt an unmistakable draft in my upper buttocks region. Then again, I was really just another practically naked body on the beach. So there I was lying on the Roman coast, getting shamelessly greased up and massaged for what seemed like far too long to only be charging 5 euros. Benito would later tell me that this kind of business is actually illegal, yet somehow I was still proud of my investment. 

Thursday, i bambini started school. This is sweet little "Virgi" (veer-gee) showcasing her Tinklebell backpack, busting at the seams with hundreds of carefully labeled art supplies. Please also notice the crowd of people behind her. This is in front of the school on the first day, where families and students alike discovered important information...oh, like what class they're in. I'm told that afternoon pick up (everyday) is MUCH crazier and to consider wearing a helmet. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it..."

 While the kids were at school, I headed downtown. First stop was the flea market at EUR Fermi. Usually at this stop, I am stuck out in the middle of the road alertly waiting for the bus back to Infernetto (bus drivers are not required to stop for you unless you wave your arm and are already standing at the stop), so I've never been fortunate enough to enjoy a leisurely jaunt through the market. Looks like I hadn't really been missing much. 

Once downtown, I headed back to the Mamertine museum, which had been closed on my last visit. This is where the apostles Paul and Peter were imprisoned under Roman rule. If ever you visit the site yourself, skip the audio tour. Contrary to common belief, it did not enhance the tour. In fact, the cheesy and pointless comments indefinitely distracted me and actually detracted from the serenity of the experience.

Wall within the Mamertine Prison 

Although we were able to access the famous cell by way of stairs, a hole in ceiling, which is still visible, offered sole access during their imprisonment. Standing even ten seconds in a cold, wet, pitch dark cave was enough to realize my infinite weakness. I wouldn't have lasted two hours in that pit.

Outside Mamertine 

Piazza di Campidoglio (camp-ee-dough-yo)

Around the corner in Piazza Venezia stands the Altare della Patria (Altar of the Fatherland), a monument in the heart of Rome to Victor Emmanuel, the first king of a united Italy. As I consulted my map to make my next move, a grey and balding man (these details will be significant in a minute) asked where I was headed. Beginning our conversation in Italian, shifting to English, we finally carried on in Castilian Spanish. It felt so good conversing in fabulous Spanish once again, even if short lived. As I said my "thank you's" and "nice to meet you's" and prepared to set out again, baldy was expressing wishes to meet up again. Although I'm sure my face made obvious my white lie, I confessed I did not have an Italian mobile phone and so a future date would be impossible. My recent pattern of getting picked up by strange men in the city has become something of a joke in the Vitolo family. Although currently at a 100% "success" rate, my luck is on a rapid downward spiral. Grandpas just aren't my thing...yet.

Zig-zagging in and out of shops on Via del Corso, I found my way to the Pantheon. Ya know, just your average city stroll. My breath was literally taken away by the level of detail and sophistication of the architecture. Not bad for an ancient civilization--especially considering we continue to use these building methods in the modern world. 

Lunch time! I will certainly miss this when I return to the States. Even food from random street vendors is incredible in Italy.

My final stop was on the opposite side of Via del Corso at Il Palazzo del Quirinale, home to the president of the Italian Republic. Finding it closed, I took advantage instead of the many surrounding parks and gardens. Finally, I wandered back to Piazza Barberini to grab the metro, but accidentally got distracted by the potent aroma of Italian leather coming from a nearby shop. The rest is history.

And a fun fact to end this post: Rome is home to more fountains than any other city in the world. This example happens to be one of four on a corner of a small intersection. No bigs.