Rather than take the metro, which in places does a very good impression of the ancient Underworld, we prefer trams and buses. At least you get a view, they’re not quite as crowded and you can certainly go to more places. Not every bus manages to go the distance, however, as you can see from an experience we had this morning!
The 3 tram goes past the Colosseum and you get a great view of the structure as well as the thousands of tourists thronging around it, just as the Roman crowd would have done after the full house of the Emperor Titus’ inaugural games in AD80 – although the current crowd are probably not quite as high on bloodlust.
Saturday morning began with a trip to the market (same old routine as at home!) to get some more veg and other things including a kilo of cherries for a mere €5. We also visited the fresh pasta stall and looked at the tempting wares at the butchers. Quite keen to try some of the cuts of meat you don’t find in England, but that is for later in the week. The slices of roasted porchetta also look a bit tempting.
So we take the tram from the bottom of the road that then rumbles casually by random Roman sites of superlative interest. First the Circus Maximus, the largest of the large, then the power buildings of Empire on the Capitoline Hill come into view before a glimpse of the forums and the arch of Titus, built to celebrate the sack of Jersusalem and subsequent influx of plunder. Then, we round the impossibly impressive Colosseum and I am reminded of ‘doing’ the gladiatorial games year after year with Year 7 Latin. Murmillones (heavily armoured, fish-head helmeted, lumbering giants) pitted against Rhetiarii (swift and nimble, armed with a net and trident but little defensive armour …). Then the tram rounds the corner and we pass the Ludus Magnus where these killers were trained to fight and die with honour to satisfy the crowd. Finally, we arrive at Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano.
The Cathedral church of San Giovanni in Laterano is the Pope’s home church in Rome. A grand basilica, it is based on the architectural style of public buildings that housed the law courts in Roman times. Among all the golden finery, one wooden Madonna and Child stood out for its simple beauty. A 15th century carving, it was presented to the Cathedral by the current pope from the Vatican collection.
We had intended to see the famous Scala santa, the stairs which pilgrims climb on their knees, but the queue was very long and neither the spirit nor the flesh were willing on this occasion.
And so, back on the bus and down the hill to to the remains of the Baths of Caracalla. This is a vast, towering complex of public baths from the 3rd century AD. From either of the exercise areas (very 21st-century leisure) and changing rooms where you might slip a slave a few sestertii to look after your clothes (unless you brought your own slave), you would make your way through the various baths of different temperatures. Underground, slaves would be working in horrific conditions to keep the heating systems going. Amongst the baths was a pool of Olympic proportions. 6,000 customers could be accommodated in the complex at the same time.
But the bath experience wasn’t just about washing as the Roman writer Seneca tells us, ‘Here I am, surrounded by all kinds of noise (my lodgings overlook a bath-house). Conjure up in your imagination all the sounds that make one hate one’s ears. I hear the grunts of musclemen exercising and jerking those heavy weights around; they are working hard, or pretending to. I hear their sharp hissing when they release their pent breath. If there happens to be a lazy fellow content with a simple massage I hear the slap of hand on shoulder; you can tell whether it’s hitting a flat or a hollow. If a ball-player comes up and starts calling out his score, I’m done for. Add to this the racket of a cocky bastard, a thief caught in the act, and a fellow who likes the sound of his own voice in the bath, plus those who plunge into the pool with a huge splash of water. Besides those who just have loud voices, imagine the skinny armpit-hair plucker whose cries are shrill so as to draw people’s attention and never stop except when he’s doing his job and making someone else shriek for him. Now add the mingled cries of the drink peddler and the sellers of sausages, pastries, and hot fare, each hawking his own wares with his own particular peal. …’.
From the Baths, it’s a relatively short walk back over the smaller Aventine hill and across the Viale Aventino to our accommodation.
Later that evening: A quick walk down the Aventine, past the Fire Sation, the Protestant cemetery and the Pyramide and down on the via Ostiense and you come to the little restaurant that mixes Italian cooking with Scandinavian chic decor, Marigold. Appetisers of fried sage leaves (from Carla Tomasi’s garden no less) tomato bruschetta and salted almonds before main dishes of taglioni with Cavolo Nero pesto and pork alla Romana with grilled peppers and courgette. Shared puddings of strawberry ice cream and panna cotta were followed by espresso with mini shortbreads. The wine was a lovely clean local Lazio white. Brilliantly simple but brilliantly good!
On Sunday we woke up to rain which then persisted on and off for the rest of the day. We decided to go to the National Roman Art museum which proved to be very un-Roman museum experience. There were no queues, you did not have to book six months in advance through a third-party, nor go to two different desks to redeem your tickets, you were not obliged to leave everything you owned at the cloakroom and there were adequate toilet facilities throughout. Altogether, an excellent choice for a wet Sunday or, indeed, any other day. There are some seriously beautiful objects here, too many to enumerate. Amongst the best …
Murals from the house of Livia, wife of Augustus depicting birds and fruit trees.
Mosaics of charioteers and their horse wearing their team colours. A familiar picture from a GCSE Latin source book but stunning ‘in the flesh’. Chariot racing was seriously big business with the Circus Maximus accommodating an astonishing number of spectators – conservative estimates say around 300,000. Charioteers could earn fortunes but the price was high for errors of judgement.
A sarcophagus with relief statues of the Romans in battle against Germanic tribes.
Many, many incredible statues including the discus thrower. This is one of the Roman copies of the famous Greek discobolus, now lost.
Jewellery of exceptional beauty and craftsmanship from a tomb.
And, if the contents of the museum aren’t enough to satisfy your artefactual gluttony, looking out of the window onto a rainy Rome, there is a very fine statue of John-Paul II, the Polish pope on the piazza outside.
LET THE SWANS COME FORWARD 