Week 7

When I planned my trip to Italy last May, I had a list of expectations, like any other who was planning to come with our group. As someone who enjoys all things historic, especially ancient, I was beyond excited, I was ecstatic - elated - and inspired. Ancient Rome, just below Ancient Greece, had a warm spot in my heart for as long as I could remember. This, I thought, was where it all happened. This, would be where I could see for myself how far back time has stretched in countries much older than our infant America. This trip to Italy would show me how history and religion were not only celebrated, but respected. It was this, this enormous, fantastic belief, that made for the most disappointing part of the Rome Experience. The realization that not everyone respects the ruins of what were once great and powerful cities, and that in all actuality, the ancient is not only under-appreciated but hidden behind the more modern - was what hit me the hardest during my two month long journey of Italy.
When I say people do not respect the history of these historic locations, I do not mean that they have learned about these sites and honored them in their thoughts, or remembered the people and what they once stood for. I mean something much simpler than that. Entering the Colosseum, for example, after the initial shock of being surrounded by such a colossal building, a quick survey of the area shows parents allowing their children to climb the crumbling walls, taped off for good reason. Cigarette butts litter the ground, as do food remnants and wrappers. The holes that once supported the marble of this building are now filled in by litter which people decided not the throw on the ground or supplied waste cans. Passing the initial anger and frustration of what has become of what was once the center of socialization and entertainment in Rome, it is still possible to be awed by the building, and to wonder what it was like beneath the stage, or in the seats.
Rome, is just one example of the ancient cities that once existed. There is also Pompeii, which is in phenomenal condition considering its age and the devastation of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Pompeii, in comparison to Rome, is more well preserved both because of the tomb which encompassed it from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius until excavations began, but also because Pompeii is not as easily reached as the ruins in the city of Rome. While Rome is the epicenter of Ancient, the Catholic Church, and the hustle and bustle of city life for the Italians, tourists, and travelers - Pompeii is on the outermost edge of small towns and little known areas. Rome seems to be on the agenda of most serious tourists, which is quite understandable; See the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, a few fountains and churches - it's the plan for most who travel to Italy - but it is majorly the traveler who goes to Pompeii. That is not to say Pompeii is pardoned from the curse of tourists and litter, but from my own limited experience, I felt a sense of respect in the Pompeii ruins that seriously lacked in the Colosseum and Roman Forum.
In assuming Pompeii is more frequented by travelers, it can be easily accepted that the level of respect for the history of the ancient city would be higher. Just as, with the Colosseum as my best example, for the tourist, it may be nothing more than something to check off the list of "What to See While in Rome".
I believe the disappointment I faced my first weeks in Italy were made up for with my short trip in Pompeii. With surviving wells, road blocks, original frescos, and even roofs in some of the buildings, Pompeii made imagining life in this city easy, whereas the tourists in the Roman Forum were so much of a distraction, and tours were so hurried, that I could hardly keep track of the pictures the guides flipped through to give us a visual of what this field with scattered column fragments once was.
While I realize now that being in Italy and remembering it later on bring much different thoughts to the surface, I would urge anyone interested in the ancient history of this great civilization to visit Pompeii. I would urge them to lose themselves in the streets, in the open homes and spectacular views. Rome, of course, must be seen, remembered, and respected for what it once was - but it has also become something much different, and that cannot be forgotten when visiting the area. Pompeii, however, is frozen in the sort of way I foolishly and naively believed part of Rome would be. Pompeii is still very much alive. Though the people are long gone, and the walls have crumbled here and there, the imagination takes over when one walks down the narrow streets and sidewalks, or when they enter the open spaces for markets and meeting areas. Ancient Rome is a graveyard with trees and gates surrounding it, and people who come to pay their respects - either because they feel they have to or because they miss what it once was.
Both areas are spectacular, no doubt about it, and I while it wasn't what I expected, I wouldn't have given up this opportunity, this experience, for anything.

Week 6

I will be honest enough to say that I was worried, when I made plans to come to Rome, that perhaps I wouldn't have as great an experience as people from a Catholic background, as several of my classmates are. In small-town-Ohio, it's easy to overlook someone's religious background, but it seemed to me, that the Catholic Church wouldn't have to stretch so far in Roma, and with the little I knew about Catholicism, I was going to have a difficult time understanding a large portion of the culture in Italy.
As a Theology student, majoring in literally, "the study of God", I was quite interested in seeing if devotion would be different here, in what can be easily considered, the Catholic Capitol of the World, versus that which I have been exposed to while attending a private Catholic University. The Mass held on campus was my first test.
Everything ran smoothly in our little chapel. The priest spoke in English, and I was moved by the message. The second week, I even got up to read the passages, and shook a little when my classmates answered back, from years of practice and memorization. In larger chapels, when I couldn't understand the message, I still felt presence, stronger than I had known before. So many people surrounded me, devoted, completely. Last weekend, I watched a son carry his ninety-four year old mother to a front pew, as he does each Sunday. There are people such as this in America, in Ohio, in my hometown. There are strangers who would shake my hand and wish peace to my soul, but here, it felt so natural yet so strange. On the street, the very same people might not even nod back when I wish them a good morning, and yet, they turn their very brightest smiles on when in this spiritual environment.
On whether the Catholic Church itself is global or Roman, to the best of my knowledge, the Catholic Church emphasizes community. Communities are different all over the world. Here, true enough, Romans are living right next door to Vatican City, but tourists and travelers make pilgrimages to Rome daily by the thousands to see the same sites, and perhaps appreciate them more so for not having them so near.
Papal Audiences invite people from all over to hear the Pope address the Catholic Community, making them more comfortable by translation and introduction of the various areas in attendance. Such recognition causes shouts and songs in all different tongues, smiles stretching from ear to ear.
I cannot imagine the Church as anything other than Global, for all they try to incorporate people from other countries and regions. Roman, yes, of course. Rome will always be the heart of the Church. A heart open and willing to receive and share.

Week 5

Italian Leisure

While strolling along a small portion of the Villa Borghese property earlier this week, which consists of about 148 acres, museums, fountains, statues, and various other attractions, I was able to observe Italian culture in a casual manner. With park benches lining the sides of the park's paths, people-watching was made quite convenient, though I found it most interesting to walk along with the people who strolled along, or to do what most came to this gorgeous park for, to find myself away from the bustle of the city.
Couples could be seen walking hand in hand, or sitting along the edges of the ancient Roman amphitheater ruins while people jogged around the track below. A game of soccer went on in this spot as well, and along the sidewalks which were lined by bushes and twin fountains, people biked along - either singly or in bikes made for two or four - an amusing thing to see for the first time. Dogs were walked and people hummed along to the music in their heads, much like happens in public parks in the United States.
My class had been told to find the differences and similarities between Italian leisure and American leisure, and so I watched, mentally tallying the number of those who read, sang, ran, laughed, or kissed. I found that the majority of those who came to the park, did so not for aimless wandering but for exercise while enjoying the scenery. The paths were made wide enough so that this could occur without trampling those of us Americans who came for leisurely walks, enjoying our time in this park which seemed as if a world of it's own. I strolled, turning politely from the couples who kissed, and moving aside for the children and dogs who wandered by.
I found myself, at last, as I journeyed into a clearing in the woods which was decorated by an ornate stone fountain surrounded by four stone and mossy benches which curved in the same circular way. It was here that I sat a while and thought of how I spent my wandering times back home, in the public parks I loved to visit in the Autumn, Spring, and Summer months. While at home, there were also runners and people willing to exercise their children and pets, there seemed a far more amount of people willing to sit and read a book on a bench or stare at the sky. It seemed, to me at least, that Italians would have considered this wasted time. I wondered, also, how I would change when I would return home. Could I do as I have always done, and enjoyed a park as a place to escape headaches and the modern world - or would I instead, do as the Italians and rush through the park, my eyes forward, my feet speeding to a beat that meant I was running? Considering it now, also, I think of how in Italy, we walk an average of six or seven miles a day, whereas back home, I would have been surprised to get half. So, will I then have to replace my leisure time for exercise to keep up with all I have accomplished here?
These questions I seem to ask myself daily, but in the end, I think what I have always thought about the beauty of the outdoors and the wonders of leisure time, and that is that it is deeply needed, for myself at least. While others may feel refreshed and alive after a jog, a run, a game of soccer, or just fresh air - I need the time to clear my head, to think of nothing but the changing leaves - or the good book I'm holding in my hands. Italian leisure is to be appreciated, but is not for everyone, I would say.

Week 4

The Piazza: A Cultural Experience

Whether it be at the base of the Spanish Steps, or beside a narrow road by the Pantheon, piazzas are everywhere in Rome. A piazza, much like a shopping mall or public park, is a place of connection and socializing. Usually in the heart of shopping areas and restaurants, these squares (or circles, or ovals, or rectangles) are paved for the pedestrians and usually center around an obelisk or fountain.
In Rome, the piazza is the ideal place for observing the culture and personalities of the Romans, as well as the tourists and travelers that journey to this crowded city by the thousands. It is not only possible to observe, but also participate in the daily activities of the natives of Rome. In Castel Gandolfo, for instance, a small town up the hill from our campus and home for two months, children play soccer around the fountain and between the shops and decorated outdoor restaurants.
Last weekend, as my fiance and I were shopping around for miniature sculptures and scarves for family and friends back home, a group of children were kicking around a ball. One child kicked the ball hard enough that it started toward the edge of the piazza, and consequently to where we were standing. Just as I began to wonder whether or not I should allow the natives around me to gather the ball and send it back, an Italian man in his mid to late twenties ran up and kicked the ball back toward the children. Strangely, I was disappointed, as if I had been rejected by the culture, by the community that is the piazza.
Just as the pout began to form on my mouth, a boy of about three years dropped a ball he was carrying around with him. The ball started to roll toward us, like the time before, and the toddler waddled his way after it, a silly grin plastered on his face. There was a momentary pause in time where I had to make the crucial decision, for a second time, whether to stay an observer, or to emerge myself in the community that is a piazza, and thereby emerge myself in Italy. I bent, picked up the ball, and carefully handed it back to the handsome child. His grin widened, my heart swelled, and he ran back toward the other children. For five seconds, I was completely and utterly Italian. No one wondered where I was from, who I was, and whether or not I would respect their culture and traditions. No one sneered, pushed, or laughed at broken and improper beginner Italian. I was accepted, fully, by that child, and nearly skipped my whole way home.
Piazzas, whether they be spaces for tourists to ask directions, or travelers to feel like Italy is home, are chances to observe, understand, and emerge into the Roman culture. Though at times they can be the most irritating places to be, crowded, noisy - uneven and filled with puddles from a recent rain -- there are those brief moments, seconds of time, that remind us what a piazza is. What Rome is.

Week 3

Does History Bolster or Limit Faith?

Faith, from what I understood of what I was taught growing up, was the trusting without proof, a full belief in something that could not be proven or disproven. As I began college, however, and started Theology classes, of which I found myself extremely fond, faith began to be watered down the more I knew of history and fact.
As an example, during my childhood I was told the stories of Noah and the Arc, or the Garden of Eden, but as I researched later on in college, I found that the Bible is not the only place "the Garden of Eden" has appeared. Not by that name, I'll admit, but in about where it was assumed to be, and following other myths and stories - the Garden of Eden sounds an awful lot like the mythical places of Atlantis or Avalon. Historically, these places were just as avidly believed in, yet today there is no proof any of them existed. In a similar way, Noah and the Arc was myth before it was biblical. The same story, by different names, was told thousands of years before "Noah". by the Greeks, when Zeus became angered with the lives of man, and warned Deucalion I and his wife to stock a chest full of provisions, board an arc, and when they were the last two alive, Zeus stopped the storms.
If I had, as I was taught, relied solely on faith as a foundation for my beliefs, my belief system would have crumbled when I realized that much of the "Christian" stories and traditions I had learned, originated as belonging to another religion and set of beliefs, and were, by definition, pagan.
Instead, I found myself on a journey, wondering which was a better result: Faith, or Knowledge. If you know something, there is no faith to it. If you do not yet know, you rely on faith. By this standard, I have been able to overcome much of the distress other people in my family feel when they hear that our Christian ways were adopted from other religions. Where some people's faith may be at risk when biblical stories are called myth, mine is strengthened. I believe, because I know it's right, not because I was told growing up that that was the way, or because I read it in a book.
The steps in Santa Scala are an excellent example of such faith. During the time of Emperor Constantine, St. Helena, Constantine's mother, had a set of marble steps brought over from Jeruselum. These steps were thought to be the very same that Jesus had walked on on His way to His trial. Today, Christians from all over the world come to Santa Scala, across the street from the Basilica of San Giovanni, to crawl up the stairs once believed to be walked on by Jesus Christ. While the other students in my group were informed before we entered the building that historians have reason to believe that these were not in fact the same stairs Jesus walked on, many of them still entered and crawled up the stairs, a painful but deeply spiritual journey of prayer and endurance. Faith, for me, is believing in something greater behind it all, and the students who crawled up the stairs despite fact, are the best examples of what I am trying to express. The fact that Noah was based off of Deucalion does not bother me, because it is the message behind the myth that is important. Whether history says Noah existed or not, whether or not Jesus walked up the Santa Scala steps before his trial and crucifixion, is not important. What is important is the story behind Noah and his Arc. The passionate spirituality and conviction behind each set of knees that press into the marble stairs, and the hands that clasp together as they recite prayers said for thousands of years. Faith, is what is important, and in my opinion, history could never hinder faith. History merely shows a person what kind of faith they had, and how strong it was before tested.

Week 2

Rome as an Open Air Museum, Exhilarating and Oppressive

In the corner of Rome, near but not quite in sight of the Tiber River, there stands the magnificent and awe inspiring Mausoleum of Augustus. Built in the year 28 B.C., it is expected for such a building to sustain many damages over the years, but recently, a plan was developed and carried out to build a glass building around the Mausoleum so that it may be viewed for thousands of years to come without the effects of smog and dirt from the nearby road. The Italian community did not take too kindly to the modern architecture, however, especially since the view of the Mausoleum was open and free before the glass building was erected, and now there is a fee to enter the museum.
It is possible to see many ancient and historic sites in Rome, from the protested building around Augustus' Tomb, a sidewalk artist who assembles ordinary objects in capturing ways, the Protestant Cemetery, and even the Cat Colony which has existed inside the cemetery since the late 1800's. I have been so lucky as to see these places first hand, to experience the exhilaration, and at times the oppression which radiates from many of these sites.
Augustus' Tomb is one example of an oppression, just as the sidewalk artist across the street is a prime example of Open Air Museums and the exhilaration found in freedom of speech.
The Protestant Cemetery could be argued to be both exhilarating and oppressive, for originally, Protestants, or Non-Catholics in general, could not be buried within the city walls of Rome, Italy. This changed, however, around 1730, and since, poets, writers, artists, or just lovers of Roma, have been buried in what has been described as "charming" and "romantic". Full sculptures of angels can be found resting against tombstones, and the foliage makes the scene a symbol of life lived, rather than death and the memory of the dead. Even quotes from the stones symbolize how the people lived, though it was interesting to read how some of them passed.
Resting in the beds between tombstones, or scurrying between bushes, the Protestant Cemetery is also the home to a colony of cats, so well known as to have their own website and donation box! The cat colony has existed since the late 1800's, and while there is talk of removing them from the cemetery, I would have to argue that they add to the draw of the cemetery. While the smell is enough to make one cringe, it's interesting to watch how unfriendly these felines are, and how skilled they have become at dodging the cemetery's guests.
Traveling through these sites, seeing the things I have so far - I can only remind myself what a gift it is to be surrounded by both the museums we pay to enter, and the freedom of walking past excavated stones on the way to the grocery store, or the aqueducts seen from the train ride to Rome. I also tend to remind whoever I'm walking with, that when we step on certain stones on our way out of campus, we are stepping on pieces of the Appian Way. Rome is certainly, without doubt, an open-air museum within itself. Oppressive, at times, but exhilarating, always.

Week 1

Reflection on the Colosseum

Out of the heat and crowds, separate from chatter and confusion, the Colosseum or "Flavian Amphitheatre" stands proud and unafraid against the horizon of awed tourists and residents alike. I was one of many students that day, who breathed their first breath of fresh air after our journey underground, though my breath halted halfway, and my heart skidded to a stop. Finally, a piece of history within sight. Within reach, and what luck that my Professor started toward the building, directing us all past a line of traveler's who couldn't possibly be enjoying the sight of the Colosseum when distracted by the hustle of the streets, the chit-chat between themselves, or the headphones inserted into their ears. Nothing could distract me in this moment. Finally, I was here.
A passport is just a passport until it allows access to places only dreamed about. A plane is just another plane until the sensation of taking off into the air. A van is only transportation until it delivers to a long-awaited destination. A tour is just a lecture while walking...until the guide says: "Take a seat on one of these original columns," and then precedes to give me the history lesson of a lifetime. I've heard the stories before, I know the history, I thought I knew the Colosseum - but to stand in the midst of history, to touch and feel the cold stone that was once covered by marble, or to climb the stairs and feel the burn in my calves that others-- far before my ancestors-- felt as well...well, that's the Rome Experience.
Disappointment is there of course. After all, shoving aside years of history classes, TV programs, and Hollywood movies makes it difficult to imagine the Colosseum as anything but the ruins of a colossal building. Stairs and seating have withered away, marble stripped, statues and columns broken and repositioned elsewhere, moved and seemingly forgotten. Some tourists even push their garbage into the cracks and crevices that use to anchor marble slabs by iron rods. And yet, the arches welcome tourists and historians, inviting them to forget the skeleton of the ancient building, and instead see themselves as one of those enjoying a show in the heart of the city.
A book by the name of "The Italians" analyzes the different types of people who visit sites such as these, and what may or may not change in them upon seeing such sights. Luigi Barzini insists that there are certain things that people have in mind when they venture to new places, in particular, Italy. The food, the people, the sights, for example. By the standards of Barzini, I may be in Italy, enjoying the sights of the Colosseum and Roman forum, merely to complete my education. Or perhaps self-completion is my motive. Not merely for education's sake, but for my life in general. Will this be something to cross off my list of things to do before - or will this be one of many trips to this Ancient City? Is this a beginning or an end, in other words? Barzini may not have asked all of these questions in his book, but he certainly had me thinking them. Where do I fit, in the grand scheme of things. What is my purpose. It seems silly, perhaps, taken out of context. However, passing through the arches of the Colosseum, or later when I visited the Roman Forum and heard how Temples were converted and transformed into churches and senate buildings, I wondered what would change from my life in the next thousands of years. I wondered if there would be a memory of me, or if not, would there be someone like myself, years from now, who wondered about who may have passed the same roads which I once walked.
As far as what type of traveler I am, I am still deciding. Either for education's sake, or self-completion, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps both. I prefer to walk as one who lived here then, when ancient was present, and the ruins were new. Ignoring the tourists, forgetting the disrespect of history, I try to place myself then and there. I see the podium clearly, behind the olive and fig trees in the Roman Forum. I hear the echo of philosophy that wasn't quite paid much attention too even then. I respect the temples and the gods for what they mean to society and the people, and I am terrified of the change that comes with new rulers and buildings, floods and destruction. As I look at history in this way, I feel complete. I feel as if my education has been lifted to a new level, and the following years will expect more of me.
The Colosseum has been my beginning. Awe and disappointment, grief as well as joy. I am still learning, still seeing. I am not at my end, not quite yet.