A few favorite places in Rome! |
“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars,
and see yourself running with them.”
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Its
like a homecoming to be back in Rome at Theatre Pompeii, a city we have visited
on countless occasions in the last three decades, four times since Caroline and
have been together.
The
rooms of the old hotel feel familiar. The space was literally
built on an ancient Roman theater. I
took the little one there when she was a baby.
They gave her wine at the restaurant next door, like they did for me
when I was a kid here.
Arriving,
we walked to visit Bruno, the statue at Compo de Fiori, we always toast when in
town.
Two
decades ago when we first started coming, it felt empty and earie here. Today, the square is full of people from
everywhere.
Dinner
at Los Palommas next door was one of the best meals of the trip.
Lentils,
I could not believe they brought us lentils and rounds of pasta. The chef came out to greet everyone.
Strolling after dinner, Caroline and I
continued visiting old friends, including il gatto, the cats at L Argo
D’Argentina mingling with the Greek, Etruscan and Roman ruins, along with the Roman
Republic temples and the Pompey Theater, before making our way to the Pantheon
where I started the first draft of my first novel back in the summer of 1991.
After breakfast the next morning, Mom and I
made our way to the Capitoline Museums at Piazza del Campidoglio, on top of the
Capitoline Hill in Rome.
Fragments from a once colossal statue of Constatine,
a foot, a finger, a head, lay about in the palazzo.
I just want to see the Dying Gaul, noted mom,
referring to an Roman marble replica of a Hellenistic sculpture, making our way
through floor after floor of statues of Bacchus, sexy St Sebastion portraits,
Cardivaggios, Tinterettos, Venus in various states of undress. Sublime is an understatement for some of this
work.
Standing in front of the statue of Marcus Aurelius,
the Roman emperor from 161-80, Mom recalled a moment.
“Sit down and look at that statue…Your
grandfather used to have a copy of his book,
Meditations on his toilet.”
Funny how memories go.
Grandads been dead for well over three decades
and I’m still learning things about him.
“Very little is needed to make a
happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking,” Aurelius
wrote.
I
wonder if grandad thought that same way.
We
kept on exploring the corridor after corridor of works.
But where is the Dying Gaul wondered mom,
standing in front of a group of Tinterettos.
“He’s in the new building,” noted one of the
staff, the one designed by Michaelangelo.
She took us to an elevator, down, outside, across
the piazza, and past the replica of the Marcus Aurelius statue. Outside, we
paused at the statue of the River and made our way up another elevator, past
hall after hall of statues, delirious, wonderful Eros and Thanatos.
You sure its here?
There it is, noted Mom, pointing to the
statue of an ancient Roman sculpture of a naked French man with life leaving
his body, a choker around his neck and a handlebar moustache, both modern and
classical, thought to be replica of a Hellenistic sculpture of a dying
gladiator.
Mom and I just looked, taken aback.
Thanks for taking me to this, I said.
I would have gone without you.
Then I looked up at the window revealing majestic
Rome smiling at us.
We talked and looked at the rest of the works
making our way to the gift shop.
With art coursing through us, we ate Compo di
Fiori, joined by the girls, who’d walked some ten k that morning.
One of the waiters told us a story about the
square.
Everyone here bullshit story here, muttered
Caroline.
And it doesn’t matter.
We’d spend the afternoon zigging and zagging
up and down and around the Pantheon, looking for a street where we found a magic
little shop, selling glass and tile works two years ago.
The rain started as we walked past the river,
between ruins, past the old synagogue, the Grotto in the Ghetto, where we ate
that day two years ago.
A sign showed a picture of Anthony Bourdaine,
who ate there.
Why Tony? The horrible news of his suicide
seemed like a long time ago, summer passing.
It was raining and the tourists seemed to have disappeared.
A woman was riding her scooter alone across
the slick cobblestones, the city aflush in light.
There is a bookstore.
Lets look inside.
We ducked into Antica Libreria Cascianelli, making our way through piles of
treasures, postcards and old paintings, a formaldehyde elephant foot, etc.
Rome is changing, noted the woman who worked
there.
So are all cities.
But we still love it.
There are still treasures here.
I took a few pictures.
Do you know an old store full of glass where
we can buy tiles? We explored it last
time we were here. But we can’t find it.
I know exactly the store you are talking
about on Via Del Pelligrino, try that.
Making our way, we stopped in Lavori in Corso
Vintage, picking up a trompe l’oeil.
And then made our way to Via Del Pelligrino.
And there it was Sciam to Youssef Hallack, on
Via Del Pelligrino.
I greeted Youssef who has worked there since
1980, by way of Brooklyn New York and Syria.
And his son took us downstairs to take in the
treasures.
We spend the next two hours, making our way
through the tiles and glassworks from Syria.
Good sleuth work, noted Caroline walking
home.
We have to come back and stay. The US has
become too crazy.
“The highlights of my trip were seeing the
Basilica of St Nicholas and Monte Cassino,” smiled Mom at dinner later that.
A couple were sitting by us talking, their
voices sounded like singing.
It was time to go. But leaving Italia is
hard.
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