Even before I came to Rome, I knew I was going to love it. I did not expect to fall in love so quickly and so entirely though – I thought my love story with the eternal city would take a bit more time to develop. Yet, even before I had stepped foot in the ancient part of Rome (which I had already suspected would enthrall me beyond words), Trastevere stole my heart, with its rugged charm, its lively piazzas, delicious food – not to mention its local poet/bard, Trilussa. Granted, the drunken sonnets penned by Trilussa pale in comparison to the Bard’s (note the capital B) sonnets, but the Roman’s raw honesty, his true to life depiction of the Rome he loved, and criticised, made me fall even more deeply in love with the ‘wrong’ side of the Tiber – the side most tourists only glance at when visiting the Vatican.
It is here, at Trastevere, that I had my first plate of truly authentic Italian pasta – a decadent spaghetti alla bottarga – a dish I would certainly never had opted for had I not read about it in Anthony Bourdain’s book. The main road going through Trastevere – viale di Trastevere – is nothing special really. No marble or bronze statues flank its sides. Yet it exudes raw Italian – nay, Roman – charm, and leads to painstakingly gorgeous cobbled streets and quaint piazzas, minuscule in size compared to most piazzas in Rome.
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Leaving our Trastevere behind, yesterday we ventured towards the old Rome, the Rome you read about in books – full of classical marvels that entrap and ensnare visitors with their majestic grandeur. They truly are something else. At the last stop of the number 8 tram to Piazza Venezia, the Altare della Patria looms blindingly white and enormously imposing. Had the ancient Romans seen this monument, they would have been surely proud of its sheer size and intimidation factor.
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Just beyond the Altare, the marvels begin – dotting the street with their epic brilliance. Ruins blend with modern structures creating a harmonious kind of chaos. The Colosseum stares at you blankly at the end of the road – a pot of historic gold at the end of a monumental, landmark-pocked, rainbow. The forum walks with you throughout most of the road; sunken, ochre-coloured ruins flowing by like a makeshift Tevere. Ancient emperors line the street – their once majestic bronze faded to green by the elements. It is hard to imagine these over-sized men leading armies and naming months after themselves when seagulls perch on their humongous heads.
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Walking deftly on, the ancient arena grows bigger and bigger – until you’re at the foot of this former bloody entertainment complex. Ancient Roman numerals perennially etched on its entrances, guiding you to your seat in such a way so as to avoid crowd stampedes. The Colosseum is one of the most awe-inspiring monuments I have ever laid eyes on; no doubt instilling proud and satisfactory glances among long perished Roman emperors. It was their aim to impress and awe after all. The Arch of Constantine shone magnificently in yesterday’s midday sun; its columns alive with a myriad of mythological figures forever encapsulated in time in their awkward poses. The Arch of Titus is another gigantic monument testimony of the emperor’s great victories (I cannot help but wonder whether all these imposing monuments were compensating for something else…) and albeit not being able to see it up close, it still instills a sense of awe at its sheer enormity.
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We decided to walk back to Piazza Venezia to grab a bite to eat – fair warning, do not order spaghetti cacio e pepe if you’re lactose intolerant – then we headed towards the most famous and photographed fountain in the world – the Fontana di Trevi. Among the throngs of selfie-snapping tourists, the marble, gigantic fountain sprouts its everlasting gushes into the crystalline pool, pockmarked with euro coins. No amount of Youtube videos or photos prepared me for the sheer size of the fountain, it takes up a whole facade in the most elegant way. Being the diligent tourist that I am, I too threw a coin into Rome’s wishing well – knowing all too well that my hopeful hankering to visit this graceful city again will most probably come true.
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The chaos and din at Piazza di Spagna was expected – the movie-famous steps flanking the square are the best-known on the planet. However, peace can be found, even in the noisiest of places, if only one knows where to look.
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The Keats-Shelley house on the right-side of the steps provides an informative (and captivating if you’re head-over-heels in love with the Romantics as I am) shelter from the chaotic frenzy outside. I could not believe I was retracing the steps of two of my most beloved poets, stepping right into their Roman abode – a place full to the brim with well-loved books, classical paintings, and heartfelt letters scribbled (in the case of Shelley, whose handwriting was illegible) or carefully composed (Keats’ handwriting was gracefully tidy). Keats’ room is the same as it was when he actually lived (and died!) here. An eerie feeling comes over you when you enter his room; I almost felt as though I was invading his privacy.
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Visiting his grave on our first day here felt much more respectful, although heart-wrenchingly poignant, especially when reading Oscar Wilde’s poem concerning that very same resting spot. Keats’ is an exquisite resting place, shaded and green, at the foot of the colossal, out of place pyramid of Gaius Cestius. Shelley’s grave was much harder to find (yes, despite the signs), yet it was hauntingly beautiful. A single white feather lay upon his tomb – whether it was put there on purpose or not, I do not know. It did add an aura of mystery and etherealness to the scene though.
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I truly wish I had more than just another night and full day to visit all the nooks and crannies of Rome, to uncover all her secrets, to delve where no other has delved before. I suppose I will have to wait until my wish at the Fontana di Trevi becomes reality, which I suspect won’t take very long.
Notebook 