Jennifer and I catch the bus on the early side so that we can peek in the Pantheon on the way to meet with our group. It’s absolutely gorgeous inside, despite having been converted from the original temple to a catholic church. When we arrive at Campo de’ Fiori I nearly walk right through it without stopping. The morning market is set up and there are huge umbrellas with fruit and vegetable stands beneath them and crates of tourist crap to buy. Everyone has made it to Campo de’ Fiori, except for Cortney. We start to worry because she speaks zero words of Italian and we all live so far from the city center that the realistic threat of getting lost is a major one. Carin, in particular, who roomed with Cortney in Cádiz, is worried, which means we’re all worried because Carin is kind of the rock.
Cortney shows up, looking totally cute, and completely loving Italy. She loves the food, loves the wine, loves her host family… we’re all relieved, because, well, we love Cortney.
With the whole group assembled we set off on our little walking tour. We walk through the Piazza Farnese, where the French Embassy is located and take a right onto Monseratto, the street where Alberti lived. We have a little ways to go and discover that Italian streets are numbered funny. On the old streets the would start on one side til they ran out of numbers and then just keep going on the other side, so that one runs up going one direction and the other runs up going the opposite direction. We come to Monseratto 20 and stand outside taking photos like mad tourists. Blonde Megan notices a man peering out at us from a window high up in the building. No one else seems to notice. The man comes down and speaks with Giuseppe and all of a sudden we’re being ushered into this private residence by the handsome stranger from the window on high.
This man grew up in the building and his family lived here for years and knew Alberti well. He invites us into the small courtyard in the building and then to view the garden out back. The man brings out a drawing by Alberti, a gift to his family. With the promise of being quiet to respect the other residents, we are able to climb the stairs to Alberti’s apartment and trace the walk down the flights to the main floor—in essence, the opening lines of that first poem we translated. Here we are, living the poem.
The reliefs are incredible and I try to photograph as many as I can, but the walls of the stairwell are peppered with them. I keep scanning them as I climb up, hoping to find the one Alberti mentions depicts Leda and Zeus disguised as the swan. Finally, as I slowly descend the stairs, trying to recall lines from the poem from memory, I spot the small relief of Leda and her seducer. That, for me, was a sort of Rosetta stone for Alberti’s work. I wrote before about how the boat ride to Puerto de Santa Maria brought Alberti’s memoirs to life for me, well, this staircase, and specifically this one relief brought his poems to life. I know the man lived; now his art and his words live too.
I can’t imagine living in such a magical building. I wonder which of the reliefs were Alberti’s favorites, perhaps the ones he mentions specifically in his poem, or maybe some he kept to himself. I can imagine, if I lived here in this building, that I might search for a new secret from the art in the walls every time I climbed or came down the stairs. I’m certain I would have one favorite, a single depiction of a myth or historical battle that I would look for every time I passed it. Sadly, I can’t stay long enough to pick my own favorite.
With many thanks to the man from the window we depart the building and collect in Piazza di Ricci, across the street. Tony reads Monseratto 20 in Spanish and Giuseppe reads it in Italian. Now we all have real, specific, almost tangible images to connect with Alberti’s words. It’s almost like being let in on a secret, like cheating in a way. Poetry always seems to be this sort of illusive art where the reader must always second guess if they’re really getting the true meaning as intended by the writer. We just got the cliff’s notes for the inspiration behind one of Alberti’s odes to Rome.
Tony reminds us of the fortune he found in his cookie while eating in the hub: Now is a good time to explore.
We traipse back to Campo de’ Fiori and through a little sketchy alley that smells like piss and then down around a few corners… to grab a bite to eat at a bakery and lunch café where Giuseppe knows a guy and they simply call each other “My Friend.” Of course, ever after, this particular café will always be referred to by the group as “My Friend.” For example, one could say, “I’m going to get pizza at ‘My Friend,’ care to join?” The entire group will frequent this spot for the rest of our visit in Rome, guaranteed—the pizza is delicious and inexpensive, and they serve gnocchi on Thursdays.
After lunch we set out to find the statue of Señor Pasquino, also mentioned in Monseratto 20. Pasquino was a tailor and a colloquial poet, meaning he wrote in spoken language, and was infamous for his scathing criticisms of politics and society. His cultish status persists today and people continue to write their own sharp verses to paste to the base of the timeworn statue of the poet that stands at the apex of Piazza Pasquino. As a politics student, I really get a kick out of something like this. People still post their poems and people still read them; the voice of the shy, the timid, the silently angry can still be heard. I imagine Alberti must have found this as enchanting as I do. There will always be a vital relationship between art and literature and social and political progress. It’s exciting to get to actually see a physical representation of where they meet.
We march back through Campo de’ Fiori and are stopped by an older gentleman on a bicycle who tells us that we can fill up our water bottles at any of the fountains in the city—Rome has the best water! Of course, we have already discovered this, since Americans drink water like it’s going out of style, and we’re frequently seen forming lines around the random spigots and fountains that crop up on almost every corner. We’ve even learned the neat fact that all of these public watering holes and all of the city’s fountains are powered by the ancient aqueducts, and that’s why some fountains can be stronger on some days and weaker on others.
We continue on and take a left on Via Giulia, where once upon a time the great renaissance men of Rome used to live. This road will take you straight to the bridge where you can cross over to Vatican City. Today, however, we are going the opposite direction, crossing the Tiber at Ponte Sisto to visit Piazza Trilussa, named after the poet for whom there is a discrete statue tucked off to the side.
From here we head to the Gianicolo, one of the prominent hills of Rome. We stop to see Alberti’s second home in Rome, one that he bought with the earnings from a poetry prize and the place where Tony met him first, years ago.
We continue trekking in the heat, climbing the hill to reach the Spanish Embassy where there is promise of free wireless internet. We make it to the top, only to discover the Embassy is closed and the wireless signal is not so strong from outside the gates. Nevertheless we sit on the dirty steps, in the heat, with the flies, and work diligently on our poetry translations. In order to find a bathroom a few of us venture further up the hill and come upon a giant fountain called the Fonte Acqua Paola which faces one of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen. Below us Rome stretches on forever.
After everyone has had the opportunity to go over their translations in their small groups, we disband for the day, to trudge back down the hill into the hot, hot city. Jennifer and Isar and I make our way back to Campo de’ Fiori and someone spies a tiny bookstore called Farenheit 451. It’s too tempting so we all duck into this cranny of a space and I buy an Italiano-Englese dictionary so I can start to learn the language.
We’re on a mission to find an art store recommended to Isar and we get a little bit lost and end up at the Piazza Chiesa Nuova, which I attempt to roughly translate as the Plazza of the New Cheese. Isar corrects me, insisting it’s actually the Plaza of the New Church. Having gotten our bearings we set off for the art store which will take us right by the Spanish Steps.
The Spanish steps lie about midway on the hypotenuse of what is called the Shopping Triangle. Piazza Colonna, a.k.a. The Column of Zara, conveniently anchors the right angle. Everything on Via Corso is relatively cheap, but as you venture closer to the Spanish steps, into the guts of the triangle, you start to run into Chanel, Gucci, Dior, Cavalli, and so on and so forth until you feel like a bum.
We do not venture down these rich-bitch shopping routes, instead braving the crowds to walk in front of the Spanish Steps. I’m not exactly sure why they’re such a big tourist draw, but I saw them, so check it off my list. As we’re crossing the Piazza, there are a whole bunch of horse-drawn carriages waiting for sucker tourists, and we have to walk past them. Suddenly, my cowgirl-sense goes off and I see, out of the corner of my eye, one of the carriage horses pin back his ears and come at me with his teeth. Without thinking I thump him swiftly on the nose with the heel of my palm. He tosses his head and for a minute I think we might have a fight on our hands, but he backs off and we continue on to the art store.
We’re all pretty wiped after our long, hot, humid day in Rome, so we head for the buses, making a detour in the McDonald’s to use the restroom. If you were to take a casino and decide to turn it into a McDonald’s, you might come close to the odd décor at this one… I resolve immediately to avoid MickeyD’s for the rest of the trip, regardless of how badly I have to pee.
The bus ride home goes much smoother this time, and we’re perfectly on time for dinner. Paola has prepared rustica, which is like a filo-dogh baked with zucchini and mozzarella inside. We eat fried potatos on the side and then go out for gelato afterward. I miss Spain, I do, but I can see where Cortney’s coming from… there’s something special about Italy.
Our host-mom, Paola, is starting to warm a little bit. I thought at first that she seemed very serious, but as she gets more comfortable with relative strangers in the house, she’s loosened up. She loves her dog, Billi, and is apparently very excited to see the movie Kung-Fu Panda, which comes out on Wednesday. As she disappears into her room we hear her singing about Kung-Fu Billi…
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