La citta

Rome is an impressive city, stuffed with history and a lot of people wearing glamorous clothing and miserable expressions. I am, after all, in the heart of Europe, where long ago good manners gave way to haughty expressions and a judgments based on the quantity of instantly recognisable brans names worn. Luckily, Europe has history, otherwise I’d be just as happy to see the place bombed into Hell.

The rather outrageously decorated facade.

It has to be said that Rome is without a doubt one of the most beautiful cities on Earth and I cannot help but compare it with my beloved Istanbul, with whom it shares some of its past but little of the spoils of which empires usually profit. Constantine moved the capital of the dwindling Roman Empire eastwards in the 4^th century and Rome was reduced not to long after to a city of several tens of thousands of inhabitants. Meanwhile, Constantinople blossomed and underwent a spectacular transformation as Constantine and his successors directed public works that would stand the test of time and still remain among the city’s best fifteen centuries later. Istanbul under the Byzantine Emperors and afterwards the Ottoman rulers was for many centuries the City of the World’s Desire. Rome, for its part, the Eternal City, knew the Renaissance and some of the most splendid artistic expression ever known. I kinda like both.

As the French would say, le plafond.

Still, both metropolises are aging none too well. Traffic chokes the thoroughfares, infrastructure is generally of poor quality, and it’s telling that in both cities successive governments have failed miserably to provide inhabitants with an adequate underground train system. It’s fair to say that you would expect certain delays owing to archaeological digs when working on an underground transport project in either of these great towns. However, the delays are outrageously long and unacceptable. Either dig or don’t dig. And if you find something, then weigh up the value of the find with the fact that whatever is there has probably been buried and long-forgotten and would have continued to be so had the metro system not been undertaken in the first place. People in these cities deserve fair transport systems and probably would find them more valuable than than a few more artefact's stuck on shelves in glass cases. In fact, it would be interesting to discover just how many of the inhabitants of Istanbul and Rome actually visit their own museums. I'd pretty much better they opt for better public transport over another glass-encased collection of Phyrigian artefacts.

Anyway, all I’m saying is that to my friends, Romans, countrymen and Istanbullites, you should be expecting more from your local representatives. Especially in the way of transport.

Rome’s weather was surprisingly mild and I was able to manage without the heavy coat and warm socks that I seemed to need so much at home. Istanbul has a chill factor that requires a scarf and gloves during the months of December to March. Here I was able to walk out of the hotel almost naked.

Overkill. But I like it.

Interestingly, within moments of leaving the hotel I came across a multitude of Muslims finishing prayer. I think it very interesting to find a large population of practising Muslims in the very centre of the Catholic world, trying to picture a gathering of Christians in Mecca. Still, that was pointless.

The fabulously rich facade of Santa Maria Maggiore stood out as I strolled down Via Carlo Alberto and wondered how much money had it actually to taken to construct all of this. And if the Italians of today can barely manage to maintain a place within the G8, it must have clearly been a different situation in earlier days. It takes a lot of cash to construct stuff like this.

The original church was established on the Esquiline Hill in the 4^th century on the very same spot where snow had magically fallen during the middle of the Roman summer. Since then Popes have added to the edifice until it became one of the great Basilicas of the city. Santa Maria’s interior is rich. Lots of gold. Apparently, the first boatload of it brought back by Colombus and his buddies from the Americas was used in the construction of the coffered ceiling. Mosaics line the nave above 4^th century columns and the whole thing is quite spectacular indeed. Best of all it a mosaic depicting the Coronation of the Virgin. Damn impressive.

I left the basilica feeling as though 12 years between visits had been too long a time. Thought that I might make it back again tomorrow.

San Pietro in Vincolo is another favorite because I love a good legend-cum-story and this one has it. The chains that held St Peter in the dank Mamertine Prison somehow ended up in Constantinople. In the 500’s the Empress Eudoxia popped one of them into a church and sent the other by FedEx to her daughter in Roma. Pope Leo I received it as a gift, which should come as no surprise since the church has always received much more than it has given in return. Long after being correctional accessories for St Peter, the two chains somehow ended up together in Rome again and are now displayed below the high altar.

Climbing the stairway to see St Peter in Chains

I believe none of it, apart from the fact the Pope Leo got one as a present since almost everything of worth in the whole of human history has passed through the rapacious paws of the Catholic establishment. Glad to be a protestant.

The same building also contains MichelAngelo’s Moses adorning the tomb of Juluis II, a latter-day pope I quite like since Raphaels’ painting of him is a triumph. A laminated A4 size version of it helps me to teach adjectives of description to my private students, however, that is irrelevant.

Michaelangelo has initially planned to adorn Papa’s tomb with a lot of marble fixtures, but since the Pope himself became more excited about up-and-coming basilica of St Peter’s, Mike only every got around to finishing Moses and a couple of The Dying Slaves when he was asked to start work on the Sistine Chapel.

From this very moment in time can be pinpointed the inability of Mediterranean peoples to finish what they started or to concentrate on only one thing at a time. Now there's an article waiting to be written. Anyway, the painting of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel took precedence, The Dying Slaves ended up in Paris and Florence and today the father of the Jews sits alone among empty niches with a couple of horns in his head that should in fact be beams of light. Such was the poor quality of biblical translators from Hebrew to Italian during the Renaissance.

I am loving Rome.

The very polished interior of St Pietro in Vincolo.