Roma o morte. {Rome or death}. I remember discovering these three words inscribed on a glorious statue of Garibaldi overlooking il Gianicolo {The Janiculum} years ago, a hillside offering a spectacular vista of all of Rome, and stood stunned in the summer heat, in awe of the power and passion behind these words. Would I say this of where I live now…La Costa or death? Would you say this of where ever you are from? I wiped the sweat off my brows and pondered this question as I gazed over the city. Far below I could see the dark saucer of the immense Pantheon, the lush landscape of Villa Borghese, the impossibly white Vittoriano, the elliptical Colosseum, the clusters of sunburnt red rooftops with tv antennas and satellite dishes dangling everywhere. Perhaps here I have my answer to these three fervent words of loyalty, looking out over two thousand years of rich, dynamic history all before me in a breathtaking landscape.
There is nothing I can possibly say new, fresh or riveting about Rome. Dante, Dickens, Goethe, Keats – even superb modern day authors like Robert Hughes and Anthony Doerr – have articulated the glory and captured the senses far better than I can ever imagine or pretend to. And, yet, as one who just enjoys the simple pleasures of writing, I feel compelled to at least offer this humble blog and join the aforementioned and so many countless others whom have fallen under the spell. It is a community that demands a reaction. Such is the vast power of Rome.
There are 280 fountains in Rome, a staggering number and yet when you walk the streets you wonder if that count is low. There may be more churches in Rome than we have Starbucks in America, only here there are so many hidden gems tucked behind faded architecture that I have passed by many with the blink of an eye, only to return days later to discover with wonder how I missed it, enter, and be completely blown away (this has yet to happen even once with the pervasive green mermaid signs now on every street corner back home). There are so many statues, winding staircases, and architectural wonders too that Rome feels like one gigantic outdoor museum navigating the streets and alleys. You feel like a seven year old at Disneyland, where the happiest place on earth seemed endless and infinite with all its roller coasters, water rides and cotton candy. One quickly comes to understand the Roman saying, non basta una vita. One life is not enough.
But Rome is not all splendor and glory; indeed, there is much to despise here. It’s an odd polarity yet comfortable balance between sheer beauty and stunning ugliness that, somehow, strikes harmony. For every magnificent statue carved in marble on a prominent street, there is graffiti lined on the walls leading to the back alley. The ancient arches of The Forum have crumbled beyond recognition from the tourists taking photos of them with the latest version of iPhone, the oddest intersection of old versus new. There is seemingly concrete everywhere in il centro yet right in the heart of the center is a huge grassy sanctuary overrun by homeless cats. The smells of robust espresso, seductive bakeries and sharp cheese can easily give way to second hand smoke, exhaust fumes and nasty sewage whiffs in an instant. The sunlight pierces brighter through a vivid bluer sky and the breezes feel softer but the heavy humidity of summer and violent thunderstorms in seasons surrounding summer can quickly erase any fleeting moments of comfort. High pitched sirens from ambulances and carabinieri police are maddening yet no match for the omnipresent, gorgeous church chimes that ring every quarter hour. Traffic snarls with Fiats, BMWs and mopeds all converging into ONE lane racing through the cobblestone streets, where yellow means go and red means at least take your foot off the pedal before proceeding slowly to avoid pedestrians who seem to perfectly accept this and mindfully cross at their own risk. With all these dualities and incongruities, the rhythm of Rome marches on, a synergistic beating of the heart that somehow captivates magically.
There are superficial, yet equally important, questions that may seep into your consciousness. How did McDonalds and Coca-Cola infiltrate the city walls, spreading American corruption in every district, yet Starbucks and 7/11 have not (can not?) penetrated the Roman Empire? How is it acceptable for guys to wear jeans with a dress shirt and tie and still make it look so damn fashionably good? How do women traverse over treacherous cobblestone streets in three inch Ferragamo heels so effortlessly? How can Italians eat such rich, tantalizing meals yet stay so impossibly slim? How can two lovers beautifully embrace in a piazza for all the world to see without shame or a care in the world and make us realize we should all accept love to be so naturally open and comfortable to our basic human need? How can a 16 year old buy a beer or bottle of wine and just peacefully, happily enjoy it, even walk the streets with it, without going on a drunken, violent rampage? These random questions burn in my mind but truthfully, deep down inside, only make me smile (Disclaimer: I do miss my VENTI size latte!).
*****
In my college years, my dream car was a black Porsche 911. So, freshly graduated and gainfully employed, I went to an auto show in San Diego as Porsche was launching a new version. The featured model was even in black, just as I fantasized, and I drooled all over it. But then I saw a red Ferrari in the next showroom, a yellow Lamborghini down the hallway and some midnight blue Roadster parked in an aisle that took my breath away. Even a white Land Rover caught my eye and held my attention. I quickly realized beauty, and desire, comes in many colors, shapes and forms and wonder if the same concept applies with the diversity of Rome. Ask any first-timer to Italy who their favorite Italian artist is and you will most likely hear Michelangelo. A worthy answer, to be sure. But catch them on their way out of Rome ten days later and their response may change. The brilliance of Bernini, the romance of Raphael, the complexities of Caravaggio, the beauty of Botticelli – any or all may have captivated them and challenged their artistic tastes. Where a mere few days ago their hope and expectation was to see a few churches and statues, they now leave with an appreciation for architecture, frescoes, fountains and staircases too. I often now stare longer at the vibrant pastels and intricate design of the palazzi buildings on a casual stroll more than a work of art in a renowned museum. I could have happily exited that auto show content driving away in the white Land Rover when the only thing on my radar entering was a sports car.
*****
Perhaps above all, it is the deep appreciation for the immense magnitude of the rich culture and history that literally overwhelms me. I derive some sense of meaning and purpose simply by being here as I feel a part of something much grander and more majestic than I can possibly comprehend. It is as if my existence would not be complete without experiencing it, this vibrant city that was once the envy of the world and center of the universe. So many with power, ego, money over the centuries have passed through here and either tried to dominate it or defend it. Caesar, Constantine, Mussolini, greedy French Kings, 266 Popes. So many more with talent or fame in modern times have breezed through here just to simply be captivated by its spell. Who am I among these iconic legends? Nobody. And that is perfectly fine with me. Rome has had so many deaths and rebirths – including the prolific Renaissance period of the 15th & 16th centuries – that I will never know or grasp even a fraction of the multitude of emperors, artists, designers, celebrities and generations of ordinary families that have lived and come before me over the past decades, centuries, millennia. And that is okay. Non basta una vita. I am content to just feel it, to breathe it in and bask in it. Just be. here. now. Roma o morte, indeed.