Called by Romans "L'obitorio" (The Morgue) for its marble tables, Pizzeria ai Marmi, in Trastevere, is probably the most authentic Roman pizzeria in the city. The pizza is good, but the supplì are magnificent.
Photo by author
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Seen in Rome: Hungry?
Called by Romans "L'obitorio" (The Morgue) for its marble tables, Pizzeria ai Marmi, in Trastevere, is probably the most authentic Roman pizzeria in the city. The pizza is good, but the supplì are magnificent.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Rape of the Sabine Women
After spending Saturday in the Sabine Hills, I cannot continue with this blog without a nod to those famous women, without whom Rome would never have survived. Especially since our table wine was called--ever so aptly--Il Ratto delle Sabine.
To pick up where I left off on last Monday's "history" post, Romulus, descendant of the Alban King Numitor, was the founder and first king of Rome. Initially a tiny settlement on the banks of the Tiber, Rome grew and prospered under Romulus' leadership. Most of the tribe was made up of men fleeing from other tribes: refugees, escaped slaves or prisoners, or anyone looking for a better life. These men were often powerful warriors, thus Rome's strength was guaranteed...at least for that generation.
But what Rome lacked was women. Without females to reproduce with, the tribe would quickly die out. Simple enough--they thought--just propose intermarriage with the neighboring tribes. Problem was, no one wanted to give their daughters to a group of rough bandits. Romulus and his tribe were rejected out of hand.
Far from being deterred, Romulus decided to add kidnapping to fratricide on his resume of how he built Rome. The Romans cleverly hid their resentment at being rejected and proposed a festival with solemn games, honoring Consualia. All neighboring tribes were invited to take part, including the prosperous mountain tribe, the Sabines.
The tribes were amazed at the vastness and prosperity of the new city. And when the attention of all was distracted by the performances, the Romans attacked. They forcibly carried off the youngest of the Sabine women (reserving the most beautiful for Senators and patricians) while their families fled in terror. The women, who were at first outraged at this violence, were eventually persuaded by Romulus that their situation was really not so bad. They were not to be captives, but legally wedded wives, enjoying citizenship and the same rights of their husbands. As Livy puts it, they were asked to "moderate their anger, and give their hearts to those whom fortune had given their persons."In time they grew to live peaceably, even happily, with their new husbands. But eventually their offended families came for revenge. After failed attempts by other tribes whose daughters had also been stolen, the Sabines succeeded in entering the city. When a young Roman maiden, daughter of the commander Spurius Tarpeius, went outside the city to fetch water, she encountered Sabine soldiers, who bribed her to let them into the city. She easily agreed, asking for their large gold bracelets in return. Instead, they crushed her to death with their shields for her treachery, and attacked the city.
First the Sabines dominated, but soon the virile Romans overcame them. In the midst of the bloody battle, just as the Romans were on the point of annihilating their opponents, the Sabine women rushed onto the battle field. They literally placed their bodies between the opponents, and begged them--as brothers and fathers on one side, and husbands on the other--to cease fighting in honor of the bond of marriage that united the two tribes.
"Silence fell. Not a man moved. A moment later Romulus and the Sabine commander stepped forward to make peace. Indeed they went further: the two peoples were united under a single government, with Rome as the seat of power." (Livy, The Early History of Rome, Book I of the Ab Urbe Condita.)
(Above, Il Ratto delle Sabine, Pietro da Cortona, Below, Il Ratto delle Sabine, Jean Louis David)
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Perfezione e Vergogna
After a glorious May Day--a national holiday here--in which my passion and love for this country were at an all time high, Italy has once again caused my naive admiration to come crashing down to a new low. This morning I was enchanted. At five minutes to midnight, I am disillusioned.
My day started with a sunrise walk to San Pietro in Montorio. Gazing at my favorite view of Rome from Gianicolo Hill always makes my heart beat a little faster. Even the hundreth time.But seeing it at six am for the first time nearly took my breath away. Misty, with a soft purple glow, indistinct shapes and unexpected shadows. I kicked myself for not bringing a camera, but my simple one could never have captured it.
A few hours later, a bike ride in Villa Pamphilj with Theresa was enough to send me into raptures. The clean morning air, the umbrella pines, the apricot-colored garden roses which weren't there three days ago, the undeniable feeling of spring in the air. I'm sure I'm often taken for a tourist as I gape around me in delight, at things I see everyday. I just can't help it; I never seem to get enough. As we sped down the hill back to Trastevere and my favorite view came into sight, I breathed, "I love this city!" like the silly, enthusiastic girl that I unashamedly am.
If possible, the day got even better from there: a massive, exquisite lunch in the country with a bunch of friends. The kind of lunch that lasts for hours, with plate after plate of hearty, delicious food, bottle after bottle of wine that was made on the other side of the hill. The kind of lunch that cannot exist where I come from, because there, tables must be turned, and quickly--lazy Saturday or no. Here instead, the happy, sated diners relax in their chairs long after they have finished dessert and coffee and grappa, not just because they can't manage to stand, but because no one will be taking the table after them.
This was all followed, naturally, by a long walk in the countryside, with much feeding of donkeys, snapping of photos and general praising of this grand country we are all lucky enough to call home. This is how people are meant to live, we agreed. It was the quintessential, perfect Italian day.
About an hour ago, however, my delight with this perfect place was more than a little tarnished.
I live on a lovely, tree-lined street in the heart of Trastevere, that happens to be a rather busy thoroughfare, despite being relatively narrow. The street is also home to one of Rome's most important and prestigious restaurants. I used to love that I lived two doors down from such a famous institution, knowing that Jennifer Lopez, Robert Deniro or Leonardo di Caprio might be walking past my door. Now I am ashamed of it.
There is almost never anywhere to park in this neighborhood, so the patrons of this eatery are instructed to double park up and down the street. These cars are never ticketed or towed of course, who knows why? This often causes much frustration and parolacce to be uttered by the residents, but tonight it could have cost someone their life.
Around eleven pm, an ambulance became completely blocked as it tried to pass, sirens blaring. It seemed that the entire neighborhood, not just the big, bad, rich restaurant, was conspiring to make sure whoever was inside didn't make it to the hospital alive. Thanks to the line of double parked cars, there was only one usable lane, which was of course backed up with cars going the other direction. But no one wanted to pull over. In this country, only suckers pull over for ambulances. Clever drivers wait for others to pull over and then race ahead of the emergency vehicle.
Some traffic cops who happened to be nearby stood around stupidly, not able to grasp that in order to make the line of cars back up, they had to ask the one in back to move first. Ten long minutes ticked by (very long for whoever was inside) while no one thought to look for the drivers of the double-parked cars, and no space for the modestly-sized ambulance could be made. Only the scooters had room to pass, and they did so dexterously, weaving around the ambulance as it futilely tried to extricate itself. In the end, the driver was forced to turn around (with the help of a civilian guiding him) and drive back up the hill from whence he came.
My day started with a sunrise walk to San Pietro in Montorio. Gazing at my favorite view of Rome from Gianicolo Hill always makes my heart beat a little faster. Even the hundreth time.But seeing it at six am for the first time nearly took my breath away. Misty, with a soft purple glow, indistinct shapes and unexpected shadows. I kicked myself for not bringing a camera, but my simple one could never have captured it.
A few hours later, a bike ride in Villa Pamphilj with Theresa was enough to send me into raptures. The clean morning air, the umbrella pines, the apricot-colored garden roses which weren't there three days ago, the undeniable feeling of spring in the air. I'm sure I'm often taken for a tourist as I gape around me in delight, at things I see everyday. I just can't help it; I never seem to get enough. As we sped down the hill back to Trastevere and my favorite view came into sight, I breathed, "I love this city!" like the silly, enthusiastic girl that I unashamedly am.
If possible, the day got even better from there: a massive, exquisite lunch in the country with a bunch of friends. The kind of lunch that lasts for hours, with plate after plate of hearty, delicious food, bottle after bottle of wine that was made on the other side of the hill. The kind of lunch that cannot exist where I come from, because there, tables must be turned, and quickly--lazy Saturday or no. Here instead, the happy, sated diners relax in their chairs long after they have finished dessert and coffee and grappa, not just because they can't manage to stand, but because no one will be taking the table after them.
This was all followed, naturally, by a long walk in the countryside, with much feeding of donkeys, snapping of photos and general praising of this grand country we are all lucky enough to call home. This is how people are meant to live, we agreed. It was the quintessential, perfect Italian day.
About an hour ago, however, my delight with this perfect place was more than a little tarnished.
I live on a lovely, tree-lined street in the heart of Trastevere, that happens to be a rather busy thoroughfare, despite being relatively narrow. The street is also home to one of Rome's most important and prestigious restaurants. I used to love that I lived two doors down from such a famous institution, knowing that Jennifer Lopez, Robert Deniro or Leonardo di Caprio might be walking past my door. Now I am ashamed of it.
There is almost never anywhere to park in this neighborhood, so the patrons of this eatery are instructed to double park up and down the street. These cars are never ticketed or towed of course, who knows why? This often causes much frustration and parolacce to be uttered by the residents, but tonight it could have cost someone their life.
Around eleven pm, an ambulance became completely blocked as it tried to pass, sirens blaring. It seemed that the entire neighborhood, not just the big, bad, rich restaurant, was conspiring to make sure whoever was inside didn't make it to the hospital alive. Thanks to the line of double parked cars, there was only one usable lane, which was of course backed up with cars going the other direction. But no one wanted to pull over. In this country, only suckers pull over for ambulances. Clever drivers wait for others to pull over and then race ahead of the emergency vehicle.
Some traffic cops who happened to be nearby stood around stupidly, not able to grasp that in order to make the line of cars back up, they had to ask the one in back to move first. Ten long minutes ticked by (very long for whoever was inside) while no one thought to look for the drivers of the double-parked cars, and no space for the modestly-sized ambulance could be made. Only the scooters had room to pass, and they did so dexterously, weaving around the ambulance as it futilely tried to extricate itself. In the end, the driver was forced to turn around (with the help of a civilian guiding him) and drive back up the hill from whence he came.
Friday, April 30, 2010
It's a Beautiful Language
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Mars of Todi - Etruscan art at its best
Despite having set foot in the Vatican Museums over five hundred times in my life, I had never visited the Vatican's Etruscan Museum until very recently. The Etruscan Museum is slightly off the beaten track for the average 2 to 2 1/2 tour. But recently a private group specifically requested it, which gave me a wonderful opportunity to do some exploring there.
By far the greatest and most important work in the museum is the striking Mars of Todi, a near life-size bronze of a warrior (found without his helmet), making an offering to the gods before a battle. It is an extremely rare and well-preserved example of Etruscan statuary art, and dates to the end of the 5th century BC. It was found in the Umbrian town of Todi in 1853 buried between four slabs of travertine.
While far from being an Etruscan scholar myself, unlike my talented friend and resident Etruscologist Theresa Potenza, it is not hard to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of this work. The Etruscans, a pre-Roman civilization, eventually and unfortunately wiped out by the power-hungry Romans, were strongly influenced by Greek art. They were highly skilled artisans, particularly in gold and bronze, to whom funerary rites were extremely important. Much of the recovered Etruscan art has been discovered within their large and intricately frescoed tombs in towns such as Cerverteri and Tarquinia: chariots, thrones, jewelry, hand mirrors, and many other artifacts.
Still, the Etruscans remain mysterious as their origins are not completely known. Even the Etruscan tongue, completely unrelated to any other known language and read from right to left, was not able to be translated until recently.
An interesting detail of this piece is its inscription, carved into the fringe of the warriors armour, very subtly seen to read "Ahal Trutitis dunum dede" or "Ahal Trutitis gave as a gift." Not the artist's signature but the donor's!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Le Vie di Roma: What's in a name?
One of my favorite curiosities about Rome is its street names. While many seem silly and random, on the contrary, almost all have very specific reasons behind them. It delights me to no end learning just how a particular street got its name. (Yes, I am very easily amused.) Every Wednesday I will endeavor to discover and share with you a new one.
OK, let's start with a kind of obvious one: Via del Mascherone. Street of the Big Mask. I love how literal Italian can be. There's no dressing this up, or trying to make it sound mysterious. One glance at the fountain at the end of the short street, and the reason for its name becomes blatantly clear.
The fountain was built in 1626 and is attributed to Girolamo Rainaldi. It incorporates a couple of different ancient artifacts: a granite tub, a small shell-shaped basin, and, most noticeably, the "big mask," which, in ancient times, had led a humbler existence as a drain cover. It is one of the many showcase fountains built by the Farnese family shortly after the canalization of the Pope's newly repaired aqueduct, the Acqua Paola. According to legend (and you know how I feel about legends), during Farnese family festivities, this fountain ran not with water, but with wine. The popes really knew how to party back in those days.
This lucky street connects one of Rome's loveliest squares, Piazza Farnese, to one of its most elegant streets, Via Giulia. (It is on my preferred route home to Trastevere after a rowdy evening out in Campo de' Fiori.)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Tuesday is Random Photo Day!
This is one of my favorite photos from my first year in Rome, over five years ago. This was back when I carried a camera around with me everywhere I went just in case I came upon characteristic moments such as this one. This restaurant is not far from the Pantheon.
Photo by author
Monday, April 26, 2010
Il Natale di Roma
On occasion of the birth of this blog, I thought it apt to write a few lines on the birth of Rome, a date celebrated here in the eternal city just last week. April 21st, 753 BC, Rome was founded. Or at least, that's how the legend goes.
I, for one, love legends. And I tend to believe them wholeheartedly. Sure, facts are great, archaeological evidence is terrific. But there's nothing like a good old-fashioned legend to get people really interested. Or is that just the tour guide in me talking? Regardless, Roman history is packed with legends, and none is more famous than that of Romulus and Remus, a story told first by Livy, a Roman historian active during the 1st century BC. To understand Rome, you must understand this legend.
27 hundred odd years ago, there was a princess (all good legends begin with a princess, I think you'll agree) of the kingdom of Alba Longa in the Alban hills, a settlement southeast of Rome. Her name was Rhea Silvia. Her father, King Numitor, was ousted by his younger brother, who then killed Numitor's only son, and forced Rhea Silvia to become a vestal virgin, a chaste priestess to the goddess of the hearth. Any vestal virgin who lost her virginity would be buried alive. A tidy way to cut off Numitor's heirs.
But lo and behold, (and this is where it starts to sound less like history and more like a myth) our young heroine was seduced by the god of war, Mars, while taking a nap in the forest. The result of this coupling was not one, but two twin boys. Tossed into the Tiber River, the abandoned newborns eventually washed ashore on the banks of what would eventually be called the Palatine Hill. It was here that a she-wolf, having lost her own cubs, nursed the twins until they could be adopted by a shepherd and his wife.
(It is interesting to note the the latin word for she-wolf, lupa, was also slang for prostitute. Perhaps there is some basis for this legend after all...)
Upon reaching adulthood, Romulus and Remus decide the hilly region north of the Tiber Island is an ideal place for a new kingdom. Both wanting to be king, they decide to look for a sign in the flights of birds. Romulus takes up position on the Palatine Hill, Remus on the Aventine. Six vultures fly over Remus, and twelve over Romulus. I'm betting you can guess where this is going. After a fight to the death, Romulus emerges victorious. He names the city after himself, founds the Roman Legions and the Roman Senate and becomes the first of the seven legendary kings of Rome.
Happy 2763rd birthday, Roma!
PS The first photo depicts the Capitoline She-Wolf. A bronze Etruscan work from the 5th century BC, it likely had nothing to do with the legend when it was created. The famous suckling twins were added in the late 15th century, most likely by the sculptor Antonio Pollaiolo. It has become the symbol of Rome, and can be seen anywhere, from the backs of buses to the Roma team's football jerseys. The second photo is Peter-Paul Ruben's painting Romulus and Remus.
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