There was the weather for example. Cloudy with a slight chance of freezing rain. And believe me, a dark wash of November chill is an incongruous backdrop for sunbaked ruins and cyprus trees. I was mildly disappointed to see that Romans wear coats and beanies, not togas.
And there's the shocking contrast of antiquity engulfed by cutting edge technology - a common sight in Euroland, but significantly bolstered by the simple fact that the ruins here are 1000 years older than everywhere else. A roundabout circles the Colosseum, gigantic wide screens are parked outside of St. Peter's Basilica, and the Micky D arches glow over Saturn's temple remains.We also experienced extreme changes of pace. In the streets everything goes screaming by in an onslaught of motion, noise and color, all garish and smelly in its haste. And then suddenly, we'd step inside one of the many cathedrals or museums and a heavy hush would hit us in the gut, and we'd proceed on tiptoes, whispering in the shadows and breathing in slow gulps of candle smoke and prayers. We could have heard our watches ticking, but even they had stopped to listen.
And there was something else, too. I'd call it extreme wealth and poverty, because there was lots of that, like beggars in mud puddles sitting outside of designer shops. The silvery light from the windows bouncing off their naked deformities, making their head tumors glow with Christmas cheer, like lumpy candles, like stars of Bethlehem. But, it was more than that. More than just a money thing...
...I wish you could have walked through St. Peter's Basilica with us. This is the Vatican's main attraction, the domed magnificence of Pope's gone by. It's a palace really, carved out of marble by the masters, and can only be described with superlatives: it's the biggest, loftiest, most majestic, opulent structure I've ever set foot in, and so overloaded with spiritual symbolism that you can almost feel your soul detach and hover like a halo as you drift through the halflight, gazing like a Saint at all the Saints. What I'm trying to say is, the spiritual realm becomes dominant reality inside the Basilica. You loose your body.Now, please exit the Vatican, walk three blocks North, locate the metro sign near the pizza vendor and walk back down to Earth, into it's very belly, where humanity stands sweating and shifting on urine-stained concrete. Nervous, we wait. There are no spirit's here. Just bodies crammed too close to other bodies. The Red Line's late, and we wince, and shift and bare our teeth. We suck in the stale air and lick the grime from our lips, preparing to fight for a seat.
Philip and I were sitting there on the train one morning, trying to blot out the banshee shriek of steel on steel while planning a day of sightseeing, when two girls got on. Street girls, maybe 20 years old. Young, small, with dirty finger nails and missing teeth and - of all things - extremely pregnant, in a gross kind of way. Their bellies poked out from under their shrunken sweaters, and the elastic of their underpants showed. I guess the worst thing was their demeanour - so flagrant and base. They talked loud and brassy, hawking out laughs in the face of stares. "Wonder what kind of insurance plan they have," Philip whispered. "Probably just have their babies right here on the subway." "Romanian gypsies," I said. "Bet they grew up under the bridge." Phil nods. He was already thinking that. Last night, on our walk back to our car, we had seen them, mostly adults, one small child, huddled over a flame in the canal ditch. The child was just standing there still and calm, gazing deep into the fire. Trying to escape the cold. Trying to escape.... Yeah.
So we went to Rome and saw the Vatican, and a gypsy camp, the Sistine Chapel, and Bernini's Trevi Fountain. We took a tour through the Foro Romano and Palatino (ancient Rome's city center of civic buildings and temples, plus a palace and aristocratic housing districts - all recently unearthed in the last century). And there was the Pantheon and Colosseum, the pizza shop we took refuge in during a particularly ugly downpour, and our autistic tour guide, Chad, with whom we shared a bottle of wine.But it doesn't end there, folks. All roads might lead to Rome, but thankfully they all lead out, too. Three days of assaulting contrast proved to be quite enough. We can only process so much. And besides, with only a few days of wandering left we decided to get a move on and wander. My precise current location: Aconda, Italy on the coast of the Aegean sea. The Sega continues
