Writing Assignment 10

The most vivid image etched into my memory from my time in Rome is not particularly representative of all my experiences as it is already reflective upon those adventures. Its higher resolution is also probably due to its recent occurrence.

The morning of March 12th, the day after the program ended, I woke up early to help Teo and Erika get their bags down to Via Arenula and over to Trastevere where they had a pre-arranged car waiting. The sun had not yet breached the horizon and only the softest purple and slate blue broke the night's dominance of the sky. We walked over the Ponte Garibaldi and in the open could see the sickle moon just over Tiber Island. Venus hovered a little ways away. Billowing clouds bordered the horizon but only a few gossamer streaks crossed above our heads and veiled the moon.

I saw Teo and Erika off successfully and on my way back across the river looked down at the white stones of the embankment, which were stained blue in the pre-dawn glow. Looking between the graceful arches of the Ponte Sisto just to the north, the gentle eddies in the river itself, and the moon as it hung in the growing yellow light, I realized how silent everything was. Not a car or bird to break the trance of dawn. And in that utter solitude I smiled at the idea that only ten weeks ago just walking outside the Campo alone was an adventure. Now, in the subdued peace of that often accompanies goodbyes, I felt an ownership of everything I saw; I had a right to live in Rome.

I stayed in Rome another 8 days afterwards but that was my goodbye to the eternal city. It is the final image of my Rome that I have.

Final note to ruin the sappy mood with analysis: Ironically, the first time it struck me that I was in Rome was in a sunset, leaning against the railing of Mussolini's wedding cake, looking towards the Vatican and the tens of domes visible between us. Seems I have a thing for the twilight.

Writing Assignment 9

It’s ironic that after this entire quarter using our Rome Borders class to effectively pulverize every precognition ever made about what defines an Italian, at the very last we are asked to rebuild those walls.  So what is left to build a national identity around when heritage, language, philosophy, politics and pizza have all been nullified?  The difficulty in defining this comes not from some insane complexity but rather from an extreme vagueness—one so ethereal it ends up supporting the communist claim that there is no logic or substance to the concept of nationality.

—just a note: I use specific examples of people here but am talking about the general feeling of Italy.  Because, Julie, I have already had to to rewrite this assignment at least three times to came out anything but racist.,—

            Fatheaded pride: it is the first and most important characteristic for Italy.  Often it manifests as national pride akin to some forms of more zealous American patriotism, but it can have any focus.  The people that come to mind first are mostly anti-immigration advocates, the figurehead of whom (for me) is the storekeeper who kicked me out of her shop upon asking about the riots.  The group’s ranks are filled out by the faceless figures that fill the stories of the Charitas speaker, of our readings and especially of Razvy.  Razvy is a very sweet Romanian boy who Teo befriended a few weeks ago and has been accompanying us on various extracurricular adventures.  He has gained my complete trust (both in personal judgment and telling the truth) and told us about his own experiences with overt discrimination.  So many of the people you can’t avoid calling Italian—the native born patriots—are included in this category that there’s no avoiding it in defining the land that nurtured them.

            Of course, the pride doesn’t have to be in being Italian, nor so clearly negative as being based on racism.  The pride many of the shopkeepers around Campo—I’m thinking specifically about the cheese shop over by Piazza Farnese and the butcher’s shop just below our apartments—express pride for their little shops and their occupation is another form of this.  The key is that it is loud, dramatic and hyperbolic. 

            Related to pride, once I explain the long version, is the mental characteristic of acceptance.  The idea here is that most Italians decide on a thought process and stick with it.  They don’t worry about any possible lapses in logic along the way or, once they’re set in it, analyze any other angles.  In one sense it is close-mindedness, but again there are also more benign examples.  Italian national patriots embrace the many great feats of the ancients, as well as the famed men of the Renaissance and Baroque eras, all over the peninsula but ignore the fact that for most of its history Italy was a place of clashing city-states rather than a coherent nation.  Likewise no one seems to be perturbed by the many contradictions visible from the street: It is a city dependant on immigrants which distrusts and even hates non-Italians.  It has some of the richest and most famous history in the world yet has an inefficient and bureaucratic educational system.  Its best artists glorified pagan mythology just as much as biblical stories, with catholic cardinals footing the bills.  The most historic areas are the least Roman and the most Roman areas are outside the traditional city limits.  Even the Italians who do see these paradoxes don’t act to correct them.   If they did, Italy would not have the endearing quirkiness that results.

            And finally there is a relaxed atmosphere to Italy—even in the bustling, bristling Naples—that accompanies the acceptance of the status quo.  Because there is less drive to progress than in the States (seen in the fight over the Ara Pacis) there is no reason to waste more energy than necessary on unenjoyable tasks.

            Really, the best way to summarize Italy is to compare it to Hawaii.

Writing Assignment 8

            I suppose this is a good time to clarify something from one of my past posts.  The concept I gave of Rome being ‘real’ in comparison to the north of Italy goes a bit deeper than the varying levels of interest in image (e.g. Florence works much harder and has greater success than Rome staying clean and free of graffiti).  I meant that the residents of Rome left a much greater footprint on the city.  Facilities in Florence were much more geared towards tourists than in Rome—right down to reliably speaking English.  In Florence the street was absolutely lined with crummy cafes and gelatarias catering to tourists.  However in Rome there are many facilities offered that only benefit residents: the supermarkets, inglorious metro and numerous beggars that are the marks of a living city.  Chances are when you see someone on the street in Rome (besides near the Vatican or Coliseum) they are in fact Roman.

            Besides recognizing that Rome is still largely dependant on tourism, that’s what I meant when I said Rome was more real.  Now I can speak with another perspective shift: if Rome is living than Naples is a swarming beehive.   It’s evident just in the constant roar of the street: of cars accelerating unnecessarily until they hit the brakes 20 meters before they need to stop, of blaring horns that really should be sent to NYC, of construction machinery and of people shouting conversations above the rest of the din.  Oh, right there’s a significant difference—there was more street construction in the few blocks between our Neapolitan hostel and the Historical Center than everywhere I’ve been in Rome.  That’s a clear indication of extensive use and wear, unlike in Rome where once in a while a few square meters of cobble need to be replaced.

            Another good indication is how small the visitor-friendly area is in Naples compared to Rome.  In Rome, the kiosks with disgustingly overpriced, thin panini and bottled water meant to gouge any gullible tourist are visible pretty much everywhere within the city walls.  Umbrella salesmen are just as abundant.  In Naples there are only a few streets of stores that cater to the classic Neapolitan figurines that tourists would seek out.  Instead, even within the Historical Center there are markets that sell unprepared food requiring a real kitchen to cook (meaning tourist won’t be stopping there much).  The chances of meeting an English speaker in Naples, even in the touristy area, are also significantly smaller than in Rome.

            So, with all that said, coming back to Rome was like walking out of a rock concert early.  Even Termini seemed quiet in comparison to the walk to the train station in Naples.  Likewise the people of Naples were, at least at first glance, so outgoing and friendly that Rome seemed particularly isolating.  I always assumed the lack of contact in Rome was due largely to the fact that it was a gritty city—that like in New York people lived in their own little ruts and don’t have the guts to break through the social barriers.  But now, seeing an even rougher city so filled with people who go out of their way to acknowledge you, the lack of social stimulation when walking down the street is kind of boring.  Also I could draw infinite comparisons between Naples and Hawaii: both backwards, fairly corrupt places that are beautiful until you delve too deep, with friendly people who may or may not be dangerous.  I’ve been missing that atmosphere.

            So, in short, Rome feels much more empty now.  It’s not the true example of a living city in Italy.  It’s the result of an annoying half-effort to make a living city tourist-friendly.

Writing Assignment 7

The greatest contradiction I can think of in Naples is less a solid comparison than a misconception.  Not a single person who I told I was heading south neglected to remind me to be careful and that if no where else they had gotten their pockets picked in Naples.  And without a doubt it’s a rough city harboring more than a few ne’er-do-wells.  And, yes, historically it is shown to have much more significant Mafia/Camorra activity than Rome.  But I had the good luck not to experience either of those sides.  (Even wandering the Spanish Quarter alone with Teo for at least two hours, we walked out of there alive, un-mugged, un-raped, un-kidnapped, with the worst experience being I stepped in dog shit and many, many better ones.)  What I did experience was an unprecedented willingness to push past social boundaries of all kinds to make real contact with visitors.

            I suppose the best example of this has an excellent background to set up a contradiction.  In the most wretched part of town—the projects, the styx, the armpit of the world—on our tour with Alex we were approached several times by curious onlookers not afraid to impose on our group.  The one I finally acknowledge and engaged was probably the oldest, most worn and worst dressed of them yet broke off from his group of friends to give us an inside tour of one of the sketchy buildings we were observing.  I doubt the others we ignored had any greater harm in mind.  If the city is so hostile and dangerous, how do people still dare stick their necks out so far out of mere curiosity?

            The inexplicable sociability goes further, too.  I’ve never had so many interactions with real Italians—ones where I had to do most of the translating.  On the train back I was approached by a man who spoke no English but, rather than give up on the conversation he struck up with me, ended up trying to teach me more Italian words.  The elderly couple I ended up sitting with (who also spoke no English) made sure I knew we were approaching Termini so I could gather my things at my leisure.  Coming back from the castle alone, a store keeper pretty much sang out from across the street (for once in English) that he recognized me from earlier and why wasn’t I with all my friends anymore?  All of these people stuck with me until we were both sure the meaning had successfully been transmitted.

            Perhaps it’s the very roughness of the city that keeps people’s hearts open; if no one made such random acts of kindness the city truly would turn into one big, ugly slum.  Industrial Revolution conditions all over again.  But by keeping so strong a social networking capacity true plagues, like the Camorra and drugs and straight destitution, can’t break down the whole society.

Rione Notes

Farnese Palazzo/Bridge/Fountain

            The Palazzo was built in 1514 by Antonio de Sangallo the Younger for Cardinal Alessandro Farnese (later Pope Paul III) as a gift from the current Pope, whose mistress was Farnese’s sister. However the building was only finished in 1589 due to frequent changes in the blueprints. For example the plans of the building were expanded when Farnese was declared pope in 1534 and an entire extra floor was added. Michelangelo and Giacomo della Porta both acted as chief architect in turn during this extended time.  Michelangelo was commissioned in 1546 and alternated plans to add triangular and segmented pediments on the windows, garlands, individual flowers in the eve coffers and largest coat of arms in Rome. The builders also reused some stones stripped from the Coliseum.

When Alessandro’s heir, Odoardo, died in 1624 the palazzo stood uninhabited.  The pope then used it as a rental, however when he allowed Queen Christian of Sweden to live there she left after only a few months and took with her the silver, tapestries, paintings and sections of the bronze roof.  It eventually passed to the French Bourbon family of Naples and then to French Embassy.

The opera Tosca is partially set in Palazzo Farnese, deemed the headquarters of the evil chief of police Scarpi during Napoleonic control.  Also, the tubs in the two fountains in the piazza outside are originals taken from ancient roman baths.

            The bridge behind the palazzo is also by Michelangelo, originally connecting the Palazzo to another family building filled with art by famous artists.  That building was eventually destroyed but the bridge remains.  Several pieces are now stored in the Church of St. Mary of Prayer and Death next door.  The original plans show the bridge was made with intent to span river to gardens which eventually became Villa Farnesina.  Although clearly impractical, this concept only further exemplifies the riches of the Farnese family.

            Fontana del Mascherone, aka the “Big Mask Fountain” or “Grotesque face of Via Giulia” was commissioned by the Farnese family and crafted by Girolamo Rainaldi in 1626.  The fountain actually combines two ancient sculptures and is topped with the Farnese family’s giglia (fleur-de-lis).  Originally the fountain could be filled with wine for parties, although after centuries the plumbing has corroded and the flowing water is no longer suitable for drinking.

Palazzo Ricci and fresco

            Architect Baldassarre Peruzzi built this palazzo in the 16th century for Cardinal Giovanni Ricci, the personal secretary to Cardinal Farnese.  Its best-known resident was Costanza Farnese, who allegedly had an incestuous affair with her father Pope Paul III, the first owner of Palazzo Farnese.  The exterior frescoes were designed by Polidoro da Caravaggio (not to be confused with THE Caravaggio, painter extraordinaire).

            Today Palazzo Ricci houses the Accademia Europea di Musica e Arte di Palazzo Ricci, a prestigious musical academy.

Via Giulia

            This road was named after Pope Julius II, who commissioned it in 1508.  Via Giulia was the first straight medieval road in Regola and one of the first in the city, however it follows the path and uses the foundations of an ancient Roman road.  Master planner Donato Bramante also oversaw some of the building at Basilica of St Peter.  Julius II’s interest in creating Via Giulia was a very early example of Renaissance interest in urban renewal. 

The position of the new road made sense for several reasons.  First, it linked the Ponte Sisto, built by Julius’s uncle Pope Sixtus, with Ponte Sant’Angelo.  It also connected the government offices (concentrated in a palazzo that has since been taken down but stood catty-corner to Campo de’ Fiori) with the papal mint.  The most extensive plans also included a new palazzo along Via Giulia to house all judicial offices but the concept ultimately fell through. Finally, the new and well-cared for road provided a safe and clear route via Ponte Sisto from the Ripa Grande river ports in Trastevere to the heart of commerce in Regola.  Via Giulia became one of most important roads in Rome.

Due to the reasons above, Via Giulia revived the area, which had fallen into a slump along with the rest of Rome in the preceding centuries.  The easier access of Regola increased business in the rione and attracted the affluent who built the tall, thin residential houses with ground-floor shops that now characterize the street.  However the palazzi scattered throughout the area all have their grand facades facing piazzi rather than this narrow street, making it much less lively than its history suggests.

Name+Flooding

            The name Regola is a phonetical corruption of “arenula,” which translates to mean the soft and silty sand deposited by floods in area.  There is still a street named Via Arenula.  The problem of flooding was insurmountable until the late Middle Ages, when the tools were finally available to survive the yearly inconvenience.  Thus only then was Regola transformed from a swamp to an industrial center of the city. However it was 1875 before real embankments were built to entirely hold back the flood waters.

            The rione’s sign is gold deer on turquoise background.  Legend has it that once a golden head of a hind washed up on the shores of the rione during a flood.  A more likely story is that it is a reference to the many leather tanners in the area that specialized in deer hides.           

In ancient times Regola was part of Campus Martius, the Triga where the army trained 3-horse chariots.

Medieval houses (we skipped it on presentation day...)

            The complex is known as the Houses of St. Paul because the first century saint supposedly lived there. Paul was a Roman who persecuted Christians until, on his way to Jerusalem, he was consumed in a beam of light and touched by Jesus.  This immediately converted him and he became an effective missionary himself.  However when he returned to Rome he was put under house arrest.  He chose this location for his incarceration possibly because it was close to the Jewish Ghetto where he could continue his work.  However a church nearby claims to be built on the site of his house and the buildings on this site are actually from the 13^th century whereas Paul was a first century saint.

2/17 Multicultural Lit Notes

Vendettas by Carmelo Quijada

“get rid of one, get rid of all” (souvenirs) shows strong connection to old country, can’t afford to offend old friends

            literary award? Not as bad off as some immigrants

            are these only immigrant writings?  Or is he beating Italians?

            Very conscious of image, playing up rough/artistic side when dressing for award

            I’d like to know have he survives the award ceremony with pigeon shit on his shirt.

            Pigeons similar theme as in Elevator

            “he explodes” holy shit what kind of poison is this?

            Are the pigeon ladies Italian or immigrant? Has lot of implications for how punks react.

            “line up their heads” shit, can’t you come up with a more humane way to kill fledgling pigeons?

            “I defend myself by listing off all the places Italians have emigrated” wow, that’s turning into a really over-used argument

            “Don’t think you’re gonna get off so easy with us” no one here is thinking through their plans.  All sides are guilty.

            “mayor’s office, prefect, the chief of police” shit, this guy knows his shit.

            “Two days later” this guy doesn’t know when to quit.  He stops being a sympathetic hard worker who can’t get a break.  “It won’t be hard” leaves you with the image of a menacing sneer—he’s not going to stop until his small trespasses are repaid 10-fold.  He has everything an immigrant could wish for but that’s not the point anymore, change of perspective.

 

Leaving wih No Return by Ron Kubati

            Must be a student demonstration in a dictatorship (soviet?) run country about to be overthrown.  Just excuse for getting asylum in West Europe.

            Students use red bandanas so must not be fighting soviets.  On hunger strike? (faint, must be taken to hospital).

            Makes everything in the demonstration seem so easy—just pull the statue down.

            Did the govt really accept the request as the media is told?  If not, the demonstrators use just as sly tactics as the govt.

            Tirana=Albania, so this is the dissolution of Yugoslavia.  Also drink raki=Turkish drink so in the general Balkans area…

            The action parts of the story seem so dreamlike, it’s hard to imagine the scene of walking to the port.  Also too easy to get through police barricades, onto a free ship.  Is a good representation of confusing time when revolutionaries aren’t quite sure what they’re supposed to do.  “Our gaze registers everything that happens, but only transmits everything at the end of the adventure, in the form of memories.”

            Excellent ending line—“the city at our backs gets smaller and smaller, but in front of us, we can see nothing.”

            This is the least confusing, best psychological description of immigration experiences so far.

            

Writing Assignment 6

            In studying Regola I have found the most precise boundary this quarter.  The rione’s eastern border runs along Via dei Giubbonari and through Campo de Fiori.  I’ve run across that political boundary many times and noticed the difference in activity, foot traffic and even store hours.  I figured it was a tourism thing—where tourists invigorate the economy the locals must embrace their schedule to maximize profit.  Campo de Fiori is a good example of Americanized stores.  However where tourists are not drawn en masse by some landmark, local customs still rule and store keepers could conceivably not open any days they don’t want to.  I figured this was the sole explanation to the ghost-town qualities of Regola.  It still is—I’m not into conspiracy theories enough to read between non-existent lines—but knowing there are stacked borders is intriguing.

            As for the area itself, I’ve said the main things: it’s quiet, almost barren of life and packed solid with nigh indistinguishable buildings.  The Farnese family has some theoretically spectacular buildings in the area—two palazzi and another art gallery, including Boromini’s perspective arches.  However besides Palazzo Farnese (the French embassy) none of these are outwardly exalted.  One has barely a piazza at its entrance.  I wouldn’t have even known it was a venerated building had I not researched it.  There is also one of two remaining churches in Rome decorated with human bones (it originally housed the organization that brought peasant bodies from Trastevere and beyond inside the city for proper burial).  That faces straight into a street with not even a grand staircase to draw attention to its door.  In between these are classic medieval buildings with few windows on the first floor, even fewer signs to denote shops, and absolutely no allyways.  However, there is plenty of grafitti—and not the artistic kind.  It’s a less friendly version of Trastevere, in other words.

            From the background research I’ve done this is mainly a Renaissance part of town because before the late Middle Ages there wasn’t the technology to deal with the constant floods.  In fact, Regola is the corruption of the name Arenula, still seen on many roads, which is the name for the silty, fine sand deposited in the area whenever the river flooded its banks.  (Going back to my post about the Jewish Ghetto—see? You’re not special, non-Jews got flooded yearly too and didn’t get their walls until the 1880’s).  The Via Giulia, the main road through Regola, was a Medieval endeavor and was one of the first straight roads in the city.