Reprise.....
We are flying south, winging away over the clouds, beyond the Alps.....
Yes, we are all going on a...
Amor vincit omnia
But, ok, let's get a few things straight.... I am neither Gregory Peck, nor am I travelling with 95-year-old Aubrey Hepburn.... But I am going on holiday to Rome, and we are, for a moment, in the Palazzo Colonna, where Joe Bradley last saw Princess Ann....
It is quieter today, the Rococo decorations half asleep in anticipation of an upcoming rugby match:
Though I still feel a sense of dislocation as I turn away....
No! Wait! This isn't me....
So. Where were we? Ah yes, the Colosseum:
No! The Colosseum is in colour......
OK. So we take a ride on a scooter:
I said - a scooter:
No! Not an E-Scooter.....
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Nor an E-Bike....
For St Peter's sake! Where's William Wyler when you need him? We'll take a bus.....
And we'll watch the full moon rise over Santa Trinità dei Monti
Omnia mutantur
Let me take you by the hand, and I will show you the rubble-filled streets of the Caput Mundi.....
It is morning, and I have parked the bike.....
So let us stroll, from Santa Maria Maggiore:
The last resting place of Pope Francis:
Through the Terme di Caracalla:
To the Aventino, where the curious queue to peek at San Pietro through a keyhole in the Piazza Cavaliere di Malta....
While others make for doors, such as those of Santa Sabina, that are more open:
Then down the Clivio di Rocca Savella:
To watch the swollen Tevere wash the shores of the Isola Tiberina:
And then across to Trastevere, where I lived so many years ago. We pause, briefly, to listen to the Benedictine nuns chanting their prayers in the Basilica of Santa Cecilia, the patron saint of music....
Then we lunch at the ever popular Fieramosca, in Piazza dei Mercanti, once owned by my eccentric acquaintance Remington, and the favourite locality of my late wife, Amanda. I raise a glass of Colli Albani wine to her, on the second anniversary of her death, thinking of our girls.....
Ad vitam aeternam
The following day, blessed by sunshine, we revisit the Colosseum, then walk on the Palatine Hill, looking back over the Arch of Constantine, watching the Ring-necked parakeets feasting on oranges in the Orti Farnesiani:
The Musei Capitolini, which were founded in 1471 by pope Sixtus IV, contain many of the greatest treasures of Rome, from the modest Capitoline Venus, upstairs in the Palazzo Nuovo:
To Gian Lorenzo Bernini's bust of Medusa, whose shadows seem to writhe across the floor:
And I am tempted to offer assistance to a Dying Gaul whose marbles seem to be in perpetual pain:
Elsewhere in the Palazzo dei Conservatori, illuminations cast diverse shades to tell their stories:
While, from the Terazza Caffarelli, outside the Caffetteria dei Musei Capitolini, the sun is dying beyond the Teatro di Marcello (inaugurated in 12 BCE by Emperor Augustus). The upper floors of this ancient pile actually constitute the 11,000 square metre Palazzo Orsini, which was acquired by Iris Origo, author of War in the Val d'Orcia, and her husband in 1950. In 2012 the Palazzo was put on the market by Iris's daughter for £26 million.
Looking out the other way, from under the Palazzo Senatorio, the view over the Forum at dusk is occupied by the spirits of ancient Rome, whispering around the Arch of Septimus Severus:
Night falls, again,
Aubrey and I - sorry, Greg - sorry, Joe - retire to rest in the Via Margutta, near where Federico Fellini and Giulietta Masina lived....
Rome takes on a different life after dark, with government buildings washed in the tricolour, and the detritus of millennia lost in obscurity.
Then the city perks up on a sunny day, though grey skies and rain don't wash away all the attraction.
Tempus fugit
In a packed week's holiday, there isn't enough time to do more than scratch at the superficialities of history, but we do our best. I could tell you about Frascati, where we lunch with friends in the caves of the Osteria Fraschetta Trinca. Or I could wax lyrical about lunch at Arianna al Borghetto, after a dove grey morning under the Pines of Ostia Antica. I could tell you about meeting Enrico Terrinoni (President of the James Joyce Italian Foundation and translator into Italian of Ulysses and a parts of Finnegan's Wake) in The Fiddler's Elbow.... Or I could expound on the beautiful cloister of the Basilica Papale di San Paolo fuori le Mura, or the extraordinary juxtapositions of the marvellous marbles alongside the generators of the Centrale Montemartini.....
But tempus fugit and so I will be brief. Amongst the unforgettables within this whirligig stay, I rank the National Roman Museum, Baths of Diocletian:
And the neighbouring Palazzo Massimo is remarkable for many classical items, such as mosaics, frescoes, statues and bronzes, such as this one of a Boxer at Rest (the one on the right):
In the Galleria Borghese the statues seem to be in the act of flight, while their custodians seem indifferent. It is a wonderful gallery, but I cannot help but feel a tad claustrophobic at this stage....
Better the outside. Better the air, the sky, the rain (if it has to be.....)
We pass Piazza Navona, where Charlie Chaplin is anxious to gain my acquaintance.....
And then, from the Terrazza dell’Angelo of the Castel Sant'Angelo, we look toward San Pietro,
And then make our way toward the Basilica di San Pietro, where the faithful align themselves with umbrellas akimbo in the great Piazza:
Alea jacta est
I lived in Rome for years, and hithered and thithered day after day, falling asleep some times beneath statues, or making my way home with a fresh cornetto under a vast yellow moon.
Now, a visitor on holiday, the city envelopes me and my friend, enticing me to imagine the past world, encouraging me to marvel at the artistry, the skills, the imagination of our predecessors. How amazing, I think, that some thousands of years ago people could do that?
And then I think..... Where are we now? How amazing, perhaps, that we are still no better than 'they' were 'then'.... How is it that Nero or Caligula, or Trajan are still with us, toga or suit, tonsure or wig?
I love Rome. I feel at ease here, even though it is no longer my home. From the eager tourist by the Fontana della Barcaccia at the foot of the Spanish Steps:
To the umbrella girls a space away, photographed in front of I'll Be Your Mirror by Portuguese artist Joana Vasconcelos....
I have lost count of the times I have visited Rome, and that doesn't include the years I lived in the city, but I am always inspired by what I find..... Nowadays, for me, it is always a Holiday, and, perhaps, that is something we should appreciate as life begins to slip away?
Ex nihilo nihil
With sincere thanks to my friends in Rome, and with many thanks to my companion on this trip.
As Scotland lose to France, as the clouds cover the face of the earth, it is time to return 'home'.... a concept that gradually loses meaning in this dizzy, worrying world.....
*****
For my B E J
*****
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