When in Rome

Our four-day weekend in Rome gave us just enough time to visit (almost) everything we wanted without exhausting ourselves. As required, we began with the Forum and Colosseum, making our way through cobbled and claustrophobic side streets. They can be dank, but venture down as many as you can: though the main streets are beautiful, it is along the alleyways that the hills rise and fall and the quiet buildings like adobe seem to press together. They explain the popularity of motorbikes, one of which nearly took out my roommate because the crosswalks are inconsistent and the bikes speed by much more quickly than four-wheels. I believe the only casualty was a cell phone.

When I saw the Colosseum I thought of the awe that it (and any ruins) inspires, because it appeals to our nostalgia, to our inability to preserve or traverse time. It is history, a link to the world historical figures and gladiators and common (but ancient) folk who walked these halls millennia ago. But it is deflating to think that a used napkin, too, is a link to Jennifer Lopez, and what is the difference in paying for that versus paying to look at a spoon that a Roman ruler once used?

The Colosseum has traveled through time where we can't, and after years of ravaging it is understandably worn out. That it's less perfect, though, doesn't make it any less appealing to tourists; on the contrary, it's why people buy antique chairs with the front rung carved away by resting feet. It's more authentic. Amazing how much of the structure can be saved. And amazing how selective we are in how we save anything. I stood alone for an hour on top of the Pincian Hill (one of the best views of the entire city), looking down onto the Piazza del Popolo, but not without graffiti along a railing to obstruct the view. Beyond the question of whether graffiti is art, should the city wash away the spray paint? It probably hasn't done so yet because of the time and money required, but if we don't rebuild the broken walls of the Colosseum, maybe we shouldn't erase the work of street artists: both record history and act as commentary on the times that produced them.

I don't subscribe to that idea so much as mull over it, but one idea beyond contemplation is the indignity and disgrace of cities and other authorities that construct attractions explicitly for visitors. Near Popolo is Villa Borghese, and leading into the park is a porta flanked by sphinx-like sculptures. It is not just poor taste, it is disingenuous. Like the flashy nativity scenes, one inside left of St. Peter's Basilica, another in the piazza outside.

Time for class, I will get around to more on Rome later and try to preach less.

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Reading: Camus, The Stranger
Listening to: Killers, "Why Do I Keep Counting"