A swig of Rome: Part 1

The timing could not have been worse. I have a thesis to finish in three weeks. Exams are around the corner. The stone tools that I make in the lithic tools lab are enough to earn me an instant expulsion from any pre-historic community. Yet here I am on my way to Rome, still breathless after the ten minutes run to Ferrara station reaching just in time to catch the cheapest and ipso facto the slowest train to Roma Termini. There are some visa procedures that I cannot avoid.

I am perched on the edge of my seat caught between panic and thrill. I have left Bologna and Firenze behind. The landscape has turned slightly flatter and a bright shade of green. A happy spring sun shines bright over the low reaching hills.
Then the tunnels start- much like those we have back in India. Many a tunnel later, the scene outside has changed further. Now there are hillocks interspersed with patches of flatlands and fields. Cows and horses graze in peace…

I open my eyes to the noises of the city. I sense them rather than hear them through my glass pane window. Cream and brown buildings along the rail lines, graffiti that fill most of the available wall space, people passing by looking both hurried and worried, Rome is at first glance an ordinary city.

In Rome, one steps out from the station into a multicultural matrix. The shop windows announce Chinese an Indian cuisine and Kebab with halal meat. In the many makeshift stalls Bangladeshis sell souvenirs from Rome.

I do enjoy the laid back streets of Ferrara. Its long lanes, where you can bike at ease in the evenings, where the street guitarists play soft hum-along tunes and even the unruly noises of drunken students on Friday nights are predictable. But Rome feels more real and somehow familiar. It is neither too clean nor too orderly and to the brim, filled with life.

After depositing my backpack at the dormitory I ask the receptionist for directions. What could someone who has one quarter of an evening and half of a morning do in Rome? With a green highlighter pen, he draws for me a route on the map. It does not seem to be touching any of the more familiar sites, perhaps I could save them for a next time.
So along via Giovanni Giulietti, I walk. For some way I am accosted by a young man who sells maps and guidance skills. In street-side stalls vendors sell bags, watches and tea- shirts that say ‘I love Roma’. The fountain of the Piazza della Republica comes into view.

The fountain is flanked on all sides by sculptures of Naiads (water nymphs). In the centre is the Glauco group representing the Greek sea god Glauco. Brown moss covers the sculptures, blurring their outlines that the nymphs appear misty and distant.The fountain assumed its present form in the early years of 20th century through the hands of the sculptor Francesco Rutelli. Across the road I spot a curious church whose walls seem to be in a state of ruin. Human torsos are sculpted as coming out of its wooden doors. This is Santa Maria delli Angeli, built under the orders of Pope Pius IV and designed by none other than Michaelangelo. Of Michaelangelo’s original design only the vaulted dome remains.

But I am more curious about the wall in ruins. So I trace my way back along the walls this time taking the opposite side of the street. And stretched out on my side are the remains of the baths of Diocletian, the grandest of Roman imperial baths dating back to the early years of 4th century.Commissioned by Emperor Diocletian on the year of his return from Africa, the complex is equipped with hot and cold bath facilities, open air pools, oil and massage parlours. It is believed that there were private rooms and poetry reading and even what could have been a library (to bring in a better perspective into the ablutions?)!. I walk among the ruins, barely understanding its structure. The adjacent National Museum is closed by then. I might go back another day for some explanations. Where once regal imperial Roman posteriors rested, furry gray cats stretch out regally and yawn lazily.


From the Republican square I turn into the via Nazionale. Some way along to my right is the Palazzio delle esposizione -a neo classical exhibition hall, cultural centre and museum. There is a slight chill in the air now. My coat is back in the hostel room. My feet are sore and I am thirsty. I slump down on the steps of Esposizione palace and watch the passers- by. Perhaps I should call it a day? But the map is stretched out on my lap, sorely tempting. I climb down the steps and walk on…
(cont..)