When in Rome... Part II

How will the MGC look in 1,920 years? Probably not as good as the Coliseum. Admittedly the MGC seats about 20,000 more people, but it took 20th Century technology to do it.

I have had the pleasure of walking to the MCG on the last Saturday in September when the air is thick with excitement and anticipation. When the colours of the combatants are fluttering in the breeze… the murmur of the crowd slowly builds to a roar… to see my team win... to see my team lose. But the atmosphere in Melbourne is created by the people, the spectacle, the noise, the sport, the teams. We venerate the stadium, but it’s the game that creates the emotion.

The Coliseum should be nothing more than a stadium, there are no games here anymore. It’s an enormous assortment of stones and bricks, arches and columns, piled one atop the other to almost ridiculous height, and yet the minute you step from the Metro station and stare at it, in the twinkling brightness of a sunny Roman day, there is and atmosphere, a feeling of expectation. It is genuinely awe inspiring, it’s wonderful and like so much in Rome, so much bigger than you imagine. Its presence looms over you in a way the MGC or any other modern stadium could never do. It’s not a light weight structure. No soaring beams, canopied roofs or steel cables here, just straight up stone arch on stone arch. It doesn’t seem built on the ground; it looks more like the ground has weathered away around it leaving its crumbling form as a testament to wind and rain.

Entering is like walking into a cave, the stone is dirty black and the vaulted corridors are dark and littered with fallen stones and columns, pushed out of the way to let the tourists pass. It’s almost a pity that you have to face up to the realities the bag check and ticket booth, but thankfully we were through quickly and it took little away from the mood. In typical Italian style there is little in the way of directional signage and so you grope your way through the dim arcades until you find the right stairs to the upper level and the start of the audio guide tour. You climb a flight of stairs that would meet no current regulations and just as dimly lit, but when you reach the top there are views through the outer arches to the Forum and Palatine across the piazza. And then you turn and walk out, into the stadium. Alas there was not roar of the crowd upon my emergence from the arched tunnel… but the spectacle is grand. It must have been an incredible place to enter and find your seat all those years ago – and overwhelmingly frightening if you were unlucky enough to not have a seat, but be part of the events.

We spend an hour or so wandering slowly around the terraces, looking up at the crumbling upper tiers, down into the labyrinth of passages below what would have been the arena floor and all with the most verbose audio guide any of us had ever encountered lecturing away at our ears. We were cast back out into the piazza and ready for our next adventure into antiquity.

The Forum site is handily located right next to the Coliseum – all the old stuff within arms length. Somehow we missed the audio guides, which was somewhat annoying as sites in Rome are not flushed with information. In fact across the entire Forum and Palatine we encountered only about 4 sign boards and these were not particularly enlightening. We did manage to figure out where the Forum actually was and deciphered the negligible signage on a small hut, encompassing a small pile of stone covered in flowers, as the location of Caesar’s famous last moments at the hands of Brutus.

I was surprised though, a tourist attraction in the heart of Rome, visited by millions, and the area was sadly lacking in organisation, care and attention - especially when compared to somewhere as brilliantly presented as Pompei. It appears more a big park, with some picturesque ruin, perfect for a Sunday stroll, than one of the world’s most significant historic locations. The entire Mediterranean and half of Europe was conquered from here. It marks the beginning of the rise of western civilisation, and they don’t even cut the grass.

By this stage feet all round were rather sore so we decided on lunch. We trundled across the river to a neat little café in a back street and sat down to one of the most delightful lunches I have had in a long time. The food was sensational – pizzas all round, mine was blue cheese and speck - the white wine was cold and crisp and we sat under an awning in a tiny square enjoying the Italian, spring, sunshine and I can’t even remember its name.

Having been disappointed at the Pantheon being closed the day before, we headed back that way - hopeful of getting inside this time. Open it was, and in we charged, again headlong into a milling throng. The pantheon is a bit of a tardis building. It certainly doesn’t look small from the outside, but its interior looks much to grand and imposing to be contained by the brown stone and brick surrounding it. It also seems far to magnificent to be 2000 years old. The building of ancient Rome are supposed to be ruins like the Coliseum and the Forum, not fully functioning beautifully maintained structures like the Pantheon (well, the interior anyway – the outside is showing its age just a tad) especially when it has a hole in the middle of its roof to let the light in ...and let the light in it does. The Pantheon has no windows, just the huge oculus at the centre of it splendid dome and its great entry doors. The sunshine spills into the space through the roof, creating a bright white disk of light on the internal wall which slowly moves with the sun, sparkling on the mosaics, marble, gilt and polished brass. The mathematics of the building are quite remarkable. The top of the dome is as high as the distance between the walls, the dome is a perfect hemisphere, so it will perfectly contain a giant ball – if you wanted it too. Gotta love the Romans – they built their buildings to perfection, and without a computer, or even a calculator.

Two days in Rome is clearly not enough. I managed to get to the biggest and most famous of the sites but there is so much more to see. You could spend days just wandering the streets, exploring. Something for next Summer.

When in Rome... Part I

Midnight was not the best time to arrive at the Royal Santina Hotel, although, to be completely honest, I would not really recommend arriving there at all. To say it is a hotel with faded glory would mean indicating it had glory to begin with. It needs a major refurbishment, but I would have settled for a wipe over with a damp cloth. Claudia and I were greeted by surly-man-at-desk on arrival – his one and only pleasantry being to offer us a wake-up call the next morning which was never made and thus we overslept by an hour.

Our room was at least less dusty than the lobby and stairwells and had what could almost be described as a nice view over the Basilica di Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri (say that 3 times fast!) toward the dome of St Peters in the distance – well, if you leaned out of the window a bit…

First thing Saturday morning (although, an hour late thanks to a lack of a wake-up call) we put our lodgings behind us a made for the Vatican. Having been warned of horrendous queues and madding crowds we started with the Vatican Museums in an attempt to head off the worst of it. We must have chosen a quiet weekend. 5 minutes after arriving we were buying our tickets and on our way into the museum for two and a half hours of frescoed walls and ceilings, marble sculpture, mosaics and tapestries, oh, and stairs… lots of stairs!

The culmination of the museum tour is the Sistine Chapel. Once inside the walls and ceiling are instantly recognisable. To stand in the space and look upon those frescoes alone and unhurried must be fabulous. To be jostled and bumped by the hordes is not such a pleasant experience. Both Claudia and I found the experience a little less than comfortable and spent only about 10 minutes gazing about before retreating to quieter areas.

Second stop was Piazza St Pietro, the sweeping curve of colonnade bound pavement stretching out before St Peter’s Basilica. Being lunchtime and both of us ready for a sit-down we resisted the urge to enter the Basilica right way and walked across the Piazza to a café recommended by a German friend of Claudia’s. Having seen where Germans choose to eat while travelling, I was somewhat dubious. My fears were allayed as I sat down to a carafe of chilled white wine, excellent bruschetta and lasagne.

Stomachs sated off we sauntered to St Peter’s Basilica. Without a doubt the most overwhelming space I have ever set foot. I defy anyone to enter the doors of the Basilica and not be moved by what they find. Whether it is the scale of the architecture (the building can hold 60,000 people – more than Lang Park, for a quick comparison), the richness of the decoration or something deeper I am not sure - perhaps a combination of it all.

The statues are enormous, towering about us from niches in the columns and walls. Every wall, column and floor is covered in patterned marble. Huge images adorn the wall behind the altars of the chapels down each side of the Nave. You take them to be elegant paintings or frescoes until you move very close, only to find they are actually the finest and most detailed mosaics - the skill of the artist is beyond comprehension.

The canopy over the central altar appears to float above barley sugar columns. Made of bronze and designed by Bernini it marks the point, under the basilica, of the tomb of St Peter and stands like an island at the centre of the cross of the Basilica ground plan.

There is so much to take in as you slowly walked around the space, and it was almost a relief to step back out into bright Roman sunshine and leave the intensity of the Basilica behind.

From the steps of the Basilica the view takes your gaze down Via della Conciliazioni, a contribution by Mussolini, to the distant River Tiber, so we walked that way.

We strolled, in the shade as the day was a warm one, toward the river. The cylindrical lump of Castel Sant Angelo drew near and we found ourselves looking down into the River Tiber, sluggish and a rather deep, bottle green in colour. Ahead of us leaping across the river from the entry to the Castel Sant Angelo was the Pont Sant Angelo. A guide book had identified this bridge as the prettiest bridge in Rome – clearly the other bridges of Rome were not going to offer a visual feast. We wasted little time on the bridge which would not get a second glance in Paris and plunged into a labyrinth of charming little streets and lanes on our way to Piazza Navona. We only got lost about three times before we found our way into the Piazza; home to three fountains and the second obelisk of our weekend’s touring – the first being outside St Peters - and by no means the last. Piazza Navona is also home to a plethora of stalls selling clichéd oil paintings of Roman scenes – St Peters, the Coliseum, Cafes etc. and a rather good gelateria called Tre Fontana. We bought both paintings and icecream.

Next stop was the Pantheon. Unfortunately, closed by the time we arrived we decided to return the following day so I will deal with it later. Although, while walking away we did enjoy obelisk number three…

Five minutes later and we were standing, mouths slightly agape, staring at the Trevi Fountain. It is rather larger than had anticipated and it dominates its tiny square, and the space is not taken up by the fountain was crammed with people. We managed to squeeze our way to the top of the stairs and take a few photos before we retreated to periphery to take in the sight. The fountain is designed to look like the sculpture, and the entire building above it, is emerging from the living rock. The edges are blurred where uncarved rock looms up out of the surrounding balustrade and creeps up into the building façade. The figures of horses and men spring from the mass of stone at the heart of the fountain as water pours around them. Despite the vigorous life of the sculpture and the throng of people all around, the square seems to hold onto an air of coolness and peace and there is the ring of laughter and joy in the rushing, tumble of the water and of the voices of those looking on.

From milling throng to milling throng. The Piazza di Spagna was no less busy than anywhere we had been all day. But, despite the crowds we found a few square feet on the Spanish Steps to sit and enjoy the afternoon. The steps really are perfectly formed for sitting and lounging and watching the world. Worn smooth and shiny by millions of feet and back-sides the travertine is remarkably comfortable. To lie back and gaze down upon the Piazza is a delight. The sun was warm and eventually that warmth and the need to meet up with other friends forced us to relinquish our spot and head to the Metro and back to the hotel.

Southern England

I had been wanting to go to Winchester for some time. The Cathedral gets a pretty good rap whenever it is mentioned and the town itself sits in a rather pretty park of Southern England.
Last Sunday dawned bright and sunny (despite a weather forecast predicting clouds and rain) so I took advantage of the day and scuttled off to Waterloo to get the 9:35 train to Winchester.
I have mentioned travelling by train before, but it really is a great way to see the UK. You peer into the back gardens of London’s populous (often looking a tad too Dickensian for the 21st Century) as you race out of the city at speeds that seem far to swift for what you know is inherently a 19th Century railway.

I am always surprised at how quickly a train will get you out of London and into the countryside. 15 minutes is all it really takes at 90 miles an hour. Look at a map of Greater London and you would think it should take at least an hour to work your way out of the dense habitation – which it would in a car I am sure.

So, the countryside was soon all around me and it is something to see in Southern England. Rolling green hills dotted with farms and small town, and fringed with woods, the odd country house standing serenely on a hill-side quietly commanding its surroundings.
In the middle of this picture is the city of Winchester. Former capital and home to some of the first Kings of England, the town seems to have had an existence of prosperity and solidity, at least as far as the 1800s anyway.

I had primarily come to visit the Cathedral, and on its own it would be well worth a visit. Many of England’s cathedrals were started in the 11th and 12th Centuries in the Norman style, but were often later rebuilt in Early English and Gothic form (often because the earlier buildings had a propensity to fall down). Winchester retains its Norman transepts – despite the original Norman tower… well… falling down). The difference between this architecture and the later Gothic is quite marked. The building also retains much sculpture, often missing from other sites thanks to one Henry VIII and his work to remove the Catholic Church and all its symbolism from the English world. I could wax on for quite a while about the place; the medieval floor tiles, the glorious windows, and rather avant-garde music choices of the practicing organist, but there are other gems to Winchester.

The view from St Giles’ Mount is well worth the climb up the steepish stairs. Looking west over the town the view is rather grand. It is also surprising to look at the 2 images at the lookout and compare what is there today to what was there in 1730. Very little seems to have changed.
Walking down from the hill, I wandered down to the river, through the ruins of Wolvesey Castle – the former home to the Bishops of Winchester, and into a quaint little Water Mill cared for by the National Trust. Unfortunately a sluice gate was broken and water wheel would not turn, so I could not watch the millstones grinding wheat.
Strolling up the High Street I made my way to the old West Gate at the top of the town. This is the only ancient city gate still standing and offers another great view over the town – back toward St Giles’ Mount.

My final stop for the day was the Great Hall. Formerly attached to a Castle – destroyed by Cromwell, and Royal palace of Charles II that burned down, it seems remarkable that this building has survived at all, let alone remained in such a fantastic state of preservation for 800 years. Nailed to the wall at one end is a rather gimmicky looking interpretation of King Arthur’s round table, complete with the names of his knights. Made in the 13th Century, it is about as good as gimmick things get I suppose… Although it’s not alone; close by is a rather grandiose, larger than life, bronze of Queen Victoria on the throne and at the other end of the hall are two great steel gates to commemorate the marriage of Charles and Diana – looking ever so slightly rusty these days and little used… which seemed appropriate.

And so, once more swamped by history I departed Winchester, as clouds gathered from the west, and headed back to London and sunshine.