Rome-ing data
"Christopher!" shouts an American tourist to her husband from a Looky Looky Man stand on the edge of St Peter's Square, "These ones have got the new Pope on 'em!"
Yes, we had no inkling when booking this holiday in January that we would find ourselves in Rome when Papa Francesco received the ultimate promotion (apart from the one from here to the heavens, I suppose). And however fantastic an opportunity this was for us to soak up a bit of living history, I'd have much rather visited the Sistine Chapel, which let's be honest is everyone's Roman must-see. Instead, it's been closed since the beginning of the conclave and reopens tomorrow when I'm back at work. So yeah, great timing with that resignation, Joe - thanks ein Bunch.
We didn't attempt to brave the rain or the huddled masses in the square on Wednesday night just on the off-chance that the Cardinals would make up their minds, but it was quite surreal to watch the white smoke billow forth from the holy chimney-hole on the BBC's internet feed, knowing we were just down the road. Although what with all the cheering crowds brandishing flags and umbrellas, hemmed in behind crash barriers, we could have been watching Glastonbury re-runs by mistake.
From the few locals we spoke to, there was a sense of engagement with the Church but also a certain wariness that the great institution of which they were all part was not going to make the concessions to modern times it really needed to any time soon. Hence the choice of a Pope from a more developing - and hence perhaps more credulous - part of the world being quite a canny one.
Plus, the arcane rituals and hubristic sense of detachment are part of the attraction for believers and non-believers alike. Certainly St Peters basilica itself is incredible, the ultimate expression of religion's power to inspire/demand the levels of faith/obedience required to create barely imaginable feats of engineering and artistry. Furthermore, only a tiny section of the steps up to the top of its dome could be considered claustrophobia-inducing for a tall person, which ranks it better than most of the others I've struggled up in the past. Churches don't get any better than this.
Religion casts a long shadow over the rest of Rome too. Obviously the city's other major attractions are remnants of its glorious imperial past, but there's something almost heartbreaking about seeing them in their current states - a teasing glimpse of what the ancient city might have looked like, but not really enough to provide a complete picture. Just look at the Circus Maximus - what once was the world's biggest racetrack which could also be flooded for mounting naval re-enactments, for goodness' sake (the Colosseum also hosted these by all accounts. Perhaps one for ITV to consider) is now a mere shell of an overgrown grassy bowl with a graffiti-strewn wall running through it.
And religion was a key factor behind such declines. Much precious material from these old buildings was pillaged in order to erect new churches or renovate existing ones, and the only way to stop the plundering of places like the Colosseum was to consecrate them. Still, if you look at it another way, would you rather visit a city boasting so many tangible links to its distant past or, say, Milton Keynes? The Colosseum is an impressive sight, even at half-mast. Meanwhile, the Pantheon is in relatively excellent condition and served as a nice place to sit and shelter from the rain, with the hole at its centre acting as a useful visual indicator of when the heavens will close.
We very lucky with the weather overall, despite all these mentions of rain - it fell into a consistent pattern of pissing it down on our first day in a new city then brightening up nicely thereafter. The difference really is huge - trudging around in damp clothing and peering at stuff in grey skies from under a hood does detract from the tourist's experience. On the Wednesday, for example, the Piazza Navona was close to empty and the Fountain of the Four Rivers at its centre cut a somewhat lonely figure. When we came back the next day in the sunshine it was jam-packed with "art"-stalls and the tour groups were out in full force. Not all necessarily good things, but the place seemed more alive and I could feel smug as I overheard a German teacher describing the fountain to his students and getting the names of the rivers represented totally wrong.
Although tourism is a necessary evil in any city like this, it did seem to make some stuff feel smaller. Perhaps I should stop playing landmarks Top Trumps - just because the famous Spanish Steps aren't as huge as those of the Sacre Coeur, for instance, doesn't make them automatically inferior. Similarly, if you can remove the Trevi Fountain from its context - a small tourist-packed square, surrounded by overpriced bars, gelaterias and gift shops - its splendidness remains undimmed. You can also observe how many people nearly miss the water when throwing coins over their shoulder to ensure their proverbial return to Rome.
Actually my favourite Roman structure might be the ridiculous typewriter. The Altare della Patria, as it's properly known, sticks out like a very sore thumb and prompts locals to channel their inner Prince Charles (mutterings of monstrous carbuncles and suchlike) but its size is such that at least it never feels claustrophobic in the midst of the ubiquitous hordes.
The obvious adjective to describe Rome is chaotic. At first it seemed like my kind of city - big enough to lose myself in, in a way that would be impossible in Venice or Florence (me being an introverted coward who for the most part enjoys the relative anonymity a big city brings). But it's frequently not an easy one either. The central warren-like cobbled streets boast potholes galore and a steady stream of scooters and Smart cars whizzing up past you, the public transport offers little help, and the traffic on the main roads effortlessly conforms to every Italian motoring stereotype imaginable (except maybe the one about the number of gears on their tanks). Using an unlit crossing is a total crapshoot, wherein you're reduced to predicting which drivers will stop for you based on how expensive/fast their car is. And when it comes to parking they will literally fill in any gap that appears, no matter if it's on a corner or a crossing. This is where the Smart cars come into their own - well, they have to at some point.
You just have to try to embrace this bedlam as best you can. Rome has lots to offer - we didn't even go into any museums apart from the Galleria Borghese, a typically ornate art gallery where the rooms are as impressive as their contents, and that sits in a sizeable park that makes for a pleasant way to spend a traffic-free afternoon. Well, car-free at any rate - they do have pedal-cab things for hire so you too can join in with the clumsy vehicular fun. There are plenty of other museums and galleries too if that's your thing, which the guidebooks say are good, although they would say that.
We chose to mostly walk around outdoors, which not only makes for a satisfying, productively weary feeling at the end of a week's holiday, but also goes some way to balancing out the large quantities of food consumed. There are plenty of food bloggers out there who can discuss that sort of thing better than me, suffice to say that the Italians love their meat, and pasta, and pizza, and ice cream, and wine, and goodness me is that an extra half stone I appear to have put on? How nice.
Yes, we had no inkling when booking this holiday in January that we would find ourselves in Rome when Papa Francesco received the ultimate promotion (apart from the one from here to the heavens, I suppose). And however fantastic an opportunity this was for us to soak up a bit of living history, I'd have much rather visited the Sistine Chapel, which let's be honest is everyone's Roman must-see. Instead, it's been closed since the beginning of the conclave and reopens tomorrow when I'm back at work. So yeah, great timing with that resignation, Joe - thanks ein Bunch.
We didn't attempt to brave the rain or the huddled masses in the square on Wednesday night just on the off-chance that the Cardinals would make up their minds, but it was quite surreal to watch the white smoke billow forth from the holy chimney-hole on the BBC's internet feed, knowing we were just down the road. Although what with all the cheering crowds brandishing flags and umbrellas, hemmed in behind crash barriers, we could have been watching Glastonbury re-runs by mistake.
From the few locals we spoke to, there was a sense of engagement with the Church but also a certain wariness that the great institution of which they were all part was not going to make the concessions to modern times it really needed to any time soon. Hence the choice of a Pope from a more developing - and hence perhaps more credulous - part of the world being quite a canny one.
Plus, the arcane rituals and hubristic sense of detachment are part of the attraction for believers and non-believers alike. Certainly St Peters basilica itself is incredible, the ultimate expression of religion's power to inspire/demand the levels of faith/obedience required to create barely imaginable feats of engineering and artistry. Furthermore, only a tiny section of the steps up to the top of its dome could be considered claustrophobia-inducing for a tall person, which ranks it better than most of the others I've struggled up in the past. Churches don't get any better than this.
Religion casts a long shadow over the rest of Rome too. Obviously the city's other major attractions are remnants of its glorious imperial past, but there's something almost heartbreaking about seeing them in their current states - a teasing glimpse of what the ancient city might have looked like, but not really enough to provide a complete picture. Just look at the Circus Maximus - what once was the world's biggest racetrack which could also be flooded for mounting naval re-enactments, for goodness' sake (the Colosseum also hosted these by all accounts. Perhaps one for ITV to consider) is now a mere shell of an overgrown grassy bowl with a graffiti-strewn wall running through it.
And religion was a key factor behind such declines. Much precious material from these old buildings was pillaged in order to erect new churches or renovate existing ones, and the only way to stop the plundering of places like the Colosseum was to consecrate them. Still, if you look at it another way, would you rather visit a city boasting so many tangible links to its distant past or, say, Milton Keynes? The Colosseum is an impressive sight, even at half-mast. Meanwhile, the Pantheon is in relatively excellent condition and served as a nice place to sit and shelter from the rain, with the hole at its centre acting as a useful visual indicator of when the heavens will close.
We very lucky with the weather overall, despite all these mentions of rain - it fell into a consistent pattern of pissing it down on our first day in a new city then brightening up nicely thereafter. The difference really is huge - trudging around in damp clothing and peering at stuff in grey skies from under a hood does detract from the tourist's experience. On the Wednesday, for example, the Piazza Navona was close to empty and the Fountain of the Four Rivers at its centre cut a somewhat lonely figure. When we came back the next day in the sunshine it was jam-packed with "art"-stalls and the tour groups were out in full force. Not all necessarily good things, but the place seemed more alive and I could feel smug as I overheard a German teacher describing the fountain to his students and getting the names of the rivers represented totally wrong.
Although tourism is a necessary evil in any city like this, it did seem to make some stuff feel smaller. Perhaps I should stop playing landmarks Top Trumps - just because the famous Spanish Steps aren't as huge as those of the Sacre Coeur, for instance, doesn't make them automatically inferior. Similarly, if you can remove the Trevi Fountain from its context - a small tourist-packed square, surrounded by overpriced bars, gelaterias and gift shops - its splendidness remains undimmed. You can also observe how many people nearly miss the water when throwing coins over their shoulder to ensure their proverbial return to Rome.
Actually my favourite Roman structure might be the ridiculous typewriter. The Altare della Patria, as it's properly known, sticks out like a very sore thumb and prompts locals to channel their inner Prince Charles (mutterings of monstrous carbuncles and suchlike) but its size is such that at least it never feels claustrophobic in the midst of the ubiquitous hordes.
The obvious adjective to describe Rome is chaotic. At first it seemed like my kind of city - big enough to lose myself in, in a way that would be impossible in Venice or Florence (me being an introverted coward who for the most part enjoys the relative anonymity a big city brings). But it's frequently not an easy one either. The central warren-like cobbled streets boast potholes galore and a steady stream of scooters and Smart cars whizzing up past you, the public transport offers little help, and the traffic on the main roads effortlessly conforms to every Italian motoring stereotype imaginable (except maybe the one about the number of gears on their tanks). Using an unlit crossing is a total crapshoot, wherein you're reduced to predicting which drivers will stop for you based on how expensive/fast their car is. And when it comes to parking they will literally fill in any gap that appears, no matter if it's on a corner or a crossing. This is where the Smart cars come into their own - well, they have to at some point.
You just have to try to embrace this bedlam as best you can. Rome has lots to offer - we didn't even go into any museums apart from the Galleria Borghese, a typically ornate art gallery where the rooms are as impressive as their contents, and that sits in a sizeable park that makes for a pleasant way to spend a traffic-free afternoon. Well, car-free at any rate - they do have pedal-cab things for hire so you too can join in with the clumsy vehicular fun. There are plenty of other museums and galleries too if that's your thing, which the guidebooks say are good, although they would say that.
We chose to mostly walk around outdoors, which not only makes for a satisfying, productively weary feeling at the end of a week's holiday, but also goes some way to balancing out the large quantities of food consumed. There are plenty of food bloggers out there who can discuss that sort of thing better than me, suffice to say that the Italians love their meat, and pasta, and pizza, and ice cream, and wine, and goodness me is that an extra half stone I appear to have put on? How nice.
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