|
|
 |
|
The Long Walk |
|
written
by justinvf / 10.24.2005 |
|
|
| |
Part 1: |
| |
The more time I spend in Rome the more I enjoy watching traffic. From this small park on the Aventine I have the perfect viewing point for an entrancing dance of cars. A bridge spans the Tiber, leading onto a one was street with a circular exit shooting towards the city, giving each car so many options, so many curves they can follow. All of these people going places, at all different paces, in all manner of vehicles. Motorini swerving amongst the less agile cars, scooting in between them at the stop lights. In the circle some cars take it slowly, while others pass them on the outside lane. All of these people trying to get on their way, as I sit perched on a hill with nothing in particular to do. The whole experience is meditative in that I see so much motion and intention, while I am perfectly still.
The next stop is the church, an inverse of the previous situation. I am drawn about the incredibly still church, trying to get as many angles as possible, to explore every altar. I see strange symbols on the wall and my first instinct is to sketch them. I see a dark whole and I want to peer in. In its silence there is such mystery, and with the light pouring in through the high windows a I feel invigorated and adventurous.
Finally at the British military cemetery, I found peace in a peaceful environment. The ordered rows of graves gave the equalizing vision of death that I felt was lacking in the Protestant cemetery. The aqueduct wall sealing off one side of the cemetery connected everything even further with the past, while the well maintained grass and trees made it seem of the present. Three time periods merged so effectively through this memorial, and I felt that everything was properly in place as I laid down on the grass to rest a bit.
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
Part 2: |
| |
The darkness overtakes me at first, having coming in from the bright outdoors. The whole church at first is a mixing of blacks and browns and nothing more. As my pupils start to dilate though, the building slowly comes into focus. Rough wooden pews, set a little farther apart than pews in regular churches, give an air of solitude. Praying in this church it seems is not about being in a group, but rather about being absolutely alone with God. The contrast in light further illustrates this, as one comes in and at first is nearly blind. Only after being in the space, in focusing your eyes upon the dark corners, can one begin to see. Upon the altar though is the most striking aspect of the church. Though normally I hate the overly realistic statues in churches, as they look like plastic, in this church a plaster Jesus on a cross is used to dramatic affect. At only three feet tall, and lit by a single candle, the image of Jesus is at first barely perceptible, with only an occasional flicker from the candle illuminating the sad face. This however is all that is needed, for once you are alerted to the presence of the icon, your eyes are fixed upon it, trying to make out the details so effectively obscured by darkness. Through trying to make out the murky image of the savior, one is in some sense symbolically trying to find Jesus and the church through this symbolism compels you onwards in that search.
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
Part 3: |
| |
As I entered the Piazza Testaccio I was at first overwhelmed. Where do I go? Is this a giant maze? Where is the cheese? Though a bit shy with my Italian, it was the last of those questions that I ventured to get answered and with a few “dove il Formagio?”s I eventually honed in on the cheese shop. Having been to Brie and Bordeaux in Seattle, I though I had seen respectable cheese establishments before. I was completely wrong.
Formaggiomania is the most impressive collection of cheese I think I will ever see. With at least three different types of every Italian cheese I have ever heard of, and about ten times as many cheeses as I even knew existed, this shop astonished me. Not being quite brave enough to ask for samples, or really ask about the different types of cheese (how could I understand an answer), I settled upon buying some Parmagano. Having to point to distinguish which type I wanted, I ordered an etti and with that procured started to leave.
On they way out though I started to feel a bit lame though. I was in the most amazing cheese shop I will ever go to in my life, and I let being shy prevent me from really getting what I wanted from the experience, which was to try a bunch of different cheeses. This was just ridiculous, and after a few more steps in the wrong direction, I abruptly stopped and turned back around. The shop keeper was a bit surprised at my return, understandably, and asked me if I “No like?” the Parmagano. “No… Like” I answered to the opposite, and then tried my best to communicate that I “Non come Formaggio Italiano” (hadn’t eaten Italian cheese) and was wondering what he recommended. This was my attempt to play it safe/slightly lie and in the process get a cheese sampling. Unfortunately, as I found out later in Italian, this was probably interpreted as “I don’t eat Italian cheese” which explains the further confused look on his face. Finally, not knowing any way to try and maneuver him giving me a sampling, I just resorted to the formula of “Posso Provare” + point at a cheese. Being the first time in the conversation that we understood each other, he happily obliged, and I tried a good five of six different types of fantastic Italian cheese. Finally getting over hang-ups about asking for things, I found the experience liberating and in leaving the shop the second time there were no feelings of not getting exactly what I wanted out of the experience.
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
