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Serenity and Apprehension on a Long Walk |
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written
by pev42 / 10.24.2005 |
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Part 1: |
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The Parco Savello is a tame, green paradise rising above the clamor and dirt of the city. Its gate indicates that it was intended for an elite few, which today means those that know how to find it and are willing to climb the hill. At the top, a view of the jumbled mess of Rome shows the juxtaposition of a growing city living over and around the ruins of its ancient past. People feel secure here, free to set their bags down, sit on the wall, and let their minds wander over the expansive view. Down below, tourists bustle past the impressive ruins of the Teatro de Marcello while Italians rush to buy their daily food at the market in Testaccio.
The cemeteries of Rome have a similar calm feeling to that of the Parco Savello. In the Protestant Cemetery, friendly caretakers repaint the intricate gate and a box amid the lush vegetation asks for donations for the cats. The people buried here died far from their homes, but were still given a hospitable place to rest. The atmosphere here seems like the kind of forced display of happiness during the visitor’s hour at an elderly care facility. In the British Military Cemetary, regimented order is maintained through the perfect lines of the identically shaped white headstones. No drooping angles or towering pyramids are used to console the resting spirits that lie here. Their only comfort is the company that they keep and the memorial to the cause that they died for, giving them the same solace in death that they had in life.
The delicate decorations and light, airy interior of the Church of Santa Sabina invite people to come in and experience the beauty of God’s grace. I would be just as happy to wander and reflect here as in the tranquility of the cemeteries or the Parco Savello. This welcoming church seems to pull me in like an eager friend offering me tea and sunshine on a rainy day. Perhaps they wanted to console me after my encounter with the Bocca della Verita down the hill, in front of the Church of Santa Maria in Cosmedian. Legend has it that this lion mask will chop off your hand if you stick it in its mouth and have ever told a lie. What was once used for intimidation is now just a stop for tourists and their cameras.
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Part 2: |
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In the one empty side chapel of Santa Maria in Cosmedian that is open, statues peak from each of the four corners of the room, the darkness creating mystery around them. In the light they would be plain and typical, but in this room dark shadows emphasize the shape of their eyes and make them appear curious, as if they are interested in this space as much as I am. The dull colors, especially the dominant faded green, add to the darkness of the room. It reminds me of the green shag carpet that covered my grandma’s attic, a place where countless treasures could be uncovered and the stories of my family seeped through the sagging walls. I feel the presence of memory here too, the sensation of stories hidden in the shadows.
One statue in the corner is illuminated from below by bright artificial light. The contrasts created by the contours of its face make its black and white eyes look like those of a terrified patient strapped to an examination table. Opened by the light, striped of the soft, mysterious shadows, it looks sterile and motionless. When my grandma died, we had to clean out her attic and sell her old house. In doing so we exposed treasures that had been buried in the walls for decades, lost behind immense piles of boxes more recently stowed. Empty and bare, the attic l¬ooked like this statue under the examination lights?its mystery removed, its stories lost.
Down-turned candelabras on the walls hold conspicuous fluorescent lights, showing the old haphazardly mixed with the new. My grandma’s favorite old porcelain doll now sits on my desk at home.
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Part 3: |
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I entered the market in Testaccio as a weary and hungry traveler. My stomach declared its emptiness loudly and made it hard for me to think of the Italian that I would need to satisfy its demands. I looked for a gap in the stalls with apprehension like that of someone going to the dentist. I knew that I needed to go in, but anticipated discomfort. Key Italian phrases weren’t automatic for me yet, and when I wasn’t careful I found myself using Spanish words. I had an aversion for the variety of reactions that I got from Italians when they heard me speak. Either they corrected me smartly until I got it right or looked annoyed with me for being a dumb tourist that expected them to make up for my language deficiencies. The worst reaction of all was confusion, which came most often when I strayed into areas of town that were off of the beaten tourist track. I anticipated that this was one of those places. I was sure I would fumble my words in my hunger induced delirium and the Italian on the other side of the exchange would look at my blankly, the beckoning food tormentingly out of reach. Being a shy person in unfamiliar situations, I usually avoid all the socially awkward exchanges possible. But here in Rome I was forced into them daily in order to eat. I found an entrance to the market, and, taking a deep, calming breath, dived into the mess of stalls.
At a small, raised bakery stand in the middle, I managed to procure a pastry with pork inside. The man looked down on me sternly as he handed over my order, seemingly irritated by my timidity. After all that worry, my Italian had actually come out pretty correct, so I could only assume that it was my very un-Italian meekness that made him brisk with me. Mindful of the fact that I needed to cook dinner that night, I moved around the rest of the market, looking for good places to buy fruit and vegetables. As my stomach quieted down and I got used to pronouncing the appropriate phrases, I loosened up and began to be more outgoing with the vendors. My last two exchanges were great successes. I spoke eloquently (by my Italian standards), understood all of the numbers, paid efficiently, and walked away smiling. My apprehension gone, I walked out of the market with greater confidence and a happy stomach.
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