Thirteen years of Catholic school is bound to have a profound effect, I suppose. For nine of those years, I was never in a classroom that did not have a portrait of the Pope hanging prominently on the wall. Mass was at least once a week; baptisms, confessions, confirmations - all were simply granted features of life and their importance was considered assumed, like police protection or air.
Things got more complicated in high school, but the assumptions were still there. How many students of the 1251 were not Catholic? Few indeed. At any given time I was surrounded by hundreds of people who were raised in an almost identical environment, living in similar places, going to similar schools, experiencing similar lives. We argued about the things the Church said, to be sure, but il Papa was still sacred; his teachings given weight and merit by even the most steadfast skeptics. To see the Pope was to see God, or very nearly - he was after all, a direct decendent of St. Peter, following in an unbroken line of worldly pontiffs guiding and caring for His earthly pilgrims.
After a couple years of college - living and learning in a starkly areligious environment while being taught to challenge EVERYTHING, to find the flaws in EVERY argument, to attack ALL assumptions - I no longer believe what I once did. I consider this an improvement of course, and am perfectly happy with my current worldview (though of course it is always expanding and evolving). That dome, though...
Every day crossing from Trastevere on the Tiber's east bank to the old city of Rome, I look to the north and see it, rising up like a mountain, as natural as the river itself. San Pietro in all it's glory, singing its siren song to me, drawing me nearer. The dome and the church and the square and the Pope all whispering softly in my ear to come near, to be welcomed by the loving arms of Mother Church.
I'm trying hard to RESIST. Someone should tie me to the mast.
9.30.2007
9.29.2007
The Terrace
The hotel that we're staying at in Rome, the Casa San Giuseppe, has a terrace on the fourth floor. Just a simple rooftop sitting area with a few plastic patio tables and chairs. A few lime trees grow in planters and small round lights glow softly around the edges.
The terrace is the greatest place in the world.
One of the few places we can go and simply sit and talk, the terrace - affectionately La Terrazza - is our little slice of heaven, our chunk of Paradise, our cliche wrapped in a metaphor. We sit out there at all hours of the day and night and just shoot the breeze with each other, discussing topics as diverse as Marvel comics, Die Hard, and Carl Jung. There is nothing that is off-limits on the Terrace, and it is quickly becoming a sacrosanct place where one need not fear reprisals for speaking freely - much like the salons and coffee shops of the Europe of old.
There's also a nearly endless supply of alcohol.
Bottles of red wine that cost less than a ride on the CTA and beer brewed just a few blocks away. Like the great waterways of Europe - the Danube, the Rhine, the Seine - the alcohol flows in powerful quantities and facilitates the quick and easy transportation of products - ideas and opinions instead of goods. It's no wonder this stuff is so popular.
Around 2 in the morning, amidst the buzzing of the Vespas and motorbikes, over the clamor of the crowds at the bars and clubs, a different sounds can be heard. A primal sound floating on the cool Mediterranean breeze. The sounds of bottles clinking gently, plastic chairs scooting, and laughter rising up into the crisp Roman night. The sounds of youth coming from the second (or perhaps third) most holy place in this most ancient of western cities - the Terrace.
The terrace is the greatest place in the world.
One of the few places we can go and simply sit and talk, the terrace - affectionately La Terrazza - is our little slice of heaven, our chunk of Paradise, our cliche wrapped in a metaphor. We sit out there at all hours of the day and night and just shoot the breeze with each other, discussing topics as diverse as Marvel comics, Die Hard, and Carl Jung. There is nothing that is off-limits on the Terrace, and it is quickly becoming a sacrosanct place where one need not fear reprisals for speaking freely - much like the salons and coffee shops of the Europe of old.
There's also a nearly endless supply of alcohol.
Bottles of red wine that cost less than a ride on the CTA and beer brewed just a few blocks away. Like the great waterways of Europe - the Danube, the Rhine, the Seine - the alcohol flows in powerful quantities and facilitates the quick and easy transportation of products - ideas and opinions instead of goods. It's no wonder this stuff is so popular.
Around 2 in the morning, amidst the buzzing of the Vespas and motorbikes, over the clamor of the crowds at the bars and clubs, a different sounds can be heard. A primal sound floating on the cool Mediterranean breeze. The sounds of bottles clinking gently, plastic chairs scooting, and laughter rising up into the crisp Roman night. The sounds of youth coming from the second (or perhaps third) most holy place in this most ancient of western cities - the Terrace.
9.24.2007
Fields of Red
I am currently between classes, sitting in the quite un-aptly named "Good Cafe" enjoying some American hits of the 80's and 90's. Trust me; it is as absurd as it sounds. I just finished rocking out to some Vanilla Ice.
Our first class was this morning, and as with most first classes, it was very brief. Our professor is James Redfield, one of the most prominent and distinguished classicists in the world. We're really lucky to have him, I realize now. He's a fantastic lecturer was a bit concerned when he made an announcement the other day because his physical appearance is quite reminiscent of Harry Caray. Not in his good years either. In the last few years when he would mistakenly call a ground ball for a strikeout or begin comparing things to juicy hot dogs. Professor Redfield most certainly has that partially senile look about him, but is in fact on top of his game. He's a wealth of knowledge and is great at conveying it, at least so far. This first class looks very promising.
Soon, I'll be off to Intermediate Italian, which also should be fun. There's a small group of 6 of us that are in that section, and we've all become friends. Maggie, our Italian teacher, is a grad student at Chicago and also serves as our liaison at the hotel. Class with her will be a blast. Or perhaps even molto bene.
The time has come. Ciao ragazzi!
Our first class was this morning, and as with most first classes, it was very brief. Our professor is James Redfield, one of the most prominent and distinguished classicists in the world. We're really lucky to have him, I realize now. He's a fantastic lecturer was a bit concerned when he made an announcement the other day because his physical appearance is quite reminiscent of Harry Caray. Not in his good years either. In the last few years when he would mistakenly call a ground ball for a strikeout or begin comparing things to juicy hot dogs. Professor Redfield most certainly has that partially senile look about him, but is in fact on top of his game. He's a wealth of knowledge and is great at conveying it, at least so far. This first class looks very promising.
Soon, I'll be off to Intermediate Italian, which also should be fun. There's a small group of 6 of us that are in that section, and we've all become friends. Maggie, our Italian teacher, is a grad student at Chicago and also serves as our liaison at the hotel. Class with her will be a blast. Or perhaps even molto bene.
The time has come. Ciao ragazzi!
Londre, Londra, Lundin, London!
I've been absolutely slaving away to get my European photos uploaded (yes, the photos are actually themselves European) and have had moderate success. All the pictures from the trip to London are now online! Huzzah! Just click on:
THIS AWESOME LINK
Enjoy!
THIS AWESOME LINK
Enjoy!
9.23.2007
Another ancient column, another priceless work of art...
Europe is really old. Like seriously.
We're talking like almost Abraham Lincoln old. Whoa.
I can already feel myself becoming desensitized to all the incredible things here, simply because they are everywhere. Particularly in Rome, you can't spit without hitting the fallen capital from an ancient Roman column (people use them as benches because they're everywhere). You can't take a step without running face first into a wonderfully ornate Renaissance church that anywhere else would be visited by tourists from miles around but here is just another landmark on your way to an even bigger, even more spectacular site. It's overwhelming, but amazing.
I've been in Rome for three full days now, and the city's already become more familiar to me. It is possibly the smallest city that I've visited in the past week. Central Rome is easily walkable from one end to the other; it takes only about 30 minutes to walk from my hotel in Trastevere in southeastern Rome to the Villa Borghese - a huge park in northern Rome. The streets are so ridiculous that they're funny. Almost all are cobblestone, and were never designed to have cars on them. Buildings are packed closely together, and I suppose that Romulus and Remus had never heard of a grid when they built their first walls on the Roman hills. It's practically useless to pay attention to the names of roads; they change frequently and dead-end often. You must simply pick the direction that you want to go and try to stay faithful to that direction. Because of this, maps are virtually unnecessary and quite unhelpful. All you need is a direction and a good eye for landmarks, of which there are plenty.
We've already seen a lot of the big sites. Yesterday we traveled to the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. The Forum is incredible. A huge swath of excavated ground with toppled columns, arches, and temples. Naturally, the best preserved buildings are the ones that the Christians turned into churches (there are crosses everywhere, even inside the Colosseum itself). It's interesting that the ancient sites all sit about 10 meters below the current ground level. This area has been inhabited for so long that people simply built on top of ancient ruins, causing the level of the ground to rise over time. As a result of this, it is very difficult to dig in Rome (for utilities and public transportation) because as soon as the first shovel goes in, ancient ruins are inevitably discovered and care must be taken. It's strange to think that we are walking in the same places that people have walked for thousands of years, often on the exact same roadways. In the Forum, I took the opportunity to stand at the rostrum, where Cicero delivered his orations and where Marc Antony incited the crowds to avenge the death of Caesar. Chills up the spine.
Today I visited St. Peter's Square. When I got there, il Papa was just finishing his Sunday address to the crowds, unfortunately by video screen since he is still at his summer residence in central Italy. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying, but it had a lot of "Viva l'Italia! We're #1!" stuff in it. The crowds loved it, needless to say. St. Peter's is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Perhaps this is due to my childhood conditioning or my deep-seated (though strenuously denied) Catholicism, but it was quite incredible. Michaelangelo's dome rises up over Bernini's colonnade and leaves you absolutely speechless. I'm going to try to get an audience someday soon. For whatever reason, the thought of seeing (or fingers crossed, touching!) the Pope almost makes me want to pray. Almost. Plus it would make my grandma the single happiest woman in the world.
Well, more to come soon. Lots of stories to tell about the various European capitals that I've visited and surely even more when school starts tomorrow. Stay tuned!
We're talking like almost Abraham Lincoln old. Whoa.
I can already feel myself becoming desensitized to all the incredible things here, simply because they are everywhere. Particularly in Rome, you can't spit without hitting the fallen capital from an ancient Roman column (people use them as benches because they're everywhere). You can't take a step without running face first into a wonderfully ornate Renaissance church that anywhere else would be visited by tourists from miles around but here is just another landmark on your way to an even bigger, even more spectacular site. It's overwhelming, but amazing.
I've been in Rome for three full days now, and the city's already become more familiar to me. It is possibly the smallest city that I've visited in the past week. Central Rome is easily walkable from one end to the other; it takes only about 30 minutes to walk from my hotel in Trastevere in southeastern Rome to the Villa Borghese - a huge park in northern Rome. The streets are so ridiculous that they're funny. Almost all are cobblestone, and were never designed to have cars on them. Buildings are packed closely together, and I suppose that Romulus and Remus had never heard of a grid when they built their first walls on the Roman hills. It's practically useless to pay attention to the names of roads; they change frequently and dead-end often. You must simply pick the direction that you want to go and try to stay faithful to that direction. Because of this, maps are virtually unnecessary and quite unhelpful. All you need is a direction and a good eye for landmarks, of which there are plenty.
We've already seen a lot of the big sites. Yesterday we traveled to the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. The Forum is incredible. A huge swath of excavated ground with toppled columns, arches, and temples. Naturally, the best preserved buildings are the ones that the Christians turned into churches (there are crosses everywhere, even inside the Colosseum itself). It's interesting that the ancient sites all sit about 10 meters below the current ground level. This area has been inhabited for so long that people simply built on top of ancient ruins, causing the level of the ground to rise over time. As a result of this, it is very difficult to dig in Rome (for utilities and public transportation) because as soon as the first shovel goes in, ancient ruins are inevitably discovered and care must be taken. It's strange to think that we are walking in the same places that people have walked for thousands of years, often on the exact same roadways. In the Forum, I took the opportunity to stand at the rostrum, where Cicero delivered his orations and where Marc Antony incited the crowds to avenge the death of Caesar. Chills up the spine.
Today I visited St. Peter's Square. When I got there, il Papa was just finishing his Sunday address to the crowds, unfortunately by video screen since he is still at his summer residence in central Italy. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying, but it had a lot of "Viva l'Italia! We're #1!" stuff in it. The crowds loved it, needless to say. St. Peter's is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Perhaps this is due to my childhood conditioning or my deep-seated (though strenuously denied) Catholicism, but it was quite incredible. Michaelangelo's dome rises up over Bernini's colonnade and leaves you absolutely speechless. I'm going to try to get an audience someday soon. For whatever reason, the thought of seeing (or fingers crossed, touching!) the Pope almost makes me want to pray. Almost. Plus it would make my grandma the single happiest woman in the world.
Well, more to come soon. Lots of stories to tell about the various European capitals that I've visited and surely even more when school starts tomorrow. Stay tuned!
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