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Frascati is a 25 minute train ride from Rome and worth every minute. It is one of several historic towns in the hills outside Rome known as the Castelli Romani. We tour the medieval part of town with Dominique of The Old Frascati Winery, who is a delight. So much history packed into narrow cobblestone streets.

Then we hop into taxis and travel further up into the hills to the vineyard and winery. It is three acres of viney landscape perched on a ridge overlooking Rome in the distance. The grapes seem to be flowing everywhere and will be harvested the next day. It is late afternoon – the golden hour – and storm clouds are brooding over Rome. I cannot stop taking photos and thinking about Anthony Doerr’s soaring prose about the light in Rome: “It drenches, it crenellates, it textures.”

Our taste buds discover Frascati wine and are thrilled. Though I’ve never done it before, I buy two bottles to bring home in my suitcase, plus two bottles of the best olive oil ever. (All four make it home without breakage, much to my relief.)

Back down in the town, we have a chatty outdoor dinner, Frascati style. We buy hefty porchetta sandwiches from the local bakery then head over to the quaint outdoor bar to buy some liters of

wine. Locals are there too, grouped at wooden picnic tables, streams of Italian floating up above the cobblestones.

Heading back to Rome on the train, all our senses are satiated. My memory bank is full to the brim.

https://www.oldfrascati.com

When I think of paintings as works of art in a museum, what comes to mind is something in a frame. However, I expanded my horizons on this point when in Rome. Many fabulous works of art live on walls. Through the ages in Italy, fresco was the chosen medium for many wall murals, including the Gallery of Maps in the Vatican. Of all the stunning art in the Vatican, this was my favorite. As I walked, in the guards opened all the windows through the hall allowing golden afternoon sunlight to spill in and mix with the blues and greens of the maps. I felt as though I was in an ocean of color.

One of our fellow travelers is an artist with a fine arts degree and she gave a presentation on paint types available to artists through history. Oil paint as a commonly used medium is relatively new, gaining popularity with artists in the 15^th century. Before then, artists used tempura – made of pigment, water and egg yolk – or fresco – made of pigment, water and limestone. Both dry very quickly and fresco is an especially challenging vehicle for artistic expression.

The gallery came about because Pope Gregory XIII wanted to explore Italy but did not want

to leave the safety of the city. (Hmmm – wonder why?) So he commissioned maps to be painted at the Vatican, and got a glorious set as long as a football field. The artists who painted them had to be masters of the craft because of the short drying time.

If you ever go to Rome, don’t miss the Vatican and be sure to reserve time for the gallery. With the maps recently restored to their earlier glory, you might even agree with me that it’s more lovely than the Sistine Chapel.

Read about the restoration of the Gallery of Maps.

Edith Wharton’s story Roman Fever packs a punch, but not until readers are floating quietly in the midst of a character study and the interior dialogue of one individual. The entire short story is woven together in such a way that when the last line arrives it is like suddenly seeing the design after all the rows of dominoes fall down. I love the plot structure, where the climax is at the end and blows the story out the window. It offers shadows of Flannery O’Connor without the in-your-face brutality.

Roman Fever is a tale of ruins and ruination, where two well-preserved women spend an afternoon at a restaurant overlooking the Forum. Our travel group also spent an afternoon at the Forum, roasting in the hot sun as we hiked around acres of remnants of a world power. In ancient times, it was the center of Roman life but now is a well-preserved archaeological site. A shadow of its younger self.

Alida Slade emanates energy and misplaced ambition while Grace Ansley is quieter and more traditional. Or is she? Alida seems to encircle Grace with her interior thoughts and judges her inferior. That’s the trouble with ego-driven thinking – it blinds the egoist to truth. Together yet orbits apart, the two women sit with the shadows of their past and the ruins of their dreams. It is not until the conclusion that I understand who is more at peace with her choices.

It seems no mistake that Wharton chose this particular setting for her story and I love it all the more because I’ve been to the Forum and understand the metaphors experientially.

“When you see the Pantheon for the first time, your mind caves in. You walk through the gigantic doorway and your attention is sucked upward to a circle of sky. A filtering haze floats inside; a column of light strikes through the oculus and leans against the floor. The space is both intimate and explosive: your humanity is not diminished in the least, and yet simultaneously the Pantheon forces you to pay attention to the fact that the world includes things far greater than yourself.” Anthony Doerr, Four Seasons in Rome

No description is adequate for the Pantheon. It is a first-person experience. Without a special lens, it is difficult to get a photo of even one half of the interior because of its scale. The Romans were able to build it, and many other structures, because

of their particular type of concrete. (See my earlier post.) Built in about 125 C.E. (A.D.) it replaced an earlier temple that burned in 80 C.E. It is thought to have been a temple to all of the gods, and was later the first Roman temple converted into a church. In 609 it became Sancta Maria ad Martyres, as rededicated by Pope Boniface IV, and remains an active church today. As I walked around and looked up, my awe was tinged with a spiritual hue.

“It is the form of the Pantheon that elicits one’s amazement: that huge dome, opened to at the top by an oculus which seems not merely to show but to admit the sky, is a landmark in the history of construction and, one might add, of architectural metaphor….This is truly Roman architecture.”  

 “No modern architect would dare to attempt another Pantheon using the same structural principles – nobody would insure it. But the Pantheon has stood for nearly two thousand years and shows no prospect of collapse.” Robert Hughes, Rome

Hughes says the dome design relies entirely on mass and is “the world’s largest in unreinforced concrete.” The dome has a diameter of 43 meters (143 feet), and the distance from the floor to the oculus is the same – visually, about the length of half a football field. The oculus – a round opening at the top of the dome – is the only source of natural light in the building. When I looked up, it appeared to be about 5 feet across, but in reality measures about 28 feet, the length of a double-decker bus.

The entry doors are 21 feet high. The outside granite columns are 39 feet tall and weigh in at 60 tons each. The inside columns are more than 32 feet tall and each has a heft of 25 tons. You get the idea: it is HUGE.

And yet … in this massive edifice at the foot of a saint I found a small, vulnerable lamb with an uncertain look on its face. A tiny symbol of vulnerability inside a giant metaphor of strength.

 

 

After we explored Ostia Antica, the forgotten city, we hopped back on the train and went a couple more stops to the modern Ostia, a seaside suburb of Rome. We wanted to stick our swollen, suffering feet in the Tyrrhenian Sea and eat wonderful Italian food. A few blocks from the train – with a quick stop for gelato, of course – it was a little weird to see the entire seafront fenced off and divided into sections, each portion controlled by a bar, a restaurant, or some other business that regulated access to the ocean. We found a bar, bought some drinks and wandered down through the cigarette-butt-infested sand to the water. (Did I mention that people smoke outside in Rome – everywhere – and toss their butts all over the ground? They do.)

Still, the atmosphere was much mellower and less crowded than Rome. Our group wandered up and down on our little patch of shoreline, sporting ever-larger smiles, watching cream puff clouds billow on the horizon. Once my feet were in the sea, all was well. Later, we feasted on pasta and seafood supplemented by sparkling water or wine as we felt inclined, and laughed our way through the evening.

The day bid farewell by treating us to the most glorious sunset. It went through several phases, ending in flares of purple, pink and grey that rivaled the art of masters. Following the sky show, I didn’t even mind riding back to Rome on a graffiti-blasted train.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of my favorite stops on our itinerary for Rome was Ostia Antica, an archeological site very easy to visit on a day trip. It was, for a few centuries, the port city that supplied Rome, but went into a gradual decline and was fully abandoned by the 9^th century. The Tiber River, a silting phenomenon, slowly filled in the harbor and covered up the city. The river took a few centuries to swallow everything, and in the meantime, marble was scavenged from Ostia Antica to be reused in cathedrals around Italy.

According to the official Ostia Antica website, treasure hunters, official and unofficial, rooted and dug through the mud and ruins through the 1800s while the site was still owned by the Vatican. In 1870 the city became part of the new Italian state, and scientific excavations began in the early 1900s and have continued so that now visitors can see much of the city, but apparently there is still more to discover.

Our group spent an afternoon at the site and barely scratched the surface. I found it to be restful because it was not at all crowded – we saw scattered visitors but our mighty dozen appeared to be the largest group of wanderers on the grounds that day. Around back of the partially restored amphitheater’s stage, costumes hung for a live performance that night were left without watchers, a stark contrast to Rome, where we were told be constantly on guard against theft.

While much was taken from this site, much still remains to astound and impress, such as the Piazzale delle Corporazioni, or guild offices, where the mosaic-adorned floors depict the type of business or service offered. Mosaics at

the public baths are a marvel as is the amphitheater, and a four-sided altar to Mars and Venus and more. Definitely on my must-return list, and only two train stops from the coastal suburb of Ostia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rick Steves has a chatty little post online about this site: A peek into ancient Rome at Ostia Antica.

Gian Lorenzo Bernini made sculptures that are simply astonishing. I look at his work and marvel that he lived more than 300 years ago, from 1598 to 1680.

The two most awesome fountains I experienced in Rome were designed by him: The Four Rivers Fountain and the Trevi Fountain. Oceanus absolutely bursts out of Trevi’s stone and I wish I had been able to return to make a better photo of the full magnificence of his figure, the horses and other figures. Bernini designed but did not build his glorious fountain; however, his style pours out of it. (Pictured above.)

My shots of Four Rivers also do not do that fountain justice. We visited at night, which is how they should first be seen – it is an almost mystical experience to see them emerge from the dark, glowing like planets. Four Rivers stands in front of a tremendous building, Church of Sant’Agnese in Agone, or the Church of the Agony in Piazza Navona. Visitors could spend an entire day in just this one piazza to fully experience the fountains and the church.

Two of my three favorite sculptures in the Borghese Gallery (itself a work of art) were Bernini creations: David and Apollo and Daphne. Another smaller figure – a rider and horse – was so full of his touch that I include a photo

here, even though it is distorted from the glass cover. I loved David – so full of energy and purpose – and am convinced that he looks like someone trying to fell a giant. I did not care for the theme of Apollo and Daphne, as she only escapes being raped by turning into a tree, but was completely gobsmacked by the figures.

Bernini worked against the nature of stone and made it alive, made it speak, pulled the story out so it became breathtaking.

What would it be like to have all of that beauty inside one heart and mind? To have Oceanus awaiting release, swirling and calling through the stone. To have David’s feet thudding, his sling whistling, and perhaps hearing

involuntary grunts as muscles strained for the throw, reaching out of the marble.

History suggests he was a little bit crazy. Perhaps a lot. But he made some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen.