Sunday, 15 October, A day in Imperial Rome

Written 15 January 2024

Breakfast at the W included all the usual suspects—cut fruit (including canary emlon, but not very ripe), cereals and granolas, prunes and apricots, myriad seeds, nuts, and berries to accompany the above, and yogurts.

And, of course, the Viennoiseries—croissants, chocolate croissants—muffins and fruit tarts.

Lots of whole fruit.

A whole selection of soft spreadable butters and cheeses, cold grilled vegetables, fresh cherry tomatoes and arugula, olives. Also, honey in the comb.

Many cold cuts, smoked salmon, and sliced fresh cheese.

And finally, sliced breads, cake, and a conveyor-belt toaster.

At 9:15 am, it was into the bus for our "panoramic city coach drive" on the way to the ancient roman forum. We started with a drive-by of the rectangular, pink Palazzo Margherita, on the Via Veneto, just a few blocks from the hotel, but I don't seem to have gotten a photo of it.

It got its name after King Umberto I was assassinated in 1900, when his son and successor, King Victor Emmanuel III, bought the building for his mother, the widowed Queen Margherita, who lived there until she died in 1927. Then the Mussolini government used it as office space. In 1946, the US government bought it, and it now serves as the which is now the U.S. Embassy. Interestingly, Margherita is sometimes known as the "pizza queen," because pizza Margherita is named for her.

Next we passed through the huge, round Piazza della Repubblica (left-hand photo), and circled the Fountain of the Naiads (right-hand photo) at its center. The sides are decorated with reclining naiads (water nymphs), and the central figure is Glaucus, a mythical fisherman who became a sea god.

Right near Reppublica was the Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels and Martyrs (left, with our wonderful guide local Gianluigi). It occupies the "frigidarium" of the largest Roman bathhouse ever built—Diocletian's baths. Michelangelo did the plans for the 16th century renovation from baths to church. Most of the bathhouse has been demolished, but it was apparently gigantic. Anna told us tha the rotary we drove around was its courtyard—could she really have mean the vast Piazza della Repubblica?

At the right is the basilica of St. Mary Major, one of four "papal basilicas" in Rome, run directly by the pope himself. It apparently flies a yellow and white flag that advertises that status, but I don't seem to have caught it in the photo. It's one of few (the only one maybe) that's never been torn down and rebuilt, and it boasts both tile mosaics from 1200, and gold coffered ceilings built and gilded in the late 1400's with the first load of gold that Christopher Columbus brought home from the New World—the pope at that time (Alexander VI, a Borgia) was Spanish.

We also drove by St. John Lateran, which is the cathedral of Rome and another of the four papal churches, but I couldn't get a good photo of it. It was the first Christian church in Rome, built soon after Constantine made it legal. Pope Sixtus V took one of the two Roman obelisks from the circus maximum and set it in front of the church. (He put the other one in the Piazza del Populo.

Along the way, we passed streets lined, variously, with lemon trees, southern magnolias, Chinese pagoda trees (Styphnolobium japonicum, in the bean family), and even mulberry trees! I hope those latter were all males; otherwise, what a mess on the sidewalks! At one point, we drove by a little hand-made sign in the street: "weed here" and an arrow.

The cluster of trees at the left here was pointed out to us as the point at which most of the 11 Roman aquaducts supplying the city's water converged. They brought in 7000 gallons of water per second, supplying the 1.2 or 1.3 million people who lived inside the city wall (11 miles in circumference) at Rome's peak and drove all those fountains scattered around the city. At this time, Jerusalem, the second largest city in the world, was about 100,000 people.

And finally we came to the Flavian amphitheater, usually called the Roman Coloseum, the largest ever built by the Romans. This photo was taken from about where the bus parked to drop us off.

Right next to the bus's parking spot were the ruins, shown here at left and right, of the gladiators' barracks. In the left-hand photo, you can see part of the amphitheater. In the other photo, I faced back the other way, away from the amphitheater. I love traveling with binoculars, which in this case let me get a good look at a sizeable lizard I spotted basking down among the stones (rough gray-brown scales, don't know what kind it was).

A tunnel led from the barracks to the basement of the amphitheater, where an elevator was available to lift the gladiators to the level of the stadium floor, which was wooden and covered with sand.

At the left here, beyond the orange-clad member of our group taking a photo of something else, is a young man on a bicycle (motorized, I think) wearing part of a bulky (but flimsy plastic) gladiator suit and towing a trailor piled with the rest of it—probably a street performer or part of a reenactment group.

At the right, an iron ring set in a breast-high stone bollard to which someone has managed to affix a padlock. Others have then attached their padlocks, too small to span the iron ring, to the first and others to those. Somebody (perhaps a city official or perhaps an enterprising kid who knows a scrap-metal dealer) must come along periodically with bolt cutters to remove them.

According to our guide, the amphitheater was built by Flavius in 70 AD and finished in 10 years. His son Titus looted Jerusalem to finance his father's work. But it turns out that everybody in that family for several generations forward and back were named Vespasian, Flavius, and Titus, in various orders and that they called themselves by different ones of those names at different times. So when I tried to clarify my knowledge of the time line and familial descent, I got hopeless confused because I couldn't tell who was who! Anyway, whoever built the place celebrated finishing it by throwing 100 straight days of shows there. And whoever looted Jerusalem brought a lot of people back with him, some as slaves but many as immigrants (particularly those who joined the Roman Jewish community, the oldest in Europe), many of whom were free but worked for wages on building the amphitheater.

These two photos show the outer surface of the "inner ring"—the structure originally included an outer wall (mostly gone), a middle ring (about half gone), and the inner ring (which is pretty well intact). Some of the surface has been restored to smooth brickwork, but where the structural stone is exposed, you can see that it's covered with pockmarks, dating from the middle ages. The Romans didn't use mortar between their stones; instead, they drilled holes in the tops and bottoms of the blocks to engage iron pegs that locked them together sort of like the pegs on Lego blocks so that they couldn't slide across one another. And they were clever enough to leave little grooves into which they could pour molten lead, which filled any space between the pegs and the holes they fit into, further impeding sliding and, incidentally, coating the iron so that air and water couldn't creep in and cause rust. (Most of the interior structure, under the bleachers and so on, were built in brick rather than stone.)

Unfortunately, folks in the middle ages caught on and starting chipping their way in to scavenge the iron, leaving the structure badly pockmarked and much less stable. Once the pins were gone, earthquakes began to bring down the outer ring. Only 29 of its original 80 arches remain. Only in the early 19th century did Pope Pius VII forbid mining of the site for building materials and have brick buttresses built to reimforce the ends, where they were crumbling. Before that, all 160 of the original giant marble statues decorating the arches were ground up to make concrete.

Notice also the wire fence in the left-hand photo, which appears to have moss growing all over it. In fact, that green color comes from thousands upon thousands of little green stickers that people who'd paid admission to tour the arena were given to stick on their shirts. When they came out again, they stuck their little stickers to the fence, along with miles and miles of cheap disposable earpieces from the audioguides, now all wound and tangled through the fences for hundreds of yards. Charming.

We walked around the amphitheater to tour the forum and areas around it. At the left here is a view of the Palatine Hill (one of the seven hills of Rome), where Romulus founded Rome. It's only about 52 m high. (The highest of the seven hills, the Viminal, is only 76 m.) The rectangular structure at the right-hand side of the photo is the edge-on view of the Triumphal Arch of Constantine, the best preserved in Rome.

At the right are the ruins of the Temple of Venus, viewed on the far side, across the forum complex. It was thought to be the largest temple in Rome. The photo makes it look as though the building is right on the edge of the steep bank, but in fact, it sits far back, behind an expanse of lawn that is flanked by two rows of broken columns, one easily visible to its left and the other just visible at the right-hand edge of the photo. It was built ca. 130 to 140 AD and largely destroyed by an earthquake in the 9th century.

Here, at the left, is a better view of the Arch of Constantine and, at the right, a view of the less elaborate Arch of Titus. On an inside panel of the latter, a relief depicts the triumphant Romans carrying away a large menorah looted from the temple in Jerusalem.

Another area we visited in the forum complex was the House of Vesta. Vestal virgins joined it at the age of 6 to 10, so they could be known to be virgins. They took the oaths of Vesta, the most important of which was chastity, and served for 30 years. They spent the first 10 years being educated. The Vestal virgins served as the notary function of the Roman government. They spent their last 10 years of service as teachers, educating the new inductees. After 30 years, they could leave the house of Vesta and do whatever they wanted. They had rights and privileges other women lacked (e.g., to own land and to vote), and they were almost always high born, so retirees they were sought after as wives.

The city of Rome, and specifically the forum complex, was located where it was because it was at a natural ford to the river. The ford was like a watering hole where even natural enemies meet; all three cultures inhabiting the area met there. By modern times, the area was known as "campo vaccino," cows' field, because, like most archeological sites, it had been buried by generations of debris.

In 1900 a "very stubborn fool of an italian archeologist" realized that the building shown here at the left was actually much taller than anyone thought—it was buried to half the height of its columns, and he insisted on digging it up. He then went on to insist on excavation of the whole forum area, and being the systematic type, he made aerial photos from a balloon in 1902, drew grids on the plates, and started in.

As a result, large areas have been dug out and can be visited. The photo at the right shows just how far down they had to dig to reach the "floor" of the forum.

Our guide reminded us that this forum complex was the post from which the whole vast empire was administered. It took many centuries to build the Roman empire to the size it was before Julius Caesar, then Caesar almost tripled the size of it in 20 years.

He showed us the spot where Caesar was cremated. He also showed us the steps of the senate building, but pointed out that it was still under construction when Caesar died, so he couldn't have been stabbed there. In fact, at that time, the senate had no fixed meeting place; they gathered in relevant spots. For example, the temple of Saturn was the city's treasury, so they met there if the were making decisions about economics. They went to the temple of Castor and Pollux to consider war policy. The theater outside the forum, near the Pantheon, is where they gathred the day caesar was killed, but it's not there any more.

The death of Julius Caesar started an almost 17-year civil war. Caesar's great nephew (and adopted son) Octavian finally settled things down. Octavian had been an ally of Mark Anthony but had defied him and defeated him. Because he blamed the senate for for 17 years of death and chaos, Otavian declared himself emperor, calling himself Caesar Augustus, and the the senators were okay with it.

So we boarded the bus (at a location different from where we were dropped off), and did a little sightseeing on the way to lunch. At the left here is the temple of Hercules Victor. In the Forum Boarium, the ancient cattle market. Also in that square is a church that features a large marble mask (of unknown original purpose, now just leaning against a wall) with an open mouth, called the "mouth of truth. Reputedly, anyone who sticks his hand in the mouth and tells a lie gets his hand bitten off!

For quite a ways, we cruised along the river bank, through this beautiful allée of sycamores (that is, Platanus sp., which American's call sycamores but Europeans call "plane trees" and not the maple species that Europeans call sycamores).

Along the route, we stopped a couple of times for for sightseeing. For example, our guide pointed out this wonderful carving marking "Bear Street." Apparently the artist had never actually seen a bear.

And this modern building that took a straightforward approach to working around a Roman ruin that occupied its site and should not be moved.

We also passed through the Piazza Navona, considered one of the most beautiful of Rome. Anna actually used to live there, appartment-sitting for a friend. Its central fountain depicts the world's four major rivers (known at the time)—the Nile, Ganges, Danube, and La Plata (representing South America, because the Amazon hadn't really been explored yet).

The church is that of Saint Agnes in Agony.

We also passed the front gate (now a stairway down, as ground level has risen) to the Stadium of Domitian, supposedly the oldest masonry stadium in Rome.

The bus then dropped us off at the nearest permissible spot to the Pantheon, and we set out for lunch. This vendor of roasted chestnuts had stacked his wares into an attractive heap, waiting to load them into the paper cones behind them.

After making the decision to add the Pantheon to the day's activities, the ever-resourceful Anna had dialed up a restaurant near the venue and arranged a set menu lunch for us. It was a dark, quaint little place with walls lined with wine bottles and antiques, including this intriguing piece of glassware? For oil and vinegar maybe?

The pasta course included both lasagna and caccio e pepe.

The desserts were three little glasses containing panna cotta (with the red topping), chocolate mousse (in the back), and some sort of vanilla custard. Yummy.

This is the facade of the Panteon—the temple of all gods—it has 16 solid granite columns, each cut from a single block (eight more are hidden behind those you can see). It was built by Agrippa 25–27 BC, but Hadrian made radial changes 118–125 AD.

Behind the rectangular portico you see from outside, the building is round. At at the right is the famous coffered dome—the coffering greatly reduced the weight of the structure. It's open at the top, so the sun and the rain both have free access. The floor only gets wet when it rains hard, though—a continuous updraft through the opening vaporizes light rain before it reaches the floor.

Getting in wasn't straightforward. Anna had also gotten on the phone last night and bought us all admission tickets (timed entry between 2 and 3 pm) and had the hotel print them. So after lunch we joined the line to get in, ca. 2:45 pm. Unfortunately, when we reached the front of the line, still within our time period, the tickets proved to be printed wrong—wrong date, wrong time. So Anna had words with the ticket office, sent us all back to the end of the line, repurchased the whole set of tickets, this time on her smart phone, and by the time we reached the front, was standing there having the ticket taker scan her screen 26 times to get us all in!

The building is now a church (another dedicated to Mary and the Martyrs). It was converted in the 7th century. The pope spent 30 days of exorcism purifying the the place of all those old Roman gods so it could be properly Christian. I think the guide said that it was turned into a fortress and even that it was linked to the Vatican palaces by a secret passageway—that seems unlikely given that the river is between the two, so maybe I misunderstood him.

It also houses royal tombs and those of national heros.

Afterward, the group scattered to do their own things. Anna stood by to help with more recommendations, walking directions, etc. We were sweaty and tired by then, so we just had her put us in a taxi back to the hotel with instructions (to us and to the driver) to get a receipt for whatever we paid him. We are supposed to write our name on it and give it to her, and Tauck will reimburse the fare. Good deal.

Written 22 January 2024

Back at the hotel, I took the time to go up to the roof for the view. The hotel is right across the street from the Swiss Institute in Rome, which Anna told us was beautiful and set in beautiful gardens, but at street level you can't see much because it's surrounded by a high wall. From the roof, though, I was able to get a couple of nice shots down into its compound.

Also on the roof were a bar (you can just see a café umbrella over the potted hedge) and this handsome pool deck.

Back in my room, I was greeted by this disconcerting object—a cylindrical leather bolster with fringed ends, looking just a little too much like a plump brown Pekinese. Every evening, I put it away, on the window sill, behind the curtain, and every evening, it was back, waiting for me on the bed. Rather out of keeping with the hotel's otherwise relentlessly hip, chic vibe, I thought.

we were on our own for dinner, so we asked the concierge ("Whatever") for recommendations. She would have recommended the place we had dinner the night before, but it was closed, so we wound up going a few doors past it to Picolo Mondo, which proved entirely satisfactory.

At left and right here are David's pasta carbonara, with and without his smiling face.

I started with vitello tonnato—cold, thin-sliced, pink roast veal with tuna sauce (yes, a sauce of puréed canned tuna)—which was very similar to and just as delicious as Viking's version.

David's main course was rib chops of lamb, garnished with a wisp of salad.

My main course was this graceful, tender, and delicious octopus tentacle with romesco sauce (the orange streaks) and a little quenelle of course-grained mustard.

For dessert, we split this "almond crisp"—a large almond tuile cookie (more caramel than almond or cookie and therefore rather hard on the teeth) filled with ice cream, chocolate sauce, and crispy granola-like clusters.

On the way out I got a couple of shots of the attractive display of fresh whole fish from which diners could choose their main course. We'd several several of them deftly deboned tableside by the waiters during our dinner.

But once again my attempt of a shot of the restaurant form the sidewalk outside wasn't terribly successful.

So how did the room at the W compare to that at La Favorita? Unevenly and not all that well.

The Favorita's rooms were larger, and its closets more convenient (except for the annoying two-piece hangers that make it difficult to rearrange the order of different types of hangers and don't let you use one to hang something elsewhere in the room, like laundry over the bathtub to drip). Also, no hook or rod in the bathroom was of small enough diameter to accommodate the hook on my hanging toilet kit.

The most annoying feature at the W was the heavy bathroom door that would not stay open. Fortunately, the divided waste basket (for trash and recycle) was heavy enough, barely, to act as a door stop. Second-most annoying was the shower door that would not stay open and was set so low to the floor that it didn't clear the bathmat and constantly pushed it aside.

The luggage rack in David's room sat directly in front of his closet door, blocking it shut; even without that, the closet wouldn't open more than halfway because the door hit the bed. Neither room had a comfortable chair. The controls for the the lights were very confusing (Anna admitted that she had to ask for help with them at every stay).

The W's bedding and drinking water were very good, but the shower heads were not. One was round and pointed straight down from the ceiling, making it hard to keep your head dry if you wanted to, and the other, at the end of a hose, sprayed in a single plane, making it useless if you tried to hang in on the wall.

The W was the only place on the trip that provided a safe in the room that was large enough to accommodate my laptop, but prominent signs everywhere carried dire warnings not to store valuables there!

The place was clearly designed by freshly manscaped dingalings.