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July 3, 2009
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Columnist, The Friday Flyer
“All roads lead to Rome.”
Long ago, when the Roman Empire ruled much of the rule-able world, this was true; the phrase defined the might and majesty of the Roman Imperium. Now, the Appian Way exists in small, preserved segments, much like the American Mother Road, Route 66, does today and the phrase has come to mean that there are more ways than one to accomplish an objective.
Now, lots of roads lead to Rome, many of them through the sky. It was along such an aerial highway that my wife, Dorothy, and I first made our way to this one time capitol of the world. Actually, we flew to England, took the ferry to France and a rental car to Rome. Our itinerary included the obvious destinations most American tourists aim for on their first visit to Europe: London, Paris and Rome; each city has its must-see treasures, but there was one in Rome that headed our list – Michelangelo’s Pieta in St. Peter’s Basilica.
Let me pause a moment and discuss driving in Europe – especially if it is one’s first effort. It can be an incredibly humbling experience. First of all, in the United Kingdom and Ireland, one drives on the wrong side of the road – seated behind a steering wheel installed on the wrong side of a car. My first experience had me practicing in the car lot before I ventured out on a roadway. After a bit, I sort of got the hang of it and we crept away from Heathrow at a very tentative pace. It was remarkable the variety of horn tones on British cars and trucks behind us. Oh, and the hand gestures as they pass are fairly easy to understand.
On the Continent, one drives on the proper side of the road – most of the time. And one learns pretty quickly that the left lane belongs to a demonic class of motorists whose death wish is more than apparent as they close on you at more than a 100 miles an hour. And, if you’ve the temerity to be in their lane at a mere 80 mph, they are deeply offended and demonstrate this by word, gesture and facial expression. One can avoid these encounters by watching the rear view mirror.
If way, way off in the distance behind you, you observe a vehicle in the left lane with its left turn signal blinking, get to the right – and quickly, the Aston Martin, Mercedes, Lamborghini – whatever, will be upon you in three blinks of their turn indicator.
Driving in London, Paris or Rome requires nerves of steel and very thick skin. A working car horn is an absolute necessity and a rudimentary knowledge of sign language will help one maintain a sense of self worth. “Oh, yeah, same to you, Bud!” Driving in most large American cities is good training before a driving in many other parts of the world.
But I digress.
As you approach Rome on the Autostrada, signs offer several easy routes into the Eternal City. Finding your hotel once you get there is an entirely different matter. When planning our trip, we were concerned about finding lodging, so we bought a prepaid hotel package with “guaranteed” reservations at various hotels in several cities along our way. In Rome we found the train station, then drove in ever widening circles until we spotted the strada (street) whereupon was situated our pre-paid lodging.
Note: It is apparently a requirement in Italy that every street, avenue and boulevard in cities must change their names every now and then along their route. Thus, while you are nervously horn-honking your way along Victor Emanuel Avenue, it may abruptly become Pantheon Way; this can add significant stress to navigation.
As night was falling, we found our “pre-paid” hotel and pulled, pushed and lifted our enormous mound of luggage (first trip to Europe) into the lobby. When we presented our voucher to a smiling concierge, his countenance quickly changed to a scowl and he told us there was no room at his inn for us. He directed us to another hotel a few blocks away. Our vouchers provoked this kind of response nearly everywhere we went in Italy and it was often necessary to push to get a room with our “coupons” (Advice: Study pre-paid hotel packages very carefully before buying.)
Once ensconced, we set out to see what we could see. The Coliseum loomed in the distance. It was dark, tourist time was over. Undeterred, we drove behind this marvelous ruin to a place where a low fence discouraged trespassers. Dorothy remained on guard while I climbed the fence, made my way to a stadium seat and sat awhile in the darkness.
When my imagination began to hear lions roar and crowds cheering I quickly re-climbed the fence and left that brooding place. Next morning we would seek out our primary goal – St. Peter’s Basilica and Michelangelo’s masterpiece Pieta.
I’m sure most visitors, upon entering St. Peter’s for the first time, are immediately impacted, as we were, by the sheer magnitude of its art and architecture – breathtaking. vistas of color and light playing off of columns, ornate alcoves, statues and filigree, all cloaked in the reverential murmur of its visitors.
And what later took my breath away again was climbing to the cupola at the very top of the dome. Not an easy task. An elevator takes you to the point where the dome begins to curve. From there to the top you climb several hundred well worn steps inside the dome wall. Not inside the dome, inside the wall. The stair is very narrow and one gets quite close to climbers when they pass you on their way down. At the top, the view of beautifully tailored Vatican City provided a startling contrast to the surrounding red-tiled rooftops of Rome.
But first, we visited the Pieta displayed just inside the entrance in the right corner of the Basilica.
Born in 1475, in the village of Caprese in the Florentine Territory, Michelangelo was 23 years old when he was commissioned to create the masterpiece we stood before in St. Peter’s. We were transfixed by the ethereal beauty of a youthful Mary cradling her crucified son. As always, simple words can only weakly describe the purest visual art. I won’t try; the Pieta’s emotional message requires one’s presence to receive.
When Michelangelo joined observers examining his Pieta upon its first unveiling, he heard comments attributing his work to another sculptor. Stung by this, he returned in the night and inscribed words on Mary’s sash stating that Michelangelo Buonorotti made this. It was the only piece he ever signed and it is said he later regretted identifying this one.
Nature creates her laissez faire works of art through the random meander of streams, the rattling surge of storms, the violence of a shifting earth and the drift of continents. Man is far more organized (although Modern Art seems to manifest more whim than conscious creativity). Like the poet and the painter facing an empty page, or canvas, Michelangelo’s Pieta was a single block of Carrera marble that he saw lying in a quarry in Tuscany. Two years later, one of mankind’s greatest works of art emerged under his hand. That alone was incentive for us to travel to the Eternal City. Everything else along the way was bonus.
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