Our last full day in Rome I decided to bridge the gap that had been forming between us and organise that we spend the whole day together. We would wake up early, like 6am early, in order to get into St Peter’s Basilica before the queues formed and the sun began his reign of terror. After that we would go to the Borghese gallery across town. I had bought us both tickets on line, something you have to do to get in, they don’t sell tickets on the door, they only let a maximum of 360 or so people in at any time and you only get 2 hours per group. It’s supposed to stop the gallery getting too crowded and allow people to enjoy the art but it just seemed like a method of keeping out aimless tourists, or anyone else who fancied checking out some art on a whim.
So, my alarm rang at 6:30 am. It startled me, because I felt like I had only just drifted off. I spent the week sleeping on the sofa, because the apartment we were renting only had one double bed and our relationship had gotten too tense so that sharing a bed would have been beyond unbearable. I heard my friend’s alarm going off too, but she never woke up. I thought the sound of me showering would wake her up but it didn’t. I got dressed and had breakfast but it was getting to be 7:30 and we had planned to be at the basilica for no later than 8. So I tried to wake her up but she is such a heavy sleeper. I didn’t want to give up, in case she really wanted to come with me, so I persevered, but when I eventually did wake her up she was angry and in the end I left without her.
I stomped towards the basilica in a bad mood. It was already warm even though it was only 7:45, but the cool morning breeze had not yet been suffocated by the rising sun. By the time I had marched to St Peter’s Square I was already sweating. There was a small queue of 50 or so people, even at that time, but it moved down quickly and by 8am I was through security and on the steps of the basilica. Even with the first glance I was astounded. I don’t know if I can adequately describe it. Everything is made of mottled marble, in white, greys and copper. Everything is as elaborate and huge as it could be and the light streams in from the windows in beams of heavenly gold, perfectly. All the heat of outside was sucked out like we had stepped into another world. When you first enter, to your right, almost unnoticeably, is the La Pieta. The area in front of it is cordoned off so you can’t get within 30 feet of it. I heard a woman say a few years ago someone came in and smashed its glass case, I don’t know if purposefully or not, and so no one could get close to it anymore. You could see it, and it was still a beautifully carved image but some of its evocative power was lost by the distance. I stood and looked at it for a while anyway.
In the background, faint airy voices swam through the air. A group of voices were singing angelically. Just like you’d imagine; deep, medieval sounding, harmonious and in Latin. It drew me deeper as it echoed off every corner. I took in every inch of the basilica. The ceiling is breath taking; I audibly gasped. The statues are magnificent, bordered the whole place, gesturing with such animation and movement that they seemed real. The ceiling itself was weaved with gold carving. I felt such peace, my heart felt lifted. I don’t care if you’re not religious, something so beautiful can’t help but stir your soul. I wandered around for an hour, taking tiny steps, my head constantly raised to the ceiling or the walls. There was a shrine of Mary, in golden alcove, locked behind a metal gate, where she had a crown of stars, that glittered with light. The place was basically empty, there wasn’t even the 50 people who had queued in there. It was almost silent expect for the soft singing. They were singing for a small mass that was happening at the back, at one of the many altars. I stood and watched, just gazing at the ritual, they slow steady way they moved as if in a dance. After an hour though the crowds had started to seep in and the morning peace was broken.
But it was time to go to the top anyway. To go up to the top of the dome and onto the roof you have to exit the church through the huge wooden doors across the and then go back in around the corner. Then you have to buy a 7 euro ticket for use of the elevator or 5 euros to climb all 400 steps. I climbed to the top of the Milan Duomo- Jesus, I’ve climbed most of the way up the Eiffel Tower in the rain, I could do this. It didn’t even look that tall, I’m sure 400 steps was an exaggeration on Amela’s part. So I cut costs and paid the 5 euros, went through security again and round the back door. The door led to the start of the stairs in a wide cylindrical room. When I saw them I smirked to myself, “God this is nothing, this is going to be easy.” There were a few marble steps and then those strange long steps, that gently slope up. I was basically skipping. This went on for a while until it turned off into a normal spiral staircase like you find in English castles. “Ah” I thought “a bit cramped but nothing I haven’t done before.” These went on for even longer.
My legs were tired, I was very aware of the pack of Russian’s in a tour group that had been behind me the whole way. There voices echoed and the thought of them encroaching and engulfing me like wild bears genuinely quickened my pace. The tower was cramped and hot but an occasional breeze would float in through one of the windows. I tried to focus my mind on something other than how hot and tired I was, I tried to think of semiotics of the term spiral staircase. This was not technically a spiral because spirals curl in on themselves getting gradually smaller and smaller. This was in fact a helix, as it keeps the same circumference and stretches vertically. Strangely, this didn’t particularly make me feel any less like I was sweating to death climbing an enormous spiral staircase. I felt like I was being hypnotised. Going round and round and round like a hamster on a wheel, no sign of it ever ending. Finally, just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore I saw a door and some light and I was led out on to a balcony inside the dome. It was quite narrow and busy out on the other side. You could look down on the basilica, through metal grated fences. When I was down there I remember looking up and seeing ant sized people, now those down there looked like ants. There were pretty mosaics on the walls and you could see the art on the dome more clearly. I thought this was it but you go through an opposite door and a friendly plaque reminds you that there’s still 160 odd steps to go. I can’t remember if this is before or after you cross the roof, but at one point you cross the roof. There’s toilets, a water fountain, souvenir shops and a café all built into the roof. Unfortunately, there was little shadow on the roof and the sun was glaring forcefully. So, I ran quickly across to the next door.
There were even more spiral stairs, and just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get worse! Did I mention that I’m a little bit claustrophobic? The wall curved in on you in a dome shape and the wide open windows became those slanted gappy things they shot arrows from in castles. It was even hotter now. The air was stagnant and thick. I dragged my sweaty hands over the tiled walls, trying to push the walls outward for space. From one torture to another. Next there was a very low, so low you had to crouch, corridor with metal steps. The tiniest set of spiral stairs I had ever seen stood before me. The Russians had fallen behind and a little Chinese girl and her mother slowed me down. The mother asked me if I wanted to overtake, I yelled a little too aggressively that I was fine taking my time. The steps were too small, even for my tiny feet so dangling down the middle of the staircase was a rope. A rope with knots in it. How safe was this? How many people climb to the top of the dome on a daily basis and this is how you get to the top? My claustrophobia had reached peak. I grabbed the rope and started climbing, as fast as I could. A minute later I felt the wind, and the burning sun, on my face. I had made it! The view up there is pretty good if you can push through the people to the front. But I was just glad to have made it. I sat down and panted. I tried as hard as possible to cool down. I sat there for 15 minutes just breathing and looking down at the Vatican gardens.
I made the descent down in a carefree steady pace, getting lighter with every step. I was on schedule when I left the basilica and made my way across Rome to Villa Borghese. It’s situated on the other side of a big green park, that I could only navigate using my basic street map. Luckily it was only 10:30 and I didn’t have to be at the gallery until 12 to pick up my tickets. It was a pleasant place to stroll, the trees gave enough shade to keep you cool. Tourists happily whizzed by on segways and weird buggies. Music moved through the air too, first a saxophonist, then a man playing some kind of mandolin. I took the time to stop and draw and relax in the peace of the park. It was a return to the serenity of the basilica, but this peace was natural and earthly. I told my friend to meet me at 1 if she still wanted to come. When I picked up my ticket a woman tried to buy some at the door, unaware of the protocol and I felt so guilty. Should I give her my spare? What if my friend turned up after all and I’d given her ticket away?
The gallery itself is in the home of an old archbishop who spent more time on art and luxury than on pious business (there are several of these scattered about Rome). It’s not that big so I understand the limit on visitors. Though maybe the exclusivity is a bit elitist. Museums and churches belong to the people, they should be open to all at all times (for free). If you like classically inspired, Renaissance Italian art you’ll like the Borghese Gallery. The rooms were all named, and themed. The lower floor is mostly Bernini statues. I remember thinking that I preferred Canova and then thinking when did I become a pretentious art person? Two years before I’d never even been in a gallery, now I knew the difference between Canova and Bernini! Though the statue of Apollo and Daphne was really fantastic. The myth Daphne the nymph, in an effort to escape the amorous pursuit of the God Apollo, transformed herself into a tree. The statue caught her mid transformation, with Apollo’s arm clutching at branches and leaves. In another room, there was a statue called La Verita (Truth). It was weirdly captivating. Her face was contorted in a look of demonic, maddening joy. There was a Caravaggio of David and Goliath and a giant painting of Diana and her nymphs being watched by a man in the bushed (I think the rest of the myth is they blind him for it), and plenty other interesting and priceless treasures. By 2:30 most of the people had already left, and I had manged to look around twice, so I left too.
Most of the day was left and my appetite for art had been wetted so I after decided to go to another museum. I had heard that the Arte Antica at Berberini Palace was good, so I went to check it out. It was 4 o’clock at this point. The second floor was closed and one of its most iconic paintings- Caravaggio’s Judith slaying Holofernes- was out on loan. The man at the entrance desk warned me of this before he asked for the 3.50 euro entrance fee. But I decided to go in anyway. Inside it was almost completely empty. I wandered around the first floor with only 4 or 5 staff members for company. I couldn’t help but find it ironic. I paid twice as much to get into a gallery that prides itself on its exclusivity and it was still pretty crowded and now I get an entire public museum to myself for 3.50! Honestly, at first it was pretty awkward being watched as I watched things. The first floor is mainly religious iconography. Some were from the cathedral at Assisi but most were just really, ugly Christ babies. It was interesting how all the Mary’s in one room were in the exact same position, head tilted to the left, eyes down, frowning.
I walked around for a while, worrying that this was it, I couldn’t find any stairs. In the end, I asked someone if there was anything else and they said yes but you had to go out in the courtyard and up a grand staircase, which I did. Up there were several more rooms. One is a huge empty ballroom type, with luxurious wallpaper and a single futon in the centre of the room. I looked around perplexed. Where is the art? I looked around, walked a bit but nothing. Then I happened to glance up, I should have known by now to check the ceilings. It was amazingly detailed and extensively painted. There were animals, mythology, religious iconography. I’d never seen anything so laden with symbolism, I couldn’t decipher most of it. Luckily there was a laminated sheet that explained what most of it meant, and it took me a while to read it all and my neck was sore from looking up. So, I made the most of being alone and lay down flat on the futon just staring up. The other rooms had some truly beautiful paintings. Including some by the ‘Candlelight Master’ that were particularly eye-catching. There was one called Vanity, with a beautiful young woman with her hand on a skull, holding a dark, reflectionless mirror. There were two similar ones of the Penitent Magdalen. There was of a well-dressed dignified girl that looked like my little sister. I saw some Raphael’s Fornarina with her huge penetrating brown eyes and the actual Holenbach of Henry VIII that they always used in lecture slides. When I left the museum it was raining hard and gentle thunder rolled in the cloudy Roman sky. The heat steamed off the pavement as I walked and the once busy streets cleared of the crowds. Rather than get the metro I decided to walk in the rain. I got a bit lost and ended up looking out over the empty Roman Forum with the red sun setting through the dark storm clouds. My last day in Rome, was my best day. From the peace of religion, to the peace of art, to the peace of a soft storm.
I can’t say I learnt how to do as the Romans do, but I learnt how to do what you had to, to enjoy Rome, take your time, avoid the sun, relax, eat good food and take a good look around.
