When In Rome...

Bikes and Kisses.

That was the name of the place from which I rented my bike when I was in Rome.

With a name like that, how could I go anywhere else?

Actually, it's called Bici & Baci, which of course has a rhyme and consonance the translation loses.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, they also rent Vespas and, in fact, the branch I patronized has a Vespa museum.

The branch in question is near the foot of the Via Cavour, only a few pedal strokes away from the Forum and Colosseum.  Other branches are found near the Piazza Spagna (at the foot of the Spanish Steps) and la Piazza della Repubblica.

The real charm of the Via Cavour branch, though--aside from its location--is the folks who work there.  Especially Roberto, who guided me around on my first day.  The three-hour tour is 30 Euros and Roberto gave me a choice between the "tourist sites" tour and one of "hidden Rome".  Of course, I took the latter and was treated to some interesting stories, made all the more interesting by Roberto's storytelling as well as his intimate knowledge of the city. (I tipped him 20 Euros!)

The bike rental fee is 12,5 (that's 12.50) Euros per day, but I was charged 40 Euros for 4 days.  They will place a "hold" of 200 Euros on your credit card if you keep the bike overnight--which, of course, is removed when you return the bike.  

Another recommendation is for the hotel in which I stayed:  Il Tirreno.  The location is hard to beat: literally steps from the Santa Maria Maggiore Basilica (which is worth visiting for its ceiling alone!) and about a five-minute walk from Bici & Baci, the Forum and the Colosseum.  About ten minutes in the other direction will take you to Termini, the city's central depot for intercity--as well as airport-bound-- buses and trains.  

It's on a very narrow street--an alley, really--that winds from the Basilica down to the Via Cavour, which in turn slopes down to the Forum.

My room was small but well-kept and clean. Since I usually get in late after a full day of riding (or walking) and sightseeing, I really don't ask much more of a hotel room.  Also, the breakfast selection is decent (the usual rolls, butter, coffee, cereal, etc, as well as fruit and hard-boiled eggs) and abundant.  There is also a nice little patio/terrace where you can sit and eat, drink or whatever.

The best part of the Tirreno, though, is the staff:  They are friendly and helpful with everything from suggestions for places to go and services.

One of their suggestions included a tiny restaurant directly across the street/alley:  Il Brigantino.  It's really more of a pizzeria than an restaurant, and it's easy to miss.  But I had an utterly decadent pie made with buffalo mozzarella, porcini mushrooms and a local ham.  The lighting is low, but it's has a friendly, inviting "vibe", mainly because of the people in it!

Space

After my trip to Italy and writing about bike lane controversies in Brooklyn, I got to thinking about my sense of space, as a cyclist.

It took a couple of days of riding in Rome to acclimate myself to the ways drivers behave around cyclists.  I can say the same for Paris and France, but I had an even more acute sense of how drivers' and cyclists' sense of shared space is different while in the land of Michelangelo and Caravaggio.

You can ride through one of those traffic circles, or any other intersection, and a motorist might be a gear-cable's breadth from you.  Yet you would be in less danger than if you'd had a wider berth--or even riding in a "protected" bike lane--in most US cities.  

Italian--particularly Roman--drivers are often called "crazy".  Yet they not only are more aware of two-wheeled vehicles (including Vespas and motorcycles, as well as bicycles) than their American counterparts, they are more accustomed to driving in--and sharing--really tight spaces.

I was reminded of this when looking, again, at this street in Florence, between the Ponte Vecchio and Uffizi Gallery.

It's about half as wide as most sidewalks in New York!  Yet I actually saw a car and bike pass through it at the same time.  And the driver didn't honk his/her horn!

I also couldn't help but to notice the condition of the bicycles parked next to it.  If they'd been locked to a New York City parking meter or sign post, this could have been their fate:

Lost And Literary

I'm thinking, again, about one of the many times I got "lost" in Rome last week.

In previous posts, I've said that sometimes I mount one of my bikes and let it decide where I ride.  For example, I might sling my leg over Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and without thinking about it, I find myself pedaling toward Connecticut or the North Shore.  Or I might slide my foot into a pedal of Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear and the next thing I know, I'm on my way to the Rockaways or Coney Island.

So, I think I can blame the bike I rode in Rome for leading me in circles and through far corners of the city--and even outside of it.  The pretty, shiny red bike I rented from Bici & Baci (which I recommend) led me, after my tour of the Catacombs, though some near suburbs and back into the city, albeit a far corner.  

You never know who you'll run into in such places:

Yes, the mayor New Yorkers love or hate has familial roots in the country that sent some of my ancestors to America.  Now, I'm all for a liberal immigration policy, but it might've been nice to have someone like Trump (Really? Did I just say that?) running the country, even if only for a day, when Rudy's parents were ready to get on the boat.  

Then again, it might've been nice to have Trump--or, at least, the immigration policy he just endorsed--when his grandfather was about to be deported from Germany. (I have to hand it to him:  It takes some doing to get yourself kicked out of the country in which you were born and raised!)  If this country hadn't let him in, he would've gone to...I dunno...Canada?  Australia?

Anyway, I won't speculate (at least, not now, anyway) about what New York City and the USA might be without Giuliani or Trump.  Just a couple of minutes after seeing that sign for Rudy's relatives, I wandered into a section of drab apartment buildings where the streets had some interesting names:

I know that all of them spent time in Italy:  In fact, James Joyce spent much of his adult life there.  He once remarked that although Italy, at the time, was plagued with poverty and mismanagement, it at least had a nice climate and lively intellectual atmosphere.  His native country of Ireland, he said, was Italy without those two things.

Even if his assessment were off, I couldn't blame him for living in Italy.  Could you?

Home Yet?

I spent most of yesterday sleeping just long enough to wake up needing more sleep but not being able to get it--and staying awake just long enough to get nothing done.  I guess that's normal after crossing a few time zones.

Anyway, I am going to take a ride today.  I haven't decided where just yet.  Maybe I'll just get on my bike and let it decide, as I sometimes do.

One thing I must say, though, is that the streets here seem so wide after pedaling through passages like this:

Will my ride make me happy to be home again--or miss Italy?  Probably both!

Going The Appian Way And Becoming Native

I ended yesterday's post by asking, rhetorically, "How lost was I today?"

Well, today I fooled a few people into thinking I wasn't lost at all.  I wasn't trying to do any such thing; it just happened.

You see, I began by riding past the Colosseum and through a portal in a huge stone wall that once formed part of the gate around the city.  At one time, most cities were so fortified and the entrances in them were called "portas" ("portes" in French).  Many of those places still retain those names, and there is usually a piazza (or place or the equivalent) where the door or gate used to be.  And a road leading to that porte might parallel--or might in fact be--a road that led to the gate or door.

Anyway, after passing through the Porta San Sebastiano, I turned onto another road I followed for maybe half a kilometer to a road that had more traffic than I wanted to deal with.  So I made a U-turn and, near the Porta, took a right, which took me onto a road with a stone wall on one side and trees on the other.  I didn't see a sign for it but it was, or became, the Via Appia Antica.  You probably have heard of it:  The Old Appian Road, or The Appian Way. 

Although it's narrow and doesn't have a shoulder for most of its route, it's actually safe for cycling, mainly because the drivers are accustomed to seeing us (as well as pedestrians and runners).  If traffic approaching from the opposite direction doesn't leave a driver on your side of the road with enough room to pass you, he or she will wait.  At least, they did for me.

Along Appia are some of the catacombs.  I stopped at the one of St. Callistus which, the guide averred, is "the most important" because the very first Popes were interred there until they were exhumed and moved to what would become the Vatican.  Photography isn't allowed in any of the catacombs, but I think the images of those layers of tombs as well as the living spaces and even chapels that were carved into the ground will stay with me.  

As our guide mentioned, the catacombs along Appia were outside Rome's city walls because, at the time they were built, Christianity still wasn't allowed in Rome.  After seeing the dome of the Pantheon yesterday, I was intrigued by, among other things, the skylights that were built into the catacombs.  They were needed for ventilation and light, but I realized they--particularly the ones atop the chapels--served another purpose:  They directed the worshipers' vision upward, i.e., toward heaven.  When I understood that, I realized that much of what one sees inside a cathedral serves the same purpose, and I couldn't help but to wonder whether cathedrals were thus influenced by chapels in the catacombs.

After that interesting tour, led by a nice young lady, I rode further along Appia to some other road I couldn't identify, which led me into some other areas with those charming terra cotta and sun-colored houses surrounded by fields or woods.  I just kept on following the roads I was on simply because I was enjoying the ride.  Even after I made a couple of "wrong" turns and found myself in one of those suburban industrial zones one finds just outside European cities, I wasn't worried.  

Eventually, I saw signs pointing in the direction of "Roma" and, a little later "Centro" and, still later, "Colosseum".  So of corse I followed them and found myself wending along some old streets not much wider than most of the cars in this country.  I passed the intersection of the Four Fountains and stopped to drink water and eat yellow plums in the Piazza Santa Susanna, where a four-century-old church named for her occupies the former site of the Baths of Diocletan.  

Well, I was there for maybe thirty seconds when an Asian couple from California asked how to get to the Quirinal--the place with the great viewing spot I discovered yesterday.  I pointed and told them, "Just keep going, up this hill, about half a kilometer."

No sooner had I finished that sentence when three young dark-skinned women approached me.  I overheard them speaking French as I helped the Asian couple, so when one asked how to get to Termini--the main rail station--I told her, "Descendez la" as I pointed in their direction.  "Passez trois coins, tournez a droite et descendez."  Pass three corners, then turn to your right, and keep going.  

Yet another Asian couple saw me giving directions and, after the young women left, asked whether I spoke English. I nodded, and they asked whether I knew how to get to the Trevi Fountain.  I did, and even assured them that yesterday I made a wrong turn in the very spot where we stood but found my way to the Fountain, which actually was close by.

I guess people figure that cyclists know their way around.  In some places, I do. But just yesterday I was as lost and confused as the people I helped (I hope!) today.

Finding My Corner

Sometimes I enjoy "getting lost".  Of course, sometimes it's part of finding my way.  But the pleasure comes in unexpected pleasures experienced along the way.  It might be an interesting building or landscape feature I hadn't seen before, or simply a new sensory experience or insight about something.  Other times, it's nice just to have the freedom to not travel in a perfect linear path.

I have to admit, though, that even when I'm riding for pleasure, it can get frustrating to find myself looping back to the same place three or four times.  New York has a grid pattern, even if it breaks down in places, so it's possible to go only so far astray.  Paris's streets are mostly straight, but they usually begin and end in some sort of circle or square place.  Also, because there are only a couple of really tall buildings in the City of Light, it's easy to use them to orient myself.

Now, here in Rome, they didn't have a Baron Haussmann who tried to make straight lines out of their ancient winding roads.  And, although it shares Paris' preponderance of low to mid-level buildings, the tallest or highest-standing structures (like the Vatican) don't always stand out because the city is hilly.  (Paris is mostly flat.)  In this sense, it's a lot like Prague, where I cycled a few years ago.  

I was completely unfamiliar with the geography of the Czech capital before I started riding it, so it didn't frustrate me when I found myself circling about, or simply ending up in a completely different part of town from where I intended to go.  On the other hand, I thought I still had some knowledge of this city, though I must say that I didn't cycle the last time I was here.  Turns out, I remembered some specific spots more than I could recall what's between them.  I tried, at times, to follow parts of the route on which Roberto took me, and later marked on a map.  Of course, I was trying to find my way without his knowledge of this city--and with my navigational skills, which rival those of a guy who thought he was headed to the land of the Punjabs but instead landed somewhere near Port au Prince.

Finally, after I found myself at the intersection of via XX Settembre, Corso d'Italia and via Nomentana for the fifth time, I gave up all hope of going to any of the sites I thought I just have to see before this trip is over. For one thing, I reminded myself that, for all the time I've lived in New York and spent in Paris--and for all the bike trips I took in France--I haven't even come close to seeing everything that's worth seeing.  And, I reminded myself, even if I miss the Trevi Fountain this time, it can't be a whole lot different from how it was when I saw it in 1996.  

After making that realization, I found a great viewing spot across from the Quirinale.  And, a couple of minutes later, I found what I think is my favorite spot in Rome:

I mean, where else can you find an intersection that has a fountain on each of its four corners--and each of those fountains is whimsical, and even beautiful?  

The funny thing is that a few minutes later, I found myself at Trevi, almost without trying.

The real highlight of this day, though, was going to the Pantheon:

In a previous post, I mentioned that it took New York City seven and a half years to build a toilet stall in the Brooklyn park where I spent many hours of my childhood.  Although it incorporates "green" technology found in other state-of-the-art facilities (Does that strike you as a funny phrase to use in reference to a toilet stall?), it isn't innovative or unusual, at least in a technical sense.  And it cost more, per square foot, than it would take to buy the most expensive apartment in Trump Tower!

Nearly two milennia ago, the Emperor Hadrian built this monument, if I'm not mistaken, in two years. Moreover, this dome is something that nobody would know how to construct, even today.  For one thing, no one is entirely sure about the materials used: It's said to be concrete, but to my understanding, concrete was not widely, if at all, used at that time.  Also, it's unsupported and half again as wide in diameter as the dome on the US Capitol building.

One of the reasons why the Pantheon still stands today is that since 609 it has been known as, officially, the Church of St. Mary and The Martyrs.  Although most people still call it the Pantheon (after the Greek word for "all of the gods"; pandemonium, a word coined by John Milton in Paradise Lost, means "all demons"), it is a Roman Catholic house of worship--which is probably what saved it from being destroyed during the Middle Ages, as many other "pagan" structures were.  

(Interestingly, one might argue that the reason the Hagia Sophia stands today is that it became a mosque.  Had it remained a Christian church, it might not have survived the Moorish invasion.)


Hmm....How lost was I today?

On Seeing Mike Again

Back in Rome today.  Rented a Bici & Baci bike again.  This time they gave me a shinier, prettier one than what I rode the other day.  Now, if only I were shinier and prettier....

Anyway, I don't know whether the riding actually got easier or I was simply more prepared than I was the other day.  The hills, even when they seemed to "come out of nowhere", didn't feel as steep. Also, I could swear it was a few degrees cooler than it was on Sunda.

Today, after spending the morning on the hills, I stopped for an espresso in a bar close to where I'd spend much of the afternoon.  A guy ordered two cappucinos and paid for them.  Then he started to carry them out to sidewalk terrace tables.  One of the bar's owners tried to stop him, but he was about twice the owner's size.  

I stepped in. "Engleesh?"  Europeans generally don't ask for your nationality; the usually ask what language you speak.  "So, "Engleesh" can mean American, Australian or of course British.  What I found funny, later, is that I asked in the same way the bar owner would have asked, with his accent.

The guy seemed to nod and I explained that it costs more to sit at the terrace than it does to stand at the bar.  That is the custom, not only in Italy, but in France and other European countries.  The guy still seemed determined to go out on the terrace until the owner started dialing the police.

Then the customer decided to abandon his capuccinos and walk out the door.  The owner thanked me, even if what I did was of dubious value. 

From there, it was on to the Vatican, where I walked up all the steps to the bell tower.  First you stop at an observation deck near the top of St. Peter's Basilica, but can barely see anything because a chainlink fence with small holes doesn't offer vey many good sightlines.

After that, I followed the crowds to the Vatican Museum for the same reason 99 percent of the people went:  to the ceiling Michelangelo painted on the Sistene Chapel.  I had seen it before, but there was no way I was going to leave Rome without seeing it again, the insane crowds ( worse than the ones boarding the 2 and 3 trains at Times Square during a weekday morning rush hour) and 16 Euro admission (roughly $19 at today's rates) price be damned. 

Now here's something I don't get:  The Sistene is part of a "museum" which means, of course, that they can charge for admission.  On the other hand, we're told that it's a "sacred space", so security guards try--mostly in vain-- to keep crowds quiet.  But they mostly succeed at preventing photography:  I, along with a few other people were told to stash our cameras in our bags. 

So...Is it a place of worship?  Or is it a museum?  Whatever the case, their ban on photography spurs a lot of book, poster and other sales in the Vatican gift shop!

At least I got to the Vatican by bike this time.  I am thankful for small things.

Seven Hills--And There Are More!

You have no doubt heard that Rome is built on seven hills.  Trust me:  It isn't hype.  You become very, very aware of that fact when you cycle in this city!

I can now honestly claim that I've climbed all seven by bicyce.  Yesterday I climbed the  with Roberto:  the Aventine, Capitoline, Caelian and Esquiline.  I climbed them all again today, on a bike I rented from Bici & Baci.  I also pedaled up the Palatine, which I have to ascend, at least most of the way, to reach my hotel:  Today I scaled it on a bike. And I got to the Quirinal and Viminal.  

A view from Janiculum Hill.  Yes, I pedaled to see it!

Oh--the hills on which the Vatican is located, as well as the Janiculum and Pincium hills, are not counted among the seven because they are on the right bank of the Tiber, which, at the time Rome was founded, was inhabited by the Etruscans .  The "seven hills" all lie within the area that was surrounded by the Servian Wall, which enclosed the original settlement founded, according to tradition, by Romulus.

Anyway, today I rode mainly for the sake of riding and seeing more of Rome's streets and alleyways close-up. I did stop at the Castel Sant'Angelo and the Vatican, though I didn't wait on the long line to go into the museum.  I will do that later this week, when the weekday crowds--I assume--should be at least somewhat smaller than they were today.

I have to admit that the hills aren't the only challenge of cycling in Rome.  (There are other, smaller, ones in addition to the famous ones I've mentioned.)  Everything you've heard about Roman drivers is true though, to be fair, a few stopped or slowed down to let me go by.  And Roman traffic circles make their Parisian counterparts seem like elements of a Mondrian painting.  

And then there is the heat and sun.  The former, at least, is not accompanied by humidity.  So, by the end of the day, the T-shirt I wore looked like it was covered with white tie-dye swirls from the sweat that evaporated from it.  When I returned my bike, I saw Roberto again.  He, who rides in Rome every day, told me that on days like today, he can "drink five liters of water, easy."  I probably drank at least as much--at least some of it "like a Roman", as he taught me yesterday.  

But I didn't expect the sun to be as intense as it was, given that Rome lies at roughly the same latitude as New York.  (The part of Florida where my parents live lies about a dozen degrees closer to the Equator.)  Perhaps the dry air made it feel so.  Whatever the cause, I don't think I ever before used as much sunscreen as I used today!

I'll be taking a side trip tomorrow and will be back in Rome on Tuesday night.  Then I'll rent the bike again and check out the Pantheon as well as a few other places.

Tours That Brought Me Back

So, again....Why Rome?

I thought it would have remained a rhetorical question after I missed breakfast at the hotel this morning.  It seems that I took in more sun than I'd realized and stayed up later, so I slept until 9:30--something I don't normally do during a trip.

So I went for a walk.  I figured that I needed to get beyond the neighborhood where I'm staying, as much as I like it. The hotel is most of the way up a hill, and the Forum, which I visited yesterday morning, is at the bottom of it:  about a five-minute walk.  And the Colosseum is only about the same distance in another direction.  Although I walked a lot yesterday among the ruins (they cover a lot of ground), I hadn't ventured much beyond my "base", if you will.

Today I started by walking in the other direction, past Termini--the main rail and bus station--and kept going.  I honestly had no idea of where I was, but I knew I was moving away from the tourists.  Finally, after about an hour and a half, I stopped at a cafe for a coffee--an espresso, to be exact.  

Then I did something that, I think, took the baristo by surprise:  I ordered another.  It was that good:  Caffeine jitters be damned, I told myself.  But I didn't experience them, though I was almost giddy for a moment.

Anyway, I continued to walk, guided by the navigational skills of no less than Signoro Colombo, and climbed the hill to the Villa Medici.  It now houses the Academie Francaise of Rome, but the real reason you go that way is for the gardens adjacent to it--and for the views.  In particular, it's at the top of the hill you reach when you climb the Spanish Steps--which I descended.

Even though it seems like half of the human race is in La Piazza Spagna on days like this, it's difficult not to like:  When a staircase is built with such artistry and function and connects two places with different kinds of beauty, well, it's not difficult to see why it would draw all sorts of people.  

By this time, I was feeling better about having come to Rome, but something still felt a bit off.  Then I realized I hadn't taken a pill I normally take in the morning. (It's not psychtropic, at least not technically!)  So I went back to my hotel room--as it turned out, five stops on the Rome Metro A line--and downed it with a bottle of San Benedetto water.

Actually, that trip back to the hotel room wasn't a diversion.  I had scheduled a bike tour for 3 pm, and the shop at which I booked it--one of the three branches of Bici & Baci--is located most of the way down that hill from my hotel to the Forum, near the end of la via Cavour.  

Bici & Baci is an interesting place.  Although they rent bicycles and conduct bicycle tours, their main focus is on Vespas.  In fact, the shop's basement hosts the Vespa Museum.  Perhaps if I really wanted to "do as the Romans do", I would ride one.  But I wanted to stick to pedals, if for no other reason that I haven't driven any sort of motorized vehicle in a long time. 

They couldn't have given me a better guide than Roberto.  He asked what I'd already seen.  When I told him, he said, "OK, we will not do the 'highlights' tour--unless you want that."

Instead, he offered to show me "Rome as a Roman."  Of course!   That meant, among other things, this:

Hundreds of fountains like these are located all over the city.  The water is indeed potable, and people often fill their bottles under them.  But that's something a Roman wouldn't do, Roberto told me. Oddly, most people don't seem to notice the hole at the top of the pipe on all of those  fountains:  To prove his point, we stopped at three, all of which had that feature.  

I wonder whether the Roman water authorities designed them that way and didn't bother to tell the rest of the world. Or, perhaps, that hole serves some other purpose (aeration?)  and someone discovered the easy way to drink from them.

Anyway, on our route, I learned entertaining stories like the one about the fountain the Borgheses supposedly built in one night to show that, although they'd fallen on hard time, they had the financial wherewithal for such things. Why?  Well, a Borghese daughter wanted to marry the son of the family that owned the land on which the fountain was built--the Matteis, who were rich and influential.  But they were reluctant to let him take her hand because they'd heard about their financial straits.  According to legend, the next morning, the Mattei patriarch woke and, much to his surprise, saw the fountain on his land, amidst the houses that ringed the palazzo.

Interestingly, although the Matteis were Roman Catholic--as were nearly all members of noble families at their time--they lived right in the middle of the Ghetto (yes, the original one), the traditional Jewish quarter of the city.  Literally steps away from that fountain, one can find momentos like these:

Although a higher percentage of the Jewish population survived in Rome and in Italy than in other European cities and countries, many Italian Jews ended up in Auschwitz once Mussolini was deposed and the Nazis invaded. Although the Italian Jewish community is smaller, especially in Rome and the North, than it was before the war, it has had a lot of influence in Italian and the world's culture. And, as Roberto--interestingly--pointed out, much of the Roman kitchen (cuisine) in fact originated with the city's Jews.

Back to the Matteis:  They were patrons of the arts.  Among the painters they sponsored was the one who gave us this:

Madonna dei Pellegrini, by Caravaggio

It adorns a portico of the Sant'Agostino chruch, the last stop of our tour.  Roberto made a point of stopping there because he loves that painting, and Caravaggio generally.  So do I.  

Finally, in keeping with Roberto's promise to show me what a Roman knows about his city, he took me up the Aventine hill, which has a garden with the most unique view:

You might think it's just another way of seeing the Vatican. But the park and garden were designed so that the closer to the edge of the hill--and to the dome of the Vatican--you walk (You can't ride in the park.), the smaller it seems.  That is because the approach brings other tall structures into view, which diminishes the perspective of the dome.

Nearby is another interesting view, which I tried to capture:

I wasn't peeping.  I swear!

This peephole is on the gate of the Villa del Priorato di Malta, which--like the Vatican--has extraterratorial status in Rome.  I tried to capture the view of the Vatican which, as Roberto pointed out, makes the gate one of the few places in the world where you can look at three countries (or, at any rate, sovereign territories)--i.e., Italy, Malta and the Vatican--at the same time.

Now tell me:  What else could I have asked for on a day in Rome?


Note: As you can probably tell, I am feeling much better about this city and country than I did yesterday.  Still, I have one complaint:  I am on the slowest internet connection I've experienced in at least 15 years.  My photos are taking forever to upload! So, you won't see as many of them in upcoming posts.  But I'll share some more, if you'd like, after I return home!