Naples embodies many things I dislike about cities. It's noisy, for a start. Neapolitans, true to type, are extremely energetic and loud. Drivers honk there the way they only do in movies in the US these days. It's incredibly crowded, though not with tourists. It's filthy, too. The buildings are peeling and dilapidated, and there's not only trash, but graffiti absolutely everywhere--including historical monuments, entrances to churches, etc. It's dangerous, both in terms of traffic (drivers have zero respect for the zebra crossing) and crime. There's very little green space, and the streets are so narrow, with such (relatively) high buildings, that they can be dimly lit even in full daytime. The city itself is difficult even to conceptualize, with no central open space, and very few direct sight-lines.
Despite (or because of?) all of these factors, I really liked Naples. I kept thinking how much more alive it felt, much more so than other city I've visited in Italy, and maybe even beyond. Rome might be grand, yes, but it's also conservative and staid, as befits a capital. Venice and Florence are tourist theme-parks. Naples, in contrast, felt real--for example, there was no discernible different between the "centro storico" and the rest of the city: it had less car traffic, sure (not that everyone was bothering to actually obey those laws of course) but the noise, the filth, the chaos, it was all still there.
I only spent three days there on this trip, but it felt like more. On the first day, my goal was the Archaeological Museum, which I visited once before when the Rome seminar I was taking took a day trip to Herculaneum. It was in slightly better repair inside than I remembered it. The collection is just fantastic. From the Farnese collection wing, the Farnese Hercules is always a stunner, not to mention a good reminder of one inspiration for Michelangelo's later, comically over-muscled bodies. I was also really taken by a Venus of the Capitoline Venus type. For some reason I found this version particularly lovely, from the dimples at the base of her spine to her soft-looking hands (though these were later restorations). I stood there for a moment, letting the caffeine high from the coffee I'd had outside the museum fuel my imagination, and pictured her turning her head to look at me, unbending her back from that half-bend these Venuses find themselves in, and stretching.
The finds from Pompeii and Herculaneum were also awesome, as before, though I was told only afterward that some of the best stuff is in galleries that are closed because of staffing shortages, but which the guards will open for you if you ask. If only that worked at the Capodimonte museum, which I've never visited before--seemingly an entire half of the building was closed, including everything after Baroque art and the Royal Apartments. The Botticelli gallery was closed off too, and down a roped-off, unlit hallway, I could make out one of Caravaggio's Beheading of Holofernes. The Danae wasn't even there--I had forgotten it's still in DC until next week!
Despite all of the disappointments, the museum was incredible. It felt like a voyage of discovery--enter another gallery, see another familiar face from the books! The Parmigianinos, in particular, were excellent, as was Sebastiano's moody portrait of Clement VII. I was surprised to be moved by Annibal Carracci's Pieta, in a way I rarely ever am by religious art. Finally, the positioning, and lighting, of Caravaggio's Flagellation was just perfect. You can see it down one axial wing of the museum, perfectly framed by the intervening doorways. I love Sebastiano's Flagellation in S. Pietro in Montorio for the elegantissimo leg of Christ, but this one...the whole composition was like a dance, the three tormenters moving around their victim, light starkly spotlighting different parts of their bodies. Enthralling--and then surprising to visit the original location, S. Domenico, the next day where a reproduction hangs in the chapel, and to realize that it looks better in the museum!
That afternoon Carla came down for a late lunch. We had pizza at Brandi's, the pizzeria that invented the pizza margherita for Queen Margherita in the 19th century. They were very friendly, the pizza was great (though honestly, not the best I've ever had), and the prices were surprisingly low for a place running a looping video showing pictures of all the celebrities and politicians who have come to eat there (Pavarotti seems to have been a big fan) including the current "heir" of the Savoy dynasty, who were the kings of Italy from unification until the 1946 referendum. Naples, in fact, was almost alone in Italy in voting for monarchy in that referendum instead of democracy. The book I was reading noted that as a holdover of the historically strong affection the city has had for its kings--even though since the Middle Ages, these have all been imposed from without.
The third day I saw as many of the major churches as I could, many with wonderful surviving Trecento frescoes that attest to the influence of Giotto, who spent time in Naples but left no surviving works behind. I took the funicular up to Sant'Elmo, which offered a lovely view over the city. I visited the monastic complex of Santa Chiara, with its wonderful 19th-century maiolica cloister. The most striking site, though, was the Cappella Sansevero, with its famous central statue of the Draped Christ. Adorning the walls are complex allegorical sculptures conceived by the chapel's builder to honor his family members, with the most famous being the veiled Modesty for his mother, and Disillusionment for his father--a man freeing himself from a marvelous sculpted net that symbolizes vice. In the lower level were the two "anatomical machines", which Sansevero created by injecting some alchemical fluid into the dead bodies of two of his servants, preserving their blood vessels and veins in metallic form--and nothing else. They're two skeletons covered in a cloud of what seems like wire but is really preserved tissue! It's freaky, and apparently no one has ever really discovered the trick of how he did it. Of course, legend also suggests the two servants were not necessarily dead at the moment of the experiment...dun dun DUNNNNN!
''One morning, I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don't know.''
Friday, October 31, 2014
Friday, October 24, 2014
Benvenuto al Sud
Last Friday, we left the Academy at 6:45am, in a train of taxis to
Termini. It was a four-hour ride south
to Bari, where we were met at the station by Daniele, the driver of a mini
touring bus (there were only two dozen of us, so not enough for the huge coach
bus). Our first stop was Polignano a
Mare, on the sea as its name implies.
I’ve never seen the Adriatic from any vantage point besides Venice! It was beautiful. We had lunch at a seafood restaurant
recommended by local friends of the Academy staff (I opted vegetarian and was
pleased with my choice). We stopped in
town at a contemporary art foundation, checked out the quaint seaside-town
aspect of the place, and argued about the odd proportions of the main church,
which was broad and squat, with a weird combination of Romanesque and later
characteristics.
Then we drove to Lecce, where our hotel was really quite
luxurious. Robes and slippers in the
rooms! Denise and I made sure to make
use of them. Because lunch had been big,
expensive, and had included wine (bad idea if you want to stay awake in the
afternoon) many of us decided to skip the arranged dinner and find something
small to eat on our own. This experience
would later be dubbed Cheesegate, because when we tried to confirm that the
cheese plates we were ordering were enough for four people, our waiter decided
to bring us four times as much cheese. Literally, we got a massive platter heaped
with 40 euros’ worth of locally-made artisanal cheese, which was about 30
euros’ worth more than we wanted—plus two plates of mozzarella and some really
delicious ricotta. It was all very tasty
cheese, but to paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson, there was too much motherfuckin’
cheese on my motherfuckin’ plate! We
were divided in opinion over whether the waiter was honestly confused (at the
time of ordering, there were a lot more in our group than eventually stayed
around to eat) or whether there was malice aforethought. I thought he seemed very nice. Anyway, we
did our best, but maybe only killed 60% of the cheese. Our real concern was the bill, since it
burned us to think we might have skipped the 25 euro prix-fixe dinner only to
spend more accidentally elsewhere!
There, at least, we were lucky—only 18 euro a person. We took the rest of the cheese to go, and
agreed to attend the other planned dinners, tails between our legs.
After touring some of the sights in Lecce the next morning, and admiring the strength of the southern sun striking all the white pietra leccese, we were off toward Matera, the city of caves. On our way, Heather mentioned that there was an ancient Greek temple in the area, so we detoured to take a look. It was a lovely, quiet spot, and the remains of the temple were impressive. Then we drove to a lookout that faced Matera proper, as the sun was setting. The country was rugged, mountainous, and rocky--the soft stone that would furnish the caves inhabited by the local residents for centuries.
If Matera looked wonderful from the outside, that was nothing relative to the fairy-land aspect it held once you were inside, looking from hill to hill covered with warrens of stone-cut structures, seemingly sprouting organically from the hillside. Our hotel was in fact a cave hotel, with each room in its own cave, ranging all the way up a very steep hill to Liz, Krys, and Anna's room, which had a terrace, down to the valley floor, where Denise and I shared a passable-but-nothing-special chamber. It was basically cool to say "hey, I slept in a cave!" but if I came back I would certainly go stay in a modern hotel overlooking the cave. World's tiniest shower, that room had...it was a big change from the luxury of the previous evening.
The next morning we had one of those cool moments that happen only by good fortune. While a few of us were checking out the town center, we realized that the huge underground cistern was about to open. This was 9:30, and we needed to meet our group at 9:45. The cistern is visit-able by a 25-minute guided tour...in theory. Denise asked the surly man who came to unlock the gate if we could just pay the three-euro fee and pop in for a few minutes--and he said yes! We descended into this ghostly, cavernous space, with walls that looked worn smooth by simple erosion but were in fact carved by manual labor. We had the place to ourselves for ten minutes. As we hurried back to the exit, the first tour group was entering, and the cacophony produced by all those voices was surprising. We really got a treat in being able to visit it in silence. The acoustics were tremendous--Denise sang for us briefly, and it was magical.
That morning we explored the cave churches (chiese rupestre) and cave dwellings of Matera, learning about its incredible history. After World War II, the living conditions of Matera was branded "the national shame of Italy", and the government eventually built a brand-new town, Martella, and forced its 18k residents to leave, condemning the entire city. Fast-forward a few decades, and Matera has become a tourist mecca. It was even announced as EU Capital of Culture for 2019 the day before we arrived!
That afternoon we went to a town called Canosa di Puglia, where we met Renato, "the man with the keys." Literally--this little satyr of a man had a massive ring of keys at his built, which opened seemingly every archaeological site in this town. It was one of the differences we saw in the south, terms of organizing access to cultural sites; since there's no money to keep these places open all the time, visiting tends to be by guides only, on appointment. The plus side is that the guides are local, well-informed, and extremely proud of their heritage. The two highlights were a 2nd-century BCE tomb chamber, underneath a modern apartment complex, with surviving frescoes above the temple-front entrance, and the medieval Baptistery, which was built over Roman-era ruins. The Canosian tribe sided with the Romans against Hannibal, and fought with them at Cannae; they managed to capture some Carthiginians despite the defeat, and ritually executed them back home as a sign of friendship to Rome. Diplomacy! The skeletons--far too tall to be ancient Italic people--are visible in the excavated holes inside the baptistery.
After a fairly exhausting day, our destination was the seaside city of Trani, where our hotel was vast in scale, if somewhat tired in furnishings. Our bathroom was the size of my AAR bedroom, so large it was kind of unsettling, because it was all empty space! No bathtub, and a regulation-size shower, and then emptiness. Still, the hot shower before dinner was much appreciated. Our final group meal was at a place called Locanda dei Quattro Ducati, and it was divine. It also was largely fish, but this time I went for it, and was not disappointed! One of the appetizers was riso da venere (black local rice) with a cream that turned out to be smoked salmon aioli. Now, typically if you told me "rice with fish sauce" I would run away, but it was subtle and perfectly flavored. We entertained ourselves at the table with a game that everyone has been playing: casting people with their opposite-gender Hollywood doppleganger. I was given Mark Ruffalo, which pleased me thoroughly!
On our last morning, Monday, we toured Trani's medieval sites, and in particular some of its synagogues, which survived because they were converted into Christian churches. At the Duomo, I managed to muster enough of my Italian (and the polite subjunctive phrase "se fosse possibile..." learned from Carla) to request that the rector allow Nathan and I onto the altar to photograph a medieval mosaic of Alexander the Great. Win! We climbed the belltower afterward, and enjoyed the spectacular view over the ocean. I spent a pleasant half-hour reading Il Gattopardo on the stone benches on the wall that lines the public park, which stretches for a mile or so down the coastal side of the city.
Our very last site visit was Castel del Monte, an odd, unfinished octagonal fortress crowning one of the tallest hills in the region, which may have belonged to Frederick II, a famous medieval ruler. The interior was nothing special, but outside, the view over the surrounding countryside was magnificent. I sat in the grass for a while, soaking up the fairly weak sun that day, and there was a brief period, maybe just 5 minutes, when there was...silence. No sounds of voices, no crunching gravel, no breeze, just near-total quiet and the incredible view. It was a Wordsworth-ian moment, broken shortly thereafter by the two teenagers who were desporting themselves on the hillside not far away.
It was a great experience. The strength of the light in the south, the great beauty of the countryside--so different from what I've seen in Lazio, in Tuscany, and in the Veneto...I look forward to going back. Carla and I might go to Matera, in fact, in honor of her birthday when both us get back in January. No caves, though. Absolutely no caves.
The next morning we had one of those cool moments that happen only by good fortune. While a few of us were checking out the town center, we realized that the huge underground cistern was about to open. This was 9:30, and we needed to meet our group at 9:45. The cistern is visit-able by a 25-minute guided tour...in theory. Denise asked the surly man who came to unlock the gate if we could just pay the three-euro fee and pop in for a few minutes--and he said yes! We descended into this ghostly, cavernous space, with walls that looked worn smooth by simple erosion but were in fact carved by manual labor. We had the place to ourselves for ten minutes. As we hurried back to the exit, the first tour group was entering, and the cacophony produced by all those voices was surprising. We really got a treat in being able to visit it in silence. The acoustics were tremendous--Denise sang for us briefly, and it was magical.
That morning we explored the cave churches (chiese rupestre) and cave dwellings of Matera, learning about its incredible history. After World War II, the living conditions of Matera was branded "the national shame of Italy", and the government eventually built a brand-new town, Martella, and forced its 18k residents to leave, condemning the entire city. Fast-forward a few decades, and Matera has become a tourist mecca. It was even announced as EU Capital of Culture for 2019 the day before we arrived!
That afternoon we went to a town called Canosa di Puglia, where we met Renato, "the man with the keys." Literally--this little satyr of a man had a massive ring of keys at his built, which opened seemingly every archaeological site in this town. It was one of the differences we saw in the south, terms of organizing access to cultural sites; since there's no money to keep these places open all the time, visiting tends to be by guides only, on appointment. The plus side is that the guides are local, well-informed, and extremely proud of their heritage. The two highlights were a 2nd-century BCE tomb chamber, underneath a modern apartment complex, with surviving frescoes above the temple-front entrance, and the medieval Baptistery, which was built over Roman-era ruins. The Canosian tribe sided with the Romans against Hannibal, and fought with them at Cannae; they managed to capture some Carthiginians despite the defeat, and ritually executed them back home as a sign of friendship to Rome. Diplomacy! The skeletons--far too tall to be ancient Italic people--are visible in the excavated holes inside the baptistery.
After a fairly exhausting day, our destination was the seaside city of Trani, where our hotel was vast in scale, if somewhat tired in furnishings. Our bathroom was the size of my AAR bedroom, so large it was kind of unsettling, because it was all empty space! No bathtub, and a regulation-size shower, and then emptiness. Still, the hot shower before dinner was much appreciated. Our final group meal was at a place called Locanda dei Quattro Ducati, and it was divine. It also was largely fish, but this time I went for it, and was not disappointed! One of the appetizers was riso da venere (black local rice) with a cream that turned out to be smoked salmon aioli. Now, typically if you told me "rice with fish sauce" I would run away, but it was subtle and perfectly flavored. We entertained ourselves at the table with a game that everyone has been playing: casting people with their opposite-gender Hollywood doppleganger. I was given Mark Ruffalo, which pleased me thoroughly!
On our last morning, Monday, we toured Trani's medieval sites, and in particular some of its synagogues, which survived because they were converted into Christian churches. At the Duomo, I managed to muster enough of my Italian (and the polite subjunctive phrase "se fosse possibile..." learned from Carla) to request that the rector allow Nathan and I onto the altar to photograph a medieval mosaic of Alexander the Great. Win! We climbed the belltower afterward, and enjoyed the spectacular view over the ocean. I spent a pleasant half-hour reading Il Gattopardo on the stone benches on the wall that lines the public park, which stretches for a mile or so down the coastal side of the city.
Our very last site visit was Castel del Monte, an odd, unfinished octagonal fortress crowning one of the tallest hills in the region, which may have belonged to Frederick II, a famous medieval ruler. The interior was nothing special, but outside, the view over the surrounding countryside was magnificent. I sat in the grass for a while, soaking up the fairly weak sun that day, and there was a brief period, maybe just 5 minutes, when there was...silence. No sounds of voices, no crunching gravel, no breeze, just near-total quiet and the incredible view. It was a Wordsworth-ian moment, broken shortly thereafter by the two teenagers who were desporting themselves on the hillside not far away.
It was a great experience. The strength of the light in the south, the great beauty of the countryside--so different from what I've seen in Lazio, in Tuscany, and in the Veneto...I look forward to going back. Carla and I might go to Matera, in fact, in honor of her birthday when both us get back in January. No caves, though. Absolutely no caves.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
We're Not in Kansas Anymore...
This morning I went to the Vatican library with Marilyn to acquire my reader card. "Byzantine" is the way everyone had described the process, and they weren't far off. I realized, first of all, that I've never really been "inside" Vatican City. I've been inside the museum, which is technically inside the city, but I've never just walked around the streets of the city proper. To do that, you pass through the gates and their Swiss guards, and hand over your passport or carta d'identita' at the checkpoint. You've literally entered another sovereign nation at this point. They will hold onto your document until you exit.
The modern-day library is a three-story wing that bisects the huge Belvedere courtyard, designed by Bramante to connect the papal palace with the Belvedere palace. Looking up at our surroundings was the first time I really had the sensation of "holy crap, I'm doing this..." We go and present our badges (mine is still a visitor's badge) to be scanned by the guard. Then we knock at the Secretariat, so that I can be interviewed and my documents reviewed, before I'm permitted to fill out an application and get a card. I brought some truly awful photo-booth photos with me, which the guy openly laughed at (I look like a confused raccoon); they took their own digital photo, which he pronounced as much better. Since I'm a doctoral student, they gave me twenty entrances to start with, which I can renew if needed.
Next stop: drop off all your belongings. Swipe the tessera (card) in the locker room, and a locker pops open for you automatically. Then back out to the lobby: swipe to go up the stairs. Reach the main reading room, where you scan your card again, and sign your name next to your locker number. Once you've found your desk, you go back and write your desk number next to your name. And that's just to get in. You repeat the whole process in reverse when you want to leave--and if you haven't been scanned-out upstairs, the automatic gate downstairs won't let you leave. This is some Fort-Knox-level shit right here. This explains why people who are using the Vatican apparently often work right through lunch--it's a pain even to go out and use the little cafe in the courtyard.
I also enjoy this gem, from the Rules for Readers:
Readers must wear attire appropriate to the dignity of an ancient institution of culture and study
The modern-day library is a three-story wing that bisects the huge Belvedere courtyard, designed by Bramante to connect the papal palace with the Belvedere palace. Looking up at our surroundings was the first time I really had the sensation of "holy crap, I'm doing this..." We go and present our badges (mine is still a visitor's badge) to be scanned by the guard. Then we knock at the Secretariat, so that I can be interviewed and my documents reviewed, before I'm permitted to fill out an application and get a card. I brought some truly awful photo-booth photos with me, which the guy openly laughed at (I look like a confused raccoon); they took their own digital photo, which he pronounced as much better. Since I'm a doctoral student, they gave me twenty entrances to start with, which I can renew if needed.
Next stop: drop off all your belongings. Swipe the tessera (card) in the locker room, and a locker pops open for you automatically. Then back out to the lobby: swipe to go up the stairs. Reach the main reading room, where you scan your card again, and sign your name next to your locker number. Once you've found your desk, you go back and write your desk number next to your name. And that's just to get in. You repeat the whole process in reverse when you want to leave--and if you haven't been scanned-out upstairs, the automatic gate downstairs won't let you leave. This is some Fort-Knox-level shit right here. This explains why people who are using the Vatican apparently often work right through lunch--it's a pain even to go out and use the little cafe in the courtyard.
I also enjoy this gem, from the Rules for Readers:
Readers must wear attire appropriate to the dignity of an ancient institution of culture and study
Thursday, October 09, 2014
Lost Week
This morning, like the last several mornings, I've woken up and thought blearily, "I should really drink less." Flash forward twelve hours, people are handing me prosecco or a waiter is ready to pour some red wine, and, well, that resolution goes right out the window. Everyone here is feeling it, except I suppose people who were already heavy drinkers, or the two second-year fellows, who assured us that "you totally get used to it!" Even aside from regular dinners, there are so many events. Example: Tuesday night Amy decided to throw herself a 59th birthday party, with 30 bottles of prosecco and a dozen bottles of wine. There were no leftovers. Last night there was an art opening here--more wine and prosecco! I think I've lost my taste for prosecco entirely after being here a month. But I still love wine.
So not that much has really been accomplished this week. On Sunday we had a guided tour of my favorite spot in Rome, the non-Catholic cemetery, since one of AAR's advisors also sits on their advisory commitee. Afterward I walked to the Baths of Caracalla, which I've never visited. Walking there took a lot more out of me than I was expecting, since I was still getting over whatever ailment I had from last week. Only the hulking skeleton of the structure stands today, with a few fragments of mosaic pavements on display here and there, but its scale is so incredible! Coming to Rome is a good way to feel small.
Yesterday Claire and I went to Palazzo Farnese for our tour appointment. This is the palace of Pope Paul III, under construction when Titian was in Rome. It was cool to go inside, but it's the French embassy, so no pictures, no moving away from the tour, and, worst of all, the Carracci gallery? Closed for restoration until June 2015! Bah and humbug.
Afterward, we went to a fabric store, where we fondled Versace and Dolce & Gabbana silk fabric. There were a couple of really beautiful ones, including a print of Greek ruins from Sicily overlaid with brightly flowering tree branches. We were there because I had mentioned buying some fabric to decorate my office. Now, Claire clearly comes from money, and she has a lovely, '50s-inflected wardrobe, much of which has been custom-made. Thus, she thought nothing strange about these fabrics costing 75 euro per yard (a dress would probably require 3 yards, and the dress-making easily another 200 euro!) I raised my eyebrows at that, and she shrugged and said that she never puts a budget on her wardrobe. Mmmm. We are from verrrrry different worlds. Thrift store, anyone?
So not that much has really been accomplished this week. On Sunday we had a guided tour of my favorite spot in Rome, the non-Catholic cemetery, since one of AAR's advisors also sits on their advisory commitee. Afterward I walked to the Baths of Caracalla, which I've never visited. Walking there took a lot more out of me than I was expecting, since I was still getting over whatever ailment I had from last week. Only the hulking skeleton of the structure stands today, with a few fragments of mosaic pavements on display here and there, but its scale is so incredible! Coming to Rome is a good way to feel small.
Yesterday Claire and I went to Palazzo Farnese for our tour appointment. This is the palace of Pope Paul III, under construction when Titian was in Rome. It was cool to go inside, but it's the French embassy, so no pictures, no moving away from the tour, and, worst of all, the Carracci gallery? Closed for restoration until June 2015! Bah and humbug.
Afterward, we went to a fabric store, where we fondled Versace and Dolce & Gabbana silk fabric. There were a couple of really beautiful ones, including a print of Greek ruins from Sicily overlaid with brightly flowering tree branches. We were there because I had mentioned buying some fabric to decorate my office. Now, Claire clearly comes from money, and she has a lovely, '50s-inflected wardrobe, much of which has been custom-made. Thus, she thought nothing strange about these fabrics costing 75 euro per yard (a dress would probably require 3 yards, and the dress-making easily another 200 euro!) I raised my eyebrows at that, and she shrugged and said that she never puts a budget on her wardrobe. Mmmm. We are from verrrrry different worlds. Thrift store, anyone?
Thursday, October 02, 2014
Post-Birthday
Well, one of my birthday presents was a cough and a sore throat, so today is a non-real-clothes-wearing day. I'm wearing yoga pants and a tank top, but I suppose I'll add a scarf for our last Italian class (Italians have a deathly fear of catching cold via the neck area).
This has been another action-packed week. Monday I went with about eight other fellows to Villa Medici, seat of one of the two French academies in the city. This is a 16th-century villa with absolutely incredible visual command over the city; just sitting in the lecture room, I was looking out a window straight toward St. Peter's. We may be higher in topographic terms, but their placement is enviable.
The morning session was effectively three hours of the heads of all of the foreign academies in Rome exchanging hot air on how to unite their institutions more closely (maybe we should have a cultural week? but who will pay? what about a website? but who will design it? etc, etc). It was boring in terms of content but great in terms of practicing comprehension, since the language of the day was Italian and not French. In fact, the French had gone to the great effort of providing simultaneous translation headsets, but, as I discovered when I tried to use it for the couple of folks who spoke only French, the English translation sucked. This explains why the number of AAR fellows still present had been whittled down to me and Denise by the time the session was over!
Unfortunately, it was really their loss, since it was lunch and the afternoon sessions that really gave us the chance to get to know people from the other academies. Well, really I met people from the French academy and the Dutch academy, as well as very briefly some guys from the German academy. It was interesting to learn how different the structure is at each institution. For example, the fellows at Villa Medici don't eat meals together, except for the monthly dinner with their director; Villa Medici also hosts mostly artists and writers, along with the lone art historian, Francesca, while other scholars go to the Ecole Francaise down in the center of the city. You only need to be francophone to win a fellowship, too, as I learned when Josephine ran up to us, excited to meet other Americans! It turned out that she teaches at Yale and also knows one of our artists, Amy, who was her old teacher. (On Tuesday night, Josephine came to dinner at AAR, along with an all-too-friendly former fellow from the French academy, an Israeli photographer named Assaf. He was really not at all subtle about hitting on me, to the great amusement of Amy in particular; it was less amusing when she told me the next day that she's pretty sure he has a wife and kid in France. Gross).
During the afternoon breakout, the art historians met with Claudio Strinati, who also happens to be one of the AAR advisors. I knew he was old, and I was expecting someone grave and unsmiling, but he turned out to be charming and self-deprecating, and we had a good time with him. Then Francesca and Eleonora, two of the French fellows, walked us out to Ferdinand de Medici's studio out on the grounds, which was frescoed with an incredible panoply of birds and other creatures.
Yesterday morning was our trip to the Foro Italico, once called Foro Mussolini, the Fascist sports complex in northern Rome. Fascists, like Nazis, were obsessed with physical vitality among their youth, and this was designed to be a training center no less in ideology than in sports. We saw some huge mural paintings of truly bad quality in the upper meeting room, and visited Mussolini's private gym. Outside we checked out the Stadio ai Marmi, still in use as a running track (with a couple of Italians randomly flinging a baseball back and forth in the center). In the adjacent piazza there are mosaics with Fascist slogans (molti nemici, molto onore) and, repeated over and over, "DUCE A NOI": Il Duce, to us! A nearby slab contained the text of a proclamation of the beginning of the Italian empire, after the African conquests in 1937. At the end of the piazza, an obelisk with MUSSOLINI DUX and the fasces. What made all this so incredible is not only that it's all still here, but that it's all right in front of the soccer stadium built for the 1960 Olympic. Thousands of people walk by that obelisk and over these mosaics every weekend to cheer on Lazio and AC Roma. It's an incredible testament to the ways in which Italy has simply chosen to ignore its Fascist past, rather than deal with it.
This has been another action-packed week. Monday I went with about eight other fellows to Villa Medici, seat of one of the two French academies in the city. This is a 16th-century villa with absolutely incredible visual command over the city; just sitting in the lecture room, I was looking out a window straight toward St. Peter's. We may be higher in topographic terms, but their placement is enviable.
The morning session was effectively three hours of the heads of all of the foreign academies in Rome exchanging hot air on how to unite their institutions more closely (maybe we should have a cultural week? but who will pay? what about a website? but who will design it? etc, etc). It was boring in terms of content but great in terms of practicing comprehension, since the language of the day was Italian and not French. In fact, the French had gone to the great effort of providing simultaneous translation headsets, but, as I discovered when I tried to use it for the couple of folks who spoke only French, the English translation sucked. This explains why the number of AAR fellows still present had been whittled down to me and Denise by the time the session was over!
Unfortunately, it was really their loss, since it was lunch and the afternoon sessions that really gave us the chance to get to know people from the other academies. Well, really I met people from the French academy and the Dutch academy, as well as very briefly some guys from the German academy. It was interesting to learn how different the structure is at each institution. For example, the fellows at Villa Medici don't eat meals together, except for the monthly dinner with their director; Villa Medici also hosts mostly artists and writers, along with the lone art historian, Francesca, while other scholars go to the Ecole Francaise down in the center of the city. You only need to be francophone to win a fellowship, too, as I learned when Josephine ran up to us, excited to meet other Americans! It turned out that she teaches at Yale and also knows one of our artists, Amy, who was her old teacher. (On Tuesday night, Josephine came to dinner at AAR, along with an all-too-friendly former fellow from the French academy, an Israeli photographer named Assaf. He was really not at all subtle about hitting on me, to the great amusement of Amy in particular; it was less amusing when she told me the next day that she's pretty sure he has a wife and kid in France. Gross).
During the afternoon breakout, the art historians met with Claudio Strinati, who also happens to be one of the AAR advisors. I knew he was old, and I was expecting someone grave and unsmiling, but he turned out to be charming and self-deprecating, and we had a good time with him. Then Francesca and Eleonora, two of the French fellows, walked us out to Ferdinand de Medici's studio out on the grounds, which was frescoed with an incredible panoply of birds and other creatures.
Yesterday morning was our trip to the Foro Italico, once called Foro Mussolini, the Fascist sports complex in northern Rome. Fascists, like Nazis, were obsessed with physical vitality among their youth, and this was designed to be a training center no less in ideology than in sports. We saw some huge mural paintings of truly bad quality in the upper meeting room, and visited Mussolini's private gym. Outside we checked out the Stadio ai Marmi, still in use as a running track (with a couple of Italians randomly flinging a baseball back and forth in the center). In the adjacent piazza there are mosaics with Fascist slogans (molti nemici, molto onore) and, repeated over and over, "DUCE A NOI": Il Duce, to us! A nearby slab contained the text of a proclamation of the beginning of the Italian empire, after the African conquests in 1937. At the end of the piazza, an obelisk with MUSSOLINI DUX and the fasces. What made all this so incredible is not only that it's all still here, but that it's all right in front of the soccer stadium built for the 1960 Olympic. Thousands of people walk by that obelisk and over these mosaics every weekend to cheer on Lazio and AC Roma. It's an incredible testament to the ways in which Italy has simply chosen to ignore its Fascist past, rather than deal with it.