The days keep going by and I keep thinking that I will post, but then I either run out of time or out of energy.  I have a few moments now so I will post some reflections, along with some photos.

We have been very busy since I last wrote.  Last Thursday, we went to see some Imperial sites, all the ancient stuff that one thinks of when one thinks of Rome.  We started at the school and walked through the Jewish Ghetto, which runs up on some ruins (in fact, many of the buildings there—and all over Rome, really—are constructed of pieces of this and pieces of that:  It is not unusual, especially in this area, to see a building put together from ancient ruins, with a medieval tower and Renaissance structures as well, with of course modern conveniences like glass windows or an awning over a balcony.  Or a roof.

We went then to the Campidoglio, or the top of the Capitoline Hill, where the Capitoline Museums are, set alongside a piazza designed by Michelangelo.  Our first stop was in Santa Maria in Aracoeli (St. Mary of the Altar of Heaven), which was the first church I went inside this whole trip.  And what a church it is!  Legend has it that this is where the Tiburtine Sibyl prophesied the coming of Christ, so it is a pretty important ecclesiastical site, but because of its situation on the Capitoline Hill there’s a lot of temporal importance attached to it as well.  From a small courtyard outside of the church you can see vast views of Rome. 

Every once in a while, in moments like that, it hits me that I am actually here.  There is so much wrapped up in all of this because it is my last quarter as an undergrad, and I’m trying to figure out how I want to move forward with further grad work.  I’ve worked hard to get to this point, and I want to be sure to enjoy it as much as possible.  But it is also a lot of hard work being here.  The professors I have are . . . well, demanding is not the right word, but they do not want this to be a tour.  It is a rigorous academic program.  We do a lot of reading, a lot of discussing, a lot of close looking, a lot of thinking.  It is the perfect thing for being as in love with art history as I am.  But it is also mentally and physically exhausting. 

Anyway, we went on to look at the Forum, and on to Trajan’s Column and the Arch of Constantine.  It was a long day, and after nearly six hours of walking we were finally back at the apartment.  Fortunately that was our last day of class for the week, so I could rest.  I’m having particular trouble with my feet on this trip.  My back is still going pretty strong, which is surprising to me considering all the troubles I’ve had with it over the last few years.  But I’m more than a little worried about my feet.  My miracle foot lotion only does so much; mainly I just have to do my best to rest them whenever I can.  This is not always possible at the sites we go to; there’s not always somewhere to sit.  I am trying to find the balance between being worried about my own self and doing what’s good for the group; no matter how much trouble I’m having, I can’t exactly ask twenty-five people to move away from a piece of art that we’re discussing just so I can sit down.  This became a problem today, because we went to three churches and there was absolutely no sitting; it ended up being four hours of walking, standing up on a bus, and standing at the sites.  I wouldn’t trade having seen these sites for anything, but by the end of the last one my feet were hurting so badly that I felt like I might yell; when the class ended I limped to the nearest pew in the church we were in, sat down, and got a little emotional.  The combination of hurting that much and being in this amazing basilica with early Renaissance frescoes and 12^th century mosaics just made the tears spill over for a second.  Embarrassing, to say the least. 

I think I need to find some new shoes; the ones I brought are not serving me that well.  Maybe that will help. 

Ugh, I’m so sorry to complain.  I must sound like the world’s biggest ingrate.  I don't mean to.  Even with everything going on, with how crazy and wonderful and intimidating and invigorating and confusing this city is, underneath it all I feel like I’m doing what I was born to do.  To look at all of this and to make connections I’m being taught how to make.  To stand up for myself by showing up every day, being as present as I possibly can, to stay focused and be good at this. 

This last weekend was an interesting one because of Easter.  In fact, the whole first week here was different, probably, than any other week to arrive in Rome because it was Holy Week.  As such things were just a little bit out of the ordinary, a different kind of tourist, and maybe more of them.  On Sunday morning I woke up and it was raining outside, and after a bit of thinking I decided not to go with my flatmates over to St. Peter’s to watch the Pope’s Benediction.  Even though I knew it would be quite the cultural experience, I also  knew it would be physically miserable, and I’m not really a big fan of large crowds.  So, I stayed home, caught up on my reading, drank five shots of espresso made in our little Bialetti stovetop coffee maker, shaved my legs, and put my feet up.   (Shaving my legs doesn’t sound like it should be such a feat, but our shower situation is less than ideal here.  My bathroom, for instance, does not have a shower curtain; it is a “Turkish-style bath” which I guess means just that it is all tiled and you just hope it dries rather quickly.  Mainly what that means here, with no real air flow to speak of, is a dank bathroom that more often smells of mildew and mold than is strictly pleasant.  Shaving my legs in that shower means that the water would go everywhere, and I just don’t have the heart to horn in on the other bathroom during the week, when it’s being shared by so many other people who all have to be somewhere by 9 o’clock.  So, you know, shave the legs on the weekend, and don’t wear dresses by Friday, I guess, right?)

We were warned to do all our shopping by Saturday because nothing would be open on Sunday or Monday.  Today, Monday, is Pasquetta, which I think means “little Easter.”  Basically it’s a state holiday where no one goes to work and just enjoys the long spring weekend.  There were a ton of people out today.  Sadly, it rained yesterday and some of today, unusual pouring rain that didn’t stop in the short time people duck under awnings to wait it out.  That didn’t stop people at all. 

A side note:  Apparently Pasquetta doesn’t stop people from ripping you off, as my friends Lori and Connie and I learned when we went to this charming little restaurant called L’Arcano.   We were walking around, having gotten out of class late, and we were famished.  We saw this beautiful restaurant, and the menu on display outside didn’t seem too pricy.  We went in to sit, and the waiter suggested some antipasti of bruschetta.  We assented, and he sort of mumbled something about “bruschetta, a little meat, a little cheese.”  A few minutes later, this enormous platter of bruschetta, prosciutto, and mozzarella comes out.  It was delicious.  We then had some pasta (cacio e pepe:  pasta with only a little cheese and pepper) and split a quarter-litre of house white.  I thought we were being frugal.  It was a beautiful meal.  But then the check came.  € 95.  NINETY FIVE EUROS.  For lunch for three people.  Turns out, those innocuous antipasti cost €45.  The other parts of the meal were quite frugal indeed, but it turns out that the antipasti was charged per person, even though it all came on one platter.  I later confirmed this practice with a flatmate who’s traveled extensively in Italy, who said that’s usually how it was done.  Essentially, she said, they were within their rights to charge us that way, but he was sneaky about doing it.  It’s too bad, too, because I would have returned to the restaurant, and probably brought my six flatmates with me.  So a word to the wise, don’t accept offers of antipasti before looking at the menu, confirming the price, and finding out the total price of it.  Live and learn. 

I didn’t tell you about today’s churches!  Today, we visited Santa Maria Sopra Minerva (which is built on an ancient temple dedicated to Minerva, hence the sopra [“above” or “on”] part).   This church is only about two blocks from our apartment and features Bernini’s sculpture of the baby elephant with an looted Egyptian obelisk on his back.  We mainly looked at the Carafa Chapel there, but I will go back soon to just spend time in the church and look in all the nooks and crannies.  Then we took a bus down past the Coliseum to visit San Clemente, where there is a Masolino chapel that is in a sort of International Gothic/Renaissance mixed style.  It was unexpectedly closed, but would open at noon, so we decided to kill time by heading just up the hill to the fortress church of the Basilica dei Santi Quatri Coronati (Church of the Four Crowned Saints).  The original building was converted to a church in 499.  After a fire, it was rebuilt in the 11^th century in rather combative times (hence the fortifications).  It later became an orphanage run by Augustinian nuns and still houses an Augustinian convent.  It also houses a small oratory with extremely well-preserved 13^th century frescoes that tell the story of Constantine giving over temporal power to San Silvestro (pope from 314-335) after Silvestro cured Constantine of leprosy by baptizing him. 

We went into the basilica, which is under construction/restoration, and a few of us noticed a small door to the left, with a sign inviting us to ring a bell to visit the cloister there.  A nun answered the door and smiled at us, inviting us in.  As I stepped over the wooden threshold, I saw in the perfectly manicured cloister garden a rosebush bearing a single red rose in full bloom.  Of course there is a lot of significance that goes with cloistering, enclosed gardens, and rosebushes (think virginity, virginity, and virginity, appropriate for a convent).  It was quite a touching sight; I’ve seen it represented in dozens of Renaissance paintings, but to see it here in this beautiful cloister, where the nuns still live the symbolism of it, was so representative of Rome for me – a place where every day people go to work and they walk by ruins that are thousands of years old, where the art that I’m studying is twice as old as my home country, and it’s just around the corner from me, across from Pantheon Internet and what is becoming my favorite gelateria.  This is why I guess I feel like I’m doing what I was born to do, because I never could imagine loving to study anything else as much as I love this.

I’m not sure how often I’ll write, because as I mentioned before, the schedule is quite rigorous and I’m trying to keep up.   Maybe shorter entries might be easier, because I want to be sure to share everything.  I miss everyone back home a lot, and I’m still a little homesick, and I’m worried about my feet, but for the most part I’m having a fantastic time. 

A presto.