Rome
Russell and I have taken a journey around Europe. Today we are in Barcelona and yesterday we were in Rome. We are both extremely exhausted from this journey but the sights have been amazing to say the least.
Rome was not my cup of tea. Perhaps it was because we had only two days to tour the entire city and there was just so much to engulf. The capital of Italy was ravished by historical monuments and by tourists from the four corners of the world. Again, just as it was in Venice, gargantuan palaces, piazzas and tableux of gods and mortal sins aligned every wall and pillar. Sculptures of lions and gargoyles rested claws on the precipice of belled towers and turrets that announced their spendour and incomprehensibility to all except historians of the old civilisation. As awed as we were to the mighty city of the Roman empire, we were also suffocated by its grandeur.
It was around 7pm when we were travelling to the Spanish Steps. Tourists and locals walked with religious zeal and commitment to another antiquated monument. For the first time in my life, I felt insignificant. From an aerial view, we were nothing more than a massive clutter of bodiless heads; we were floating debris along the canal of cobbled stones. As the ageless, parapet of steps loomed closer, the debris of heads materialised like small automatons onto grey, cracked stairs. Teenagers ambulated into a tiny corner to avoid the updraft of winter wind, grandmothers and grandfathers resigned to the cries of swollen feet and just sat, while the committed tourists - such as ourselves - drove upward until the we could see the veins of the city tangled with tourists infected with nostalgic fever.
Bright lights from street lamps to oppulent designer boutiques faught against the sleepy, encumbering night. A force of adrenaline washed over every person and forced even the disabled to hobble onward; always onward through the heady madness of Rome. Blistered ankles and toes bled through the Via Del Corso, which silently and indignantly supported the signposts of Salvatore Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and Giorgio Armani. Small coffee shops and restaurants snuggled into the cornerstones of ancient buildings, always ready to make space for commercialism. Then you would see, in small alleyways, tourists taking a break and watching the slow migration of the masses with a cappucino in hand. While satiating parched throats and comforting sore legs, these tourists were detached and watched with humour at the herd of faceless and mindless folks.
We went back to (presumably) one of the most famous cafes in the world that opened just around the corner of the also most famous monument called The Pantheon. Symbolically, I ended the journey of Rome with a cafe de la creme. We sat along one of the countless arteries of the Roman city and I tasted an exceptionally expensive 6 Euro drink that Russell bought. That one coffee had so much flavour condensed into a cup, one simply had to swallow it in a gulp.
Rome was not my cup of tea. Perhaps it was because we had only two days to tour the entire city and there was just so much to engulf. The capital of Italy was ravished by historical monuments and by tourists from the four corners of the world. Again, just as it was in Venice, gargantuan palaces, piazzas and tableux of gods and mortal sins aligned every wall and pillar. Sculptures of lions and gargoyles rested claws on the precipice of belled towers and turrets that announced their spendour and incomprehensibility to all except historians of the old civilisation. As awed as we were to the mighty city of the Roman empire, we were also suffocated by its grandeur.
It was around 7pm when we were travelling to the Spanish Steps. Tourists and locals walked with religious zeal and commitment to another antiquated monument. For the first time in my life, I felt insignificant. From an aerial view, we were nothing more than a massive clutter of bodiless heads; we were floating debris along the canal of cobbled stones. As the ageless, parapet of steps loomed closer, the debris of heads materialised like small automatons onto grey, cracked stairs. Teenagers ambulated into a tiny corner to avoid the updraft of winter wind, grandmothers and grandfathers resigned to the cries of swollen feet and just sat, while the committed tourists - such as ourselves - drove upward until the we could see the veins of the city tangled with tourists infected with nostalgic fever.
Bright lights from street lamps to oppulent designer boutiques faught against the sleepy, encumbering night. A force of adrenaline washed over every person and forced even the disabled to hobble onward; always onward through the heady madness of Rome. Blistered ankles and toes bled through the Via Del Corso, which silently and indignantly supported the signposts of Salvatore Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and Giorgio Armani. Small coffee shops and restaurants snuggled into the cornerstones of ancient buildings, always ready to make space for commercialism. Then you would see, in small alleyways, tourists taking a break and watching the slow migration of the masses with a cappucino in hand. While satiating parched throats and comforting sore legs, these tourists were detached and watched with humour at the herd of faceless and mindless folks.
We went back to (presumably) one of the most famous cafes in the world that opened just around the corner of the also most famous monument called The Pantheon. Symbolically, I ended the journey of Rome with a cafe de la creme. We sat along one of the countless arteries of the Roman city and I tasted an exceptionally expensive 6 Euro drink that Russell bought. That one coffee had so much flavour condensed into a cup, one simply had to swallow it in a gulp.
posted by Insouciantfemme at 1:17 am
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