Infine

After hours of studying, stress, and a session of retail therapy that yielded a marvelous pair of Nero Giardini brown leather boots, midterm week is over! I had Archaeology of Egypt on Tuesday, and Archaeology of Rome, The Collapse of the Roman Republic, and Mythology today. It was a tiring week, but none of them were especially brutal. The Arts of Antiquity exam that was scheduled for tomorrow was postponed until after break. I am thankful for the breath of fresh air and a night of cleaning and getting the house in order before the fall break.

I will be traveling around Italy for the next week. Definitely Milan, I am not sure where else. Pictures will follow.

Una Festa del Cioccolato

Chocolate rocks my world.

Thanks to the Italian Culture Club, a bus of AUR students was able to go to the EuroChoc Festival in Perugia. I have never seen so much chocolate in my life.

After taking the ChocoTrain into Perugia, we climbed the hill up to a picturesque town with a view that looked like it was torn from the pages of a fairytale. Despite the crisp air that had already turned the leaves to shades of amber and red, we spent the day eating, dancing, and walking, the smell of melted chocolate consuming us all the while.

Part of the festival was within a castle, the other portion lined the main street. The vats of hot chocolate were filled with flavors ranging from milk chocolate, to amaretto, to orange, to dark chocolate. The only description that seems even comparable is that given in the Polar Express. It was like melted candy bars, but still thin enough to constitute hot chocolate. The juxtaposition of its warmth with the bite of the air was enough to send shivers up my spine. A marching band danced up and down the street with a wake of followers intoxicated by the ubiquitous creamy delights.

The chocolate on display was transformed into countless mediums. There was chocolate shaped as gardening tools, books, pills (still not sure if it was a joke or real), fruits, etc. There were chocolate covered fruits, nuts, and candies. The chocolate had been shipped from Venezuala, Equador, Switzerland, Italy, and over 20 other nations.

So with bags in hand and chocolate in my stomach, I got back on the Chocotrain and returned to Rome.

Click the picture link below for more photos.

Le Colline della Toscana

I have climbed the hills of Tuscany in flip-flops. Really.

What began as a search for a wine tasting in Tuscany turned into both the longest and most rewarding day of my time in Italy (pictures). But first things first...

I began my Tuscan tour in Florence with one of my best friends from high school, Ned. He is there for the semester and loving it, as well he should. It is much smaller than Rome, and easier to do on foot.

After two months of new faces, languages, and experiences, it was so nice to get to feel at home, even if it was for one day. He met me at the train station with a big hug and smile and led me through his new city to his monstrous apartment. He told me that they rarely use buses there, as the city is so accessible by foot. It is far quieter and cleaner than Rome and has its own charm. The little alleyways blend together with the buildings forming courtyard and passages. His apartment (which is across from Pitti Palace) looks over one such courtyard across which he and his friends talk to other students living in the complex (to the dismay of the Italian residents).

The entrance to the apartment was a stucco, arched hallway that was dimly lit by floor lights. There are eight boys living together in 3 or 4 rooms. Many of them were gone for their fall break by the time I arrived, but the ones I met were great guys. I got the tour of the apartment before we went out for Apertivo. This is an amazing phenomenon: you buy one drink at a bar and you are welcome to all of the food they put out. So for 9 euro, we enjoyed seafood pasta, a scrumptious tomato puree, prochiutto, cheese, bread, and excellent conversation including stories from home and abroad.

We then hit the streets. He led me down the Ponte Vecchio, which is the oldest bridge in the city that was the only bridge spared in WWII. It is now home to all of the gold stores. It literally shines in the evening. I have never seen that much gold in my life. Also along the street is the Vasari's elevated corridor, the tunnel used by the Medici family to get from the Pitti Palace to the Uffizi. Those Medicis were something else. (As Ned's professor told him, "ciao ciao, Medici, ciao ciao!")

We walked along L'Arno and checked out the massive structure that is Il Duomo. We also looked at the gold doors across from Santa Maria del Fiore. One of the Medici's held a competition for the design of the door panels. The architect who lost went on to design Il Duomo. Not too shabby.

We then saw Piazza della Signoria and Bartolomeo Ammanati's Fountain of Neptune that is fed by a still functional Roman aqueduct. This was followed by a stroll by the Bargello in the art district. We ended our night with Ned's friends at a bar and went to sleep so that he could get some rest before heading to Amsterdam for his fall break in the morning.

Early the next morning, I enjoyed a cappuccino and a chat with cafe owners who thought I was Italian (the hugest complement as far as I am concerned. Mostly because it means I didn't butcher their language too badly.) I then met my roommate, Ali, and began our adventure.

Our goal: Find a vineyard, do a wine tasting, and ship wine to her family. We had researched vineyards and found one that we could get to from Florence. It sounded reasonable enough....

Step 1: Buy a ticket at a Florence Tabacchi store and get lost trying to find the bus station that is around the corner, but tucked under a building and thus, difficult to find. We must have asked 4 people.

Step 2: Take said bus to Poggibonsi. Get off

Step 3: (Or so we thought) Follow directions that tell you to cross the street and wait for the next bus. Wrong.

What we found out after waiting for an hour (thinking there was only one bus per hour), is that you actually have to walk across the street, over a bridge, through a tunnel, down a hill and to a bus station. THEN get on the bus to Siena.

Step 4: Get off at San Gimignano and walk up the hill. (It was here that we took a lunch break and enjoyed Stortellata, a regional food that looks like a casserole, but is lasagna noodles, spinach, and ricotta. YUM.) Go up the hill to the town center, cross the garden, and start walking down the path next to the police station.

Step 5: Do not freak out when the pavement ends, the path keeps going, and you become engulfed by vineyards. Keep walking.

and walking.

and walking.

We walked for an hour up a Tuscan hill before finding one of the vineyards on our list. We were laughed at by three groups of workers on the way up. I guess they are not used to seeing two college girls with bags, flip-flops, and a whole lot of determination climbing up their hill. When we reached the vineyard, they told us that they could not do a tasting with us that day and that we should just climb back up on Monday. Well, that would be just lovely if we weren't leaving that night and if we had una macchina to take us back up the hill. But as we had neither the time, nor the resources to return, we continued our ascent.

After the next half mile, it all paid off.

We were met by a worker, who brought out his boss, the co-owner of the company (the main owner being his wife). Sergio was both the cutest and most kind man we have met. He smiled as he showed us the process of compressing the grapes, filtering the white wine, allowing it to sit in barrels and bottling it. He explained the importance of temperature in making wine. The barn is temperature controlled, especially as the days get cooler.

He then led us in to the tasting room that looked like a family-style table with a hutch of glasses. Between his broken English, and my broken Italian, we had a great conversation about school, his life and career, and the process of making both wine and olive oil. He even answered some of our questions about social tendencies, and the clarity of what we say.

He told us that it takes four years to even grow enough grapes for a round of wine; it takes eight years to begin to make olive oil. He and his wife had been running the business for forty years. He and his wife, Maria Elisabetta Fagiuoli, distribute their Montenidoli wine throughout the world, however, as a smaller company, 40% of their sales are within Italy.

The three of us sat at the large wooden table (presumably hand made) and tasted a rosé, three whites, and a red as the sun set over the hills.

He showed us his house that dates back to the 12th century and smiled as we took pictures from his roof. They were even kind enough to offer us a ride down the hill. This greatly accelerated our trip home, as it would have taken twice as long to get down in the dark with three cases of wine. He took a picture with us and smiled, telling us that we were strong girls, not in the physical sense, but within.

He didn't charge us for the tasting and told us that he doesn't advertise the vineyard along the path, as he doesn't want a lot of tourists to find them. He said, "If you want to come, you will find us. We will be here." And that is exactly what we had done.

La Bella Barcelona (Pt.2)

I apologize for both the lateness and brevity of this entry. Just a quick overview of my time in the Barc.

For my first excursion outside of Italy, I chose Barcelona. It had been far too long since I had seen Alison (my roommate from school who is studying there), and it was time for a change of food, culture, and scenery.

Thanks to Ryan Air which was cheap, quick, and efficient (from what I hear, you either hit it just right or not at all) and delivered me on time and in one piece. I arrived at Alison's large and lovely apartment just in time to get ready for a night of friends and fun. It was great to catch up and share our adventures.

The next day we headed for the Gaudi exhibit/property/park. It is an amazing area that was originally designed as a residential area for the wealthy. The concept never really took off, but Gaudi, himself lived there and his residence is now a museum. The poor fellow was hit by a tram. What a way to go. To make matters worse, because of the common way he was dressed, no one knew who he was and, thus, he was taken to a poorer hospital. By the time his friends realized where he was, he wasn't doing too well, and refused to move to a hospital where he could get better care. He said "I belong here among the poor." His work is all over the city of Barcelona.

So after poking around, admiring the tile mosaics, church, landscape, and most of all the tunnels (they were featured in America's Next Top Model during the scary bride photo shoot), we moved on to our next stop: tapas!

What a novel concept. For those of us who are indecisive, they are ideal. We ordered ten of the little buggers between the three of us. They are basically bite-size appetizer-esque finger food. They range from grilled vegetables, to spicy potatoes, to fried food, to strange and delicious combinations of just about anything you can imagine. By the time we thought to take a picture, we had scarfed down half of them.

After tapas, we wandered around the Catalunya plaza area (apparently the whole city used to be Catalunya and Catalonians are still a little bitter about it) and enjoyed watching the science that is fake purse selling. They display them on sheets just like in New York, however, they travel in groups with strings that they hold on to and can quickly tug to hide their display when police are sighted. And when those police come closer, those men can run like the wind. We also meandered down La Rambla, the main strip of vendors, spray painted posers, and (oddly enough) pet stores. We also stopped in the HUGE fresh market that had everything from fruits to fresh juices, sea food, cheese, live chickens, etc.

We then headed to the beach next to Port Olympic. The city got a major face lift for the 1992 summer Olympics. Some of the structures are incredible. We frolicked in the waves before heading for dinner and hitting a club. Their nights don't even start until 1. We left home at 1:30 am and returned between 5 and 6:00 am. This was an early night. Let's just say, the Romans pack it in a little earlier and I was exhausted. But a great time was had by all and the male gogo dancer in white leather was a sight to behold.
Tips for Future Travelers:


If you are flying Ryan Air, you are NOT going to Barcelona (as they advertise), you are going to Gerona. From there you need to take the "Barcelona Bus" into the city. It is about an hour ride and is 21 euro round trip.

Watch your purse like a hawk. Consider all sketchy characters to be pickpockets. Double check your bag often. Also, when eating, keep it on your lap, not at your feet, not slung on the chair.

Try tapas. They will rock your world. If you are afraid they won't fill you, go buy something else down the street when you are done. Or just order a ton. They are only 1-2 euro each.

Go clubbing just for the experience. The ages ranged from 18-45, so don't be shy. Dress up and have fun!

Check out at least one Gaudi building/exhibit while you are there.

They will sell you hash at the beach or on the street. Respectfully decline.

I'm not kidding about the tapas. Get them.

La Bella Barcelona (pt. 1)

Click here for pictures from my short, but wonderful weekend in Barcelona!

Post to follow.

Terraglie Dappertutto

Employees of and researchers at the American Academy of Archaeology, have it pretty good. Their gated research center is, essentially, a villa that has been converted into labs and offices. Upon entering the gates, you meet a gurgling fountain in which daylillies lazily float. Behind this are stairs up to the atrium of the estate. Inside, the walls of the peristyle host traveling exhibitions of antiquities. The villa also has a sprawling lawn and garden in the back that is bound by part of the original walls of Rome, fitting, no?

We were taken to the pottery lab to explore the post-excavation work that is done on sherds found around Rome. There we met with an expert who explained the fabrics of pottery from various regions and told us that the post excavation work takes almost ten times as long as the fieldwork for most digs.

He said that one of the main ways pots are dated is by comparing newly found sherds to those found on known sites of military camps (they generally have a specific date range). Sites like Pompeii and Herculaneum are also helpful for obvious reasons. Comparative dating, if you will.

Apparently, certain amphora styles would become popular for one or two centuries at a time. This time period is long enough to allow major distribution of the amphorae. It is, however difficult to create a timeline of these phases, as only one area of the pot would have been stamped (if that).

The abundance of pottery remains in Rome (and anywhere for that matter) is due to their enduring nature; they can not be melted down and reused like glass or metal, and they do not decay like wood, or linen. Therefore, they are here for the duration.

To record their finds, archaeologists empty a bin that was taken from the field (it is generally categorized by square) and separate the pieces into amphorae vs decorative pieces or tableware. They then further separate the amphorae pieces by the part of the jug they represent, i.e. shoulder, rim, etc. Those are then separated by fabric. Then comes the bagging and labeling before the professional pawns off the data entry to his students. The students count, weigh, and enter the data of the bags, learning various fabrics as they go.

While the majority of the trip was devoted to pottery, I did learn that the lab we visited was originally a restaurant on the Gianicolo. During the depression, restaurants stopped serving food, and people would bring their own, only buying wine. If you look carefully at the picture above, you may be able to make out the word "VINO" on the front. This is when sitting fees began.

News flash, the depression is over, lets stop charging an additional 3 - 5 euro per person.

Decisioni, Decisioni

Here is the dilemma of the day:

The Pompeii trip was rescheduled for next Saturday, however I was also invited to join the Italian Culture Club for the Perugia Chocolate Festival on that very day.

Ancient remains, or sugary, soul-touching deliciousness?

The e Ovid

To reach the place where the air is fresh and sweet, James Taylor goes up on the roof, I go out on the balcony. At night the stars, they put on a show for free, and the clarity of it has only become more beautiful as the air makes its yearly transition from summer sauna to fall crisp. As with any transition, my adapting to Rome has been a gradual one; I started as an outsider, viewing the city with awe before retreating to the great indoors. Now, however, I don my sweatshirt and pajama pants while idly twirling spaghetti as I take in my surroundings as home, rather than a foreign entity. Instead of viewing my balcony as a plank over the ominous ocean that is Rome, I now see it as a grotto of sorts, protected from the rain by the apartment above, but open enough to feel the breeze and take in the passing world from my plastic deck furniture.

I settled in this afternoon with tea and Ovid and, while reading his, I experienced my own metamorphoses. As he used a fusion of Greek and Roman mythology as a vehicle for his own political and social expression, I realized that my time here is a fusion of my own origins with this new Roman world. This will hopefully result in a somewhat new identity comprised of past experiences and fresh insight for the future. My time here is about so much more than the classes, the separation, the new faces; it is about a reevaluation and perhaps reestablishment of self. This is not to say that being abroad is a time for abandonment or rejection of the past, but rather an opportunity to stand at the cusp of something new and make a conscious decision about what comes next.

This is our second chance. Do we go home to the same people, majors, and activities, or do we have different needs that have grown from our time alone?

As the warmth of home fades away and the sometimes cold clarity of the next season stares us in the face, we get to choose what will comfort us during what comes next. It is the fall, a season of transition, the time for the literal fall, the errors and mistakes. We walk out without a sweater thinking it will be warmer than it actually is, we put on a jacket only to have to peel it off when we step outside. So as I sit abroad from both my Roman and U.S. homes, my spaghetti now cooled, I wonder how I and the people in my life will emerge from this time of change.

La Mia Casa

Click here for pictures of our apartment.

We are the first students to live in our apartment, and apparently Gianicolense (our street) or Gianicoolense as we call it, is very good neighborhood. The open air market is probably the best part of the deal, it has the best fresh selection of cheese, meat, and produce, and is only a few blocks away. We are in a really homey area where people walk their kids to school and old ladies fill the streets in the morning as they buy the fresh makings of that day's dinner.

Our furnishings are Ikea to the max. Most of it is really well done and more than we could have asked for in an apartment abroad, especially our living and dining room. That being said, we still chuckle at the color schemes of our bedrooms. Mine is a pre-teen - grandma fusion of bright green, red, blue, and yellow sheets with cream-colored, floral walls. Funky, but home.

The best parts of the apartment are the windows and their thin, linen curtains that move with the wind that slips through the cream wrought-iron gates. It is stunning in the morning when you pad down the hall with cold marble under your feet to find the warm sun is pouring through the window.

Walking home at night, you can look up to see the warm glow of the lights against the golden sand wallpaper of our living room. Laughter, music, and the aroma of cooking chicken and boiling pasta drift from the kitchen, flowing through the arches that connect our common areas and greeting you at the door. We have a fairly large dining room table, but why spread out when you can all squeeze around the wooden kitchen table, postponing homework for just a little longer?

After dinner, we reluctantly retreat to our laptops to play with Facebook, instant messenger, or email before actually starting the homework grind. (This is the stage in which I am currently taking part.) As the hours pass, each of us yawns and heads to bed, rolling down our wooden panels for both security and airflow before tuning out the sounds of the tram making its last trips up and down the street, returning its riders home safely before it, too, retires for the day.



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On an entirely different note, if you are in need of a smile or a good laugh, please watch this (Thriller), this (Rico Mambo), or any other dance by them. They are Filipino prisoners who like to groove.

Frascati e il Nuovo Pompeii

It was still dark when we tiptoed down our dark stairs and out the door to catch the bus to Pompeii that was leaving at 7:00 am sharp. We loaded onto the bus, watched a movie, stopped for a leg-stretching break, and were told that Pompeii just wasn't going to happen. There had been an accident on the autostrada and it would be closed for the rest of the day. Our only option was to go around, a feat that would take six hours, by which time the site would be closed.

As I had a thesis paper to research on-site and others had never gotten to see the city, it was a huge disappointment to hear that it would be rescheduled for a weekend on which any number of us may have other commitments. But as it was no one's fault, we readjusted and agreed to an alternative day trip.

The buildings we saw yesterday were not covered by dust and ash, were not cement or brick structures, and did not hold pieces of the past. Rather, they were painted in bright pastel colors and held clothes, shoes, and bags. We were taken for a short trip to an outlet an hour outside Rome. It was no Freeport or Clinton, but it was cool to see the Italian equivalent of our factory outlets.

The outlets also happened to be next to a circus. That circus happened to have an elephant outside grazing. That elephant happened to make my day by walking close enough to let me pet it. It was all so random, but it put me in a great mood. (Elephants are probably my favorite animals in the world.)

We then headed to Frascati, a town in the province of Rome. It is small, but famous for its wine, porchetta, and cookies of women with three breasts. We wound through the hilly streets, ending at the edge of a hill overlooking Rome. It was a fantastic view that was topped off by a short wine tasting courtesy of the American University of Rome.

In order to truly make the most of our time there, we tried porchetta, which is similar to a kebab. Every day, they roast an entire pig and put it in a glass case, where they shave it and put the pieces between two layers of bread that is crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside...blissful.

Finally, we turned our attention to the three-boobed wonders. Legend has it she is the Goddess of Plenty and that two are for milk, one is for honey (another story has the third for wine because of the regions reputation for great wine). Be warned, however, these cookie women may have more upstairs than most of us will ever have, but they do not want to be broken. I surrendered after it took 15 minutes to eat her feet. So with only pork in our tummies, we returned home, having had a day that was slightly less than we bargained for, but a good experience nonetheless.

We'll try Pompeii another day.

Circa i Musei Vaticani

Tips for future Vatican Museum visitors:

1. Mentally prepare for a lot of people moving through fairly small hallways.

2. The line will be long, either do it the honest way and wait it out, or gently merge into it halfway down. It may be illegal, but when you are crunched for time, it gets the job done.

3. That being said, don't get caught doing anything illegal, there is security everywhere and though there outfits are nice (they have these great floppy hats and knee-highs), they are not. They will scowl at you if you so much as stare at a piece for too long.

4. The line may be shorter on Wednesday when the pope comes out to wave in St. Peter's square.

5. Observe their dress code: shoulders must be covered, open-toe sandals are discouraged, and skirts must fall below the knees. Imagine a Catholic school dress code.

6. Use their website for a list of exhibits. Identify what you want to see so that your time and 12 euro are used well.

7. If you are a student, remember your ID and something with your birthday on it - the Vatican bouncers don't give discounts to just anyone.

8. To get to the museums, there are several bus options including 23, 49, 492, 982, 19, 32, 81, 116, 34, and 98. As well as Metro line A. The best way to find the route for you is to get directions online.

9. Use a guidebook in the museum as the dates given in some of the exhibits are not accurate.

10. Be patient and enjoy the beauty and antiquity of all that you see.

Tanto Necropoli, Ma Meno Tempo

Our good friend Terence (Roman playwright) tells us to have, "Moderation in all things." My syllabi forced me to stray from this valuable rule on Friday, leaving me at the Vatican Museums for six hours. Both Archaeology of Rome and Archaeology of Egypt planned a trip for the same day. Don't misunderstand me, everything that I saw was incredible, the sheer antiquity of it all was enough to humble a skeptical visitor, it was just a long, long day.

It took me over an hour of following a priest on the bus route to get to the general area of the Vatican. It's not that it is difficult to get to, just a bit of a process when you add rush hour traffic and a 9:00 am arrival time. When we finally approached the walls, I think my collar-wearing friend was getting nervous that the somewhat frantic looking girl behind him was going to ask for a baptism or other such procedure right there on the bus. While it turned out that no blessing was needed, he did finally understand that I was trying to get to the museums and pointed me in the right direction, not that the massive line that wrapped around the building hadn't already given it away. There had to have been at least 200 people in line already.

Thankfully, we only needed to see the Necropoli (tombs, "city of the dead") underneath the museum, an exhibit for which there is no line, mostly because a lot of people have no idea they are there.

After being led over, under, through, and around the Museum campus, we were led to a metal door next to a parking garage. As fate would have it, the Necropoli that we would see were only found because of the construction of this garage.

We began with the Necropolis of the Autoparco, an area that was excavated in the late fifties with tombs that date back to the time of Augustus and stop right before the time of Constantine. Although it is a Pagan cemetery, it is kept at the Vatican for its importance as a step in the process of developing Rome's Christian identity.

The Necropolis was made of monument-like structures, as the Romans didn't have a solid idea of the afterlife. They believed that you become a shadow in the underworld and join the family Manes (deceased that greet the future dead). Because they believed that the only way to live on after death is in the memory of the people still on earth, a great deal of money was devoted to a good funeral; many even reflected money that a family didn't have. People spent their life savings in order to be remembered. The brick structures were originally open, a tradition that allowed family members to visit their dead relatives and bring them wine, food, and other goods as part of any number of yearly festivals. There were also columbaria or "dove holes" in which pots of ashes were placed, and mosaic floors depicting various gods and heroes.

Romans who could not afford luxurious monuments paid an agency yearly to be guaranteed a good place for later on. We even saw community tombs in which several, poorer people were placed together, and amphorae that were used for ashes. Those who could not afford to be cremated were put in baskets and, thus, lost to us as they have since decomposed.

The walls of the exhibit were lined with tomb markers, many of which had large holes at the bottom through which they would put a tree trunk or other such long structure to hold the tomb in place. This particular area had been on a slope and showed evidence of mudslides. Those Romans didn't miss a beat; their headstones were secure and ready for the ages.

We then moved on to the Necropolis of the Via Triumphalis (or Santa Rosa), a much more recent site. Excavations began in 2003 and the exhibit opened three years later. Just west of Via Triumphalis, Santa Rosa is split into two phases. Phase 1 of the area dates back to Augustus and shows evidence of incineration, lower social classes, and damage caused by mudslides of the mid 2nd century AD. The second phase dates to the 3rd century and shows inhumation and wealthier tombs. Thanks to the mudslides, it is a "Pompeii situation" in which skeletons were better preserved.

We could see amphorae and clay tubes or pipes sticking out of the ground. These were openings that let people give the deceased food and wine. It was even customary to bring a party to the cemetery so that the deceased were included. The pipes were also used as tear deposits. Relatives would collect their tears in vials and pour them into the pipes.

We were fortunate enough to run into Giandomenico Spinola, the archaeologist who ran the excavation. He mentioned in passing that the sarcophagi that were included in the display had been the ticket to completing the excavation. Although truly pagan, their symbols were interpreted as showing signs of early Christianity so that the Vatican would devote more money to the dig. Sneaky, but wise, as it turned out that among those buried in the graveyard were employees of Nero and a designer of Pompey's theater. One of the biggest achievements of the site was its aide in the development of the middle class. Until this time, most of the bodies found were either clearly affluent, or poor. All of these discoveries would not have been made, had there not been a small white lie involved.

Thanks to the intrigue of whatever the guard was reading, we were allowed to stay for almost an hour, a record, as apparently tours are usually kicked out when the guard tires of babysitting. This concluded part one of my day.

After taking a breather in St.Peter's square, I met with my Archaeology of Egypt class to begin part two of my tour.

Despite the Vatican's wealth, it still costs between 8-12 euro to enter the museums. Multiply that by the hundreds of people I mentioned that were standing in line (which we somewhat cut for the sake of time. Shame on us.), and there is a good deal of cash flowing through the museums. Funny then, that they were not able to pay someone to properly date the Egyptian exhibit. Yes, that is correct, the dates are wrong, and the millions of people that tour the museum each year are misinformed. Only now are they in the process of revisiting the vast exhibit to try to straighten out the debacle. Perhaps a few less waves and a little more attention to detail would do the pope some good.

We began with Roman copies of the lions at Karnak and Luxor; the originals of which were five times bigger than their Vatican comrades. The hieroglyphs carved into them are sloppy replicas of the original inscriptions. Lions were thought to be protectors of a Necropolis and were often found at the entrances. In keeping with this theme of protection, the headdresses of Pharaohs were imitations of the lion. We noticed however, that one of the lions was missing its noses. This was a method of ruining the image of the pharaoh or statue.

We then moved on to the collection of funerary styli, big plaques of stone (limestone or marble) that were used to commemorate the accomplishments of the pharaoh. On them we find the military successes, symbols of soul protection, monument erections, and praise to the pharaoh’s favored god. They also allow us to examine the development of the images of the various gods throughout the transitions from the Old, to Middle, to New Kingdoms.

Also on display are several mummies. Thanks to dehydration, their skin is stuck to their bones and has preserved their shape; we can still see nails, hair, and teeth. As the ritual of mummification is too long to fully describe here, essentially it consisted of the reading of the Book of the Dead while the organs were removed, examined, and placed in canopic jars. The body was wrapped in linen, nets were placed over the body with small beetles to protect the soul, and the body was then placed in a series of three or four boxes and finally a Sarcophagus, in which several images of protector gods and symbols were painted.

We then turned our attention to sacred animals such as the baboon (associated with Thoth, god of scribes who records where your soul goes after death), lion (protector of the necropolis), cobra (protector of the pharaoh), bull (associated with Apris and Hathor), and cat (sacred cats of Bastet), as well as various gods and goddesses. I apologize for the lack of detail in this section. This is the point at which I was close to a meltdown. Did I mention that there is no air conditioning, it was 80 + degrees outside, and we were attempting to squeeze 35 people into the space of a sidewalk square?

And so, overloaded with antiquities, and still in awe of the treasure trove that is the Vatican Museum, I headed back to campus for Caesar, Cicero, and the Collapse of the Roman Empire, and Mythology.

Museum tips to follow.

Terapia al Minuto

If loving Italian leather is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Our evening walk and gelato run turned into a session of retail therapy at Piazza di Spagna, and the doctor was in. While I had to pout away from the Armani boots that, at 500 euro, would have prevented me from traveling and eating for the rest of the semester (and probably my college career, for that matter), I did find one piece of leather to call my own.

I thought the salesman was going to cry when I asked if the bag was made in Italy. He choked back his anger and surprise long enough to explain that it was, in fact, as real as it gets.

So with the emotions of the week and the shopping endorphins pumping through me, I made her my own.

I have been ridiculed all night for:
1. apparently stroking my bag on the bus on the way home
2. taking pictures of her to put on my blog
3. planning my outfit around her
4. talking to her as I type
(I maintain that numbers 1 and 4 never happened.)

I am not usually one for gaining happiness from material objects, but let's just say she (my espresso, "Vertigo" Nicoli) is sitting next to me right now, and I am smiling.

La Montagna di Un Uomo è Il Libro di Storia di Un Altro Uomo

Crafted, marked, traded, shattered. Such is the fate of the potsherds that comprise Monte Testaccio. It is a mountain in its own right, but it is unlike any other in the world. The ground crunches beneath your feet as you climb, but instead of looking down to see rocks or twigs, you see pieces of amphorae - thousands, millions of pieces. Sometimes a handle, sometimes a neck, sometimes a shoulder - all broken, all ignored by its passersby.

Thanks to the professional connections of my Archaeology of Rome professors, I was lucky enough to see this mountain, meet the team (that just finished their excavations yesterday), and appreciate it for what it is - what its sherds once were. For the last 18 years, a team from the University of Barcelona has spent two weeks of each year digging on-site, and the other fifty weeks learning from, cataloging, recording, and analyzing their chipped discoveries. So what is the big deal? Who cares about some broken pottery?

The potsherds that are Monte Testaccio are the remnants of olive oil amphorae, dating back to Hadriatic times (their most recent discovery). Each pot had five markings as follows:
1. Weight of the empty pot (30 kg)
2. Trader's name
3. Weight of the oil in the pot (70 kg)
4. Confirmation of the weight by the custom's office and name of district
5. Name of the consul at the time (date)

The pots that have been discovered and studied reconstruct the history of Roman economy and trade. Because they held olive oil, which apparently made the amphorae smell after use, they were destroyed and added to the pile of sherds. They have found that the mountain is made of terraces of sherds by year, however, time, bull fights held in the middle ages on the hill, cannon tests on the hill, and other such factors have done quite some damage.

It used to be open to the public as it has a great view of the former Roma Football Club field from the top. While watching matches, it was customary for people to throw the potsherds at the players when they were dissatisfied. I don't know where throwing the pieces fits in, but since the 1700's it has been illegal to remove potsherds from the site. The offense was punishable by jail time. It is now preserved as an archaeological site and is closed to the public.

It is a curious phenomenon that we, as humans, can create a mountain out of the pieces of jugs that we make, only to break them, and then return to it years later to put them back together again, and be frustrated by our inability to find perfect puzzle pieces. We need the amphora, so we make it. It is the size we want, it carries what we need, but then the day comes when its just too big, or has carried too much - we can't discard it whole, it takes up too much space, someone else may come and claim it as their own - we have to shatter it. Add it to the pile, make room for the next mess we make.

The second part of our exploration was a trip to the Horrea dig on Via Galvani where they are doing rescue excavations. They uncovered two Roman storehouses, an agricultural garden area, and a medieval street paved with potsherds. The excavation began in 2005 and will come to an end this Friday; the digs only last as long as developers will fund them. Archaeologists try to salvage what they can, photograph the structures they find, and focus on key questions about the site rather than finding everything that is there.

A noteworthy thing about the site was that it is being redeveloped into a market. While I would say that history is neither linear nor a complete circle, I would say it has a funny way of looping around to repeat itself as it progresses forward. Once a warehouse, now a market, ah continuity of use.

Just as a temple (found on-site) was covered in concrete before being incorporated into the foundation of the ancient warehouse above it, what has been found in the last two years will soon be incorporated into the foundation of the new market. We dig down to it, see it, and repeat the process all over again. This is not to say that we should never cover up the past - we have to move on, buildings have to be constructed, or there would be no modern Rome. It is just to say that is a crazy dance we do with the past. There is a fine line between wanting to know more, and having that knowledge of the past prevent us from moving forward.