Rome is a city long famous for spectacle and tradition, and I've written before about both religious festivals and secular parades (my last post was about an event both religious and spectacular!), but I would now like to introduce you to a celebration that has only recently been revived here in Rome: The Girandola.
I should mention that today, June 29th, is the Feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, one of the largest and most important Catholic feast days in Rome, but that the Girandola (though always held on the eve of this day) actually commemorates another religious event: the appearance of the Archangel Michael above what was at the time known as the Mausoleum of Hadrian, and is now more commonly called the Castel Sant'Angelo. In fact, the renaming of the building was thanks to this vision of the 'Holy Angel', who appeared in the sky over the Castel sheathing his sword, thus ending the plague of AD 590. While the appearance (and the end of the plague!) were widely celebrated in the 6th century, the Girandola came into existence in the 15th century, under the pontificate of Sixtus IV (you may know him better as the Pope who built the eponymous Sistine Chapel). Expanded and enhanced under his nephew, Pope Julius II, the spectacle continued to be celebrated annually until the 18th century, when it was slowly abandoned. Three years ago, however, the Roman city government decided that this was one tradition that should have its own renaissance.
So by now, you may be asking, 'What exactly IS the Girandola?' Well, girandola means 'turning' in Italian, but what they're referring to is the turning of hundreds of pyrotechnic devices. That's right- the Girandola is Rome's largest fireworks show. And as if that weren't enough, the show they still put on was designed by Michelangelo himself, with later additions by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. During the actual Renaissance, it took almost 200 men to 'turn' the fireworks and launch them into the sky, but now it takes a team of 15 professional pyrotechnicians, who (in addition to years of work in the field of fireworks shows) study Michelangelo's original designs, plans, and flourishes for the show for 2 months prior to the performance of the Girandola.
The resulting spectacle is therefore not only a profusion of loud and sparkling lights in the Roman sky, but a solid link to Renaissance Rome, and one of the greatest periods of art and culture in the Eternal City. When you are taking your direction from two of the greatest artists ever to grace this city with their geniuses (not JUST Michelangelo, but Bernini too!), it is hard to go wrong, and my friends and I watched the show in a crowd of hundreds, lining the bridges and embankments along the Tiber. Here is a video taken from the riverbank just south of the Castel Sant'Angelo. If you speak or understand Italian, have a laugh at the filmmakers, who politely applaud the beauty of the fireworks ('Che bello!') and then quickly express dismay at the pause before the next set of them ('eh, brutta')...
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Pentecost at Pantheon
Rome is a city overflowing with beautiful and unique things, but even in Rome, some things happen only once a year. Yesterday, I got to see one of those things.
I should preface all of this by saying that the Pantheon is possibly my favorite building in Rome. Not only is its design a testament to the skill (far surpassing our own modern abilities, in my humble opinion!) of Roman architects and engineers, but the dome alone has inspired countless thousands of visitors to gaze up in amazement, wondering at the massive oculus in the center. This 'eye' is a perfectly circular hole, nearly 30 feet in diameter, in the center of the dome, where the keystone would normally be placed. While I can tell you all day long that this reduces the weight of the dome, and lets in light, nothing can really convey the sense of awe I get from looking up through that oculus.
Yesterday, however, was Pentecost (the feast day in the Christan calendar that celebrates the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus' disciples after the Resurrection, causing them to speak in tongues), and in addition to being such a remarkable ancient building, the Pantheon is also a Catholic church: St. Mary and All the Martyrs. So, there was a mass yesterday morning in the Pantheon, featuring a choir (which nicely demonstrated the superior acoustics of the perfectly round dome, as well). However, the highlight of the day came at the end of the mass, when the Rome Fire Department sent men up to the roof of the Pantheon to throw down thousands of red rose petals through the oculus. The falling petals were meant to remind us all of the descent of the Holy Spirit, and certainly the mood inside the building was joyous!
What the video doesn't show is what happened after those guards let us into the center of the building: dozens of people, of all ages, scooping up armfuls of rose petals and throwing them at one another!
I should preface all of this by saying that the Pantheon is possibly my favorite building in Rome. Not only is its design a testament to the skill (far surpassing our own modern abilities, in my humble opinion!) of Roman architects and engineers, but the dome alone has inspired countless thousands of visitors to gaze up in amazement, wondering at the massive oculus in the center. This 'eye' is a perfectly circular hole, nearly 30 feet in diameter, in the center of the dome, where the keystone would normally be placed. While I can tell you all day long that this reduces the weight of the dome, and lets in light, nothing can really convey the sense of awe I get from looking up through that oculus.
Yesterday, however, was Pentecost (the feast day in the Christan calendar that celebrates the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus' disciples after the Resurrection, causing them to speak in tongues), and in addition to being such a remarkable ancient building, the Pantheon is also a Catholic church: St. Mary and All the Martyrs. So, there was a mass yesterday morning in the Pantheon, featuring a choir (which nicely demonstrated the superior acoustics of the perfectly round dome, as well). However, the highlight of the day came at the end of the mass, when the Rome Fire Department sent men up to the roof of the Pantheon to throw down thousands of red rose petals through the oculus. The falling petals were meant to remind us all of the descent of the Holy Spirit, and certainly the mood inside the building was joyous!
What the video doesn't show is what happened after those guards let us into the center of the building: dozens of people, of all ages, scooping up armfuls of rose petals and throwing them at one another!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Natale di Roma
This week, Rome officially celebrates her birthday, with 2,763 years ad urbe condita. If those last three words mean nothing to you, grab a copy of Livy and start brushing up on the last two and more millennia of Roman history. As a tour guide, I finally get to make use of the many years of study I put into learning all about the Eternal City and its (ancient) language, but rarely do I have the chance to see history ACTUALLY come alive before my eyes. Return readers will know of my secret love for the gladiator/centurions outside the Colosseum, but the pleasure I receive from seeing them at work pales beside the spine-tingling euphoria I got this morning.
Having been pretty sick with the flu these last few days, I showed up to work at the Colosseum this morning not exactly bright eyed or bushy tailed. Nonetheless, a cup of (heavily milked-down) coffee and a really fantastic group of tourists turned my morning into a fairly pleasant experience. It looked like this morning might be ruined, however, when my explanation of the Forum was interrupted by what sounded like a man yelling nonsense Italian over the 'Gladiator' soundtrack. This continued on, and eventually my group and I tried to discern what, exactly, had this man so excited. It was difficult to pick out, since the music was pretty loud and the sound was reverberating off of all the ruins, so all I could make out was that the man kept shouting "Roma! Viva Roma!" over and over again. Knowing that Wednesday (the 21st) is Rome's birthday, I guessed that the Romans were starting the celebrations a few days early.
As it turns out, boy was I right. The modern Romans, in homage to their illustrious ancestors, were marching in what I should probably call a parade, but which I would like to deem a 'triumph' in the Ancient Roman sense of the word. Here is a video of a part of it (listen for the man shouting 'ROMA!' over and over again in the background):
There were entire legions of Roman soldiers, groups of Senators, Vestal Virgins, dancing girls, Gallic slaves, Etruscans, Cleopatra with an Egyptian retinue, a variety of Emperors (I saw both Nero and Hadrian, and everyone booed at Nero), and even a cohort of gods and goddesses. The man with the microphone announced them all, and the triumph moved down the Via Fori Imperiali, around the Colosseum, and ended in the Circus Maximus, where the soldiers and gladiators spent the rest of the day having battles and demonstrating Roman military tactics.
As a long time fan of the Romans, and an ex-pat in love with the Eternal City, it struck me that these modern Romans take great pride and care in the preservation of ancient traditions. The fact that these people in costume were recognizable to the people watching the parade (enough for them to hiss at Cleopatra and cheer the legions by name) is both impressive and uplifting for a nerd like me. 21st century Italians seem to have mostly abandoned the organization and manliness of the ancient Romans, and I often ask myself what happened between antiquity and the modern day (especially when riding the bus, or, heaven help me, visiting the post office). It is comforting, therefore, that for one day (or really, one week of festivities) in April every year, the modern city of Rome celebrates its magnificent past on a personal level.
Having been pretty sick with the flu these last few days, I showed up to work at the Colosseum this morning not exactly bright eyed or bushy tailed. Nonetheless, a cup of (heavily milked-down) coffee and a really fantastic group of tourists turned my morning into a fairly pleasant experience. It looked like this morning might be ruined, however, when my explanation of the Forum was interrupted by what sounded like a man yelling nonsense Italian over the 'Gladiator' soundtrack. This continued on, and eventually my group and I tried to discern what, exactly, had this man so excited. It was difficult to pick out, since the music was pretty loud and the sound was reverberating off of all the ruins, so all I could make out was that the man kept shouting "Roma! Viva Roma!" over and over again. Knowing that Wednesday (the 21st) is Rome's birthday, I guessed that the Romans were starting the celebrations a few days early.
As it turns out, boy was I right. The modern Romans, in homage to their illustrious ancestors, were marching in what I should probably call a parade, but which I would like to deem a 'triumph' in the Ancient Roman sense of the word. Here is a video of a part of it (listen for the man shouting 'ROMA!' over and over again in the background):
There were entire legions of Roman soldiers, groups of Senators, Vestal Virgins, dancing girls, Gallic slaves, Etruscans, Cleopatra with an Egyptian retinue, a variety of Emperors (I saw both Nero and Hadrian, and everyone booed at Nero), and even a cohort of gods and goddesses. The man with the microphone announced them all, and the triumph moved down the Via Fori Imperiali, around the Colosseum, and ended in the Circus Maximus, where the soldiers and gladiators spent the rest of the day having battles and demonstrating Roman military tactics.
As a long time fan of the Romans, and an ex-pat in love with the Eternal City, it struck me that these modern Romans take great pride and care in the preservation of ancient traditions. The fact that these people in costume were recognizable to the people watching the parade (enough for them to hiss at Cleopatra and cheer the legions by name) is both impressive and uplifting for a nerd like me. 21st century Italians seem to have mostly abandoned the organization and manliness of the ancient Romans, and I often ask myself what happened between antiquity and the modern day (especially when riding the bus, or, heaven help me, visiting the post office). It is comforting, therefore, that for one day (or really, one week of festivities) in April every year, the modern city of Rome celebrates its magnificent past on a personal level.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Gladiators At Work
One of the (fantastically) kitschy things about Rome is the way that certain modern Romans choose to remember their ancient counterparts. These memories take many different forms; one of my favorites is the long-standing March 15th tradition of putting flowers and horrible poetry on the altar in the Forum where Julius Caesar's body was cremated. Something about the ancient Romans sends the modern Romans into histrionics- they can't really like Julius Caesar that much, can they? I mean, he was assassinated by half the Senate, and 23 stab wounds (22 more than were needed to kill him) were considered just punishment for his behavior. Nonetheless, every year his altar is covered in flowers, both real and plastic, and the bad poetry keeps flowing.
My favorite homage to the ancient Romans, however, is the small contingent of men (and at least 2 women) who dress as centurions, emperors, and gladiators and stand outside the Colosseum harassing tourists for money. I've never been exactly clear on how approaching women with a wooden sword and yelling 'I killah your husband!' is a sound career choice, but something about them is unusually charming. The men themselves are often brusque and look absolutely nothing like someone who fights for a living, but each person who passes them finds something to like. For me, it is the strange pleasure of watching these men in full ancient costume do things the ancient Romans never would have done, like smoke cigarettes or talk on cell phones. This is fairly regular behavior for the gladiators, but every once in a while they make my day by going above and beyond atypical ancient behavior. Today, it was this:

Yes, the centurions take the bus! I guess this is what happens when your chariot is in the shop... This man hopped on the bus as I was hopping off it, and struck up a conversation with the other man in the picture, thus accomplishing two of my favorite things to observe at once: gladiators doing modern things, and people having absolutely absurd conversations on the bus/in public without acknowledging how bizarre they look or sound.
My favorite homage to the ancient Romans, however, is the small contingent of men (and at least 2 women) who dress as centurions, emperors, and gladiators and stand outside the Colosseum harassing tourists for money. I've never been exactly clear on how approaching women with a wooden sword and yelling 'I killah your husband!' is a sound career choice, but something about them is unusually charming. The men themselves are often brusque and look absolutely nothing like someone who fights for a living, but each person who passes them finds something to like. For me, it is the strange pleasure of watching these men in full ancient costume do things the ancient Romans never would have done, like smoke cigarettes or talk on cell phones. This is fairly regular behavior for the gladiators, but every once in a while they make my day by going above and beyond atypical ancient behavior. Today, it was this:
Yes, the centurions take the bus! I guess this is what happens when your chariot is in the shop... This man hopped on the bus as I was hopping off it, and struck up a conversation with the other man in the picture, thus accomplishing two of my favorite things to observe at once: gladiators doing modern things, and people having absolutely absurd conversations on the bus/in public without acknowledging how bizarre they look or sound.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
ATTACK!
Many apartment dwellers are plagued by unwanted (non-human) visitors. Roaches, rodents, the dreaded cockamouse- all terrifyingly ugly creatures whose main purpose seems to be popping out of impossibly tiny spaces at the most inopportune moments. Now, I've seen Roman rats in the street, fleeing into gutters and drainpipes, and I have not really enjoyed it, but at least I've always felt safe in the knowledge that I could go back to my clean house and not worry about it.
Now, however, I find that what I thought was a one-time event, a fluke, is in fact a recurrent plague in my beautiful home. Last year, a scorpion appeared in my bathroom. This unpleasant surprise was promptly crushed by the flip flop of death, wielded by my very brave friend and house guest (she had been invited, unlike the scorpion). I took to bleaching the entire bathroom once a week after that. And my bleach plan seemed to be working- I saw neither claw nor stinger for the rest of the year.
Unfortunately, it seems that something has gone terribly wrong. Either my absence has caused the scorpion community of Rome to return to its old haunts, or while I was away they developed a resistance to/love of bleach! Yes, indeed, this evening, a scorpion was once again seen on the hallowed tiles of my bathroom. Not as shocked as I was the first time this happened, I put on my wellies and grabbed the heaviest shoe in the house, and sallied forth into the shower to do battle with the tiny monster. It wasn't much of a battle; I am sure the scorpion didn't survive the first blow I dealt, but I made sure to hit it a few times, just to be sure. This one was much smaller than the one last year, so I washed it down the drain in the shower. And just for good measure, followed it down with some bleach.
Now, however, I find that what I thought was a one-time event, a fluke, is in fact a recurrent plague in my beautiful home. Last year, a scorpion appeared in my bathroom. This unpleasant surprise was promptly crushed by the flip flop of death, wielded by my very brave friend and house guest (she had been invited, unlike the scorpion). I took to bleaching the entire bathroom once a week after that. And my bleach plan seemed to be working- I saw neither claw nor stinger for the rest of the year.
Unfortunately, it seems that something has gone terribly wrong. Either my absence has caused the scorpion community of Rome to return to its old haunts, or while I was away they developed a resistance to/love of bleach! Yes, indeed, this evening, a scorpion was once again seen on the hallowed tiles of my bathroom. Not as shocked as I was the first time this happened, I put on my wellies and grabbed the heaviest shoe in the house, and sallied forth into the shower to do battle with the tiny monster. It wasn't much of a battle; I am sure the scorpion didn't survive the first blow I dealt, but I made sure to hit it a few times, just to be sure. This one was much smaller than the one last year, so I washed it down the drain in the shower. And just for good measure, followed it down with some bleach.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Ain't Nothin' but a Cane...
Last night I decided to abandon my usual plans of eating a huge plate of pasta and falling asleep reading to go out with some friends. We went to Scholar's, one of my favorite places since my earliest days in Rome, where you can usually have a drink AND a conversation.
No such luck last night, however, because the owner had invited a band to play (very VERY loud) live music. Although Scholar's is an Irish bar, this particular band had no affiliation with the Emerald Isle. In fact, I am amazed that such a group even exists. As you may have guessed from the title of this post, the talent was nothing less than an Italian Elvis impersonator. Il Elvis, as I will call him from now on, spoke not a word of English, and between songs attempted to engage the predominantly American crowd by shouting rapid Italian into the microphone. His band were equally excitable; the drummer in particular kept breaking into random solos. Thus, we were treated to a very upbeat version of "Love Me Tender" with lyrics that I am fairly sure Il Elvis improvised.
All plans of conversation went out the window as we watched Il Elvis shake his hips across the tiny stage, dressed in full costume. It was white, had huge lapels, and was covered in rhinestones. He might have pulled it off, except it was a bit too large for poor Il Elvis, who was also a bit balder than il Re del Rock. There was a continuous slide show playing behind the band, showing pictures of the King, and pictures of Il Elvis at Graceland. Though the whole setup was ridiculous, I had to admire his dedication, and after a while, even I had to sing along...
No such luck last night, however, because the owner had invited a band to play (very VERY loud) live music. Although Scholar's is an Irish bar, this particular band had no affiliation with the Emerald Isle. In fact, I am amazed that such a group even exists. As you may have guessed from the title of this post, the talent was nothing less than an Italian Elvis impersonator. Il Elvis, as I will call him from now on, spoke not a word of English, and between songs attempted to engage the predominantly American crowd by shouting rapid Italian into the microphone. His band were equally excitable; the drummer in particular kept breaking into random solos. Thus, we were treated to a very upbeat version of "Love Me Tender" with lyrics that I am fairly sure Il Elvis improvised.
All plans of conversation went out the window as we watched Il Elvis shake his hips across the tiny stage, dressed in full costume. It was white, had huge lapels, and was covered in rhinestones. He might have pulled it off, except it was a bit too large for poor Il Elvis, who was also a bit balder than il Re del Rock. There was a continuous slide show playing behind the band, showing pictures of the King, and pictures of Il Elvis at Graceland. Though the whole setup was ridiculous, I had to admire his dedication, and after a while, even I had to sing along...
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
And OH, the people you'll meet...
Getting back to work has been a positive experience, overall. After 3 or more months of sitting and eating, I am back to walking and talking, which certainly sounds healthier. One of the things I have always loved about being a guide is meeting people, for better or worse. Sometimes, the clients think you are the funniest, smartest person they have ever met, sometimes they think a room full of maps is the Sistine Chapel (and this after 30 minutes of looking a pictures of the Sistine Chapel). Either way, I get a huge kick out of it.
I have been fortunate, since I've been back, to have excellent clients; no one has asked me if Jesus ever said mass in the Vatican, everyone has laughed at my nerdy jokes about Latin. As if this were not enough of a blessing, yesterday I was pulled aside TWICE in the Sistine Chapel by people who were not on my tour. This is actually a very good thing. The first person who came up was a priest, who not only complimented my tour, but subsequently asked me to be part of what I am going to call a secret society of tour guides. Without snobbishly dropping any names, one of the people in this group is someone I have actually SEEN on the History Channel. I was beyond excited by this prospect, and only hope I have the wherewithal to last through 'initiation' (read: an email exchange).
Nonetheless, I was approached immediately afterward by the only people in the Chapel who could have topped the feeling of elation the Secret Society of Guides (SSG? Maybe I should give it some Greek letters...): a family with a Roman last name to top (most) all Roman names. The paterfamilias simply walked up to me and said, "Hi, my name is Tiberius." It was all I could do not to respond in Latin, and ask if his mother was called Livia. If his wife had actually been called Julia, I am not sure what I would have done. In any case, I discovered after a few minutes that Tiberius was his surname, and that he was third generation American, the rest of his ancestors having been true Romans. At least in the modern sense. We spent a few minutes chatting, and I agreed to take the Tiberii on a tour of Ancient Rome, if for no other reason that to be able to put "worked for Tiberius and family in Ancient Rome" on my resume.
As if I didn't enjoy Roman history enough...
I have been fortunate, since I've been back, to have excellent clients; no one has asked me if Jesus ever said mass in the Vatican, everyone has laughed at my nerdy jokes about Latin. As if this were not enough of a blessing, yesterday I was pulled aside TWICE in the Sistine Chapel by people who were not on my tour. This is actually a very good thing. The first person who came up was a priest, who not only complimented my tour, but subsequently asked me to be part of what I am going to call a secret society of tour guides. Without snobbishly dropping any names, one of the people in this group is someone I have actually SEEN on the History Channel. I was beyond excited by this prospect, and only hope I have the wherewithal to last through 'initiation' (read: an email exchange).
Nonetheless, I was approached immediately afterward by the only people in the Chapel who could have topped the feeling of elation the Secret Society of Guides (SSG? Maybe I should give it some Greek letters...): a family with a Roman last name to top (most) all Roman names. The paterfamilias simply walked up to me and said, "Hi, my name is Tiberius." It was all I could do not to respond in Latin, and ask if his mother was called Livia. If his wife had actually been called Julia, I am not sure what I would have done. In any case, I discovered after a few minutes that Tiberius was his surname, and that he was third generation American, the rest of his ancestors having been true Romans. At least in the modern sense. We spent a few minutes chatting, and I agreed to take the Tiberii on a tour of Ancient Rome, if for no other reason that to be able to put "worked for Tiberius and family in Ancient Rome" on my resume.
As if I didn't enjoy Roman history enough...
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