My second afternoon in Rome. Once I felt I’d had enough siesta time I left my apartment and took the metro to the Piazza di Spagna, where I popped up and found myself looking up at the Spanish Steps. It was almost 5pm by now, but the city and its visitors were showing no signs of slowing down, and the steps were as populated as I’ve ever seen them. It’s always been a curious notion to me that considering that this particular landmark is in fact a flight of stone steps (the clue is in the name), its most popular use is not to get one from one point to another, but for sitting on. Considering that some of the Italians’ favourite past times include sitting, chatting and people watching, the Spanish Steps make an ideal place to gather. They don’t really lead anywhere, except to higher places to sit and chat and people watch (unless you count the church at the top, which has a lovely façade, but its interior is a mystery, as it’s not open to the public).

As pointless architectural features go, however, they really are quite a masterpiece. Like a beautiful and grand terraced garden, it rises in levels with strategically placed plant features so you can choose your way to the top. Once there, you can buy some artwork from intrepid buskers or just enjoy the view down the Via dei Condotti. It was still lovely and warm when I arrived, so I bought some gelati and found a sunny spot about halfway up, where I sat for a while watching the crowds and licking gelato off my hands, which was melting as fast as I could eat it. I climbed up the steps, for no reason other than to say I did it, climbed back down again, passed the children splashing in the fountain at the bottom, and headed off to find the Pantheon.

I got slightly lost at this point, but that was no problem because in the process I passed several delightful little shop windows, small restaurants where people were sitting outside enjoying an aperitif (it was much too early for dinner) and eventually turned down a narrow lane where I could see the distinctive dome and columns of the Pantheon at the other end.

The Pantheon always was, and still is, my favourite building in Rome. It’s an architectural marvel, still standing after 2000 years, with its neck-breakingly high entrance columns and its immense domed roof, entirely made of concrete and perfectly measured so that if you copied and inverted it you would have a perfect sphere, which would touch the floor exactly. Nobody really knows how they managed such a feat of engineering in the first and second centuries, but it became the model for all subsequent domed churches, a style made popular again in the renaissance by Brunellesci in Florence and Michelangelo in the Vatican.

The name ‘Pantheon’ means temple of all Gods, and its extraordinary state of preservation is mainly due to the fact that it was converted, shortly after the fall of the empire, into a Christian church. It’s also suspected that its foundations go deep into the ground, possibly as deep as it is high, but it’s hard to be sure of that kind of thing without actually digging it up. Either way, it’s in remarkable condition. What I also love about it is its vast and completely open interior – a large circular room where light (and the weather) filters in from the hole in the roof. The lovely tiled floor (complete with draining holes) and the marble walls give it a lovely cool and ‘shushed’ sort of feeling which cuts you off from the outside world at the same time as it connects you to a different one. Lining the walls are the tombs of some very important Italians, including Victor Emmanuel II (he of the very ugly monument in the Piazza Venezia) and the artist Raphael. My heart swelled as I walked around and gazed up at the sky through the hole in the ceiling – it’s a place where I can’t help feeling part of something bigger – even if I can’t define exactly what that is.

Behind the Pantheon and facing a small courtyard is the less famous church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, which – as the name suggests – sits on the site of a former temple to the goddess Minerva. I had never seen it before, so I decided to have a quick look before happy hour. Its façade was obscured by canvas and scaffolding but in front of it stood an ancient obelisk, appropriated from a nearby temple of Isis and supported by a Bernini carving of an elephant. The sculpture is small but sweet, and I stood admiring it for a few minutes before wandering inside. The interior was quite stunning, with its deep blue painted ceiling and gothic style pointed arches – quite unusual for a roman church. Many small chapels line the walls and hidden among them are a number of treasures, including a Michelangelo fresco of the Risen Christ, Lippi frescoes of the life of Thomas Aquinas and the tomb of St Catherine of Siena. It was quiet, and I wandered through it enjoying the peace and calm and marvelling that I had never discovered it before.

 

 

 

Back outside, I did a very extravagant thing and sat down for a drink in the square outside the Pantheon. For the price of an average meal I sat outside in the warm evening sipping my spritz and watching people come and go, some sitting and chatting, others passing through. I saw buskers set up and entertain with a song or two before moving on, men walking by with briefcases, young people in groups lolling past with backpacks slung over one shoulder, tourists taking photos, a horse and carriage stopping to let people down. And in the background, dominating this vibrant and ever-changing scene, stood the indomitable façade of the Pantheon, with its Greek columns and pediment and great dome rising behind them, still making tourists gawp as much as it must have done 2,000 years ago.  It was worth the splurge.

Following my old walking tour route, I headed next to the Piazza Navona where I did another thing I would normally advise people not to do, which was to stop for dinner there. As it’s a tourist hot-spot and its appeal is the atmosphere, the food tends to be inferior to what you might find in a ‘real’ Italian restaurant where the locals go. However, as I was on my own and atmosphere was what I was after, I found a nice-looking table near where some buskers were setting up and sat back to enjoy the view.

Piazza Navona is quite a lovely square – although it’s really an oblong, and its shape and the crowds mean that you can’t see very far in any direction, so you can wander around it and be constantly making new and delightful discoveries. At either end are two small fountains – ideal for sitting and licking a gelato whilst people-watching – but it’s the enormous central fountain which immediately draws the eye – Bernini’s fountain of four rivers, with its four massive marble figures representing the major rivers of the four continents of the world (at the time) surrounding an Egyptian obelisk which reaches into the sky. Opposite is the rococo façade of the church of St Agnes in Agony, which, if you’re lucky enough to be passing when it’s open, has a typical rococo over-the-top interior.

As I sat enjoying my Pizza Diavola with a glass of red, I watched a group of acrobats, a flame thrower and a very talented young violinist all plying their trade in the hope of earning a few coins from the tourists. I threw a couple of euro to the violinist on my way back to the Pantheon, where I was impressed once again by a young duo with guitars who were playing an interesting acoustic version of a Nirvana song. I watched for a moment before retracing my steps back to the Trevi Fountain.

It was still warm, and I was in the mood for soaking up a bit more atmosphere, so I popped into a small corner shop on the way and picked up a nice cold bottle of Moretti. I had just reached the fountain when I realised I had no means of opening it, so I popped into another shop and picked up a tacky souvenir bottle opener (I still have it). As usual I heard the fountain before I saw it, and amazingly I could hear the roar of its three springs churning and tumbling over the hubbub of the crowd. There it was, exactly as it had been the night before, cool, shining marble exquisitely carved into elegant sweeping lines, possibly the most famous work of art from the baroque period (although not by Bernini, as it is often presumed). I found a spot next to two ladies who were sharing a bottle of wine, and settled down for some more people watching.

I was astounded (although I shouldn’t have been really) at the number of people still congregating around the fountain – including children – despite it being shortly after 10pm. It was a warm evening, and the steps were crowded with people sitting along them, legs swinging over the edge while others picked their way along in between. Still more people stood around the basin of the fountain, throwing their coins in and taking selfies (I did too – when in Rome, you know!) including one very glamourous woman who must have been in her 50s posing and pouting while her daughter took shot after shot until she got one she was happy with!

At one point the crowds in front of me parted briefly and suddenly a circle of phones were all pointing at a young couple in front of the fountain. As the crowd watched, the young man went down on one knee and produced a ring, said something no one could hear, and the girl nodded, and the crowd (including me, I’ll admit) cheered enthusiastically. It would have been a lovely and sweet moment, except for the fact that the second the girl had the ring on her finger she was engulfed in a circle of girlfriends who pushed the boyfriend aside while they exclaimed shrilly. He stood sheepishly as the the new bride-to-be had to pose for a group photo as her friends pulled implausibly surprised faces and pointed at the ring. The poor fiancé couldn’t get near her – but at least he now has evidence of the whole thing on several videos.

After this it quieted down for a while and I heard the girls next to me discussing the features of the fountain and wondering what it all meant. They must have noticed me watching them, because the one nearest to me turned and asked me if I knew anything about it. Well, the old tour manager in me just couldn’t resist: “Well, actually, the writing on the top says the names of the two popes who commissioned and paid for it, Clemet XII and Benedict XIV, and the year, 1735. The figure in the middle is Neptune, representing the ocean, and the two figures on either side are health and abundance, which the fountain bestows. Neptune’s chariot it being pulled by two tritons, one calm and one turbulent, representing the moods of the sea…” I could have gone on, but the two women were staring at me open mouthed and as I was in the mood for chatting I didn’t want to put them off. Once they realised I’d finished, they smiled and of course asked me how I knew it all. That led to a very pleasant conversation about our respective travels (they were on holiday from California) and other things, and I passed a very pleasant part of the evening sitting there on the warm steps of the fountain, sipping my beer and watching the crowd come and go with the pleasant hum of running water in the background (incidentally, in the 45 minutes or so that I was sitting there, I saw two more marriage proposals, and heard a hearty cheer from the other side of the crowd which suggested a fourth).

It was nearly 11 when I decided I would head home, on the grounds that I had a lot of ground to cover tomorrow – although the crowds showed no signs of thinning and I did feel a little bit like I was leaving the party early! I headed back the way I had walked the previous evening, past the restaurant where I had eaten, which still had a few late-night diners taking advantage of the warm night. Back down the Via Dei Fori Imperiali, where I stopped for the last time that evening to watch a busker, this time a fairly large woman (or it could just have been a very large dress) singing something from an opera with a pop music accompaniment blaring from a speaker behind her. She was actually quite good, and I tossed her my last euro coin as I went past. The last part of my walk took me back past the floodlit Colosseum and back to my hotel, where I made myself a coffee – of course – and sipped it in my pyjamas, looking out from my windowsill at a much quieter road. The noises were different now – there was the odd vespa zooming past, the clatter or a garbage bin lid, soft voices floating up as lovers walked home hand in hand. It was a peaceful end to a full day, and the best part was I still had another whole day in Rome to go. What would it bring? Well, actually, I had a pretty good idea (it involves a castle, an island, and an imaginary water fountain – and coffee of course). But you’ll have to wait till the next post to find out.