Six thirty a.m. There’s a number I haven’t seen in a while, at least not on the waking-up end. Dark and early (I don’t know why people say “bright,” since it always seems to be dim and hazy then) I woke, met the girls, and started the trek towards the Archy building to meet Pamela, Aida’s assistant, for our Permesso meetings. After a long and twisty path rife with wrong turns, we finally clopped up to the Architecture School, sore and exhausted, and met Pamela, who brought us to the post office for an hour and a half of waiting half-asleep in plastic chairs while the postmaster did some sort of dark magic with our documents. Finally, with two signatures we were free to wander, right up to Café et Caffe for coffee / life-blood and chocolate croissants.
Then, with time to spare before class, seeing as the hour was less ungodly but still early, Sarah, Bridget, and I made our way towards the Trevi fountain, on the way admiring the understated beauty of Rome. Many of these buildings are older than our cities, and even the new ones are crafted with an attention to detail and aesthetic that American architects seem to have forgotten. Every building is festooned with carvings and porticos. The small alleys are lined with stone arches and even the tiniest piazza has at least one sculpted fountain.
But none as breathtaking as the Trevi. Like every monument I’ve seen so far, it blazed beyond my expectation. The structure is huge, occupying nearly all the piazza outside the church of Sant’Ignazio, where Saint Ignatius is buried. A marble railing and a set of steps on three sides surround the oblong pool, which is sunken into the piazza and sparkles with coins of tourists who pray to return to Rome someday (I threw twenty cents in myself). Rising out of the water are great chunks of marble that form natural-looking platforms and grottos that sweep up into the forms of gods and horses. Water spills over the rock like a natural waterfall. But the fountain is not contained like an entity of its own, but extends beyond its boundaries. The granite chunks protrude from the walls of the building behind it as though the building were carved out of the same stone as the fountain, and words and protective statues in alcoves form a serene backdrop. On one side, visitors can even step up into a cove of rock that spills out of the fountain’s boundaries and guards a tiny fountain for drinking.
Awed by the fountain, we worked our way back towards campus, marveling at the places we passed, the huge and stately art museum, the small, quiet park lined with palm trees, the exhibition hall and its steps built into the cobbles. But a great surprise was on the way, when, in one of the store windows, we spotted, yes, Birkenstocks. Okay, so not as great as the Trevi fountain, but we were so excited to see them that we immediately went in, struggling with the unfamiliar terms thrown at us by the salespeople, and each bought a pair, putting the total number of Domers who have bought these sandals at six. The saleslady was kind and interested in our studies abroad, and gave us little Birkenstock key chains. It’s amazing how nice the Romans are, especially if you can cobble together a little Italian.
Wearing our new, much comfier shoes, we went to campus for class. I first had British Literature, taught by Russel, during which we watched a film about Queen Victoria and I struggled against dozing off, my coffee having stopped its work after easing my headache, promises to be a good class. My favorite time period, the nineteenth century to World War II–in literature, at least. Sarah and I grabbed a peach and a pear for lunch, then back to class for Mystics, Saints, and Sinners, a class about these church figures in medieval times, taught by an intelligent and starkly blunt French woman (Conty). She won’t exactly hesitate to tell you if you’re wrong, as she did many times while we struggled to form a pictures of the Middle Ages to her satisfaction, but she will definitely teach us a lot, and probably eviscerate our papers.
Then, Intermediate Italian. Stefania Maggini spoke to us in very quick, very smooth Italian from the minute she entered and went around the little circle, engaging each of us in a few minutes of conversation about ourselves, our studies, and our purposes in Rome. She’s wonderful and enthusiastic and it makes up for the fact that, when she gets excited, she starts rattling on so quickly that I lose track of what she’s saying. I hope that my Italian will progress enough that I won’t lose her so often! But I think I’ll be fine, because many of the people in our circle looked like they had just swallowed drain cleaner, so at least I’m not the only one who’s a little rusty.
Then, a new dinner adventure. We got more free pasta from the market and cooked it with fresh cod fish and salad. Well, okay, Katie cooked the cod (with balsamic vinegar, wine, and tomato sauce–it was amazing and I wish I were that talented) and I made salad, which requires minimal skill. After dinner was just time to relax in preparation for Wednesday, the big club night in Rome. (So, Sarah, I’ll have more interesting details for you tomorrow, since you’re not into pasta and school.) With that, I’m off to do the homework I’ve been avoiding and you’ve probably tired of my excessive details (I’m trying to record this in as much details as possible for posterity, so please don’t try to read it all and give yourself an aneurism.), so that’s buona notte for now!
