Saturday, May 15, 2010

WA 10: Romeflections

It has been nearly four weeks now since I made the jarring transition back to real life and to tell the truth it hasn’t really gotten easier.  At times in that ephemeral, split-second eternity between asleep and awake I still find myself expecting to catch the muffled sounds of Campo, vendors crying their wares, tourists clearly distinguishable by their overloud English, and fifth, photographic appendage, a customer haggling over the price of oranges or apples.  Expectation turns to confusion and confusion to disappointing realization as the only thing that reverberates against my ears is the soft snoring of my roommate and the occasional car driving by.
I have found that it is difficult to rationalize the rapid replacement of lifestyles and so the experience is tinged with an altogether surreal quality.  I am occasionally overwhelmed by the feeling that Rome was merely a dream; the notion aided by the static character of home life, which creates a temporal illusion that no time has passed during my fantastic adventure, a feeling often experienced accompanying dreams.  When I give myself over to this emotion I am often confronted by the contrary notion that perhaps it is Seattle that is my delusional city and that I have only to awake to once again find myself in the Eternal City.  Yet previous experience tells me differently.
It is altogether disconcerting to encounter the other members of our group out and about on campus, like seeing phantasmal characters from a movie or book actively participating in my everyday life, their connotations so heavily saturated by the shared experience of Rome that it is unnatural to witness them separated.  I recently had the opportunity to sit down and have a reunion dinner with several of the group.  Had someone came up and told me I was in Rome during that meal I might have been convinced so complete was my reversion.  The brief interlude from academia that the meal provided only served to bring to the forefront all my feelings of surreality.
 While I make no excuses for my extreme lack of punctuality regarding this final blog entry it has given me a rather unique perspective on it when compared with the other individuals (with the exception of Mr. Carlo).  Time has been allowed to touch its weathered fingers to my temples and where once memories were sharp and vibrant, every detail important and duly noted, now a morning fog has rolled in.  Everything has been allowed to settle, to precipitate, and through this process those memories deemed truly important, consciously or otherwise, have established themselves at the hierarchal lead.
So what stands out as the premier memory of Rome the previous times I began to write I was hung up on that memory being a place or a piece of art that I had seen and while there are certainly pieces and places aplenty that will remain hallmarks of the trip I recently realized that those will be there when I return, what makes this particular journey unique is the people I spent it with, with that in mind here is one of my more memorable accounts.
               It was early in the program week 2 if I had to guess.  The majority of the group was in the girls apartment socializing.  I was having an intense discourse with Erika, as is not entirely unexpected when one talks to Erika, when we stumbled upon the concept of the spirit animal, an embodiment of one’s personality and soul in bestial form.  After quick deliberation we agreed that she was an Orca and I was an Arctic Fox which if you know either of us shouldn’t have been too hard to guess.  Having found our link to the natural world we solemnly took it upon ourselves to discover everyone else’s spirit animal, an attempt that lasted for the next few hours.  Our obtrusive attempts at classification were greeted with a broad array of reactions from enthusiasm to indifference we were later informed that some even found the whimsical activity assuming and slightly offensive, I apologize this was not our intent.  And that’s pretty much it, its not a flashy memory, nor particularly epic, in fact it is not even overtly attached to Rome, it could have happened anywhere.  But maybe that is what is important, it did happen in Rome, and it happened with a select group of entirely mismatched individuals, I suppose that is the very definition of unique.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Writing Assignment 9: Identity

I was perplexed, perhaps even overwhelmed, by the question presented , "what and who is Italian?" My immediate reaction was, who am I to answer such a complex question?  I have been a resident of Rome for less than three months, during which my most intimate interactions were with other Americans.  I speak only the most rudimentary of Italian. To present a complete and accurate theory about Italian or even Roman identity would require a lifetime of integration in Italian society, and perhaps even then the answer is not accessible to outsiders for they can only mimic what it feels like to be Italian, unable to deconstruct the borders so rigidly in place. The question, in truth, is not even a single question, Italian encompasses so much more than a single homogenous populace.  What and who is gypsy? What and who is a Moroccan immigrant to Italy? What and who is Neapolitan? Plagued by these thoughts I was unable to find the words within myself to answer that question.  I do not know the answer to that question.  Do not ask me to gift-wrap Italy into an easily palatable souvenir to take home.
Eventually inspiration struck in the form of a long train ride, a powerful song and the writings of someone more experienced than myself.  In an essay entitled 'On Curiosity' Alain de Botton writes, "Curiosity might be pictured as being made up of chains of small questions extending outwards, sometimes over huge distances, from a central hub composed of a few blunt, large questions.  In childhood we ask, 'Why is there good and evil?' 'How does nature work?' 'Why am I me?' If circumstances and temperament allow, we then build on these questions during adulthood". It is that final of the three questions that resonated with my struggle to define Italian identity.  This fermented for about an hour until shuffle decided to instigate my thought process with Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" an intensely emotional song for me personally.  The song provoked a moment of introspection and I queried, ‘Why does this song have such a profound effect upon me?’ ‘Why is it I that cling so tightly to the concept of Journey being my favorite band?’  Because it is idiosyncrasies such as this that define me, that are the building blocks of my identity.  As this thought permeated my consciousness my recent reading bubbled to the forefront.  In tandem they provided me with the answer to my conundrum. If as de Botton suggests all questions surrounding identity originate from that single query, ‘Why am I me?’ then maybe that is where I should begin my search for Italian identity. I was only looking at the question from a single angle; perhaps through answering how Italy has affected my own identity some insight may be gained into an aspect of Italian identity.
It is not the Italians of today, those contemporary, increasingly globalized people, that I feel have truly had a profound impact me. Perhaps that is because I did not present them with the opportunity to change me, but at this juncture that is no more than the whisper of regret. The Italians who invaded my thoughts and usurped my dreams are the men long lost to history, now more legend than man. Agrippa Borromini, Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Bernini these are the names that I will remember, poignant examples of what man is capable of achieving.  It is certainly arguable that I am straying from the original focal point of Italian identity, that these men, the youngest of which died 330 years ago, no longer represent what it is to be Italian.  However, I would argue that these men by the very virtue of their reputation’s longevity serve as paragons of Italian identity.  It is quite short-sighted to conclude that Italian identity, an identity that has existed for millennia, is defined solely by the Italians alive in our present, it is a cumulative concept, each generation building upon the layers passed down to them. These men in particular should still be considered active members of Italy for they have left their mark quite literally and visually. Is it not true that Italians take national pride in The David, The Pantheon, Pluto and Persephone and any number of other edifices and sculptures left behind by Italy’s artisans and architects? If these artifacts are associated with what is “Italian” how can their creators be anything but integral pieces of what it means to be Italian.
This is what I am taking away from Rome, Inspiration.  As I may have verbalized in a previous blog entry this voyage was not about academics, so much as it was about puzzling together who I am, and what it is I should do with this whole life thing.  While the puzzle is by no means solved my experiences abroad have certainly added a piece or two and hopefully in the process I have added a piece or two to Italian identity as well.

Writing Assignment 7/8: A Tale of Two Train Stations

"Don't bring your laptop. It will get stolen." With those words ringing in my ears (and my laptop in my backpack) the train rolled slowly into what had been described to me as one of the most dangerous places on earth, Napoli.  Supposedly it is inhabited by the scum of the earth, a criminal underworld so underworldly that hell itself provides it with complimentary heated floors.  Here morality is turned on its head as Greed, Corruption and Violence are treated as virtues rather than vices.  As the train screeched to a slow, almost deliberately dramatic stop, the thought of simply remaining seated until I was safely returned to Rome flitted across my consciousness, but then the moment was gone, driven from my mind as quickly as it had arrived by the rat race for baggage as everyone on the train simultaneously decided to exit as expediently as possible.  I paused at the door of the train and sort of peered out to ascertain that setting foot in Napoli wouldn't involve instantaneous mugging. Seeing no eminent danger I cautiously ventured forth out of the train station and into this Mecca for malicious men, my eyes darted back and forth in an attempt to look in all directions simultaneously.  My imagination picked up on the frenzied action of my eyes and everyone I passed was granted an illusory bio.  I brushed by serial killers, waited at cross-walks with rapists, burglars brazenly walked by and coke-dealers and prostitutes populated every city block.  My clammy palms clenched my wallet protectively fearful that if I let it go for even an instant the nigh supernatural abilities of the cities pick pockets would magic it away. Sweat leaked out of me, which I managed to convince myself was due to the balmy weather (in February) and the rigorous pace rather than the trepidation that permeated my thoughts.  This continued for twenty five minutes and concluded when we arrived at the cheerfully named, Hostel of the Sun, which was in fact quite cheerful, despite my initial misgivings.
My return to the station two days later was pretty much the polar opposite.  If you took my initial experience inverted everything and then played it backwards you would end up with my return experience.  At this point I had become quite tired of being paranoid, it's exhausting attempting to maintain a three hundred and sixty degree view of your surroundings.  Not only that, I ended up talking to some of the prostitutes and serial killers, with some hesitation I might add, and surprisingly enough they did not in fact kill people or sex people for a living, they had respectable professions, bakers, bankers, bus drivers and the like. The people seemed almost intentionally contrary to my preconceived notions about them proving in general to be some of the nicest Italians I had met to date.  Now given I did not test my newfound confidence that Naples wouldn't leave me mugged, murdered or molested.  I didn't wander through the streets alone at night nor did I frequent the reputedly dangerous districts, but then again I don't do those things (much) in Rome or Seattle.
Termini. I don't know if I've ever been so happy to see someplace in my life.  Despite having initially planned to visit Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast following our trip to Naples, I found myself on the first possible train back to Rome.  At some point during the last few weeks of our program I came to the realization that I had fallen desperately in love with the Eternal City.  However I was unable to pinpoint when this shift had occurred.  Now as I reflect upon my trip to Napoli I wonder if that emotional border was crossed the moment my feet hit the platform and Roman air hit my lungs that Friday evening, for it was then for the first time that coming back to Rome felt like a legitimate homecoming.  I was stressed and Rome provided the relief of familiarity, of belonging. Each time I departed Rome and returned I brought with me some newly added intangible element, a new opinion or comparison, but it also allowed me to appreciate Rome.  To quote 50 Cent, even though he is not exactly an academic source, "Joy wouldn't feel so good if it wasn't for pain." The concept is essentially the same, in order to realize my affection for Rome it had to be juxtaposed by an alternate city, in this case Naples.  This is not to say that I am equating Rome to joy and Naples to pain, although some may find the comparison astute.  What should be taken away from the comparison is the underlying truth that something is valued because of what it is not almost more so than for what it is. Rome is architecturally exquisite and historically unrivalled but it is only because there are other cities in the world that do not share those characteristics that Rome is valued as one of the most amazing cities in the world.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Rione di Trevi

Where is the heart of Rome? What is the heart of Rome? Is it a statue? A church? or can it not be contained within something so specific? What about a rione, one of Rome's demarcated neighborhoods or regions, for example, Trevi.  Even that large of a region perhaps cannot contain the heart of Rome, the city is simply too complicated, it does however present a rather compelling argument.  
Trevi is old, very old the area has been part of Rome since the time of the Republic although  it didn't become named Trevi till a few hundred years later.  The name supposedly is a corruption of the Latin word trivium roughly translating to three ways or paths.  This was a reference to three roads that converged on the piazza that is now Piazza del Crociferei, right next to the Trevi Fountain.  It is also reminiscent of the popular saying "All Roads Lead to Rome".  The rione's coat of arms consists of three swords in parallel either horizontally or diagonally across a red background, another allusion to the motif of the three paths.

 Borromini's Chiesa San Carlo
Speaking of trinities Trevi is home to several important edifices of the Catholic church.  The most notable, or at the very least the largest is Quirinal Palace.  Constructed during the sixteenth century to serve as a summer palace for the papacy several popes liked it so much that it became the official papal residence year round.
It served this purpose until 1870 when the Papal State's rule of Rome came to an end.  The palace has served other important purposes since, which we will touch on later.  Being home to the pope obviously set a certain overtone for the district and there are  several churches throughout the rione, including two within a block of each other that provide an excellent comparison between the architectural styles of Boromini and Bernini.  The rione also houses a school for Catholic priests.  One church, the Church of San Vicenzo and San Anastacio, contains the heart of the church in an eerily literal manner.  The hearts of more than thirty popes from the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries are interred here.  Plaques on either side of the high altar list their names.  It was customary to remove certain of the pope's organs when he died, a surprisingly pagan seeming tradition.
 Quirinal Palace
Coming back to the Quirinal Palace, after 1870 the palace became the residence of the Kings of Italy as they assumed the place of power from the popes both literally and figuratively.  Even Napoleon chose to make Quirinal his headquarters in Rome during his brief sovereignty. In fact he liked it so much he had intended to make the area the political center of Rome, a concept that survived longer than his reign.  In 1946 the palace once again changed hands becoming the presidential residence as Italy celebrated its new republican form of government.  The gardens of the palace are open only one day a year on June 2 to celebrate this independence day.  Today the area has succeeded in becoming the political hub Napoleon wanted it to be, directly across the street from the Qurinal is the Italian Supreme Court, housed in Palazzo della Consulta.  The court consists of 15 judges appointed in equal parts by the president, the parliament, and by administrative courts.
Quirinal is not the only palace  in Trevi, quite the opposite in fact, the rione is home to a plethora of palaces of some of the oldest and wealthiest families from Rome's history.  Two notable examples are Palazzo Barberini and Palazzo Poli, whose facade is graced by the Trevi Fountain.  Palazzo Barberini is a beautiful example of baroque architecture one of many projects that was began by Boromini and finished by his rival Bernini.  Today the palace houses a national art gallery with famous pieces by artists like Rafael. 
 Bernini's Fontana de Tritone
Obviously the name Trevi brings to mind the Trevi fountain and we'll get to that but there are a few other notable fountains located in the area.  In Piazza Barberini, not to be confused with the Palazzo discussed above, there are the only two fountains in the rione that were designed by Bernini, despite the common misconception that he created the Trevi Fountain.  In the center of the square is the Fountain of the Triton, depicting a triton blowing a conch shell while being lifted up by dolphins.  In one of the corners of the square there is another Bernini fountain, this one significantly humbler.  It is simply a large clam shell bedecked with three bees, the symbol of the Barberini family who commisioned it.  A short walk from there are the four fountains, an intersection where each corner is graced with a fountain.  Two have male central figures and these represent the Tiber River and the Arno River, which are associated with Rome and Florence respectively.  The other two have female figures and these are commonly assumed the Goddess Diana and the Goddess Juno.
The most important fountain is of course the one that shares the name Trevi.  It is the terminal fountain for the Aqua Vergine, one of the oldest and purest aqueducts in Rome, dating back to the golden age of Augustus and Agrippa.  The fountain was finished in 1762 after being worked on for more than thirty years, a process that outlived the architect who designed it, Nicola Salvi.  The fountain is a beautiful example of both baroque style art and architecture combining them seamlessly in completely unique way. Today the fountain is constantly swarming with tourists throwing coins into the fountain hoping it will grant them a return trip to Rome, as per the local legend.  Over 3000 euros are tossed in every day a sum that is collected and used for charitable purposes. This is only a brief synopsis for the full history of the Trevi Fountain please read my blog post titled Aqua Through the Ages: A Retrospective of the Trevi Fountain.
Trevi is a rione that is central to Rome both physically and metaphorically.  It is located right in the heart of Rome atop the highest of the seven hills.  It has served as headquarters to Rome's aristocracy for centuries, including popes kings and presidents.  The Aqua Vergine flows out of it like the lifeblood of Rome, providing health and prosperity.  Trevi may not be THE heart of Rome but it is certainly a heart of Rome. There is a reason that it is to Trevi that travellers offer up  their wishes to return.

Aqua Through the Ages: A Retrospective of the Trevi Fountain


The Trevi Fountain is complicated; it is the culmination of a two millennia old style of propaganda and perhaps the most powerful representation of water ever made by man.  In order to truly appreciate its intricacies one must delve deeply into the past. Our story begins all the way back in the year 312 BC, the year that water was invented, albeit not exactly in a literal sense.  It was the year that the Roman Republic constructed its first aqueduct, the Aqua Appia. Now as you can imagine constructing a several kilometer long structure is pretty pricey, somewhere along the lines of constructing a modern day highway.  The Roman's found an elegant solution to this problem; they would just take other people's money and spend it on aqueducts.  The first few aqueducts were all funded by spoils of war, the Appia for instance, is believed to have been paid for by booty from the Samnite War.  Approximately forty years later, around 272 BC, the Roman's constructed their second aqueduct, the Anio Vetus.  Designed with the intent to be complimentary to the Appia, it provided water to parts of Rome that the other aqueduct had trouble supplying.  Its construction was also funded by a successful military campaign, the Pyrrhic War.  After that Roman aquitecture was stagnant for 130 years, until finally in 144 BC, following the conquest of Carthage and Corinth in 146, Praetor Marcius Rex was instructed by the Republic to oversee the construction of a new aqueduct as well as the repair of the Anio Vetus and Appia, which after 130 years had become quite leaky.  It is worthwhile to point out that this is the first refurbishment of Roman aqueducts, as it will become something of a motif over the course of the paper. During the next four years Marcius built a 96-kilometer long aqueduct, that quickly gained renown for the purity of its water. In fact after it was built it is estimated that up to 80 percent of its water was used solely for drinking purposes.  After having done such a great job, Marcius Rex decided that he deserved to have it named after himself, and so it became the Aqua Marcia.  A few years later in 125 BC the fourth aqueduct, the Aqua Tepula was finished.  In direct contrast to the Marcia, the Tepula gained a poor reputation for having warmer, less potable water.  Little else is known about the original Tepula as it was completely redone by the person we will discuss next.

Another 85 years pass before, the Empire, as it has now become, deals with the issue of water again.  In 40 BC Emperor Augustus appoints Marcus Agrippa as his head engineer and architect.  Now Agrippa might be the single most important figure in the history of aqueducts.  Up until this point aqueducts had been added piecemeal, when the need or financial opportunity presented itself.  Agrippa on the other hand presented a comprehensive water supply system that involved the remodeling of the Tepula as well as the construction of two entirely new aqueducts. With the firm support of Emperor Augustus he implemented this concept over the two decades following his appointment.  Agrippa's first step was to construct the Aqua Julia which he completed in 33 BC, shortly after that he renovated the Tepula so that its waters mixed with that of the much more abundant Julia.  This was nothing short of genius, it allowed Rome to continue to use both aqueducts and greatly improved the quality of the Tepula while the Julia was only marginally affected.  Fourteen years later Agrippa completed his final aqueduct the Aqua Virgo.  A number of legends surround the discovery of this water source.  The most popular holds that a young virgin led Agrippa and his soldiers to the source.  The Virgo surpassed even the Marcia in quality and quickly became known as the purest water in Rome.  These three aqueducts played complementary roles in Agrippa's urban plan.  The Tepula was allocated mostly for the use of private citizens who were influential enough to have the privilege of running water in their homes.  The Julia on the other hand saw a large fraction of its yield used for public monuments such as fountains.  Much of the Virgo was used for nomine caesaris, the emperor's will, this included anything from providing water to palaces to enabling the emperor's monuments and projects such as the Baths of Agrippa which were located right at the Virgo's terminus.  In 2 BC, several years after Agrippa's death, Augustus constructed the Aqua Alsietina essentially for the sole purpose of providing water to his artificial lake the Naumachia.  The name literally translates to naval combat, which was in fact the primary use of the lake, mock naval battles. It is noteworthy that Augustus chose to build an entirely new aqueduct rather than interfere with Agrippa’s precisely calculated distribution system for the rest of Rome.

While Augustus and Agrippa were not the first to provide water to the city of Rome they were the pioneers of using water as a propagandistic tool.  The appeal of aesthetically pleasing terminus and fountains is twofold, not only do you demonstrate commitment to the beautification of the city through their construction, the provision of potable water exhibits that you are able to provide for the basic necessities of the populace.  As stated above Augustus was responsible for the construction of four aqueducts, in and of itself worthy of praise.  Two of these were directly linked to huge structures associated with his reign, the Baths of Agrippa, a colossal bathing facility in the heart of Rome and the Naumachia, which I mentioned earlier.  In addition Augustus oversaw the formation of The Statio Aquarum, a government entity charged with regulating water use in the city, and who better to lead such an organization than Agrippa.  Within the first decade of its existence, Marcus Agrippa constructed 500 fountains and 700 public basins across Rome.  Augustus and Agrippa successfully managed to associate their leadership with water an extraordinary feat of public relations, and one that is emulated even to this day.  The emperors that came after, including Trajan and Claudius, continued this tradition constructing aqueducts of their own.  At the peak of the Roman Empire there were 11 fully functional aqueducts, combined they spanned more than 435 kilometers and provided the city with as much as 300 million gallons of water everyday.  This water was then distributed to 1300 public fountains, 11 greater baths, 867 smaller baths, 15 nymphaea, or great fountains and 2 artificial lakes.

There is no doubt that the ancient Roman’s were exceptional architects and engineers, and the aqueducts were one of their crowning achievements. When I mention aqueducts the mental picture that probably comes to mind is of the long bridge-like structures that litter the area around Rome.  However, of the 435 kilometers of aqueduct that existed at the height of ancient Rome, only 65 were aboveground. In order to truly appreciate how incredible of a feat it was to construct these aqueducts more than two thousand years ago was it is helpful to at least have a basic understanding of how they function.  The Roman’s harnessed what is perhaps the most renewable energy source on earth to power their aqueducts, gravity, water runs down hill, it is as simple as that.  The tricky part was making it so that it was downhill all the way from the source back to Rome.  In order to accomplish this the Romans used a number of engineering techniques.  The most common was the aforementioned bridge systems which they would use to span valleys and gaps.  In areas where this was not feasible, they used something called an inverted siphon, which is a gravity-pressurized pipeline that can be used to force water uphill. This technique is astonishingly similar to the methods used by hydraulic engineers today in water and sewage pipes.  Another amazing feat was the precise slope or gradient that they were able to impose over incredibly long distances.  The most dramatic example of this is the Pont du Gard, which is an aqueduct in southern France constructed by the Romans; it drops only 17 vertical meters over a distance of 50 kilometers. Somebody did their geometry homework. This isn’t an exceptionally abnormal example either it was quite common for an aqueduct to drop less than a meter over a kilometers length.  Beyond simply building structures that were capable of carrying water from miles away, the Romans demonstrated a surprisingly sophisticated understanding of hydraulics. From analysis of their architecture it would seem that they had at least a rudimentary knowledge of dissipation of energy, aeration, and surges and other instabilities in flow. In order to deal with these concepts they introduced several works of engineering including the stilling basin, series of drop-shafts and rudimentary filtration systems.

Due to a number of factors, including the Great Schism and the papacy's temporary rule at Avignon the aqueducts remained largely in disrepair till the 15th century.  The one exception being Pope Adrian I, who during his reign from 771 to 795 ordered that the Aqua Virgo and Aqua Claudio be repaired, a political move that was nearly 600 years ahead of its time.  Following the papacy's return to Rome Nicholas V was the first Pope to take an active role in the restoration of the city.  He ordered a full restoration of the Aqua Virgo and changed its name to Aqua Vergine.  In addition he returned to the precedent set by the ancient Roman Emperor’s and commissioned a new fountain for the Vergine’s terminus, that would of course bear his name and coat of arms so as to remind the people of his efforts to bring them water. This work was completed by Leon Battista Alberti.  After that a full century passed before someone truly picked up the torch.  Gregory VIII is often nicknamed “the fountain pope” for his extensive commissioning of fountains and other aquatically themed structures.  He was responsible for the restoration of Aqua Claudia.  His successor, Sixtus V, continued in his footsteps, completing several projects that Urban began including the fountain in front of the Pantheon as well as the two side fountains in Piazza Navona.  His most significant contribution though was his renovation of the Aqua Alexandriana, which he then appropriated by renaming it the Aqua Felice, which was his first name.  At this point the trend of using aquitecture as a tool of propaganda had firmly caught on among the Popes.

In 1629 Urban came to the conclusion that the Aqua Vergine lacked a sufficiently grandiose terminus and decided that a fountain to rival the Aqua Paola and Aqua Felice should be constructed.  Of course the papal golden boy Bernini was chosen to design this fountain that would supposedly amaze the known world. Bernini submitted plans that included moving the current terminus to the north side of the Piazza, where it is currently located, as well as tearing down buildings so as to increase the size of the square.  These details were primarily to provide the Pope with a view of the fountain from Quirinal Palace. Although the design was accepted, the plan unfortunately encountered other opposition.  The project was the subject of severe public disapproval due to the proposed method of funding it.  Urban planned to deconstruct the tomb of Caecilia Metella for building materials as well as propose a tax on wine for finances, neither of which were popular. After that setback the project did not really progress, most likely because of the pontificates budget, or perhaps due to the extensive amount of papal contracts that Bernini held.  When he died in 1680 the fountain was abandoned completely having accomplished nothing more than moving the terminus and making a bigger piazza. After the unpopularity of the fountain project none of the succeeding popes even touched upon the idea of finishing the Vergine terminus until Clement XI (1700-1724).  Clement wanted to move the Antoine Column and place it on a foundation of rough rocks, however this plan failed due to a lack of papal funds.  Benedict XIII (1724-1730) Clement’s successor also proposed a plan involving a sculpture that included the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Trivia, a pig, some oak trees and a unicorn. Fortunately that was abandoned upon Benedict’s death




Finally in 1730 the concept of an exquisite terminus for the Aqua Vergine finds a new patron when Pope Clement XII ascends to the pontificate.  Shortly after his appointment Clement held a design contest for what would become the Trevi Fountain.  Four entries were submitted, however the Pope found none of them satisfactory and promptly organized a second competition which he insisted popular artists and architects in Rome enter.  Sixteen designs were entered in this competition; the unanimous winner was a man by the name of Lambert Sigisbert Adam.  Unfortunately, he was French, and the idea of a Frenchman constructing such an important Italian monument roused the public's ire and supposedly due to their malcontent Adam was dismissed as the projects architect.  Adam himself presented an alternate excuse, claiming that he had angered his academy by not requesting permission to enter the contest, and had therefore been recalled to Paris.  The contract then passed to a man by the name of Luigi Vanitelli, a talented Lombard who suggested incorporating the entrance of Palazzo Poli into the fountain. However he too was dismissed for unknown reasons after a few weeks.  At this point the duty fell to the third place architect in the second competition, Nicola Salvi.  Salvi came to the architectural profession late in life, after dabbling in poetry and mathematics, he apprenticed himself to one of the premier architects in Rome.  The Trevi Fountain was essentially his first, and only, major work; before being appointed to that project his most notable achievement was constructing towers for fireworks shows.  One might assume that the construction would proceed smoothly now that an architect had finally been selected, however in keeping with precedent the project continued to be plagued by delays.  In the same year he began Salvi was ordered to stop temporarily for unknown reasons although it is guessed that it was one of the members of the Poli family who was concerned about what he was doing to the façade of their palace.  The public also played a very vocal role in the construction due to the manner in which much of the project was funded, through lotteries.  This meant that if the people were unhappy with the fountain they could simply boycott the lottery, allowing the public a certain amount of control, and for much of the project they were very critical.

When it wasn’t external forces slowing the process it was Salvi himself, constantly changing his designs; at one point when the rock basin was nearing completion, he stopped progress so that he could redo major sections of it.  Besides Salvi his main sculptor Maini was also a bit of a perfectionist and at one point work ceased for six months because they couldn’t come to an agreement about changing the models of the central group.  One man wrote, “Work has been suspended, because the sculptor Maini has refused to ruin his work by following the ideas of the architect.”   This feud continued for nearly six months during which no work was completed on the fountain, at one point Maini and Salvi destroyed the current stucco models in a fit of rage, further inhibiting progress.  Salvi lived long enough to see the water turned on in the fountain, which happened in 1743, unfortunately though he died in 1751 ten years before the fountain was officially declared finished.  Maini followed shortly after in 1752 and Benedict XIV, who did not quite share his predecessors ambitions as a builder completed no further work on the monument during his reign.  In 1758 Clement XIII ascended to the papal throne and brought with him as much passion to finish the Trevi Fountain as the previous Clement.  Since no construction had been completed on the monument in 5 years Clement faced the task of appointing a new architect and a new sculptor.  He turned to a man named Giuseppe Pannini to replace Salvi and appointed one of the more popular sculptors in Rome, Pietro Bracci, to finish carving the Oceanus group out of marble.  These two seemed to mesh far better than the previous pair and work progressed quickly.  Documents from the time indicate "all the work for the Fountain of Trevi was competed in three years and one month."  In May of 1762 the fountain of Trevi was declared finished, 133 years after the idea was first proposed.

The Trevi Fountain stands as a testament to the power of water utilizing the element itself in its glorification.  Salvi himself wrote about the theme of the fountain, "the image must embody an impression of power which has no limit and is not restricted in the material world by any bounds.  It is completely free and always at work in even the smallest parts of the created Universe."  It is to this idea that the Trevi stands testament.  It blends numerous architectural, aquatic and sculptural elements so skillfully that it is often difficult to discern where one ends and another begins.  The eye runs seamlessly from splashing water past travertine and up the pilasters to the facade of the palazzo and then back down into the fountain again.  The integration of water and naturally stylized stone with the architecture of the building suggests a triumph of nature or specifically water over civilization.  The fountain also contains dozens of references supporting the theme, some allegorical, some historical. Oceanus strides out of an arch-like section of the facade reminiscent of the triumphal arches of ancient Rome.  The connection to the ancients does not stop there, two bas relieves flanking the central group tell the history of the Aqua Vergine.  The one on the right depicts the Virgin Trivia showing Marcus Agrippa and his legionnaires the spring that feeds the Vergine, while the left portrays Agrippa overseeing the construction of the aqueduct.
In the central group two tritons ride before Oceanus leading sea horses.  One leads a calm, placid sea horse while blowing a conch to announce his master's arrival; the other struggles to control his wildly rearing mount.  This juxtaposition signifies the dual nature of water, at times peaceful and at others furious.  Six allegorical figures grace the facade, one on either side Oceanus and another four up near the pediment.  These six figures represent the beneficial effects that water provides.  Fertility stands at Oceanus' right holding a cornucopia, at her feet water spills from an overturned urn and flowers spring up where the water falls. On the left hand stands Health holding a bowl from which the sacred snake, a symbol often associated with medicine, drinks.  Rising to the four figures above they represent from left to right The Abundance of Fruit, The Fertility of the Fields, The Gifts of Autumn, and The Amenities of the Meadows and Gardens.  Each was done by a different sculptor, in total 9 worked on the Trevi.  The fountain also contains some incredibly minute details more than 30 different types of flora are carved into the base, each residing in a realistic location in the artificial terrain, another way of signifying the water's bountiful side.  The fountain is graced with the names of three popes, Clement XII, Benedict XIV, and Clement XIII, making it perhaps the best example of the papacy using water as a tool of propaganda.  Each pope who contributed ensured that the public would remember them as having contributed this gift of beauty and sustenance.

Today the Trevi Fountain no longer fulfills its propagandistic role in the same fashion.  It has become a tourist Mecca constantly swarmed by people in khaki shorts with cameras. Its popularity has given rise to a number of myths involving throwing coins into the fountain.  One holds that a single coin tossed into the fountain will grant you a return to Rome within your lifetime.  That has since been elaborated upon to include a second coin granting new romance and a third coin will result in either marriage or divorce depending on your marital status.  A simplified and popular version merely believes that throwing three coins into the fountain with one's right hand over one's left shoulder will grant the thrower good luck. On a busy day the fountain nets more than 3000 euros, an astronomical figure.  The money is collected and used for charitable purposes with local currency going to a nearby soup kitchen and international coins being donated to the Red Cross.

Bibliography:
Pinto, John A. 1986. The Trevi Fountain. Binghamton, NY: Yale University Press.
Evans, Harry B. 1982. Agrippa’s water plan. American journal of archaeology, 86, 3: 401-411.
Cooke Jr., Hereward L. 1956. The documents relating to the fountain of Trevi. The art bulletin, 38, 3: 149-173. 
Aicher, Peter J. 1993. Terminal display fountains (“Mostre”) and the aqueducts of ancient Rome. Phoenix 47, 4: 339-352.
Morton, H.V.. The Fountains of Rome. The Macmillan Company, 1999.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Writing Assignment #6: Trevi

Trevi. The word most likely produces mental images of Oceanus astride his ornate, shell-shaped chariot commanding  the beautiful fountain that bears the name in question. But it is important to remember that Trevi Fountain derives its name from the rione it is located in not the other way around.  Trevi is nearly as ancient as Rome itself, dating back to the original rione's demarcated by the Roman republic. The name is most likely a corruption of the latin word trivium, translating roughly to three ways or three roads.  Historians theorize that this name was due to the three roads that converged upon what is now Piazza dei Crociferi. The symbol of the rione, three horizontal swords in parallel upon a red field, is in keeping with this hypothesis. This is all very dry though, and I am certain that I will have a chance to cover the facts, either in my Rione Project or my Art History Presentation.  Let this be an expression of how I feel about Trevi, the sights and smells, atmosphere and ambience.  I spent today criss-crossing my rione, from Via del Corso to the Palazzo Quirinal and on to Piazza Barberini passing by Trevi Fountain with every swath.   Well let's deal with the elephant in the room first.  Trevi Fountain is any number of adjectives, breath-taking, inspiring, beautiful, and tranquil come to mind.  The fountian seems almost an apparition with the suddeness that it presents itself to the viewer, invisible until one is nearly on top of it.  The frozen marble is juxtaposed by the veritable ant-hill of tourists constantly crawling all around it, throwing money into it, and vying for the primo photography spots. The manner in which I traversed my rione made it so that I approached the fountain from all possible angles, each street providing a unique experience. It was only after numbing myself to the awing effect of the fountain through long bouts of staring that I was able to begin to absorb the rest of Trevi. I cannot help but see Trevi as the heart of Rome, the metaphor is simply too apt.  It is here that the Aqua Virgo, the lifeblood of Rome thunders forth, clean and pure, under Oceanus' watchful eye. The water spreads from this central point flowing out to nourish the people of Rome, much as a human heart pumps blood to the extremities.  Here too is a political heart of sorts, the Quirinal Palace, home to Popes, Kings and Presidents respectively, is within the boundaries of the rione as are a plethora of government buildings.  Trevi also contains the heart of the church in an eerily literal manner.  Located within the church of Saints Vincenzo and Anastasio, which is mere steps from the Fountain, are the hearts of nearly thirty popes from across more than 300 years.  While these are obviously not on display, to the dismay of my morbid curiosity, large plaques flank the high altar listing the pope's whose organs are interred there. This rather strange honor is due to the church being the official parish of Quirinal Palace for the centuries that it was a papal residence. The similarities do not end there, one need only look at a map to see that Trevi is located in a central locale, the "heart" of Rome. It is built upon Quirinal Hill the tallest of the seven hills upon which the city rests. There is a reason that it is to the Trevi that visitors in Rome offer up their wishes to return to the eternal city.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Writing Assignment #5: Coming and Going (Mach II)

For me the philosophical question of nature versus nurture is not one that can be answered by one or the other, but rather they are complementary to one another. Using a metaphor in keeping with the components of this program I would describe nature as a block of marble uncut and unshaped but nonetheless containing inherent characteristics.  Nurture, on the other hand, is the sculptor; it will shape the marble but it cannot change white marble into say green nor can it dictate how the veins running through the marble will appear. This week's writing assignment deals with the concept of leaving a place and returning to find that it feels different.  It is not uncommon to explain this phenomenon by saying that the place itself has changed, however in most instances it is you that has changed. Travel is often an incredibly defining moment in one's life, it is only when we take our identity and place it in a position where it contrasts with something, that the opportunity for change presents itself. When we travel we take our identity and place it in a position where it contrasts with everything. I say the opportunity for change very deliberately for change is not required in fact some contrasts may cause one to become even more resolute in their existing beliefs. Samuel Johnson once commented on travel, "All travel has its advantages.  If the passenger visits better countries, he may learn to improve his own. And if fortune carries him to worse, he may learn to enjoy it." While the quote is quite simple it expresses a profound outlook on travel, suggesting that regardless of connotations we attach to experiences as "good" or "bad" they are valuable  in their role as metaphorical chisel strokes. To be frank a large part of why I choose to travel as much as I do is directly linked to this.  I have yet to even remotely figure out a plan for my life to say nothing of my indecision regarding an area of study.  I am searching and in some ways that search is in a very literal sense. I have this concept that at some point everything will just click and I'll know exactly what I want to do with my life; as time passes though I have come to realize just how naive of an idea that truly is.  In fact perhaps life works in a completely antithetical way, I remember when I was say 11 or 12 and there was not a doubt in my mind what I wanted to do when I grew up.  I was going to be an entrepreneur in case you were wondering, not that I had any idea what that entailed.  Nowadays being an entrepreneur is still a possibility for me but it has become clouded by all the logistics that never occurred to me, nor would they have mattered, when I was a child.  Before we are lost in tangential thoughts, allow me to ground these abstracts in recent, personal experience.  Obviously if you have navigated your way to this blog, or even if you are here by mistake and took the time to read the title of this blog, then you are aware that I am currently studying in Rome. What it will say on my transcript is that I studied Art History, Italian and Immigration and Emmigration while i was here in Rome.  While this is all true, were you to catch me in a particularly divulgent mood, as I apparently am right now, I would say that they are not the primary things I am studying. I am learning about myself.  For example, this trip has recently eclipsed my previous personal record for longest stay outside of the United States (not counting one particular outlier that I don't remember too well) and at this point I have a fairly good idea of what it is I miss most: Seattle coffee culture and the paragraph long orders that go along with  it, the English language and the deep bass my speakers produce, 24 hour grocery stores and Mexican food.  At the same time there are things here in Italy that I have enjoyed becoming accustomed to, scarves, gelato, train rides, cobblestone, tomatoes. This is of course on the most macro of scales, an intercontinental one even, yet the same concept holds true in instances of less dramatic juxtaposition.  We can apply this same model to my most recent excursion, a weekend in Venice during Carnevale, and in all likelihood it will provide a more insightful example as I have yet to return to the States from Italy and therefore cannot extrapolate upon the homecoming.  My experience in Venice can only be described as surreal, a weekend in a magical fantasy land where princesses and Casanovas were commonplace, and long odds seemed quite short. Allow me to relate a parable that might help you understand the atmosphere of the weekend. I arrived at Santa Lucia Station about seven minutes late and got off the train expecting to be greeted by my friend who should have arrived a few minutes prior to myself. Of course he wasn't there or this would be a rather poor story.  So I waited at the station for about 45 minutes at which point he had still not arrived.  At this point I was a rather interesting combination of stressed and bemused considering we hadn't really formulated a plan B, I didn't have a cell phone with minutes on it nor did I know my number so as to put minutes on it nor did I even know Alex's number, and to top it off I didn't know anything about where we were staying that night since he had made the reservations.  To put it eloquently, I was kind of fucked.  At this point I decided for whatever reason (impatience) that waiting at the train station was not my best option so I ventured vicariously into Venice in an effort to find somewhere with wi-fi.  A short jaunt got me to an internet cafe type establishment where using some exceptional powers of deduction, I was able to determine where my guest house was.  A quick email to my friend later, and I was off.  I arrived at the boat station, yeah they have boats not buses, only to discover that the 48 hour ticket I intended to buy wouldn't quite cover till I left on Sunday.  Just to be safe I decided to wait an hour or so and wander around Venice for a bit in an erratic fashion. Several blocks from the station I rounded a corner onto a narrow nearly abandoned alleyway, the only people sharing it with me were three men about my age.  One in particular was wearing a garish orange sweatshirt, which upon closer inspection read "Pepperdine", my gaze drifted up and I found myself looking at the face of my friend Alex, for some reason I wasn't particularly surprised, as if I had almost expected it to happen.  That seemed to set the tone for the weekend, the unusual became the norm.  The following two days were a flurry of masks, madonnas and new friends.  The return trip to Rome was an almost depressing experience in that I wished the weekend would never end and it finally had.  Reflecting upon this now I realize the absurdity of being sad about returning to Rome, but that doesn't make the emotion at the time any less authentic. As I walked back into Termini it was interesting to note how relieved I was to be back, until that point I don't think I had really considered how accustomed I had grown to Rome, how easily my conception of home had shifted in accordance with where I sleep. You see Johnson's quote is deceptively simplified, he makes it seem as if a country you visit will be either a good or a bad experience, the reality is much greyer, in every country, even every city one visits, both sides of this coin will be there.  There will be some things you will be enraptured by and others that you would happily never undergo again, it is in finding out what falls in each category that identity is defined.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Writing Assignment #4: Coming and Going

For me the philosophical question of nature versus nurture is not one that can be answered by one or the other, but rather they are complementary to one another. Using a metaphor in keeping with the components of this program I would describe nature as a block of marble uncut and unshaped but nonetheless containing inherent characteristics.  Nurture on the other is the sculptor; it will shape the marble but it cannot change white marble into say green nor can it dictate how the veins running through the marble will appear. This week's writing assignment deals with the concept of leaving a place and returning to find it feels different.  Given a long enough time frame it is possible that the location in question has in fact changed, however in most instances it is you that has changed. Travel is often an incredibly defining moment in one's life, it is only when we take our identity and place it in a position where it contrasts with something, that the opportunity for change presents itself. When we travel we take our identity and place it in a position where it contrasts with everything. In the previous sentence i say the opportunity for change very deliberately for change is not required in fact some contrasts may cause one to become even more resolute in their existing beliefs, as Samuel Johnson once commented on travel, "All travel has its advantages. If the passenger visits better countries, he may learn to improve his own. And if fortune carries him to worse, he may learn to enjoy it.” To be frank a large part of why I choose to travel so much is directly linked to this phenomenon.  I have yet to even remotely figure out a plan for my life to say nothing of my indecision regarding an area of study.  I am searching and in some ways that search is in a very literal sense. I have this concept that at some point everything will just click and I'll know exactly what I want to do with my life; as time passes though I have come to realize just how naive of an idea that truly is.  In fact perhaps life works in a completely antithetical way, I remember when I was say 11 or 12 and there was not a doubt in my mind what I wanted to do when I grew up.  I was going to be an entrepreneur in case you were wondering, not that I had any idea what that entailed.  Nowadays being an entrepreneur is still a possibility for me but it has become clouded by all the logistics that never occurred to me, nor would they have mattered, when I was a child.  Before we are lost in tangential thoughts, allow me to ground these abstracts in recent, personal experience.  Obviously if you have navigated your way to this blog, or even if you are here by mistake and took the time to read the title of this blog, then you are aware that I am currently studying in Rome. What it will say on my transcript is that I studied Art History, Italian and Immigration and Emmigration while i was here in Rome.  While this is all true, were you to catch me in a particularly divulgent mood, as I apparently am right now, I would say that they are not the primary things I am studying. I am learning about myself.  For example, this trip has recently eclipsed my previous personal record for longest stay outside of the United States (not counting one particular outlier that I don't remember too well) and at this point I have a fairly good idea of what it is I miss most: Seattle coffee culture and the paragraph long orders that go along with  it, the English language and the deep bass my speakers produce, 24 hour grocery stores and Mexican food.  At the same time though there are things here in Italy that I have enjoyed becoming accustomed to, scarves, gelato, train rides, cobblestone, tomatoes.  You see Johnson's quote is deceptively black and white, he makes it seem as if a country you visit will be either a good or a bad experience, the reality is much greyer, in every country one visits, both sides of this coin will be there.  There will be some things you will be enraptured by and others that you would happily never undergo again, it is in finding out what falls in each category that identity is defined. 

Monday, February 1, 2010

Writing Assignment #3: Mercato Esquilino

Market. Defined in terms of economics a market or marketplace is any location, be it physical, metaphorical, virtual, etc. in which persons trade, and services and goods are exchanged.  The scale and types of exchanges that occur in markets varies to an astonishing degree, however when looking at markets as a whole the essential component appears to be transactions.  Now a transaction is a very ambiguous thing, I'm sure what comes to mind for most people somehow involves money exchanging hands, but a transaction is not limited to currency  , literally anything changing hands can be considered a transaction. Transactions can even be one-sided, where one person gains nothing and the other something, although this is rarely the case when one considers all potential aspects of the transaction.  The point of all this abstract thought is to set the stage for relating my experience at Mercato Esquilino last week.  Let me begin by saying that I did not purchase anything at the market, no money exchanged hands, yet as you may guess from the introductory section I felt that I participated in several transactions while there.  These transactions are difficult to define due to their largely metaphysical nature nonetheless a certain sense of clarity may be gained in the attempt.  The first transaction I will address involved no verbal communication yet had a pronounced effect on the rest of my experience at the market.  It goes without saying that I was an outsider at Mercato Esquilino, hell I'm an outsider anywhere in Rome, yet here the effect was more apparent.  As our group wandered throughout this mall of sorts we drew eyes like flies. I have experienced this sort of unabashed attention in only one other place in the world, certain parts of China, there the simple, at least to me, aspect of being white is enough to draw attention.  At Mercato Esquilino I am unsure if it was simply the phenotypic differences we exhibited or if the dramatic reaction only occurred due to a combination of visual and lingual borders. So what constitutes a non-currency based tansaction how do you give, how do you receive. I would theorize that such a transaction would have  use one of the five senses as a medium simply due to the human element involved. Sight, Sound, Smell, Touch, and Taste, these are how we interpret the world and each other Following this line of inquiry I will attempt to break Mercato Esquilino into these five categories of transactions.  

Sight: the market is filled with vibrant colors on both sides of the divide, scarves, coats, dresses, shoes, fabrics in a plethora of hues and styles, glimmering silks and matte wools the dull shine of leather and the bright shine of jewelry. The food market is the yin to this yang containing a corresponding abundance of colorful produce silver scaled fish to match the sequinned dresses oranges and tomatoes capture the same color as bright ties and tees.  

Smell: introduced in a progression in keeping with the boutiques on your left and right, the earthy smell of leather as one passes the shoes fading briefly into the faint smell of fabrics before that too is replaced.  As you cross over into the farmer's market the smells seem to blend harmoniously as brief snatches of fennel or paprika are carried to you through the tempest of fruit smells that give a positively tropical impression.  Venturing deeper in one experiences a jarring transition as you stumble upon the fish market the pungent odor of the catch of the day overpowering all else.

Sound: The market on the day I was there was an unequal distribution of caucophany and silence corresponding to the unequal distribution of business. The textile side is subdued as few people wander between many shops competing for their business.  Here and there a customer 
negotiates with an owner.  However in the food side there is a dull roar of business as steaks are sliced and vegetables and spices are exchanged for euros.  Vendors call out to passers-by as well as to each other in a plethora of languages ranging from Hindi to Romanian the clash of which provides an auditory representation of the clash of cultures.

Touch: The feel of fine silk running through your fingers like water. The perfect contradiction of firmness and softness as you find a wonderfully ripe tomato. The pleasant touch of soft cotton on the skin. The grainy feel of salt or spice as you grind it between your thumb and forefinger.  The textured weave of tapestry, the picture broken down into so many threads through the medium of touch.  The slick, cold and clammy exterior of a fish who gazes blindly upwards. The brief impact as a single entity out of the flow of people brushes past your shoulder.

Taste: Exclusively the domain of one side of the market. I personally only tasted a few things while there, but do not be offended if I let my imagination fill in a few blanks. I did try one of the oranges looking almost red on the inside it burst upon impact with my teeth flooding my mouth with flavor that I lack the words to truly describe beyond saying that it was wonderfully sweet with just enough tartness to create balance, in short it tasted like an orange, one of the better of its kind.  I can only imagine how delicious other things in the market must have tasted and that may very well prompt a return trip.  The juicy steaks sliced before the eyes of those who will consume them; with the proper care must taste heavenly, tender and moist, seasoned to perfection by the peppers merely meters away.  The vegetables on the other hand could create a vivacious salad with crunchy, delectable, bell peppers cavorting with the aforementioned tomatoes as well as refreshing cucumber all hosted by an assortment of various greens.  It is in the combination of the wonderful products available that an infinite amount of variety is available.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

The Synagogue

I am ignorant about Jewish culture I'll admit it the closest thing I have to a window into their society is a friend with a "jew-fro".  His mom is Jewish but he is as atheistic as I am.  The only real thing that might distinguish him as a member of the Jewish community, which I'm not really sure you can consider him, is the aforementioned hair, an astounding addiction to bagels and, at the risk of being called racist, he is a bit stingy with his money.  Like I said ignorant.  Well last Tuesday that changed, at least a little bit, at the very least I wore a yamakah for the first time, that has got to count for something right.  All jokes aside though I was astounded at how little I actually knew about the Jewish religion.  To quantify my lack of knowledge there were more than Six Hundred and Thirteen things I didn't know about Judaism since that is apparently how many rules govern the life of a practicing Jew (known as the Mitzvah), not to mention I wasn't even aware what the holiday Hanukkah was a celebration of, and I generally pride myself on being a knowledgeable and cultured person.  For those of you who are in the boat I was formally in it celebrates the supposed miracle of an oil lamp burning for eight days in the Temple of Jerusalem signifying that it had been reconsecrated after it was desecrated by the Syrians.  I know right, and I thought it had something to do with an animated Adam Sandler film.  Another thing that kind of blew me away was the level of secrecy.  I am accustomed to being able to walk into nearly any church with so much as a smile.  The synagogue is protected by a mean looking metal fence, along with some not so friendly security guards, in fact when we were supposed to return at 4 o'clock he almost didn't let me back in.  The security is merely a symptom though, there continues to be a lot of animosity towards the Jewish faith and these walls are for protection, but there is a fine line between keeping others out and keeping yourself in, it is possible they are inextricable.  One incident on our tour that I found fascinating was when our guide related to us that the pope abstained from referring to Israel as anything but the Holy Land, choosing not to recognize it as a nation.  I agree with him, at least to a degree, the formation of Israel, while good in its intentions, was something the United Nations did not have the authority to grant nor the foresight to see the obvious repercussions.  I am merely hypothesizing but I think the decision was largely influenced by emotions still running high after WWII.  That said I do not have a better solution, at least the Jews who fight and die for Israel are dieing for their country, perhaps something can be said of tha

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Writing Assignment #2: The Race Riots of Rosarno

I'll be honest, I was concerned about this assignment from the beginning.  I walked out of class last Thursday grumbling about the logistics; where was I supposed to find an Italian who was not only willing to talk to a complete stranger but also had the English language skills to communicate about topics as complex as xenophobia, illegal immigration, organized crime and corruption.  So I did what I do with most things I don't want to deal with, I didn't deal with it.  I didn't even read about the events in detail, allocating the limited time I spend perusing the news on the disaster in Haiti.

Late Friday afternoon, shortly after our independent research meeting I made a desperate bid to make it to the wedding cake monument hoping to catch a few beautiful shots of the sun setting for my vlog.  For whatever reason, perhaps the alacrity with which I took my leave from our group discussion, Teo and Giulia were captured by spontaneity and decided to accompany me.  Whether they would have made the same decision knowing the frantic pace I was about to set is another question.  Regardless I am glad they came.  As we stood at the top of the Vittorio Emmanuele II Monument watching the sun sink into Rome, creating an ephemeral mix of vibrant hues, a middle-aged to elderly couple was enjoying the same vista.  Teo, feeling significantly bolder about the assignment than myself, approached the woman and engaged her in conversation about the race riots. I listened in, intrigued, but had nothing of my own to add.  As such the experience did not qualify for this assignment yet I mention it because it set the stage by piquing my interest in the topic.  Additionally I am rarely at a loss for words in any conversation, be that a good or a bad thing, and the unfamiliar experience was not exactly a comfortable one. Duly inspired by this duality of interest and shame I googled "race riots southern Italy" upon returning to my apartment and began to arm myself with an intellectual armada in preparation for my forthcoming second encounter.  As fate would have it one of my best friends, and probably my favorite person to discuss philosophy with, skyped me during this mental excursion and I took the opportunity to refine my ideas regarding the race riots. A particularly relevant excerpt from the conversation went something like this,

[1/20/2010 2:27:57 PM] Alex Hakso: whenever you are economically reliant upon something illegal, things are bound to get complicated
[1/20/2010 2:28:05 PM] Tim Persson: the situations not that far off from our Mexican seasonal workers
[1/20/2010 2:28:19 PM] Alex Hakso: oftentimes locals (especially old, white locals) don't want them around
[1/20/2010 2:28:33 PM] Alex Hakso: yeah my sentiments exactly regarding the Mexican migrant workers
[1/20/2010 2:28:49 PM] Tim Persson: makes you wonder if the same thing will eventually happen in the states or if not what factors are different
[1/20/2010 2:28:33 PM] Alex Hakso: they are occasionally the victims of violence, and there is a lot of effort put into keeping them out
[1/20/2010 2:28:57 PM] Alex Hakso: but the sentence "who's going to pick the fruit next year" carries a lot of weight in that article

While a slightly disjointed dialogue it captures several points worthy of in-depth examination.  The first line prods at a glaring contradiction between legality and reality.  I find it nigh impossible to believe that the Italian government or any of its citizens are ignorant of the labor system that is exploited in the southern regions of their country to harvest crops.  Yet it is tolerated even encouraged in the sense that the majority are comfortable feigning ignorance, they don't care how their produce arrives at their table only that it is less expensive.  This is in direct conflict with the counter-culture of impoverished Italians who are forced to compete, and in all likelihood fail, against unbelievably cheap stream of immigrant labor flowing into their country.  The last line of the excerpt sums up the crux of the issue, farmers have become dependent on this cheap labor and in one article I read a farmer was quoted as saying that he did not have the capital to harvest his produce at the prices demanded by Italian citizen laborers so his fruit was rotting on the trees.  It is incredibly interesting to compare and contrast the circumstances leading up to this racialized violence here in Italy with the nearly synonymous situation in the United States.  While this is not the focus of my writing I would like anyone reading this to compare and contrast the two and if possible share their thoughts. America has a long history of racism and racially targeted violence, is it really so hard to believe that these things could rear their ugly head again. 

However Alex is, like me, an American and in order to fairly examine the issue an Italian opinion is necessary. Despite having no concrete plan for who or how to approach fate decreed that the encounter arrived sooner than expected.  On Sunday I made a return trip to Ostia Antica.  As you might imagine a forty minute train ride could provide an excellent venue for such a venture.  However the thought hadn't really occurred to me to utilize my travel time until I sat down near a finely dressed Italian businessman who was conversing, in quite fluent English albeit Italian accented, on his cell phone.  When he finally hung up I decided to seize the opportunity.  I introduced myself as a student from Washington State and after a few cordial minutes I had discovered that he was, as I had predicted an Italian businessman, named Enzo Moretti.  He had done several years of overseas work in India working for what I understood to be a tele-communications company.  About a year ago he had transferred back to Roma, Italy and had worked here since; a change he seemed quite happy about.  The fact that we both understood the ardours of living with a lingual barrier helped to smooth things out.  Introductions accomplished I decided it was time to reveal my ulterior motivation, "So what do you know about the race riots in Calabrias?" I asked.  He paused just long enough to make me start to believe I had overstepped the bounds of our limited relationship.  Finally he slowly shook his head and solemnly said, "well I know that they are a serious problem."  Unfortunately I did not have pen or paper with me on this trip so I cannot give you an exact account of our conversation however I will do my best to provide an accurate synopsis.  He explained at first that it was personally upsetting because he felt that it reflected poorly upon all Italians and he not did feel that he could be classified as a racist, a statement I will concur with.  Furthermore he lamented the situation that leads to so many immigrants coming to Italy, seeing it as the ever-elusive land of opportunity when in reality they are confined to a marginalized existence similar to slavery in all but name.  He expressed his confusion that people continue to immigrate here in such great numbers somehow uninformed by their relatives of the abysmal conditions.  This caused me to ponder the possibility that perhaps these people come from conditions somehow worse, unimaginable as that is from the confines of my pampered lifestyle.  When queried about the allegations that the mafia was somehow involved he confirmed that he did in fact believe this to be the case.  He added something quite similar to what Federica Bianchi stated about it, that the line between mafia and the rest of Italy is not as demarcated as it would be convenient to think. Unfortunately at this point our conversation came to an abrupt halt as the train reached his stop.

In a way these were not the responses I had wanted to hear, I was secretly wishing to encounter an Italian who supported the governments stance that there was no racism in Italy so that I could directly juxtapose my views with theirs.  However it is more than likely that my own insecurities regarding the language border had made this a significantly less likely possibility.  Regardless once I committed to this assignment that had at first inspired so much worry I found it to be an incredibly relevant social issue both here and abroad.  In retrospect it was not the assignment that made me upset, given a similar one in the States would have gotten no such reaction, but crossing my personal borders being a mandatory aspect of the class.  However I am glad I did

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Critical Reading: Borders in a Borderless World

"It should be obvious that the construction of borders reflects existing ethnic, group and territorial differences (subsequent) just as it is often responsible for the creation of those differences in the first place (antecedent).  Equally, many of the borders within which our personal and group lives are compartmentalized and regimented have been super-imposed upon us by the decision-making elites despite the fact that in many cases they do not reflect the true cutting points and edges of inter-group difference and separation--not least because there is rarely (if ever) such a clean line of division or separation." (Newman)

I found this quote to be the most fascinating excerpt of the entire article.  It really cuts to what I feel is the heart of the conundrum surrounding borders.  They are cyclical in nature performing a bizarre parody of the cliche chicken versus the egg philosophical question.  Ethnic differences often arise in part due to the simple fact that different groups originated in different geographical regions and the physical space that they inhabit plays a part in molding them culturally.  However once these societies expanded and came into contact with other cultures geographical boundaries came to demarcate the cultural boundaries that already existed.  These, once formed, serve to perpetuate the asymmetries responsible for their original formation, coming full circle.  Newman goes one step farther, although I am unsure I agree with him, and states that the boundaries are maintained even strengthened by the aristocratic elites who benefit through the control of these margins.  If true it would imply that which borders we encounter are dictated for us based simply on our place of origin, an interesting suggestion.  Finally I'd like to touch upon the ending sentence of the quote it is an important observation that despite the common mental image of a border as a clearly marked line there are often a variety of shades of grey, or transition zones, surrounding borders.

Writing Assignment 1: Borders

Borders.  Upon first inspection it is a relatively simple term, at least it was for me, carrying with it no more connotation than a mental image of perfectly drawn lines on a map or that bookstore of the same name.  It is only upon encountering them: crossing them or being stopped by them that deeper exploration becomes mandatory.  Over the past week or two I have run into a plethora of borders, both those that I can cross and those where I am rebuffed.  There are of course the obvious ones, those aforementioned unrealistically sharp delineations depicted by cartographers, crossed as I flew first to France and then to Italy. However for now I will focus on those that are more cloaked, the ones that I've encountered on a daily basis since coming to Europe.  The most pronounced of these is my inability to communicate with the ease I am accustomed to.  I pride myself on my knowledge of the English language as a conduit through which to express myself and to have that severely crippled has made this border particularly pronounced for me.  Since being here I have been reduced to child-like levels in certain situations, wordlessly pointing at the things I want or staring dumbly as a native Italian attempts to impart useful knowledge.  If you have ever been in a similar situation, in a country where you did not know the language, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.  As the days have gone by I have progressed past complete ignorance regarding the Italian language gaining the ability to throw out a Buongiorno here and an Arrivederci there.  Interestingly enough a large number of those Italians with some English skills won't even attempt to speak Italian with me transitioning to English as soon as they assess that I am a foreigner, implying that they are far more comfortable crossing my language barrier than having theirs crossed.  Another facet I have observed is that if there is a multilingual person present it is incredibly easy to become dependent upon them relying upon their expertise rather than undergo the discomfiting feeling of a tangible barrier.  This gives that person an incredible level of power as they are able to regulate that lingual border, capable of censorship.  This directly supports Newman's theory on the subject of borders that the elite few who are able to control borders have access to immense power.  I first came to this realization while traveling in rural areas of China with my sister who is relatively proficient at the language. I on the other hand know how to say only two words in Chinese, nihao and xiangmao, the first meaning hello and the second panda.  She quite literally became the sieve through which my interactions with the world were filtered.  To be honest I did not enjoy the feeling of powerlessness and in a certain sense isolation that accompanied this realization.  This has charged me with a desire to learn Italian that was not present during my language classes in high school.  I look forward to empowering myself and crossing this lingual gap gaining at least limited membership on the other side.