Chase A. Wolf's

Beneath the floor of the Coliseum

     So, I began my tour of Rome’s Greatest Hits, absorbing their history along the way.  I also stopped for a long time to walk through the Coliseum, the Forum and the Circus Maximus.  Two interesting things that I learned were the origins of the words “coliseum” and “palace.”  

     Rome’s Coliseum was originally named the Flavian Amphitheatre – built by the emperors of the Flavian Imperial dynasty who followed Emperor Nero.  Nero – a really odd anatra - had constructed an enormous estate for himself with woods and a lake in the middle of Rome – the Domus Aurea, or “Golden House” – along with it a 120-foot tall bronze statue of himself – no doubt to impress the local girls.  After Nero offed himself – or as he put it “deprived the world of a great artist,” the estate was torn up and the Flavian Amphitheatre was built atop Nero’s drained lake, but Nero’s statue was nearby and since it was so large or, colloso in Latin or Italian, I’m not sure – the Flavian Amphitheatre became the Coliseum. 

The Coliseum with partial new wooden floor

     So now, whenever you watch a sports event at a “coliseum’ in the States, it’s called that because some nutty Roman emperor liked to impress the ladies in a very big way – and Ferraris hadn’t been invented yet.  Funny thing about Nero’s bronze statue is that successive Roman emperors kept modifying it in their images – they didn’t have Ferraris either – before it disappeared from history sometime in the 4^th century when the Roman Empire was starting to circle the drain.

The Arch of Constantine fom the Coliseum

     As to the origin of the word “palace” – this comes from the Palatine Hill – where, according to our bus driver, co-founder of Rome, Romulus, supposedly saw the flocks of birds that gave him the rule of Rome before he killed his silly brother, Remus, who didn’t see as many birds.  Eventually this place became the home of the Emperors in Rome, after they took the land from the nobles who liked the view.  So, Palatine became known as Palacio, which then was translated to “palace.”  Great for Romulus and later Roman rulers, but not so great for Remus, who should have paid more attention to bird watching.  It’s worth noting that this version of the Romulus and Remus mythos is not the generally accepted version of events, so perhaps our driver had been partaking of the grape that day and was having some fun with the tourists.

Wedding Day outside the Coliseum

     I also toured the Roman Forum - the oldest part of the city and, in a way, the original retail center – ancient Roman style.  In additional to being the administrative heart of the city, the Forum was the place that people came to from all over the known world to trade their goods in the richest city on earth.  Sort of what Global Shopping Adventures will be, minus the slaves, of course.  It was an open marketplace filled with every imaginable type of merchandise known.  It must have been spectacular – though without refrigeration, I can only imagine the stench. 

A nun in the sun

     Now, I will confess to being open to certain Buddhist notions of reincarnation.  As I strolled through the Forum, the melancholy ruins of the heart of the great Roman Empire, the hairs on the back of my neck (soon the only hairs I’ll have left) stood up.  I simply knew I’d been there before.  I don’t know what I’d been doing there, whether it good or bad, it was all just so familiar in a matter-of-fact way.    

     Thinking more about my possible past life, if I’d spent time at the Coliseum, who would I have been?  Would have been one of the smelly mob?  Or would I have been high Roman society, sporting a finely-trimmed toga and hanging out drinking wine with other swells,

What's left of the Palatine Hill

smiling politely and exchanging great pleasantries while plotting each other’s demise ?  Or perhaps an emperor – I hope not Caligula or Nero – all frocked out in purple and gold, the height of Roman Imperial fashion, just coolin’ out in the Emperor’s Box with my servants and bodyguard posse – the Praetorian Guard – indifferently deciding the fate of defeated gladiators with a twitch of my thumb. 

The ruins of the Palatine Hill

     Or maybe I was a gladiator – sweating and bleeding in the hot sands of the arena; making with the artful cuts and stabbings to my opponents before delivering a swift and terrible tolchok to the head, and then the coup de gras skewering with my bloody gladius – my hairy armpits raised to the triumphal cries of the mob.  Ah, good times – and I have been told I bear a striking resemblance to Russell Crowe. 

Me at the Forum

     Eh, more than likely nothing so glamorous – I have a feeling that if I were on the bill for the day’s entertainment it was as lion bait, or if I was lucky, maybe a condemned prisoner who played the role of some defeated enemy of the Republic from glory days long passed.  But one can hope.  Home Office says I was probably the Coliseum’s landlord or at least its property manager.  I can live with that – I’m sure I would have been running the retail concessions there too.

A view of the Forum

     But enough history and past life speculation – a couple of food notes from my belly.

     My first night in Rome I asked the hotel’s concierge (generally the best source of information for a traveler), about finding the Carciofi all guidia –the famous Jewish-Italian dish, also called Roman Artichoke.  

Love among the ruins

     I was directed to Piperno, a charming old restaurant which opened in 1860, located in the Jewish quarter of the city.  Being an American, I’d already consumed a pizza earlier (Italian style, nothing like what the Italians in America invented), so all I wanted was to sample this seasonal delicacy.  The Carciofi all guidia is essentially a deep-fried artichoke and I washed mine down with a charming glass of Chianti of a label I forgot to record – but the nutty crunchiness

Carciofi all guidia - Roman Artichoke - at Ristorante Piperno

of the fried artichoke and the wine blended together perfectly.  Well satiated and wanting no more, I horrified my waiter by asking for the check after just that one course.  Oh well – hopefully the Piperno will appreciate the explanation – and the plug – I’ve provided here.

     On my second night in Rome, I had a notion for pasta and relying again on the Intercontinental’s well-informed concierge, I was directed to the Ristorante Santo Padre as serving the freshest pasta.  Bruno and Daniela are the owners and they met me with open arms.  As in Greece, Italians typically eat very late and when I got there at 8:30 p.m., I was the only person in the restaurant. The Santo Padre is at Via Collina N.18. 

Bruno & Daniela at Ristorante Santo Padre

     I had the ravioli in meat sauce – the pasta was perfectly textured and the meat sauce rich and sweet and wonderfully complimented the pan-seared veal that followed it.  If you remind Bruno of the exquisite cigar I gave him in gratitude and he may remember me.  You’ll need a reservation there, as it was packed with locals by the time I left.  And bring your hands to speak with – English is rare there.

     And that’s it from Rome – a pleasant couple days.   Home Office once spent a month there and claims to know every crack and cranny of the city – but I had to ignore Home Office’s many recommendations – including dancing drunk on grappa in the Piazza Navona’s fountains at 3:00 a.m.; I only had time to see the highlights and enjoy the food, as usual – and not act out one of Home Office’s weird Fellini fantasies. 

Castel Sant'Angelo and the Tiber

     My trip at an end, belly full, I retired to the hotel to pack, and hoped that the coins I tossed into the Trevi Fountain will keep the Travel Gods at bay during my trip to Madrid tomorrow.