December 22, 2024
My hair was held up loosely in a claw clip. I sat by the decorative fireplace, curious about the smoke it produced and the fire being projected. I stole the look of an English librarian. A foolproof choice, really.
At Oppio Caffè, right on the corner across from the Colosseum, the terrace railing looked out over the ruins. We were handed the menu, a single laminated sheet in papyrus font. I scanned it briefly before landing on the continental breakfast. For only twelve Euros, you could have either an American coffee or a cappuccino (I obviously chose the cappuccino) and a muffin, or orange juice and toasted bread with butter and jam. My brother ordered pizza, from which I took a slice out of. They had the best mozzarella.
We arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around. A man played the violin with his case open on the cobblestone street. People nearby were sketching and making art. We wandered through narrow alleyways. We found the Vespa museum and took a photo in the cardboard cutout with holes for faces. There was also a small stand selling postcards. I regret not buying a handful. I told my little brother to beware of the cracks because a griffin had been flying around the old-looking town.
We even met Roman gladiators marching around and doing their routines. Sprawled all over the town were statues of Nero, Julius Caesar, Emperor Nerva, and the like. SPQR was carved everywhere, which I learned stood for Senatus Populusque Romanus - the Senate and People of Rome. Horses and carriages passed by.
Later, my family sat on a bench while I observed each unsuspecting stranger, trying to guess if they had availed the same tour we did. I couldn’t stay still. I chased pigeons in a wide field, picked up dried leaves and inspected them, then ran after my little brother. A group of boys playing soccer happened to drop their ball right onto the field I was running around in. They called out to me for help. I hesitated, worried about my brother’s safety. I was an awkward bystander while all of them waved for me to throw the ball back. They looked about my age. I owe them an apology.
We wore orange tags and earpieces given by our tour guide. She was a beautiful girl who seemed very knowledgeable about Rome, carrying a binder of pictures to accompany all her stories. The stone beneath our feet was slightly damp from the rain. I stepped into mud because the sight before me had taken me away. There was brilliance in the architecture.
The Colosseum, once known in Roman times as the Flavian Amphitheatre, now stands in partial ruins. Huge sections of the outer walls are missing, particularly the southern side. Scholars, engineers, and patrons have made efforts to conserve and reinforce it, opening more areas of the hypogeum for controlled visits. The pillars and arches still stand, their Lego-like structure held together by dowels once used to strengthen the foundation. I touched and peeked through each hole, taking in the craftsmanship.
The past cannot be restored. It can only be remembered. The Colosseum was still the same. Built from the spoils of the Jewish War, specifically from Jerusalem and its temple, it was a tangible expression of offering entertainment to the urban population. It was constructed incredibly fast, in only eight years. Despite being built by slaves, it stays impressive, made from thousands (definitely more) of travertine stones, tufa, concrete, and limestone.
Nearby was the colossal statue of Nero, modeled after the sun god. The statue, which later gave the Colosseum its name, survived in altered forms under later emperors. But the Colosseum remained. It was a political and architectural response to Nero’s legacy, a public arena for panem et circenses - bread and entertainment. A spectacle of imperial power. An elliptical stage where Rome displayed its might.
We went up the Colosseum stairs. The guide said the steps were small because the Romans were shorter then. Upon entering, I felt it must have been the same view the gladiators saw. Only a few seats survived the test of time, but I knew that still, it could hold over eighty thousand spectators. The senators and equestrians had the lower seats; the ordinary citizens sat above. The shouts and screams must've been loud back then.
We learned about the gladiatorial games - the prisoners of war, condemned criminals, slaves, and those who gained popularity. For those in chains, the arena was a chance at freedom. There were animal hunts where beasts were unleashed, public executions, and propaganda through mock sea battles (naumachiae) where the Colosseum was flooded to reenact famous victories.
Our guide taught us a few expressions: the signal for mercy and the one that meant death, a cut across the velascular throat. Gladiators were figures of strength. Women couldn’t sit near them; it was said their sweat was too enticing.
A fun fact, because there can never be enough, was that female gladiators were actually the highest rated. Their perfume, said to be made from the gladiator's sweat, sold for a ridiculous price.
Then came the stories of emperors and their promises to bring Rome back to greatness. Augustus, the first emperor, claimed to have found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble. He rebuilt temples, expanded the city, and restored traditional Roman values after years of civil war. Later emperors tried to follow his example. Vespasian and his son Titus built the Colosseum to win public favor and show the strength of the empire. Others, like Trajan and Hadrian, brought new monuments and reforms, each declaring a return to the glory of Rome.
There were also stories of the gods once honored near the Colosseum, of the eternal fire kept burning by the Vestal Virgins, and of the priestesses who guarded it as a symbol of Rome’s endurance. The Palatine Hill, where the emperors built their palaces, became a place of both power and legend, overlooking the heart of the empire.
The Colosseum was historical, but so was the entire city.
Even the public toilets had their place in Roman life. Philosophers, merchants, and senators simultaneously had their private matters while discussing their ideas. To top it off, they shared the same sponge on a stick! Pretty rad.
It started raining. The museum stickers on my shirt began to fall off. My parents worried that my little brother might catch a cold, so we cut the tour short, leaving right in the middle of the story about the undying fire of Vesta. Sigh.
We ducked into a small pizza and chicken place. They made such good food. We booked two taxis there and waited. My hair was soaked. Thankfully, the taxi I went into had a heater. We didn’t even care about the fares anymore. Warmth is nice.
My Google Maps told me that Brandy Melville Rome was nearby. You know I had to come through. I shopped for a few things, then went on to the next shop, which was Subdued. A teenager’s dream. There was also this cart selling old books on the street. They had plays and manuscripts. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired here.
