The Decisive Moment

On the night we all sat down together and shared what our contributions to this trip would be, I really only had two strengths to share: being adaptable and knowing a few things about art.
I didn’t know this class would line up perfectly with my art history class when I signed up. I didn’t know that when I learned that the colonnade of St. Peter’s basilica is designed to invoke the feeling of being embraced into the church, that I would be on the recipient end of that massive outstretched hug. Yet, I found myself staring up at Michelangelo’s Ceiling like a kid at the zoo, aware of every detail of the creature in front of me.
Pediments, orthogonals, Memento Mori.
In Rome, every vocabulary word and essay you’ve ever written can be seen in every direction. At the Galleria Borghese, I found myself face to face with my written thesis on sculpture: Bernini’s David. It’s not the David everyone knows, but he seemed to escaped out of my textbook for me. Artistically, I am fascinated with movement, and if there’s one thing Bernini can do, it’s make the marble move. Literally and figuratively, David comes out of his marble form into our space, interacting with me and the other onlookers. He pulls back on the sling, eyes focused, his body off balance as he draws momentum. In art, we call this the “decisive moment”. It’s the moment you wait for, when the image is it’s most dynamic, right as the action happens.
When I think of all the experiences I’ve had on this trip, it’s full of these decisive moments. Hands raised above the ruins of Ostia Antica, a ceiling being blown off by painted angels, a look of understanding between people who may not have otherwise met. Our travel to Rome came into my space, I had to interact with it and learn to become a part of what made it so beautiful.
I’ve sort of been a rough “art translator” for the group. But the thing is, this trip to Rome and the people who joined me on it, have taught me a lot more about what art is and can be. This is our decisive moment.

As the final knight (haha) of this Roman adventure draws to a close, it is time to reflect upon my experiences in the capitol of Italy. The things that stand out most in my mind to be thankful for this trip are language and friendship.
One of the things I was most excited for here in Rome was a chance to practice Italian. At the borghese museum, I was able to carry on a conversation with one of the employees in only Italian. Although the conversation was only 4 sentences in length, it seems like a step in the right direction. I communicated with many others during the trip with varying degrees of success, but one thing was apparent: they always appreciated the effort.
The other event that stood out to me was our time at the Musei Vaticani. To many, this location is central to their religious ideologies, but to others, it is merely a historical wonder. However, it seems that regardless of background, everyone was in awe of the Sistine Chapel. The ability to connect with so many others whilst viewing one of the most famous artworks in the world is difficult to put into words, but it's something I'll never forget. The Vatican museum contained such a plethora of art that it was impossible to truly process it all, so I'm also thankful for friends that were willing to take a moment to discuss what we had seen and felt, rather than just push onward and miss out on the meanings behind the art.

People in Rome and Getting an Answer

The last day in Rome. A week’s worth of experiences for what is starting to feel more and more like home. I’ll miss it despite that I’ve only been here a short time. What will I miss?

Well it isn’t the traffic laws. That’s for sure. I’ve been honked at, slammed between two doors on the metro, told via revved engine that I needed to move, and nearly run over. As it turns out, traffic in Rome is much more anything goes. In truth, I was surprised one night to see someone actually getting a ticket for a parking violation. Don’t get me wrong, I love when things are a little hectic, but I certainly won’t miss the uncertainty of whether or not a green light really means you’re clear to walk or not.

It isn’t even the artistry and beauty (of which there is plenty). The city is incredible. It’s great to be able to walk to the Vatican at night for a heart-to-heart with God—which the passersby will find only slightly discomforting. Which, if you get the time, San Pietro Square should really be seen at night. Another note here reader: in Rome, it is very possible to end up accidentally at the Vatican. And I won’t discredit how humbling it is to stand beneath the Arch of Constantine and appreciate both its age and colossal size. It is truly an incredible experience. Despite all of these types of antiquities Rome has to offer, I wouldn’t say it’s what really makes leaving Rome feel unreal. It is, I think, the people and the great feeling of humanity that is present just walking the street. 

For example, after visiting the Trevi Fountain at about 10:30 at night, I took a walk around it. I got 20 minutes away and people were still active. The stores in the immediate area were closed or closing but the people kept about. It was not strange to them that anyone was out. And they were genuine and kind people. Even the alleys felt safe. And so it is with walking in Rome.

Up until that point, I was an American in Rome treating Rome like an American city, but not afterwards. I sat at the Fountain and just reflected on life. And the Romans all understood. Several looked at me and nodded, or just came up next to me. Many foreigners - I could tell from my sparse German and smattering of French and Spanish—passed me by or started loud conversation with odd looks directed towards me. But the true Italians, seemed to commiserate with escaping the bustle of life.

It’s like when walking to the Vatican for my unintentional night-time encounter with the colonnade (since I didn’t realize that though the security check points closed the square remained open) those who live here, such as the guards, had a deeper appreciation of stopping to do so. Meanwhile, those tourists who passed by for many a nightly photo were not able to appreciate the site for what it was: ultimately a church, a people. Let me explain the guards for those who do not know. The guards are military men who never seem to be in a good mood (not bad, just not happy). They carry very large rifles, the type which I'm sure are against American ownership laws. And they have a very straightforward approach to problems. These same guards, mostly silent threatening human-beings I had not tried to interact with so far, actually smiled at me and thanked me. And when I left, they gave me a little wave and a nod. If I knew more Italian, I probably would have understood more than just the introductory "Thank you". What I got from the body language was something like this: "You're not the only one, kid".

I say this like I'm an observer. But what I'm beginning to realize is I'm not.We're active participants in the culture. Today, I had an incredible connection with the maid at the hotel. It did not last long, but long enough that we both understood each other. She passed me in the hall singing Amazing Grace--in English! And it was just beautiful, and I joined in. Just for a moment, we both understood each other, even though we couldn’t communicate in basically any other way. It lasted until we did not know the words, and then it was over. 

But it doesn’t have to end. I feel we can take some of it back with us. For example, in Louisville, if you're lost, you just ask directions. But after four or five tries in Rome, I'm willing to amend that. Note one: looking confused is a no-go. In Louisville, looking confused is the hallmark of being lost. Do that in Rome and people will run off in the opposite direction (true story). Note two: simply getting someone's attention is not enough to get an answer. I'm used to getting a direct answer whenever I get someone's attention. But three different people heard "Scusa", acknowledged it, looked at me knowingly, and I could not ask them anything. Note three: except on public transit, space is everything. For getting a conversation, you need to be in shouting distance, not closer. Finally, after a lot of trying, I got a working approach—put on a blank look, give five feet of space, get the person’s attention, and then ask the question with almost no gap between. So far, success every time, though not always a right answer (in fact, the answer was very wrong, but I made it back despite). It's something that from now on, I know. 

What makes it a part of you, I think, is the recognition of your own humanity. You can’t see the city without realizing the vastness of the world and your own smallness. One begins to understand that they are part of something much bigger. St. Peter's is not just a big beautiful church - it's a place others have gone before you, that has a developing and interconnected history. The Trevi Fountain is not just a place for tourists to throw their money - it's something that connects others through the stirring of emotion. The street is a constant rush of life, not just you in a crowd. And being one among many means being part of a group of people who understand each other. One thing is for sure: if nothing else, you will leave Rome knowing that the 20 people crossing next to you at the intersection have an intimate group understanding for being honked at, slammed on the metro, and nearly run over (even if they don’t say it). Not much, but a start. It's the little things as much as the grandiose.

An Accidental Pilgrimage

On 18 December 2017, I, like so many more before me, cried in St. Peter's Basilica. Specifically, I cried in the necropolis (burial ground) under St. Peter's Basilica looking at the plexiglass case in which St. Peter's bones are stored. It wasn't the 2000+ year old remains of the man who essentially founded the Catholic Church that got me. In fact, the only reason I was looking at what is left of the person Jesus is said to have described as the "Rock of the Church"was because I was trying to maintain my composure and divert my attention away from the physical rock that was turning me into a sniffling, leaky mess. Nicknamed the "graffiti wall", the rock is historically a place for faithful individuals to come and transcribe their prayers to the "Apostle of the Apostles". The wall is a plaster mess of partially-legible Latin scribbles crafted by anonymous hands, and the sight of it was completely overwhelming. Here I was in a body that is always breathing, or metabolizing, or salivating, or thinking, or something standing parallel to a structure that changed only by the will of other mortal bodies like mine. The juxtaposition of my constant physical change with the wall's physical consistency was flooring. It made me think about the pilgrims who wrote on the wall; maybe one furrowed his brow when he was thinking, maybe the women who came along 34 years later on a similar mission had a dimple that you could only see when she laughed, maybe her son with the cowlick made the same trip to visit St. Peter to pray for the recovery of his beloved. The authors of the entries on the graffiti wall have been lost to history, but their dreams, their desires, their passions are preserved in a public archive.

As an Honors student, I am required to complete an undergraduate thesis. I have chosen to study personal narratives of suffering through genre studies of memoir, journal, and oral storytelling. I have found that the journal is unique in that it is a deeply personal document that captures a moment shortly after it passes. Thinking about the pilgrims who contributed to the graffiti wall allowed me to see the wall as a sort of communal journal through which those in need could find the catharsis and peace of the written word. This perspective silenced my mind- for about 30 seconds I was in a state of meditative mental quiet. This silence was broken by three words that eventually wedged their way into my psyche: "this is important". The graffiti wall in St. Peter's Basilica invited me to step outside of my experiences and transcend the constraints of time, cultural, and ideological differences to connect with the raw humanity of unidentified persons, and for that, I am humbled and grateful.

Pinecones and Peacocks

A theme of this trip has been that there is so much, too much, to see and experience. While one would like to see as much as possible, it is important to devote a bit of time to processing and truly soaking in what’s going on.
That being said, there were so many options of where to go next that I simply could not choose. I also had seen so many breathtaking and incredible things not only that morning, but also in the days before. This necessitated some time of reflection and meditation if my experiences were to be truly meaningful.
So this is what we did! Myself and 4 other students sat outside on the edge of a fountain and processed everything that we had seen and done at that point. We noticed a pine cone and tried to remember what our guide had told us they represented. In Rome, pine cone motifs are abundant.
We also remembered seeing peacocks in the first church in the scavi under the basilica, as well as in some more recent decor.
This sparked a deeper conversation about why human beings choose to emphasize certain aspects of life, and why we pay homage to these symbols. We also discussed different religious and otherwise existential aspects of life, sharing multiple theories and even some personal opinions.
This conversation reminded me of a painting we had seen that day in one of the rooms of the Apostolic Palace. Raphael’s fresco known as The School of Athens features Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, and many other well known philosophers. (As a student of philosophy, this was one of my favorites!) In the fresco, these great thinkers are portrayed as actively teaching one another, learning from one another, and reflecting on their life experiences. Some of our own topics of discussion were similar to the very things that perplexed these men. Through time and space, there are things that bond us together as human beings.
From some of the other posts here, you can see how we have experienced a culture that is different from our own in more ways than one. If we exist in the same time, how much more different could the culture of these ancient philosophers have been from our own American culture, the present Italian culture, or any other present-day culture? This lesson has been reiterated to me through this trip: despite our many differences, through space and time we are all connected through our humanity.

Unintended Spiritual Awakening

Coming to Rome I had a lot on my mind; traveling thousands of miles away, finishing up a difficult semester, and just trying to relax during this all too short break. Within the first couple of days I realized how much I liked Rome, probably because it reminds me a lot of New York City, just a lot older and no skyscrapers.

The first thing we saw upon arrival and a quick nap was a stop by the Colosseum, followed by a trip to the Cathedral de San Clemente and then the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran, the pope's church! On the second day we found ourselves at the Galleria Borghese admiring the marble masterpieces of Bernini, and at the Jewish Synagogue learning the history of early Roman Jews.

Visiting all of these museums and landmarks kind of became the new normal while visiting here in Rome, but it all seemed to change on the third day when we stepped into the Vatican City, visiting St. Peter's Basilica. I honestly didn't know what to expect on this day, yes we were going to see another church and yes we were visiting this infamously holy land, but it was beyond anything I could fathom.

Firstly we ventured into the depths of the church, getting a tour of the Necropolis and seeing the bones of St. Peter the Apostle, hidden inside of the "graffiti wall." This was all interesting of course, but I had no idea what was in store for me. After this tour we ventured to the top of the Cupola, a mere total of 551 steps climbed to reach the top. This is when I started to feel nostalgia that I hadn't felt in a long time, bringing up memories that were seemingly forgotten.

Climbing up those many, many stairs reminded me of when I was a kid and would climb to the top of the church steeple of my Uncle Jerry's church, where he was priest of the St. Augustine perish in Lebanon, KY. Although St. Peter's had quite a few more steps, once you reached the top you were rewarded with a miraculous view of nearly the entire city of Rome, just like the view I would get of that small little rural town. The nostalgia didn't end there, but continued once we went down into the nave of the church taking in it's full beauty. I saw Bernini's Canopy and the Michelangelo's Pieta, and eventually found myself venturing into the Blessed Sacrament Chapel, a quiet space reserved for prayer. That's when it all hit me, I saw the beauty of the massive golden angels framing the altar, feeling the stillness of the air, followed by the ceasing of the mindless chatter.

In this moment I began to reflect on my entire religious identity, specifically with where it began, growing up and being raised Catholic. Instantly an unexplainable emotion overfilled me, with tears peaking at the corner of my eyes. It wasn't that I was overwhelmed, it wasn't that I was happy or even sad, but it honestly was unexplainable. I hadn't truly prayed in many years until this very moment, and that's because I felt the presence of my God. Maybe this God isn't the same one I thought I knew growing up that I identified with many Catholic traditions for so long, but maybe this was the God that has walked with me and been in each of the truly transformative obstacles I have encountered throughout my twenty-one years. In this moment I was beyond connected with my humanity, where I have come from, where I was then, and where I will go from there.

This spiritual encounter was the last thing I expected to find in St. Peter's, the whole idea of even entering a church has honestly made me uncomfortable for the past couple of years, but this experience was different. I have grown to realize I don't necessarily abide by the God I was taught about, the big bearded man in the sky, but rather I have found and learned about my own God, a being and a energy that walks with me and engulfs the life that surrounds. I also realized I shouldn't feel any sort of regret for creating my own path of belief, because it is just as valid and as moving as the several many others seem to follow.

While here in Rome I not only explored history, reminisced on memories of my childhood, but also came to a closer understanding and peace with my belief in God.

Buon Appetito!

One of my top priorities when traveling to a new place is finding - and, of course, sampling - the best local food. Eating your way through a city is one tasty way to get to know it. I've found that I can learn a lot about the culture and philosophy of a place by trying food that represents its people, its geography, its way of life, or its history.

Coming to Rome, a city steeped in history, I was excited to try all the food that Italy is famous for. I'd been looking forward to authentic Italian pizza, pasta, tiramisu, and so much more for weeks leading up to the trip. As a vegetarian, I was a little bit skeptical of being able to find something to eat at every restaurant we visited. But Rome, with its trattorias, gelaterias, and pizzerias on every corner, did not disappoint.

One of my favorite meals (and it is so hard to pick a favorite!) of the trip sums up what I've learned about Rome from its food. On Wednesday we visited Ostia Antica, the site of an ancient Roman port city. Away from the bustle of the city center, we had lunch at Ristorante Monumento, a local establishment dating back to 1884. For the main course, I had pasta al pomodoro (pasta with tomato sauce). For such a simple dish, it was absolutely delicious. For dessert, I had their tiramisu, which I would've eaten five servings of if I'd had room for it.

Besides the great food, the most important aspect of our lunch for me was the experience. The restaurant's host and chef greeted as us friends as we sat down at our table. Where we sat, we could see pictures on the wall of famous people who'd visited Monumento, like the Dalai Lama and Italian actress Sophia Loren. As I ate, I talked and laughed with my Bellarmine friends and got to know them better.

To put it briefly, I have found the food in Rome to be about welcoming community. I have felt at home in every restaurant we've visited even while I'm half a world away from my home in the states. Meals have been a time to share our experiences and reflect on the city's history that surrounds us in every place we visit, and this has brought us closer together as a group. I look forward to our last day in Rome and our farewell dinner with high hopes for building our little community and growing even more individually and collectively.

As we toast before every meal: Buon appetito!

Roman Reflections

For me, at least, being in Rome, actually in Rome, the ancient capital of the Roman Empire, home to the Pope himself, where all roads lead to, didn't hit me until the last two days.

Day 1? Sure, the airport was weird but everyone spoke English, it was no problem. In the end, airports are airports, regardless of how many Foosball tables are in there (Undefeated in airport Foosball, by the way). The Jewish synagogue and the Jewish Quarter were interesting to learn about, and a new view of the Holocaust through a local, Roman, context. The Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine were incredible, but seemed, in a way, not there. Somehow, I didn't fully make the connection that THAT Colosseum and THAT Arch were erected so long ago. Somehow, with the swarms of tourists and multilingual signs, it didn't seem so ancient. The Borghese Museum and the Scavi had this similar problem of, in a way, being too accessible, too modern for it to fully sink in.

This lasted until yesterday. It began to fall apart in the Vatican Museum. First, seeing the casual disregard, the kind of lackadaisical lumping of a bunch of statues into a couple rooms, all priceless Roman copies of Greek works, boggled my mind. I began to give poor Sebastian, Richard, and whoever was within earshot a impromptu history lesson, focusing on the famous Athenians or Romans (largely) depicted. The Sistine Chapel, in its breath-taking beauty that caused me to skirt around the strict “NO PHOTO” rule about 5 times, intensified this effect on me, bringing me into Rome. Something I had only seen in video games, movies, read of in books, was in front of my eyes, in all of its original glory. It blew my mind.

I was barely putting my brain back together when we headed over to the Papal Audience. I had been looking forward to this, because, you know, its the Pope, the Holy Vicar of Christ on Earth, the Head of the Catholic Church, known literally throughout the world, kind of a big deal. When I saw him walking down the aisle, and could look over to see the familiar view of Pope Francis on the TV, then move my head a bit and see him walk in person (!!!) made it real.

Oh my God. I was in Rome. THAT Rome. With the Romans. And Augustus. And Julius. And Trajan. And Hadrian. THAT Rome. With the Pope. And the Vatican. And the Pantheon. THAT Rome.

This near-complete brain paralysis, expectedly, got worse. Heading outside Rome to the Ostia Antica, seeing the ruins, the ROMAN ruins, drove it further in. And all the experiences came rushing in. This trip, and the incredible experiences I have been able to experience because of it, really only just hit.

I stood in the Roman Forum. I sat in the Colosseum. I petted a cat in a Roman port. I saw the Sistine Chapel. I saw Bernini's probably and half of all Carvaggio ever made. I saw the bones of St. Peter. I 

saw the Pope, the freaking Pope! In person!

Now, with the aid of an extraordinary full stomach and maybe some of that grappa, I'm finally coming to terms with the incredible nature of this trip. I would like to thank all of the Honors students, for being amazing and flexible travel companions, willing to deal with everything from a extraordinarily stressed Matt at an airport to a bunch of stray cats requiring petting. Thank you. I would also like to thank Drs. Hinson-Hasty, both of them, for the amazing trip. This trip would not be possible without you two, and to call both of you incredible guides and helpers is merely the tip of the iceberg. Thank you. Finally, I would like to thank the Honors Program, for both providing this opportunity to do this trip and to streamline it so so many could come. Great job!

This was an incredible experience, so I am going to go to sleep so I can soak in more tomorrow. See you all tomorrow.

-Matt Kondrat  

Contrasting Colors

Having been in Rome for a few days, I realize that a week is not nearly long enough to take in this amazing city. While I have some time to breathe, I begin to reflect on what I have experienced thus far. The overarching reality that I have found is that Rome is a world of contrast.
I've seen sights older than I can comprehend while standing in a bus, checking my phone for the time.
I've seen the religious gawking in front of holy artifacts, and the non-religious walking by.
I've seen historical, classical, unforgettable art, and I've seen graffiti, everywhere.
There is no end to the contrasting images and sensations of Rome. In one moment, I enter the vastness of St. Peter's Basilica, the next, I am squished into a metro car like a sardine in a can. I went from the Scavi and underground necropolis where St. Peter is buried, to the top of the Cupola which rises high above Rome, and the same spot in which I had just seen the first pope's ancient bones.
There has been nothing but intense contradiction throughout my journey until an evening in which everything seemed to be level, calm, and beautiful.
When I first saw the Trevi fountain, my mind cleared and I found myself able to simply take in the beauty of the space in front of me. I was no longer lingering on the ideas of the beggars in front of the wealth of the Vatican, or the deeply rooted divisions between the Jewish Quarter, and the Roman streets. In the Trevi, the scene of the fountain morphs into the wall, or perhaps it is the other way around. The waters and lights come together into the most perfect teal and gold colors. One coin, may buy you the fate of a return trip to Rome, three may land you a Roman spouse. Suddenly, things aren't divided by language or religion, when you stop and rest by the fountain. The contrast is gone and people are together as equals, as hopeless romantics, tired tourists, but most of all dreamers hoping for a wish to come true.

McDonald's: An Allegory

Figure 1:

As a fast food aficionado who seeks a fine supply of charbroiled burgers, it was my obligation to discover the many “quick service restaurant” options that Italy has to offer. Upon my delight, signs depicting the golden arches were found at nearly every street corner, specifying the amount of leaps of joy it takes to go to the nearest McDonald’s restaurant establishment.

While the itinerary, unfortunately, allocated no reserved time for such a splendid fine dining experience, I sensed the presence of a nearby Mickey D’s upon exiting the Spagna metro station. Immediately, my senses ushered me to the doorsteps of this wonderful eatery. To my surprise, this McDonald’s location forced me to order food with self service kiosks, a rarity in the Ray Kroc-founded franchise chain. As I waited for my meal, containing a Big Mac, I witnessed an employee hollering an Italian phrase numerous times. I soon realized that it was my order once he repeated the phrase in my native tongue...

The Big Mac (shown in Figure 1). Compared to the American interpretation of this delightful feat of culinary engineering, the palette of ingredients remained wholly the same. It was the same ol’ Big Mac that we all love and cherish in the States. The main difference existed in the craftsmanship that the McDonald’s chefs manifested at this particular location. The meat retained a fair quantity of juiciness, unlike the dry, arid flavored patties occasionally produced by American franchisees. Overall, the burger’s composition and presentation were spot on, while the taste reminded me of the sweet, homely broiling of the McDonald’s locations I grew to adore back home.

Join me for a beer and a view

The first day here we were given an introduction to the hotel we are staying at, which included the detail of a terrace. I may be scared of heights, but I wouldn’t turn down a great view. Thus, that night I ventured up there with my roommate, Lexi. After exploring, we discovered two more levels above the main terrace. Essentially, you can view Rome from the sixth floor. We chatted for a bit, but we didn’t stay long as the wind was not our friend. I kept the place in memory, though, and I have visited almost every night. As I write this I’m enjoying a beer and a view.
From up here, Rome feels incredibly different but also the same. The sounds of traffic and the occasional hum of voices is the same as Louisville, but the air is so very Roman in ways I can’t explain. I may not have felt it that first night, but through the course of the trip I’ve started feeling it in the little things. It’s not the extravagant sites and exhibits that make me feel like I’m in Rome. It’s the loose traffic laws, hearing live music on the street, and the street food that make it feel Italian. It’s the hustle and bustle of the metro and constantly being pestered by street vendors that put mall kiosks to shame. Not to mention the illogical ecosystem Rome possesses of African trees, palm trees, seagulls, and small tropical birds. All of those small things come together to make Rome more than a tourist attraction, but a rich culture that belongs to many local residents.
Now, I’m out of beer and my fingers are frozen, so it’s time to conclude my blog and this night’s visit to the terrace. See you tomorrow night for one last time!

Uno, Due, Treeeeeeeeeeee

Ciao, everyone! As the group’s certified portrait photographer, I felt it was necessary to document my experience behind the lens of my Roman journey. As a little bit of background, I grew up learning about Rome all the time. Whether it be Brutus and Caesar or the importance of Michelangelo, I’ve been taught and learned to love Rome’s atmosphere. However, when I learned anything about this city, it was always through a textbook or a page I found on Google. I never had any personal experience that truly connected me to the nature of what lies here in the city. For most of my life, I thought that the pictures in the textbooks were enough and that there really wasn’t that much more to see. But I was wrong. I was missing the entire experience.
Getting out of the airport and actually seeing Rome for the first time was an eye-opening in itself, but my perspective changed for the better starting at the Colosseum. I’m sure that anyone reading this post will have at least some experience either reading about the place of gladiators and city gatherings or will have added a picture to their Pinterest board of “dream vacation spots” at some point. I was that person until I got off of the Metra and lost my breath at my first real view of the monument in person. Pictures that I saw in textbooks and ones I took myself were in no way close enough to showcase the extremity and beauty held within its walls. I, as a very talkative person, found myself at a loss for words. This experience helped to teach me that textbooks and schooling can be great in explaining why an event or a place is significant, but it can’t give you the true experience needed to fully understand the context of its importance. As I moved along with my phone’s camera in hand, I learned even more how the significance of the experience of being physically connected to art can enhance my perspective on the piece.
Today, the Roamin’ Knights took on the Vatican Museum, which might I add was about twenty times larger than I had imagined. The museum held some of the coveted art I only thought I’d ever see in my art history textbooks and brought ancient history to life. While it was great getting to walk through the Egyptian halls and seeing the contemporary art, I had a moment in the confined halls of the Sistine Chapel. This was the first place we visited where silence was required and no photos were allowed. While I was initially upset I wasn’t going to be able to post pictures of the Last Judgement on my Facebook page, I quickly gained an appreciation for the rules of the sacred place. Getting to experience Michelangelo’s masterpieces in near silence kind of changed my life. I hate to admit it, but during the first half of the tour I would walk by masterpieces, snap a quick photo, and continue on my merry way without taking the time needed to appreciate the art for what it’s worth. Without having my phone in hand, I was able to focus on the details of the master’s four year project and feel more for a fresco than I ever had before. While this isn’t to say I don’t want to ever take pictures of famous art again and plan on trading in my current phone for an old school flip phone, it helped me to realize there’s a level beyond what can be captured in my own pictures and to learn to appreciate the work for what it is.
This experience of peeling back from textbook to my own camera to my own mind has helped me to walk away from each day feeling more connected to the city than I ever imagined possible. Bringing these creations to life is an experience that deserves to be felt in person, and without a phone every once and a while. I’m off to go snap some more photos of the group striking their own poses in front of some of the best photo ops Rome has to offer, but I hope this leaves my readers with more of an eye than just a lens.
Ciao!

Do You Speak English?

Hey Readers,

I would like to explore with you a common traveling issue that I underestimated coming into Rome - the language barrier. English is my native tongue and the only language that I speak fluently. I also speak french at an intermediate level, but unfortunately, that doesn't really help me in Italy where the official language is Italian. During the preparation for departure, our class took a class period to learn enough Italian to survive in Italy. However, just like how Rome wasn't built in a day, language acquisition is not achieved in the same amount of time. When I was on the plane, I wondered what it would be like in a city completely out of my comfort zone. I would like to give you two quick stories of my struggle with the language barrier during the first 1/2 of the trip.

Story 1:

While we were in Rome there were many uniformed police and military personnel spread through the city. In the metro stations there are always at least two Italian military soldiers in uniforms holding assault rifles. One morning our group were headed to the Vatican city and we were in a rush. I was bringing up the rear of the group when we were going through the turn stiles. When passing the soldiers I hear one of them yell "STOP". I thought to myself "I wonder whose getting busted today!" Well, the person ended up being me. I was holding a glass bottle juice when I turned around to see who the soldiers were yelling at. I saw them rushing over to me yelling quickly in Italian. After a few sentences he stopped and after all that I learned of Italian in my class all I could muster was "uhhhh...." He then started pointing at my drink which I then put in my pocket. After I put it away he said "Ok, Go Go". After I left to go rejoin my group, my friend Kathleen (our expert in Italian of the group) said "yeah he was telling you to put the drink in your backpack".

Story 2:

The first morning in Rome, I noticed that I left my comb in Kentucky. It took me three days looking for a comb to finally find one (I don't know why Italy lives such a combless life). During the second day of my looking for a comb I stopped by a little super market (super market in Italy can be less than 200 square feet). There was an elderly Asian-Italian man who was sitting at the registrar. I approached him and asked "do you have a comb". He said a similar response as I gave to the soldiers in the previous story: "uhhh...." I knew that he didn't understand what I was saying and probably didn't speak too much English. So I decided to use some charades in my second attempt. I repeated what I said slower and also acted out combing my hair. The man said "Ohh, comb!" he got up and walked over to wall and pointed at a hat and said with confidence "comb!". I said "no, no, that's a hat." Well, at least he tried.

I have learned many things about the language barrier here in Italy. First, the people that I encountered in Italy really enjoyed my attempts to speak Italian to them (with butchered pronunciations and everything). It was my job to be brave and get out of my comfort zone which was not always the easiest. The next lesson that I've learned is the most important. I also got to escape the english centric world that I was used to in America. In Italy, I got to experience what it was like to not know that native tongue of the country and to essentially be a lingual minority. I couldn't read most of the signs, couldn't understand the people around me, and couldn't easily communicate needs that I had. Now I feel as if I have a glimpse of what it is like to be a lingual minority in America. Hopefully I will be able to apply what I have experienced here in Italy when communicating to non-native English speakers in America.

A Faithful Excavtaion

Today we had the wonderful pleasure of touring the scavi beneath St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City. We were able to experience multiple layers of history, literally. The tour began in the ancient cemetary primarily dedicated to wealthy pagan families. However, one of the most renowned and respected Christian figures, the apostle Peter, was also buried here. Because of this, Emperor Constantine fulfilled the message of Mark 16:18, "and I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church", by building the first St. Peter's Church in the 4th century. Later, when Pope Julius II commissioned the construction of the current St. Peter's Basilica, the first church was covered over leaving three distinct historical layers, all of which we were fortunate enough to experience.

Our journey began outside the scavi near the place where St. Peter was crucified in 64 CE. He was blamed for the great fire of Rome, as early Christians were common scapegoats for unfortunate events, and chose to be crucified upside down, as he felt unworthy to face death in the same manner as Jesus Christ. As we traveled through the scavi, we discovered the secret Christian tomb within the pagan cemetery. This tomb, believed to have been the final resting place for 12 members of a Christian family, houses the first known depiction of Jesus Christ, disguised as the pagan sun god, Helios. This was a moment when I really had to stop and consider the sacrifices of the first believers of Christ. Their very lives were threatened almost on a daily basis (especially during periods of persecution while Nero reigned), yet they still found ways to carefully but fearlessly display their faith. The experience renewed my appreciation for the religious freedoms we experience today.

The most personally moving moment I experienced came at the end of the tour. In another display of necessary early Christian secrecy, we learned the story of the discovery of St. Peter's remains. While Peter had a known and clearly marked tomb, the early believers feared something might happen to his body in the midst of the persecution. When excavations of the site began in 1939, it was discovered that St. Peter's remains could not be located in the tomb, as the bones held there were of two women, a twenty year old man (Peter was 70 when he died), and a mouse. The location of Peter's body remained a mystery until many years later when a historian was examining the graffiti wall (see Eli's future post An Accidental Pilgrimage). Inside the wall she found the complete skeleton of a 70 year old male missing his feet. Peter's body had been cut down from the cross by his feet. Further scientific evidence has led experts to declare this as the body of St. Peter. Additional evidence comes from the fact that the current alter of St. Peter's Basilica is aligned perfectly over the graffiti wall where the remains were found, a sign that the early Christians moved his body from the original tomb and centers the church on the new "rock".

We were able to see the bones of Peter today. It was a moment that truly took my breath away. It was fascinating to be standing steps away from the body of such an integral figure of my faith. Peter was human, he doubted, denied, and questioned Christ, but still led a life devoted to Him. His example is one I can only hope to emulate in my own spiritual journey. Seeing his remains in person today reminded me of how we may falter and struggle in our faith, but God always has a plan that will make everything align in the end.

What the Great Synagogue of Rome Means to Me

Last week as my family lit the menorah for the first night of Hanukkah, I wondered what symbols of this miracle I would see walking through the Great Synagogue of Rome and the Jewish Quarter. The Basilica di San Clemente and the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran were incredibly ornate and grand with several paintings and sculptures of the saints and biblical stories, and I wondered if I would be just as astonished in the Synagogue.
Our first order of business in the Jewish Quarter was the Museo Ebraico di Roma. The Jewish Museum told the detailed story of Jews in Rome through the embroidered liturgical fabrics, inscriptions with symbols of shofars and menorahs, and the precious few photographs of the ghetto. We next entered into the Great Synagogue, and I was so struck by its beauty that I nearly cried. Jewish art does not depict human or animal figures, but there were still many layers of symbolism. A candle was lit in front of the holy ark that houses the Torah to represent that those first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures are always present behind those doors. (This is the light at the center of the Hanukkah story, sustained for eight days by enough oil to last only one.) Stars were painted in the ceilings as a reminder of the Abrahamic covenant between God and the father of the Hebrew nation - that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the night sky.
Lastly, we walked around the Jewish Quarter and learned about Rome’s tragic portion of antisemitic history. The most prominent date was the 16th of October, 1943, known to Jews in Rome as the Black Shabbat. On this day began the Nazi occupation of Rome. Their first stop was the Jewish Quarter, and by 5:00 am they had rounded up over 1,000 Jews, most of whom were sent directly to Auschwitz. Of those 1,000 people, a mere 15 survived.
Like other cultures, Jewish celebrations and holy days are born out of remembrance for both victories and tragedies. Though the Jewish Quarter in Rome has its dark days, the people still remember the miracles. As the festival of Hanukkah draws to a close in the next few days, I am thankful for the things that bring light to my life. Those things include not only my education at Bellarmine (without which this trip would not be possible) and my family (who have prayed for our protection on this fantastic trip and whom I miss dearly), but also this incredible opportunity to see the beauty of Rome and to grow deeper into my faith.

Bon Voyage!

Buona sera! From my parents' kitchen in Shelbyville, KY I write to you on the morning of the Roman' Knights' departure! If you can't tell from the use of two exclamation points in two sentences, I am excited. My suitcase and carry-on are parked by the door, taunting me with an unshakable feeling that I forgot something while my cellphone buzzes with last-minute questions being sent in our class group message. Normally I try to spend as much time with my family during the holidays as possible, but when will I have another opportunity to spend a week in Rome in December with friends under the guidance of seasoned travelers of Italy? With the semester ending, I haven't had time to feel nervous or excited. Now, sitting here with everything (I hope) packed and nothing to distract me, the pre-travel jitters have come forth in abundance! When I am nervous, I like to give myself jobs to distract my mind, but I think for now, with less than two hours before I need to be at airport, I will allow myself to live in the moment. To feel a little scared, a little sad that I won't see my family so close to Christmas, and to feel the excitement and wonder that accompany an adventure abroad. My goal for this trip is to be in the present and to absorb everything. I want to allow myself to embrace every mistake, every "good save" every irritation, every person, and every moment of awe and wonder. Roma, here we come!