Astounding Architecture

Exercise 4

Pillars shoot upwards creating an enormous discrepancy in height compared with the people walking by. Proportionally I feel like a small ant next to a full grown man. The mammoth columns bar the entrance of the circular dome encased by marble. Carefully carved décor and floral patterned stone embellish the walls. The earthy tones strike me as so homey and warm but the large space makes me feel cold and alienated. This contrast in warm and cold twirls my stomach. I am astounded and feel miniscule as I gaze above to the circular opening that cookie cuts the sun’s rays into a blinding circle. I search in curiosity for the projected sun spot along the rim. Surprisingly, at first glance, I do not find the illuminated ellipse very interesting. I learn the dome’s diameter equals its central height and imagine fitting a giant orange perfectly in the center. These observations barely begin to describe the Pantheon. I know I can sit and spend hours describing every crack, color and angle, but all those details are miniscule compared to the inexplicable feeling of experiencing this massive enclosure around me. Questions quickly flood my mind. How did they move all this marble? How accurate is the circle? The vast amount of labor and detailed drawings full of calculations seems unfathomable. How was such extreme precision acquired before the computer age? How does this dome stand on its own? How many hours did it take to build? How many people did it take? All of these fact-driven questions cannot keep my interest and leave my mind in a flash.

I begin to ponder how glorious of an opening day this supreme structure deserved. I glance over to the entryway as I imagine a colorfully-dotted crowd holding eerie silence as they watch with patience through the double doors. Men clad in colorful uniform line the steps leading up to the entrance. All of the heads move to watch a solitary figure walk through the massive doors. The man is wearing a loose toga, bound at the waist with a gold chord ironically memorable by its simple design. He solemnly gazes left and right. The small wrinkles around his eyes and lip show signs of middle-age. Almost expressionless, all his amazement carefully conceals itself except for the glittering excitement emanating from his eyes. He walks a lap around the interior. When he reaches the doors again, several other men join him. After they finish their inspection and step back out towards the crowd. The emperor Hadrian begins to speak of the glory of Rome symbolized in the rebuilt Pantheon after the fire in 80. Afterwards he ceremonially touches his hand to the wreath crown atop his head. Immediately the crowd erupts into cheers of delight. The flash of a tourist’s camera wrenches me back to present time as I notice a curious group of uniform-wearing schoolgirls parade past.

I have no factual evidence of what happened the day Pantheon was completed, but my ignorance allows room for personal imagination. My journal entry merely touches the tip of my overwhelming feeling of grandeur, disbelief and respect for the Pantheon and I would much rather trust my memories and emotions. I feel in awe standing so close to the rays of the sun pouring in through the center, illuminating the space with exponentially more light than I could hypothesis when gazing at the front from outside. Staring at the ceiling I see the patterned offset squares and begin to spin. The shadow and light become streaks of movement. I spin round and round until dizziness and hallucination combine into one, and I flutter up over the heads of others and fly through the oculus, into the cerulean blue sky.

First Impressions

Exercise 2

I watched as the highway carried us away from the airport. To my dismay the first billboard I read after leaving Seattle touted “Crest Whitestrips” in English, not Italian. Forced by troubles with our first flight, we spent our supposed debut in Rome, laid-over in Philadelphia. Teasing us with arrival and then taking it away, felt extremely discouraging. How could Rome suddenly feel so far away? I was flying with Linda and Elice. We all agreed, never again will we book with US Airways.

One of my first images of Rome was stepping off our plane, flight # 76, and finally being able to say “I arrived.” I do not recall much about the airport but I distinctly remember the flood of elation I felt after seeing a man outside of baggage claim with the name of one of my fellow travelers. Finally something had gone right. As we followed him out, I gazed over to the line of confused tourists holding maps and waving madly at passing cars, trying to look assertive. The relief of not having to go through a queue for taxis was hugely satisfying. Kudos to pre-arranged transportation. I spent the whole taxi ride in a hazy trance. Letting my first glances of Rome treat my eyes, our journey could finally start.

The next image that reminds me of Rome is arriving at our hotel for the few days before the program began. I was caught off guard by the Asian Guesthouse manager. Linda and I actually communicated with her in Mandarin. Using Chinese completely alienated me from the surroundings and culture. For a minute I thought I had arrived in the wrong country. After that I spent the entire day noticing the similarities between Beijing and Rome. The epitome of nostalgia happened when we caught wafts of an alleyway that completely paralleled the scents of China. We soon realized we had booked a hotel in the center of the multicultural district, actually the Asian district. Everyone looked Chinese, Indian, Korean, Philippine or Japanese. After a few days in Rome, I noticed the scarce number of Asians in cleaner more refined parts of the city. The number of street vendors of Indian descent, and the East Asian women working along the beach in search of a person to massage at the price of five Euros for ten minutes, really took me aback. The association of Asians with working class citizens presented one of the hardest social stereotypes for me to wrap my head around. I suppose the real shock was not the presence of working class Asians but the lack of middle and upper class Asians. It presented a harsh reality I had never encountered in Seattle, especially on the UW campus.

The night of our first arrival the three other girls, Anyie, Linda, Elice, and I got acquainted by going out for a late night dinner. We cabbed our way to the Piazza Navona. All the cafes looked so inviting and gourmet bordering the rectangular strip illuminated by the glamorously lit fountain. This picturesque scene paralleled images plucked out of my dreams. I had no idea of the vivaciousness of nightlife in Rome. Before we sat down for a ‘welcome’ dinner, we walked a lap around the piazza. I carefully stepped on the street pieced together by actual cobblestones! Glancing up, I stared apprehensively at the glowing saucer a man had just thrown. As I studied him closer, all I could focus on were his colorfully flashing heart-shaped earrings. I questioned the peculiar sales methods in Italy. After a lap around the piazza, the four of us agreed on a restaurant. Before sitting down we rearranged all of the seats so each person could view the piazza while we dined. We spent this perfect evening learning about each others pasts, likes, dislikes and mingled our sense of humors over our first taste of Rome.

Journal Journey

Exercise 1

At home, journals fill another line on my foot-long-pre-quarter shopping list, but this time the normally mundane chore produced a far from effortless venture. I have yet to grow accustomed with the unusual store hours in Rome and found myself locked out on my first two visits to the office supply shop. By the third try my optimism was waning, but as I approached I felt pleasantly surprised from seeing illuminated lights ahead. While Washington’s numerous Office Maxes and the like, beg for customers with their monstrous signs, I have not found another office supply store anywhere close by in this historic center. On a side note, I’ve been strangely surprised by how much larger the interior of stores feel compared to their initial impressions. From the street, the shops look like rows of a crammed bookshelf, with ‘novels’ eclectic in shape, size and color.
Inside the office supply store, books covered countless shelves and countertops. I immediately assumed they were all journals and headed towards the most promising stack. I wanted a small, cheap, but beefy book with blank pages. The first one I picked up fit the physical description perfectly. After cracking it open, I examined the washed out picture in the background and boldly printed calendar dates on each page. Apparently, the store also carried planners. Shortly afterwards I added the “being a journal” to the top of my prioritized list of requirements. Size came second. It needed to fit easily into my purse. As I wandered around the store, the cover of a small journal caught my eye. A woman with a red hat standing at a counter stood out due to the dramatic bar-room lighting captured in the printed cover. I picked it up and casually flipped through the pages. Requirements one and two, check. Price? 1.30 Euros, great! Lines? Yes. Thickness? Very thin. Through personal debates, I convinced myself I could make due with the lines (they might actually be helpful) and I could always come back for a second journal, if needed. Before I finalized my decision I went through the stack to see if another cover would please me more. The deep azure and textured strokes of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” caught my attention immediately and cemented my choice. This little journal will not only contain my thoughts, notes and musings, but will help me create an original compilation of Italian experiences that I can call my own Roman Holiday.

First Few Photos

First shot from the Rome Center


A Day at the Beach






First Night out with the girls

Stan showing us around his school, Curtis Institute.


Makeshift stop in Philadelphia because we missed our connecting flight. In front of the Liberty Bell....it's smaller than I had thought.