Rome's largest park - 132 hectares - is quite well hidden. Or so I like to think. In my first Roman flat I was in fact quite near it. When I complained of the lack of green areas in which to walk my dog, when I moaned about the endless concrete jungle along the Tuscolana people would look puzzled. "But there's the Caffarella," which in turn mystified me. Why were they talking about chocolate? (Caffarel is a famous Italian brand) Were they alluding to the comforting effect of a piece of chocolate? Eventually, I understood (my Italian wasn't so good, back in those days) they were referring to a park, a large park, somewhere off Furio Camillo metro station.
One bright wintry morning I went in search of it with my cocker spaniel excitedly pulling my arm out of its socket, as was her wont. At Furio Camillo I found a park encircled by a high wall, it also encapsulated the districts fraction of the town hall. I went in through one of the high portals, there was no grass just mud and dust and gravelly paths. It wasn't big either. I returned home disconsolate. People here obviously had no idea what a park was all about!
Shortly after, I left the area of Ponte Lungo for Monteverde with its own magnificent park of Villa Pamphilji right on my doorstep. Happy days were they for this dog owner. But after a few years I moved to Tor Marancia, it was less affluent and more down-at-heel than Monteverde and I again faced the problem of finding a park for my dog.
I chanced upon the tenuta di Tor Marancia - a nature reserve - but it turned out not to be to my dogs liking. She was scared of insects that made large buzzing sounds - so that meant most insects - which made the reserve off limits from mid-spring to mid-autumn. Again, the name Caffarella came up.This time I looked it up on a map. There was indeed a large green area somewhere off the Appia Antica which ranged on one side towards the Aurelian walls and on the other to the foothills of the urban jungle of the Appio Latino.
My search proved more fruitful and the park provided many a walk for my spaniel in her last years as it still does for my current dog. I usually approachthe park from the Via della Caffarella side, after having let my dog romp in the dog play area in Parco Scott.
For years I had noticed a curious circular structure on my right as I entered the narrow road of the caffarella. The road is so narrow there are signposts advising walkers and cyclists to hold to the right side. I assumed the structure was an ancient dovecote. Pigeons fluttered in and out of its open window. It wasn't. I discovered it was a 16th century chapel built there by the Cardinal Reginald Pole. He had sided with Pope Paul III against the new Anglican church, his sovereign, Henry the VIII, had set up. Henry set his henchmen onto him. The Cardinal escaped his assassins and built the chapel on the site of their ambush to thank god for saving him. I wonder what the area would have been like in those days. It would have been open country, pastures with a few grand properties here and there. Today the entrances to the chapel are closed with large boulders and it is home to bats and pigeons.
I walked down the shaded high-wall-lined Via della Caffarella, behind the walls were lavish properties, though some in an obvious state of disrepair. There was a famous tennis club which had been fined for failing to maintain an ancient artefact on its premises.
Some properties had paddocks with horses. Joggers and cyclists all suitably attired overtook me. The tarmac gave way to a dust road, beside the official entrance to the park was a map highlighting the different things to see in the park.
Over the years I've got to know the park well. It has been a useful shortcut from one side of the city to the other on strike days. Today I hesitate. If I go straight on, I go past the farm with farm animals on show which my dog always likes. It must be a bit like going to the theatre with an added smell-o-vision effect for her. Or I take a left up a hillock that then looks down into the valley of the Caffarella through which runs the river Almone. Often sheep are pastured in the large field there. My dog likes them too. They are usually watched over by a sheep dog who slowly walks behind them, out flanking them and seeing off any dogs that get too close. They are always accompanied by clouds of small birds, some of which perch on the sheeps backs, fluttering off, then back down again, and large black crows that march ahead of the flock like an avant-garde. In the summer months their woolly coats are shorn.
I go straight on, as going through the valley means walking past the large farmhouse (Casale della Vaccareccia) on the way back, which means going past the large Maremma sheep dogs that wander there. One of them seems to enjoy nipping my dog. Nothing big, just an unpleasant nip on her hind quarters.
The old farmhouse is a Renaissance structure built around a Medieval tower - one of five that existed - which in early days would have given the owners a view over the entire property. The current occupiers tend the large flocks of sheep which pasture in the caffarella and produce their own ricotta and other cheeses on site.
I walk on the side of the path as cyclists whizz past. We pause by the exhibition farmhouse. I call it that as the animals are visible behind a high wire fence, and parents with young children like to stand there and watch the animals. For a lot of city children this is the first time they are seeing live farm animals. A peacock is fanning its tail today, an impressive sight which makes the couple next to me debate as to whether it's a male or a female peacock. They settle on male.Some geese, ducks and hen strut around or peck at strands of grass. A donkey brays drawing attention to itself. Some old horses stand together their tails flicking and fanning away the insects.
After a while we move on to our next stop the Cenotaph of Annia Regilla - a square elegant red brick structure. A small ditch dug around it and a chain stop people from getting too close. Alas today I won't get to see it at all. The archaeological site is closed throughout July and August. I can just glimpse it and the bottom of an umbrella pined alley.
Annia Regilla was a Roman aristocrat married to a prominent wealthy Greek, Herod Atticus. He was once the tutor of the young Marcus Aurelius. The couple lived for a short time in Rome before moving to Greece. Their home in Rome was a vast property extending from the villa on the Appia Antica to most of modern day Caffarella Park. Annia enjoyed a comfortable and prestigious life. But her death was violent. She was kicked in the abdomen by her husband's freedman, Alcimedon, most probably on her husband's orders. She was eight months pregnant and lost the baby before dying. Herod Atticus was grief stricken, on the boundary of their Roman property he raised two columns bearing the inscription in Latin and Greek: "To the memory of Annia Regilla, wife of Herodes, light and soul of the house, to whom this land once belonged." Her brother on finding out about her death was livid and blamed Herod Atticus. He brought charges against him but Atticus was absolved by the Emperor Marcus Aurelius.
We've reached a crossing, to my left , over the river is the main farmhouse ahead is the path that runs along the river to the Nymphaeum of Egeria. We go down there. Two labradors are bathing in the weed filled waters of the river in blatant disregard of a notice which forbids going in the water, so as to protect the ecosystem.
The nymphaeum was part of the water works in Herod Atticus' villa. The name Egeria dates to the Renaissance. Scholars believed that this was the site of a sacred wood and spring where Numa Pompilius (the legendary second king of Rome) met with the goddess nymph Egeria. The spring is the source of the path of waters that cross the caffarella and the park of the Appia Antica. All that is visible from the walkway is a small grotto at the back of which would have stood a statue. The area is often overgrown and the waters are green with weeds.
It's a sharp climb up from the Nympheum, almost marred by an encounter with an out-of-control child on a bike with frantically shouting parent in tow, "brake, Marco, brake." Marco makes it to the walkway without injury to self or others. The small copse of trees on the nearby hill is called the sacred wood, another allusion to the legend. I usually make a sharp left and climb up to a church of Sant'Urbano.
This time I climb down, back towards the river to the Torre Valca - a medieval watch tower, from there I wander on to the Columbarium of Constantine - a temple shaped tomb which in later times was used as a windmill before suffering extensive fire damage. I loop back upwards, close to some busy roads the Via dell Almone with the centre of the aqua Egeria where people can buy the famous water and where food festivals are organised year round and the Appia Pignatelli, towards an ancient Roman cistern. The cistern, known as the cisternone (big cistern) dates to the 2nd century ad. It's a large rectangular structure which would have been used for storing water.
It's time to head out of the park, past the Church of Sant'Urbano alla Caffarella which once was an ancient temple dedicated to Cerere - the goddess of masses - and Faustina - the deified wife of Antonino Pio - , part of the property of Herod Atticus. Noted among the interior stucco decoration is the apotheosis of Annia Regilla. The church belongs to the vicariate of Rome and it is closed to the public.
Once outside the park its a rather unpleasant five minutes down a pavement-less road. Cars fly by barely inches away. I'm always relieved to duck down into a small road which brings me back to the Appia Antica at the height of the catacombs of San Sebastiano. There at last we can drink from one of the water fountains. It seems a pity for a park full of streams and waterways that there are no drinking fountains in the valley of the Caffarella.
Via Giulia is one of Rome's great historical streets. It begins at Ponte Sisto and ends a straight kilometre away at the church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini , across the river from Castel Sant'Angelo. It was part of a 16th century urban planning project, designed by Pope Julius II (born Giuliano della Rovere) which was never finished. He intended to reorganise the chaotic Medieval city. The street was meant to connect all governmental institutions: the Palazzo della Cancelleria, the papal mint and the future Palazzo dei Tribunali to the redesigned Vatican. The job was entrusted to Donato Bramante
who at the time was working on the new Basilica of St. Peter's (also commissioned by Pope Julius). He designed a perfect straight line which to build it, meant destroying a number of medieval alleys. Not only was this new road to have gathered in one place all the important administrative offices and embassies but it was also to have provided a useful secure route for bringing in merchandise from Rome's port on Ripa Grande to the heart of the business district and onwards to the new city state of the Vatican. Alas the plan never reached completion. Work on Bramante's Palazzo dei Tribunali, which was to have put all the judiciary under one roof ground to a halt, thus scuppering the rest of the warrior Pope's projects.
Starting from lungotevere dei Tebaldi, opposite Ponte Sisto seems logical as the first thing that catches the eye on Via Giulia is an elegant ivy-covered arch. Actually, it's a little way down but it invites you to explore further. I attacked it from Via dei Pettinari, a narrow street straight out of Medieval Rome leading up to Pope Julius' more modern vision.
By today's standards it's still a narrow street but at the time it was created its straight-as-a-die line would have made it a novelty. Stepping onto the Via Giulia is like stepping into a shaded tunnel as a high wall leading up to Lungotevere runs down one side and the other is wall-to-wall elegant buildings. I have to jump out of the way from time to time as small cars speed past barely an inch from my side.
I'm looking for the Fontana del Mascherone. I find it, backed up against a wall, beside the French consulat, where a group of young tourists have chosen to have a snack. The fountain, made of white marble, belonged to the Farnese family and would once have been part of a theatre. During celebrations in 1720 for the election of the Grand Master of Malta wine poured from the gaping mouth of the fountain. Above the fountain stands the symbol of the Farnese family, a lily.
Just a little bit further is the Farnese arch, designed by Michelangelo, it serves as a majestic welcome to anyone strolling onto the street, almost as if it had been intended as an entrance. It was part of another unfinished project which was to have linked the gardens of Palazzo Farnese via a bridge over the Tiber to Palazzo Farnesina. The arch must have had a recent clean up as today the usual ivy fronds are not dangling down into the street though the walls of the adjacent garden to Palazzo Farnese, home of the French Embassy, is covered in the lush green leaves.
Equally eye catching is the church of Santa Maria dell'Orazione e della Morta, just beyond the arch. It was built by a confraternity responsible for burying abandoned corpses. Images of death adorn the church reminding passers-by that people are but dust and bones. The crypt, once the cemetery of the confraternity, contained up to 8000 bodies. Today it is an ossuary where everything is made of the bones of the deceased. Outside the church beside the central door are two grisly alms boxes: one for the abandoned dead and another for the perpetual light, both feature a winged skeleton.
As my gaze turns upward I'm attracted by the falcon heads of the adjacent building, Palazzo Falconieri, named after the original owners and now home to the Hungarian academy in Rome. I continue my walk past Palazzo Baldoca Muccioli, a 16th century edifice. I cross a junction and note that I share the same name as the road before coming to the church of Santa Caterina di Siena, on the façade is the symbol of Siena a she-wolf with Senius and Aschius, the legendary founders of Siena, sons of Remus and nephews of Romulus, the legendary founders of Rome. When Romulus murdered their father, Remus, they fled Rome, one on a black horse and the other on a white horse thus came into being the heraldic colours of Siena.
It's hot on the road and I move to the shaded side. Next to the church is a noble residence, the Palazzo Varese. Further along I pass the Church of the Neapolitan Holy Spirit (Chiesa dello Spirito Santo dei Napoletani) , a mouthful of a name in any language. Historically, it was the church of worship for the Kingdom of the two Sicilies. The façade is striking enough to make me pause. The church stands beside the famous/infamous Liceo Virgilio - a two storeyed ten-windowed front looks onto Via Giulia. Term is over but the front door is open. Presumably the catch-up classes are still going on for those students who didn't quite make the 60% required pass mark in every subject.
Sunlight floods the road as the wall of buildings gives way to a building site for an underground carpark. This is followed by the Antimafia Commission, police and soldiers stand guard outside. I stroll on in the hard hitting afternoon heat. Even though the Tiber is just a few metres away no cooling breeze finds its way onto the street.
I can see the end of Via Giulia where it opens out onto the Piazza of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini. But first there are more churches and buildings to gaze at and admire: Santa Maria del Suffragio (belonging to a confraternity that prayed for the souls of the dying and the dead), San Biagio degli Armeni aka San Biagio della Pagnotta (the national church of the Armenian community in Rome) and Palazzo Sacchetti.
Palazzo Sacchetti was designed by the architect Sangallo, in 1542, to be his residence. He aimed to make it the 'perfect building' and dedicated the last ten years of his life to the project. It was finished by his son Orazio. In 1608, it was bought by the archbishop of Naples who built a frescoed chapel. In then became the property of the Marquis Sacchetti of Florence. It is famous for its room of the globes (Sala dei mappamondi) with frescoes depicting the story of David by Francesco Salviati. But there is also a garden with a courtyard and nympheum, beautiful corridors and large terraces. Sadly, it is not open to the public except on special occasions or by appointment.
On the façade of the Palazzo Sacchetti is a small, easy-to-miss fountain, the fontana del putto. It is thought to have been built around the same time as the building either by Sangallo or, a later architect, Nanni di Baccio Biagio who worked on the building for the Cardinal of Montepulciano. The central figure of a boy is situated between two pillars and embraced by dolphins beneath a shell. The basin into which water would have flowed no longer exists and over time the fountain has been extensively damaged.
The end of the walk is here, a kilometre down the road, steps away from the Tiber on the desolate Piazza of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini. The impressive looking church is closed with two people sitting on its steps, both consulting their phones. A lone gypsy woman passes by. I can feel the rumble from the nearby busy Corso Vittorio Emanuele. I look back down the perfect line of Via Giulia. It may not have been quite what the warrior pope had intended but it is one of the great streets of Rome with its impressive palazzi and churches which embraced different confraternities. It's also a walk through Italy: Siena, Naples, Florence, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, with its two capitals of Naples and Palermo, are represented here. I leave Via Giulia and plunge into the medieval warren of streets, remnants of what the area was like before Pope Julius had his way.
I was striding along, just minding my own business. I noticed the look. I didn't pay attention. I was pulling open the gate of the dog park when the stage whisper winged over the too high grasses and weeds. "Look at her, she's wearing trainers to the park." I was wearing cheap grey and white trainers. I side glanced back to catch a glimpse at my critic. I saw a middle-aged woman with small white dog and husband (?), she was staring at my feet. She then looked away, just as pointedly. What was I supposed to wear on my feet in the park?No doubt I had transgressed a sartorial rule, whether a nationally known one like 'no socks with sandals', or a self-invented one, like 'no shorts over forty', I had no idea.
Come to think of it, it was in the same park I'd overheard an Italian woman loudly comment to another, "you can see you're a foreigner, you're wearing a T-shirt." It was on a warm morning in April. Like for so many things there are the right seasons for clothes, hence all the tut-tutting at German and other northern tourists and their shorts and sandals as early as February and as late as November. Or the frowns of disapproval upon seeing women go bare-legged under their shorts and skirts as early as May. Shock! It highlights just how uneasy-going and unrelaxed Italians can be.
A lot of Italian life is stifled by rules. And more rules. And even more rules. Some are self-invented. Some are branded 'it's the done thing,' the table manners guide 'il
galateo' is a serious tome for those inclined to follow it. I've even had parts of it quoted to me by teenagers who have had it rubbed into them by their parents.
Non fare la scarpetta, using a piece of bread to mop up the sauce is a rule destined and begging to be broken. Just don't do it in the wrong place.
Some rules date to less modern times, but are still applied even if selectively. Hence, for a brief while all animals 'except seeing eye dogs' were banned from the lift on my side of the building. The rule dated from the fifties, had never been observed or even mentioned (I live on the 4th floor with a dog so would have noticed) but had been brought into application following a spat between two flat owners. The spat had nothing to do with dogs, by the way, but was about a drop of water leaking onto a balcony. Thus to inconvenience the leaker, owner of 2 dogs, the rule was resurrected. And just as quickly died. As was pointed out banning all animals effectively meant no one could use the lift. I pictured the lone guide dog, paws on the dirty linoleum floor, reflected in the grubby mirror, stuck waiting on the ground floor to go up all alone and unaided as the neon light above it flickered on and off, in the way they do in horror movies.
It must be said condominium blocks are palaces to insane, inane rules. Maybe other countries are like this? A friend discovered by transgressing that in her block no one could hang their sheets to dry over the edge of the balcony but in the block opposite, part of the same complex but under different management, the tenants could.
I went online to find out more about the condominium rule book: a hefty volume which bore nothing in common with the rather obvious and anodine rules I had been shown when I signed my rental contract.
Condominium rules, it seems, are established by law and at condominium assembly meetings. In large condominium complexes the different blocks may be managed by different administrators leading to different state of law for all. It's a schizophrenic system which ignores the concept of fairness or logic.
In the case of disputes, numerous in such a litigious country as Italy, the Justice of the Peace will make the final ruling. One wonders how he will decide should the current spat brewing in my building, that is people throwing liquids such as oil (how has this been established?) off the high floors as well as nut casings onto lower floor awnings, escalates.
Italy has so many rules that no one knows them all. Rule books get bigger and bigger as more are created. Creativity is alive and well in Italy today in the form of a rule book. Some rules make sense and some are pointless - much like the bureaucracy. In some cases they may not even be coherent.
Some to be fair, are not just in Italy, after all a lot of countries have their rules and 'good manners' guidebooks and lists. Don't swim after lunch was one that was oft repeated in my youth. The modern modified version being: don't swim after lunch unless you go immediately after. So the moment that last bit of sand covered pasta has gone down rush into the sea before the digestion process starts. You'll be safe (or so you think).
As I walk down the aisles of my local supermarket another place where rules proliferate like mushrooms out of muddy soil in an autumn forest, on a loop comes the message: "wear the mono-use gloves (guanti mono-uso) provided when handling fresh produce, it is severely forbidden (tautology) to take photos in the shop, you may not use personal bags or trolleys to shop…." I live dangerously and pick an onion with ungloved bare hands. I wonder, what happens now? Am I going to be arrested?
