Has Theo Traveled Back in Time at the Roman Forum?

 Years ago when I was in Rome, just strolling along the streets, a friend pointed out a place--a large hole in the sidewalk--where you could see beneath present day Rome to Ancient Rome. I got on my knees and tried to catch of glimpse of Ancient Rome, but it was too dark down there, and I saw nothing. But the idea intrigued me--that modern Rome was built on top of Ancient Rome. How? Why? Well, it seems the Tiber River would flood and overflow its banks, leaving behind a trail of mud and silt that eventually, over the centuries, literally buried Ancient Rome. 

An exception to this natural phenomena was the Roman Forum, which was the center of Ancient Rome, and which was built on a hill. It became the political and religious center of Roman life. It included what we would consider the first Mall for shopping, what they called a marketplace, and the home of the Vestal Virgins, six priestesses who vowed celibacy and whose main job was to honor Vesta, one of the Roman Goddesses. 

We decide to go and see the Roman Forum. Now it was mostly destroyed, too, by earthquakes, weather events, pollution and centuries of architects robbing the stones for their own projects. But enough of the Forum is left to give you an idea of what Ancient Rome looked like, and I mean BC Rome, before Jesus was even born.

The best way to approach this rectangular area of ruins is to see it from the very top by climbing up the Palantine Hill. From that vantage point you can see the area that is nestled among the modern Rome of today. Technically, the Roman Forum at its furthest end bumps into the Arch of Constantine, which is very close to the Colosseum, where the gladiators fought. We take a video of this amazing ruin--at the end you can see the Arch and the Colosseum:

The history of Ancient Rome is long and illustrious. At one point the Romans literally rule the known world. The story is far too complicated to tell here. The Roman Forum evolves over time. We can see fragments of columns that support the main structure of the Forum, statues, parts of brick walls, and elaborate colored tile on the floors. To think that the Roman Forum dates back thousands of years and parts of it still exist today . . . 

There is so much to see. I am enthralled. Amazingly, so is Theo. He seems to have an interest in the Rome of yesteryear. Yeah, he watches, on occasion, the History Channel, but there is something about Ancient Rome that catches his imagination. 

As we traipse from ruin to ruin (thankfully it's a cloudy day and not so hot), Theo's ears perk, his head swivels around.

"This is history," I say to Theo. "Thousands of years ago . . . " The gangster cat is being remarkably cooperative despite the fact that we don't see a bird or a squirrel, Theo's usual distractions. This time there are only tourists and antiquities. 

Until we are set free. We're with a guide and then we have free time. An underground tunnel sits before us. Despite being claustrophobic I like tunnels, and this tunnel is a good size. I imagine we're walking back in time, and when we get to the other side, we'll be in Ancient Rome. 

Theo gladly comes with me. This is his chance to sniff the ancient walls and get a glimpse (from a cat's perspective) of how the ancients lived. I stop and read the placards along the way, keeping half an eye on Theo.

I should have kept both eyes on him. One minute he is walking beside me, then he stops, sniffs and the next minute he's gone. Did he race ahead? Is this a real time tunnel? Is Theo now sniffing in Ancient Rome? 

I rush forward, imaging what I'll see on the other side. My imagination runs a bit wild. But when I emerge, although I'm still standing in the fragments of ancient Rome, I haven't traveled back in time. Theo is just ahead, rubbing himself against Dan's leg. Dan is mesmerized by a stone mound, what is believed to be Julius Caesar's grave. It's actually the spot where his ashes were buried, two years after he was cremated. The mound is the remains of the altar built to honor him in the Temple of Divus Julius. I expect something grander. Still, Julius Caesar is a legend.

Dan teaches Latin. He loves myths. There is a smile on his face a mile wide. He can't believe he's standing in front of where they put Julius Caesar! 

As for Theo, he's hungry. He's had enough of ruins. He wants a snack because he is a cat, after all.

Theo Says Poetry Smoetry

 For years when I visited Rome, I always wanted to go into the house that sits on the side of the Spanish Steps--the house which was turned into The Keats Shelley House, a museum dedicated to three English poets--all Romantics--who spent time in Italy.  

The story goes like this: John Keats, who is best known for his poem Ode to a Nightingale, is dying of tuberculosis when he comes to Rome for the last time in 1820 with a friend. They rent a room in the house, with a window that overlooks the Spanish Steps. He arrives in November when he is still able to ride his horse and see the sights. 

As his illness progresses, he's confined to a single room with a magic window. 

He loves to watch the tourists who go up and down those steps. After he dies at age 25, still a relatively unknown poet, everything in his room is burned, according to Italian Vatican law. 

The house is due to be demolished in 1903, but English and American diplomats and writers save it. The then Kings of England and Italy, the then President Theodore Roosevelt of the United States support the creation of a permanent memorial to Keats. Eventually the memorial includes Keats' contemporaries--Percy Bysshe Shelley (whose wife, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein) and Lord Byron, who is best known for his autobiographical poem Child Harold's Pilgrimage, his many love affairs, his revolutionary spirit which led to his death in Greece and, in my humble opinion, his poem She Walks In Beauty. Byron is as popular as a rock star when he's alive.

Today more than 25,000 people visit the museum. 

Theo has no interest in going into the house. Poetry is not his thing. He'll watch a bird video or anything on National Geographic or Animal Planet, but he has no interest in the finer aspects of life. 

He sums up his attitude in two simple words: Poetry Smoetry. 

This presents a problem because I've been trying to get inside this museum for years. It always seems to be closed. But this time it isn't, and I can't resist. I spent part of my undergraduate work on the English Romantics. To see the house where Keats stayed and died is on my bucket list. 

Dan, my hero, comes in with me. There is a nice patio outside the house that overlooks the Spanish Steps. 

It is in the shade and the perfect people watching spot. We deposit Theo there, and he's happy. He perches near the railing and after he sniffs around, is instantly mesmerized by the tourists. Yes!

I am in heaven. Now I can explore. There is a welcome message at the entrance:

The walls that line the stairs leading to where Keats stayed are filled with photos and drawings, capturing their life back then. There is a drawing of the square with the Spanish Steps dating back to when Keats was alive:

There is a library filled with every conceivable imaginable book written by or about the three poets. It is an outstanding collection of 8,000 volumes and often attracts scholars who are doing research.  

There are excerpts from letters that Keats wrote--to his girlfriend Fanny. To his friends.  There are letters from Mary Shelley after her famous poet husband died.

There is so much to see and read. Every once in a while, Dan peeks out to make sure that Theo is still there. With Theo, you never know. 

This is how it happens. I am in Keats' room with the magic window, imagining this young man--who is so very talented and yet undiscovered living his last days on earth.  

Dan bursts in. "Theo is gone."

How can that be? We race to the patio, open the side door to the outside patio and look around. The patio is enclosed by a railing. There is nowhere to go. Except down. 

We lean over and see if it's possible. Could he have jumped down? No, Theo is not stupid. My backpack is still on the chair where I left it. 

No Theo.

Other options? Kidnapped? Not likely. He's a gangster cat, after all. 

"I know what happened," Dan announces. "Someone opened the door to the patio to look out . . ." He pauses. 

"Theo must have run into the museum."

We begin a frantic search to find him. We should have spared ourselves the effort. In the library, on a chair, Theo is cuddled up. 

"What the heck?"

And then we see the reason why. A small bowl filled with crocantini (dried cat food) is waiting beside him. A few morsels are left. 

There is a young woman, roaming around the museum, who keeps an eye on things. She is majoring in the English Romantics and spending her summer at the museum. We put two and two together and recognize a kind soul who spotted the "starving" Theo.

Unfortunately, although I could have stayed in the Keats and Shelley House forever, it is time to go back to the hotel. The gangster cat has had enough.

As we walk back, I read a few lines from Keats' To Sleep:

Oh, soft embalmer of the still midnight, . . .

Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords

Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole,

Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,

And seal the hushed casket of my Soul.

Theo says, "Poetry. Smoetry."

Theo and the Italian Carousel

 This is not my first time in Rome. Over the years, I've arrived and conquered (as they say), taking time to explore all my usual haunts--The Spanish Steps--and never missing a chance to walk through the Villa Borghese Park. It literally sits behind The Spanish Steps on the grounds of what used to be an old vineyard. It was commissioned by a pope. It became a public park in 1908. It covers 60 hectares or approximately 2,000 acres.  And it is considered Rome's favorite park.

In the summer it is the perfect place to explore, especially if you're traveling with a cat who longs to be free and roam wide. Theo wants out of the backpack and down on the ground. He wants to sniff, sniff, sniff. 

So we climb the Spanish Steps--no easy feat--and turn left. We walk and walk and eventually spot a purple bush along the side of the road--the marker that tells us to begin the trek up another winding road to reach the park.

We're not expecting lush greenery here--not in June in the middle of Rome. There is little rain and the weather is hot. But I am expecting to catch a glimpse of the many antique statues that line the main road. It is astonishing to find such statuary in the middle of a park. 

We don't have the time or energy to walk all 2,000 or so acres, but I do want to show something to Theo. Something he's never seen before. 

"It's a surprise," I tell him. 

He tilts his head, and I know what he's thinking.

"No, it's not food."

I see a little bit of disappointment. 

"But, I promise after you see the surprise, we'll stop for gelato."

Now, Theo is no ice cream fan, but he does love gelato. The taste is different than ice cream, less sweet, and more--dare I say--luscious? And even though Theo can't speak a word of Italian, he does know the word gelato.

"There . . . there it is." 

I have no childhood memories of ever riding a carousel. Maybe that's why I am so enthralled with them as an adult. To me it is a magical place. You climb onboard and around you go. You forget for a moment that you're not really going anywhere, but as you whirl around in a gigantic circle, you lose sight of your family for a moment as the scenery whirs past until they appear again, waving and smiling. 

This carousel is furnished with different forms of transportation. I spot a Cinderella like coach, a mini sport car, and a Choo Choo train.

Theo rushes forward and jumps aboard. He wanders around and, you can guess it, sniffs. The carousel is deserted. Theo has it all to himself. Time goes by. 

"Okay." We've been roving around Rome for hours. We want to walk back to our hotel, clean up and get dinner. 

Theo is moving from the coach to the sport car to the Choo Choo train. He has no intention of leaving his surprise. 

"He's going to sniff every inch of that carousel," I realize with despair.

Dan doesn't like the sound of that. 

"Yeah, yeah." Dan, the hero, walks over, swoops Theo up and begins rushing toward the ice cream stand. Theo shoots me a dirty look, but Dan continues to march along.

And then I get a surprise, too. Some trees in Italy have the most unusual shape. They look like giant tree umbrellas. And one is growing by a palm tree. I can't resist capturing them. It is a sight you'll never see in New Jersey.

Finally, we order a gelato grande. Ordering gelato in Italy is different than ordering an ice cream in America. You get one flavor and one flavor only. In Italy, we can choose three flavors--Pistachio, Crema, and Stracciatella (Pistacchio, Cream and Vanilla with chocolate shreds in it.) Theo loves the Crema. 

While we eat, we stare at the trees. Heaven! And even Theo seems happy, as happy as a gangster cat can be!

Star Struck Theo at the Spanish Steps

 One of the most surprising things about Rome is that we see so few cats. There are dogs--big dogs, small dogs--especially Dachsunds--but no cats.

Until Theo spots an orange cat, who seems to come out of nowhere, navigating the narrow Roman streets, and heading toward the Spanish Steps. Now, there are a thousand reasons to visit the Spanish Steps, or as the Italians call them "la Scalinata:"

*It is the longest and widest staircase in Europe so it is a sight to see.

*Roman Holiday, that delicious movie with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck was filmed there in 1953.

*The fountain in Piazza di Spagna, the square in front of the steps, contains Fontana della Barcaccia (ugly boat) and was inspired by an ugly little boat that became stranded in that square in 1598 when the Tiber River flooded and the pope at that time wanted to commemorate the strange event.

*The 135 steps, built in the Rococo style, were funded by the French, believe it or not, and lead to Piazza Trinita dei Monti, to a church at the top.

*Italians and tourists collide there for the views of Rome from the top to the street below which is the premier shopping district in Rome.

*The steps host fashion shows and concerts throughout the year.

*There is no sitting on the steps. If you try to sit, for even a moment, eventually you will be roused to your feet by a loud shrill whistle from the police who patrol there.

Theo doesn't care about any of these facts. He sees a cat, the first one he's seen since he arrived. It is a revelation to him because he was thinking there are no cats in Rome. After all, at home, we have cats who visit our patio all the time, lounge on the pavers, stroll through the backyard as if they own the place. We arrive in Rome, and there are no cats.

Until Theo spots this orange big boned cat, who obviously meows Italian . . . I try to explain this to Theo. 

"He's an Italian cat. What will you two meow about?"

But Theo is nothing if not stubborn. So that is how we end up near the Spanish Steps. The first time. Well, actually we end up at the fountain, shaped like that of an ugly boat, with water spewing out from seven different points into the basin that surrounds it. 

The intrepid orange cat jumps up onto the edge of the basin. Is he actually going in for a swim? Isn't there a rule here that forbids cat bathing?

Several tourists begin to notice. This cat seems to have every intention of doing the unthinkable. He's leaning forward and sniffing. He's even bouncing a little, the way cats do before they take the mighty leap. People point and begin to chant. "Salta. Salta." Jump. Jump.

But that cat has no intention of jumping into the fountain and, perhaps, getting arrested and paying a fine. He looks around and then, as if he's not the cause of all the ruckus, jumps down and  saunters away.

I assume Theo will follow him, but he doesn't. Our gangster cat is star struck, like he can't quite believe what he's seen. Such bravado! Such nerve!

I pick Theo up and don't say a word. But we can't help but glance back at that cat. The brave boy is picked up and is now being carried out of the square by a beautiful woman with long dark hair. Probably by his Italian mama. 

Be still my heart. And then I think--that cat looks just like Chucky. It is as if Chucky has appeared to show Theo--this is what an adventure looks like. Go for it! 

Cool.

                                 In honor of Chucky, the rascal cat. 

St. Theo and the Pantheon

 When you visit Rome, there's one place you don't want to miss seeing--the Pantheon. Yeah, it is popular and you have to stand in line. And it's still considered a church so you have to dress decently to get inside--no mini shorts or sleeveless tops. 

Even though I've been inside many times, it is worth going back to see. Truly magnificent. Awe-inspiring. 

Technically, the Pantheon is a former Roman temple and the only ancient Roman building that has remained intact over the centuries. 

Even though it is the third building on the site (the first two burned down) it still dates back to 128 AD. 

The fact that it was a church and, in fact, still functions as a church saved it from destruction. Fear of God. (Tear down a church and who knows what can happen to you.)

When Michelangelo saw the Pantheon for the first time, he said it was designed by angels, not man. Thomas Jefferson modeled his beloved Monticello on it. Famous people are buried in its vault: Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo (Les Miserable), Emile Zola, Louis Braille, and even Marie Curie. 

But the most fascinating thing to me is when you walk inside, what you see is almost exactly what an ancient Roman would have seen thousands of years ago. You are literally stepping back in time. There are few places like it left in today's world.

The large columns that support the portico weigh 60 tons and were hauled over from Egypt. The dome on the top of the Pantheon is bigger than the dome in St. Peter's. 

I am definitely awe-struck as I walk around, amidst the hundreds of tourists who are also there. Block out the cell phone cameras and the incessant chatter. I try to imagine what it would have been like to see a place like this when you were most likely living in a hut somewhere with no electricity or access to water unless you went to a well.

All of this is nothing to Theo. He wants to go into the Pantheon for one reason only. He's heard there's a hole in the roof. A big hole. And he wants to see it for himself. 

I try to explain. The ceiling or dome portion of the ceiling has a big hole or oculus in the middle, which is 27 feet in diameter. It was put there deliberately to let the sun in (and all the other elements). It is true, when it rains, the rain comes in. 

He looks up and sees the oculus. He is impressed. He's never seen a ceiling with a hole in it before. If he could, he would probably try to climb up and out--onto the roof. 

I try to distract him. There is a beautiful angel statue off to the side.

And behind the statue a fantastic painting. And there's another painting over there. 

I'm not sure Theo hears me. He's staring straight upwards. Can he see something I can't see? Of course, the other reason why there's a hole in the ceiling is that the ancients believed the hole was a conduit to God, a way for them to feel closer to him.

Is that what's going on? 

Is this a vision? Should I be calling him St. Theo? Finally, we have to leave and I reluctantly pull Theo away from his view. No use talking to him about it. I know what he'll say--the same thing he always says:

"I do what I have to do."

Theo Invades the Trevi Fountain

 We are so lucky to find that our hotel--Hotel Delle Nazioni--is literally one block from Rome's famous Trevi Fountain. You make a left out of our hotel, walk down the street and enter a square. The 18th century fountain is behind you, in all its magnificence, spouting cool water, surrounded by historic buildings. 

"Let's just stand here and pose," I tell Dan. "I can't believe we're really here."

Designed by Italian architect Nicola Salvi, the fountain was built with Travertine stone in 1762 by Giuseppe Pannini. It is almost 90 feet high and 160 feet wide, making it the largest Baroque style fountain in Rome, and one of the most famous in the world. 

The fountain was built at the end point of an aqueduct that supplied water to Rome. Supposedly a virgin long ago helped Roman technicians locate a source of pure water eight miles from the city. The aqueduct supplied water to Rome for over 400 years. 

The name "Trevi" comes from two Italian words "Tre vie" meaning three streets. The fountain is located in the intersection of three streets. It has been refurbished, repaired and renovated throughout the centuries.

The larger than life figure that dominates the statue behind the fountain is Oceanus, a Titan God, who represents the source of all fresh water on the Earth.

There are usually hundreds of people milling around the square, staring at the fountain, eating their gelato or paninis (Italian sandwiches) or sipping their cool drinks. The noise level can be deafening when you add in the sound of the fountain. 

It is a sight to see and hear. When we first arrive, we rush to see it amidst the throngs of tourists that are there. Theo takes one cat glance and can't seem to get enough. I know he wants to get closer, and I suspect, drink the water. But that is definitely not allowed.

Everyone seems to know the rules. You can throw coins in the fountain and most tourists do, believing that if you throw a coin in the fountain, you will return to Rome one day. Technically, you should throw the coin with your right hand across your left shoulder while you are facing away from the fountain for the magic to work. 

(One day a week, early in the morning, the fountain is turned off and crews arrive to dredge out the coins in the bottom of the fountain. The coins go to charity. Approximately 3,000 E ($3300) are thrown into the fountain each day which leads to a tidy sum at the end of the year.)

There is a sign not so clearly posted listing all the things you can't do. You must stand near it and squint to read the warnings. The gist of all the do nots are:

Do not eat food too close to the fountain. 

Do not bathe or swim or remove water from the fountain.

Do not clean your clothes or wash your pets in the fountain.

Do not throw anything but coins into the fountain.

Do not remove the coins from the fountain. 

Violators face a hefty fine ranging from 40E to 240E ($44 to $270).

Knowing the world like I do, I know that each do not is a result of someone trying to do it--in the fountain. I march Theo over to the sign and spell out all the warnings. I'm no dummy. All that water splashing downward and all the birds flying around angling to reach that water is like catnip to Theo.

Dan is thinking like I do. "Can we trust him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Yeah, I'll keep ahold of him."

Ha. Easier said than done. When Dan has his I phone with him, all he wants to do is take photos--which is impossible when he's holding Theo. After a few minutes, down Theo goes.  And he's off . . .we lose him in the crowd. 

"He's headed for the fountain."

Sure enough, he's slipping and sliding through the crowds with every intention of climbing onto the edge, leaning over and drinking that water.

Violation!!! He will be sure to attract attention. A crowd will gather around him. I can picture it now. I can hear the chanting: "Drink, Theo, drink."

The carabinieri (Italian police) will arrive and we will be fined--big time.

That nightmare doesn't happen. And I am oh so wrong, according to the gangster cat. Theo just wants to get a better look at the water. That's his story as Dan carts him away. 

"Theo, how could you?"

He glances back at me. "I do what I have to do."

A cat is a cat is a cat. No doubt about it.

Is Theo a hero or a brat?

 Pasquale picks us up from the Rome Airport and takes us to our Hotel on probably the worst day of the year in Rome. The city is host to a marathon that literally runs past our hotel. Pasquale is tasked with outwitting the Marathon authorities so he can deliver us and our luggage as promised. Theo, who is with us, rests comfortably in a backpack, his head lolling around, his eyes closed. 

Pasquale, dressed professionally in nice Italian made slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt that is rolled up to his elbows, is in his early sixties. He knows Rome like the back of his hand. He speaks a little English and is visibly relieved when we ask him to talk to us in Italian because we want to practice.

This request unleashes a wealth of information. Suddenly Pasquale transforms from a reticent driver into a gregarious tour guide, pointing out the various sights we pass as we enter Rome proper and wind through the narrow and busy streets.

Pasquale pretends not to notice Theo, nestled between us. Our driver most likely assumes he is harmless. Theo doesn't growl or meow. I hold a Churos, a special treat for Theo, just in case.

Pasquale talks about his experiences as a driver, answers all our questions, but finally admits he's a dog lover. He's lived on a farm and doesn't see much use for cats . . . as pets. Theo understands English but his Italian is shaky. I hope Pasquale's comment has gone over his head. 

By some miracle, we arrive at Hotel Delle Nazioni, weaving in and out of streets that are temporarily closed and then reopened. We literally have seconds to disembark from the car. It is illegal to park where we have stopped. Pasquale is being a good driver. Dan is in charge of the luggage. I grab my backpack and reach for Theo.

Theo, resistant, backs away from me. He meows. His behavior is so unusual. So odd. For the most part Theo is becoming a veteran traveler. There is no time for questions. I literally pick him up by the scruff of his neck and pull him out of the car, the backpack swinging behind him. He is as surprised as I am that he's being "manhandled."

In the hotel lobby we sit on comfortable sofas, waiting for our rooms to be ready. I'm exhausted and don't have the strength to find out what Theo was thinking. Later, in our rooms, I'll unravel the mystery.

I reach for my iPhone, which should be wedged in the pocket of my pants. It's gone. Nowhere to be found. Everything is in that phone--our air itinerary, our tickets to the Colosseum, maps of the city. I feel physically sick. I know I had it when we met Pasquale. How will I ever track him down? I don't even have his last name.

At that very moment, before my panic overtakes my common sense, Pasquale reappears. He is holding out my phone. It must have fallen onto his car's backseat, then the floor. I jump up and hug Pasquale. I am so grateful. Then I collapse back onto the sofa, grasping my phone like a lifeline. Which it is.

It strikes me then as I glance at Theo's disappointed face. "Is that why you wouldn't get out of the car? Were you trying to tell me . . ." I hold out my phone.

Theo meows plaintively, pitifully--his usual maneuver when he knows he's won that round. Now he doesn't feel like talking. All he wants is a snack from his totally grateful mom. 

Is Theo a hero or a brat? I'll never know.