Rome: Coming of Age in the Eternal City

As many of you know, hobbits come of age when they are 33.  Before then, they are considered to be in the "tweens", an awkward and irresponsible age where young hobbits can get away with acting much like Peregrin Took.

I can tell you right now that I make absolutely no promises to change or curtail my behavior or grow up even a little no matter what birthday I've just had, but the fact remains that I had my hobbit's Coming Of Age Birthday on my first full day in Rome, November 13.

When planning this Europe trip, I had so wanted to somehow have my birthday in my very favorite place in the world, and half by accident, half by design it ended up working out just that way.  But what do you do for your 33rd birthday when you are alone in Bella Roma?  Despite being exactly where I wanted to be, I found myself feeling just the smallest bit of melancholy at reaching my mid-thirties, and all alone.  So I decided that the perfect birthday activity would be to do one of the things I had most regretting missing the first time I was here:  touring the Keats/Shelley house next to the Spanish Steps, and then visiting their graves in the Protestant Cemetery.

Back in college, and then in grad school, I majored in English and concentrated heavily on the Romantic poets, particularly the younger generation of Keats, Shelley, and Byron.  That was a long time ago and sadly I have forgotten almost everything I once knew, but these gentlemen were an important part of my existence for many years and I thought it fitting to celebrate another year of life by paying my respects to two of those men that so enriched my days (and nights.  Many, many long, quotation-filled, one-inch margin-obsessed nights).

The Keats/Shelley House is located just to the right of the Spanish Steps, yet another Roman landmark completely and utterly overrun with tourists and sharks.  To be honest, I'm not exactly sure why it is the Keats/Shelley House and not just the Keats House, as to my knowledge the house had nothing to do with Shelley but Keats died here of tuberculosis when he was 24.  And even though it's the Keats/Shelley house and not the Keats/Shelley/Byron house, most of it is equally dedicated to all three of them.  It's quite small really, just four rooms on one floor, with walls lined with books by the these tortured geniuses and glass cases filled with early editions, painted cameos, and letters written either by or about the three young men.

In the far back corner is a small room where Keats spent his last days and finally passed away.  All the furniture is a reconstruction, because everything in the room was burned after his death.

Keats' death mask in the background.

I have always found it so sad that Keats' final months and weeks of life were spent in such an angry black depression.  He had convinced himself that nothing of his work would remain, and was inconsolably bitter about his illness.  I suppose that is completely understandable; I too would be pissed at the idea of dying at 24, but I've always wished he could have found some peace and contentment before the end.

It is a long way from the north end of Rome where the Spanish Steps are, all the way down outside the city walls to the south, where the Protestant Cemetery is.  My love for Rome is such that I take great pride and pleasure in walking everywhere, but this particular trek would have taken forever and I had my unfortunate Achilles tendons to consider.  So my birthday included one maiden voyage upon Rome's metro.  Seemed the most practical course.

The Protestant Cemetery is actually quite easily accessible from the Pyramide metro stop.  Despite being off the edge of my hostel map, I was able to find it with no trouble.  Every old graveyard image and feel seems to have been captured in this one quiet, beautifully somber place.

They had signs directing you to the graves of both Keats and Shelley.  I found Shelley's first.  Just a very simple white marble slab set into the ground.

And here I kicked myself a little, because it was only now that I finally realized a good use for a couple of those roses that all the hawkers kept shoving into my face back at the Spanish Steps.  I would have liked to leave something beautiful here, even if it would have only lasted a few hours.  Instead I had to content myself with pressing my fingertips onto the stone, imagining a distraught Lord Byron standing by a century and a half ago.

Keats is buried in a different, much sparser section of the cemetery.  I found him next to his good friend Joseph Severn, who took care of him in their Rome house right up until the end.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

So bitter was he at the end of his days, that Keats forbade his name to go on his tombstone at all.  "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" was to be the extend of his epitaph, but after he died some doubtlessly well-meaning folks decided that was too sparse and added the rest.  To the right, there is a small memorial with that includes both his name and bust in profile.

There's a bench just opposite here, and I sat for a little while, sipping birthday Powerade and letting my mind wander.  I was very conscious of any possible irony or metaphor implied that comes with visiting a graveyard on one's birthday, but it fit the mood I was in exactly.  Did yet more reflecting on then versus now, and thought that maybe I could do with reading some more poetry again.

When I started to do some more exploring, I found one thing that lifted my spirits immediately.  I've been searching this whole trip to find an actual Weeping Angel.  You know (or you should!), an angel statue that legit is covering her eyes in some way.  I've photographed dozens of angels but never came across one covering her face.  In the Protestant Cemetery, I finally found one!

Still not perfect, but it works!

I wandered around the cemetery for a little while longer and eventually said my farewells.  Took the metro back up to the Colosseum for more photos and tourist-dodging, and surprised myself by remembering the way to an Irish bar that I had stopped in during my epic first night in Rome three years ago.

This trip's budget does not really allow for cocktails, but on my birthday I allowed myself two excellent gin and tonics.  I sat for a long time at the bar and caught up on my journaling.  Earlier that day I had bought myself a present of a new journal, as my current one was almost out of pages!  It's been a very noteworthy adventure.

And then I found my way back to the Sodium Light Bar.  Even without Monya, without the sodium lights, this place had just became so important to me the last time I was here and I wanted to say a proper goodbye one last time.  I know that's stupid because it is just a bar, but it was here that I swore to come back.  Some people throw a coin in the Trevi, and some people make promises to sexy bartenders over shots of vodka.  The bar had taken on significance in my brain that went far beyond its literal role as a crowded local drinking establishment.

Real quick -- another story of Rome and memories... back three years ago, before I left I went for a haircut and my stylist (who had been to Rome about ten times), told me I needed to try a kind of wine called Amarone while I was there.  So I did.  The wine was of course awesome, and I ended up bringing a very expensive bottle back home with me, which then was the wine I opened for my father and me the night before I left for Georgia.

So when I sat down at the Sodium Light Bar, I checked out the wine list (on a chalkboard) and saw they had an Amarone.  Of course that's what I had.  One more tiny splurge on my Coming of Age Day!

Nostalgia Amarone at Nostalgia Bar

Three years ago while sitting in almost this exact same spot, I wrote that I felt like the eye of a cat. 5 hurricane.  It was kind of like that again, but of course something was missing.  It was more than just Monya.  One of the things I finally realized about my time in the Eternal City was that Rome felt so different because I was different.  And all things considered, I was grateful I'd had the chance to experience Rome with the eyes of three years ago.

Wine finished, it was time for the most important part of the day:  Dinner!  My whole trip I'd been looking forward to my one no-holds-barred birthday dinner, where I'd actually eat at one of those amazing-looking restaurants I was always passing by.  I wandered with no real direction, looking for the perfect place (and you know me and how long finding "perfect" can take!) when suddenly I realized I was walking towards the Trevi.

It was almost like I panicked.  "The Trevi!" I shouted to myself.  "That's the last place you want to be!  It'll be full of tourists and overpriced and probably not that good anyway!"  In almost-desperation, I took a sharp right turn down an alley and ended up looking at a place so adorable, so tucked-away, so utterly perfect that I could not believe my luck.

I went in and sat down, having been greeted by a very friendly waiter.  I ordered fried zucchini blossoms, something I'd always wanted to try in Rome, and swordfish prepared Sicilian-style with tomatoes, olives, and capers.  Also a half-bottle of Italian white wine.

Sicilian swordfish, wine, new journal!

Much like pizza in Naples, I'd been kind of afraid that this birthday dinner, when it finally happened, would not live up to my very exacting expectations.  But once again I should not have worried.  This was exactly what I'd hoped it would be.  The food was fresh and delicious, the service excellent, and I was able to take as much time as I wanted to enjoy every minute!

After dinner I ordered limoncello and a dessert which turned out to be rather like a caramel flan (delicious!), then lingered over the last of my wine.  I didn't want to leave but could not put another morsel of food or drink in me so finally it was time to go.

I walked home, and then back at the Rome hostel I ran into Arity and Brian, the friends I'd met from Naples.  We'd done Vesuvius and then Pompeii together.  I was so surprised and happy to actually see people I knew!  We toasted my birthday and they introduced me to Beth, a girl staying in their dorm.  We agreed to meet tomorrow morning and go over to St. Peter's together.  Such a pleasant surprise to close out my birthday -- laughter and the company of friends had been the only thing that could have possibly been missing!

From start to finish, an incredible day.  I simply could not have asked for anything more.  Cheers, Bella Roma.