Pixels
Somewhere in Time
There are times
I feel I'd have been comfortable
in the bleacher seats of the Coliseum during an afternoon event, avoiding
chariots while walking along Via Sacra in ancient Paestum, or enjoying a healthy
portion of fermented gurum fish sauce
on the Decumanus Maximus, there by the water trough in Herculaneum. Funny, I felt that same sense of place when
we finally arrived at Villa Romana del Casale in the town of Piazza Armerina,
just about smack-dab in the center of that triangular shaped island of
Sicily.
I can't say it
had been a torturous ride
following our departure from Ortigia, but strange roads, misleading GPS
directions from Margaret, and the anticipation our destination was just around
the next corner made for a long morning drive. From the planes of the coast, we'd entered a rugged
mountainous serving of Sicily deep in the interior and got so turned around
that contrary to what that rental agreement might say about off-road travel, we
at times found ourselves moving along by what I'll best describe as cross
country mode. The occasional contadina's
head swiveled in wonderment at the sight of our bright red Ford Fiesta. "What could it possibly be doing along
that crater-pocked goat trail?", only adding weight to the adage ... never,
never buy a used rental!
Before we’d get to visit Villa Romana, however, we
first needed to find where we’d be staying overnight. It was a countryside agriturismo, this one named Agriturismo
Savoca situated on landscaped
gardens within a functioning farm. We never found out what they
actually did on this farm during our brief stay but they were clearly busy. Their guest accommodations consisted of
twelve rooms laying side-by-side, all in a row like a 70’s motel. An angled roof running the length of the
building provided a cooling shadow over a stone patio and made for a
comfortable place to sit and enjoy the scenery and the occasional tractor that
might pass by. We were surprised to find
flocks of peacocks, if ‘flock’ is the proper term for a group of peacocks, roaming
the grounds and passing close, too close, by our open door. Just maybe they were peacock poultry and egg
farmers. It was clear we were definitely
on a farm and would need to keep our door shut to discourage any unwelcomed pecking
visitors. 
Our
first order of business after settling in, it being still early afternoon, was to have lunch. We were directed to follow the dirt road that
ran in front of our apartment to the function facility at the end of the road. It proved to be a pleasant walk past flowering
hedges, blooming cacti, and a young tree-stand of ash all neatly aligned; a
forest already grown tall enough to shade the occasional passers-by like us. While
a statuesque figure atop a pedestal may have been in order here, instead there
rose a majestic monument befitting the owner's labor. The
relic of a tattered tractor, almost tank-like in its appearance, rested on a
series of boulders in testament to the work it undoubtedly had taken to have
culled this country estate, on the order of the Cartwright’s “Ponderosa” or JR
Ewing’s “Southfork Ranch” from nature’s grasp.
Arrived
at the dining facility, we saw a flurry of activity underway.
While others worked to decorate the patio, fork-toothed tractors made
deliveries of tables and chairs. Inside,
buffet tables, tablecloths, formal chair covers, and place-settings were being arranged.
Something big was afoot. When the family who operated the farm arrived
to have their lunch, we learned there was a wedding reception scheduled that
evening. What this meant for us, since
apparently we’d been left off the invitation list, was that we’d need to find
somewhere else for dinner that evening. It was the matriarch of this extended family, nona Savoca, who gave us some
suggestions of which the da Nino
steakhouse sounded best.
We decided that when
we left for the
restaurant, we'd also try to find the Villa Romana. Hopefully, this would make things easier in the
morning. The Villa Romana del Casale was
advertised to be only five kilometers away, but that may have been an
estimation based on how a bird flies, in a straight line. I’d be hard pressed to admit that this
estimate was even close for we searched for at least 20 km before finding
it. Waiting until morning might have
been best, for like a trail of breadcrumbs, there most certainly would have
been a line of traffic to follow. As
dark and as late as it was, seeing no respectable Italian thinks to eat before
9 pm, it made for a difficult time. I could
easily blame Margaret but signs, if there were ever any more than the scant few
we did manage to find, seemed to have simply disappeared. Besides, as I said, it was dark, so instead
of relying on our wayward GPS or inadequate signage, my strategy was to drive a
ways and ask, drive a ways and ask again, ad infinitum. When we finally did find it, I went to a
hotel by the entrance road to ask for their address so we could load it into
Margaret to use the following day, in hope that it would be easier to find. Inside, after talking with three different
people, I still had no address.
Hopefully, their mailperson knew their address. This just might shed light on why the Italian postal
system is notorious for its slow delivery.
Now somewhat familiar
with the area, we easily
made our way into town, to the da Nino. Finding it was the easy part, where to park
was another matter. The restaurant’s parking
lot was filled with earlier diners,
something I thought on the equivalent to a
Florida “Early Bird Special”. Apparently,
its success had outgrown its parking space.
Also apparent, at least here, I was all wrong about not eating before
nine, but then, these were Sicilians who might never admit to being Italians! Narrow streets, with parking reserved for
residents, only compounded the issue. I'd
pulled over opposite the entrance, in front of some homes, their garage doors
with signs I imagined threatening to turn your car over to a chop shop if you
dared park there. Honestly, Boston's
North End Italian District came to mind.
I was about to leave and call it a dinnerless night when a young man
exited from one of the homes. I called
to him in my childish Speak & Spell
Italian, explaining our plight, asking where we might park for an hour. Again the kind-hearted nature of the average
Italian emerged when he told us to park right there for as long as we
needed. Praying he wasn’t just the pizza
delivery boy, we did just that.
The steakhouse was
packed. It was one of those places where instead of
choosing your lobster or fish from a tank, you chose the chunk, tip, slice,
hunk or slab of meat from whatever beast that most appealed to you. After enjoying the pleasant surprise of an
amuse-bouche, pizza-like appetizer sprinkled with pine nuts, Mare went with her
standard favorite, agnello (lamb) while I, after a diligent
search for peacock, chose a cut of beef.
But it was not our meals that made this night special. We would soon forget what we ate that night
but not what would become the hit of our evening.
True to form, in the lively, slightly chaotic atmosphere of this
informal restaurant we soon struck-up a conversation with the threesome at the table
alongside ours. It was because of the
pizza Livia, the mother, ordered. It was
such a large pizza, topped with "rocket", better known as arugula that
caught my eye. A third party would have
seen me staring at it as I wondered how such a small woman could possibly
consume such a pie. Her husband, noting
my interest, asked with a simple gesture of his hands if I'd like to try a
slice. I declined the offer but this was
enough to start a conversation. We soon
learned that this family was from Piazza Armerina. Livia, and especially her daughter,
Alessandra, spoke English, while the father continued to communicate with
gestures and the occasional help of their translations. Alessandra could have passed for an 18 year
old, when in fact we learned she had already graduated from university as an
architect. We chatted on and off as the pizzas
and carne (meat) all managed to
disappear.
We were about to leave when our neighbors asked if we'd like to go
with them for gelato. As late as it was
by then, I honestly wondered if it would be wise to get into a car with total
strangers in such unfamiliar terrain.
Just a step removed from hitch-hiking, who knew where we might wind up. I'm guessing mothers still council their
children about things like this. The
council aside, we paid no heed and agreed to come along. We were delayed somewhat when Maria Elena
spoke to a man at the opposite table who had been staring at her the entire
evening, but when we emerged they were still waiting for us. As we got into their vehicle I was glad to
see our car still there in front of the garage.
It could wait a little longer for there was adventure afoot.
The rest of the evening, a testament to Italian conviviality,
unfolded as advertised. We were hosted
to a tour of the town, which ranged from the town square overseen by a statue
of General Cascino, panoramic overlooks, and a Baroque cathedral in addition of
course to cones heaped with ice cream.
It was only after all this serendipity, as we were getting back into their
car to return to the da Nino that I
remarked that we didn't even know their names!
Only then did we learn their names to the laughter of just how
ridiculous this had all been, but such is life when unrehearsed.
Although we got “home” late that night, we were
up and well breakfasted by early the next morning. As opposed to cruise ships along the coast
that spawn thousands of visitors at a time, this far inland we hoped to beat
the busloads of tourist also headed for the Villa Romana. I actually passed a bus closing on the
entrance and sped down the now familiar road alongside the hotel without an address. Parked and with tickets secured, we
approached the villa on foot. Descending
along a curving tree-lined road, we noted the remains of an aqueduct to one
side that among other things once supplied water for the villa’s needs, especially
for its extensive thermal bath complex. What
lay ahead had to be something special, for who ever heard of an aqueduct for a
private home? Maybe a city or town but
someone's home? We continued our gradual
descent into what was clearly a furrow between mountain ridges and abrupt
hills, wondering what lay ahead. It was
unapparent where exactly it happened, but somewhere along that trail time
warped from now to then.
As we approached the sprawling complex, still ageing in place, I
imagined its Roman master likewise arriving from the mainland for a long summer
stay in the 300 A.D. timeframe ahead of a procession of attendants and
undoubtedly a cavalcade of baggage carts.
Approaching the complex, thoughts of the immense upkeep needed to maintain
the vast complex that once covered some 37,000 square
feet and consisted of
60 rooms on four levels fitted to the sloping terrain flashed by in a
heartbeat. Such an undertaking would
have been impossible without the use of slaves …
I am Popillius, slave of the family Volusianus, a
wealth merchant family whose vast holdings here in Sicilia provide the grain
that feds Roma. Paterfamilias Rufius Volusianus, father of the family
and his wife, Domina Junilla, will arrive soon.
By now their ship, which hugged the coast from Neápolis south, would be
crossing the Strait of Messina. Prayers
have been offered to the household gods that the sea monsters, first Scylla and
then Charybdis, will let them pass unharmed to Catana. Days ago, the household was alerted to their
imminent arrival. In preparation, the
domus is alive with activity. I am
involved with gathering vast stores of wood for the fires of the hypocaust, which heats the many
rooms of the thermae beginning with the caldarium and the tepidarium. Arrival of the master has also accelerated
completion of the floor patterns they call mosaic. The freedmen from Carthage have been working
day and night to complete the remaining floor pictures in the great hall and
sport arena. The small colored cubes of stone
and tile they awaited from Agrigentum arrived only last week. By candlelight, in the early hours before
dawn, I have seen the drawings of the animals and athletes they prepared that
are now being brought to life as the tiny stones fill the scrawled images. The children will be especially pleased. Their daughters Atia and Valeria will marvel
at the scenes of the maiden athletes shown tossing a ball as they sometimes do,
while their son Gaius will be likewise amazed at the sight of the Great Hunt he
so loves to join in while here.
Hopefully, all will be in order by the time the Dominus arrives at the
horse changing station along the Statio Agraria Philosophiana that leads here
from Catana. The gods b…..
As the annals of history close only to open once again, so to ownership (maybe better described
as possession) of this imperial estate frequently changed hands, one plunderer
to another. The villa, which grew larger
with time, was first
inhabited by Romans who saw to its construction in the 3rd and 4th
century A.D. during the time of Roman Emperor Maximian Herculius. By the end of the Roman Empire in
approximately 475 A.D., it was sacked with the arrival of the nomadic Germanic
"V" tribes - the Vandals and Visigoths. For several centuries afterwards it was
occupied by Byzantines who in turn were expelled with the arrival of the
Saracens who conquered Sicily in 827 A.D.
There is more, for Normans lived in the villa following the expulsion of
the Saracens. Their stay ended when a landslide covered the estate with mud
sealing it for posterity to the extent that even local people, as was the case
with Paestum and Tiberius' villa in Sperlonga, lost track of its very existence. Today, its new owners, the region's
archaeological establishment, apparently by the rule of “finders-keepers” have
replaced slave labor with a pay to enter tariff. We, current and former slaves to today's workplaces,
simply laboring elsewhere for some corporate dominus, still manage to pay for its upkeep. Even now, in the subtext of an unscripted invasion,
this one daily, there is added panache ... the fee to enter, 10 Euros each.
We’d arrived at one of the most important monuments of the Ancient Roman world where
the magnificence of Rome is portrayed in a country estate depicting 4th
century Roman civilization, art and history.
Unlike many similar relics from the past, the building complex
is covered with roofs that serve a dual purpose. The first is obviously protection from the
elements. As the original roofs had, today
glass structures resembling giant greenhouses afford protection. Additionally, like a guide book with plastic
overlay pages that allow you to flip back and forth to envision what the
structure had originally looked like, verses its present state, this skeleton
of tubular elements, sheathed in glass and plastic, check our wondering
imaginations and add that missing dimension needed to appreciate the true
grandeur of this villa. Yet these thousands of years later, its once opulent
character remains patently evident in the form of one outstanding feature that
doesn't need the help of flipping pages to appreciate. For here we discovered hundreds if not
thousands of mosaic floor
decorations.
The villa
centers on an immense four-sided
peristyle portico surrounded by 32 Greek Corinthian columns that enclose a
fountain and now empty pond. Covered walkways
along each side began our appreciation for the lavish mosaic layouts depicting everything
from epic tales to hunts, for which Villa Romana del Casale is world
known. Today a World Heritage Site, UNESCO declares
this villa “especially noteworthy
for the richness and quality of the mosaics which decorate almost every room; they are the finest mosaics in situ
anywhere in the Roman world.” 1 More than in any other known single building in the Roman Empire, their
numbers, their size, their detail, their state of preservation are nowhere else
to be found. From this central point the
mosaics, in precise detail, serving as carpets, spread out in every
direction. Even the toilets, both
private and public have mosaic floor decorations.
Another characteristic
of Villa Romana was
the evident attention to hygiene represented by the baths. Telling from their extent, 4th
century lifestyle gave considerable attention to the baths, for in addition to
their
sauna-like features the complex included adjoining preparatory rooms and
vestibules for exercise, dressing, massages and rub-downs. Beginning with a set of three wood burning furnaces
that heated water, to include the engineering detail of terracotta tubes (used because
they wouldn’t expand with heat) for a supply of hot air, it was clear that the
baths garnered major attention in this society.
It is difficult to
properly describe the Villa's grandeur. A network of elevated walkways
guided us through the structure, permitting us to peer down from above into the
various functional rooms. These
birds-eye glimpses into now empty rooms, save for the decorated floors, served
one after another to overwhelm cat-walk observers like ourselves. Certainly here was a home for an emperor, if
not a king. When would the patterns and
pictures end? It seemed, never.
There
were so many decorated surfaces it is difficult to choose from among them which was best. It remained a personal decision. There were two in particular that at least for me stood out – one for its extent and
Clearly the Roman era
was a man's world. The numerous mosaic hunting scenes throughout
the villa serve as anecdotal evidence to this fact. It was therefore refreshing to come upon
scenes of female figures in a small gym, called the Sala delle Dieci Ragazze (Chamber of the Ten Maidens) engaged in various sport disciplines.
Evidently the daughters of the dominus
exercised there, in the activities depicted on the floor, to include discus
throwing, weight lifting, and running. But there was one added twist that earned my
endorsement for most unique. One of the
depictions presented the girls playing some sort of handball game, if not
simply catch. Maybe it was because our granddaughter,
Gabriella, plays volleyball during the school year and in summer plays the beach
variety that got my attention and helps explain my vote. All that was missing was a net! Even more of a surprise, the female athletes
are wearing what would pass as bikini-like clothing, the sort I’d associate
with Bridget Bardot,
or to better mask my age, a modern Victoria Secret model. Thus
the ten maidens, in keeping with more modern vernacular, have been
dubbed the "Bikini Girls". The advent of Christianity, with its fondness for puritanical layer upon
layer of cloth in an attempt to disguise the female figure, apparently succeeded
in covering-up pagan nudity to the point that we think the bikini is of recent secular
vintage. Apparently not. Back then, Ancient Romans, ever the fashion
setters to this day, referred to the athletes “bikini” briefs as subligar and to their halter-like breast
band as a stropkion. It was while experiencing a fabric shortage in
1946, that French engineer, Louis Réard first designed the bikini to commemorate the Bikini Atoll atomic bomb tests then underway. 4
My guess is he had no idea that the Villa Romana del Casale contained an even earlier illustration of what he had in mind. In fact, the two-piece swimsuit goes back
even earlier to 1400 BC to the Greco-Roman world where bikini-like
garments worn by women athletes are depicted on urns and paintings. 5 Just goes to show you not to throw your old
ties away for they're sure to come back into style.
Villa Romana del Casale was a virtual city, certainly justifying an aqueduct of its own. Much of it, like Pompei and Herculaneum, still remains to be unearthed. Its influence certainly extended far and wide
throughout the region. Walking back up
the hill to our lipstick-red modern "chariot" through the relics of an empire, I remained stranded
in my meta-state somewhere between then and now, past colliding with
contemporary. Still confused, my transference back to the
present somehow delayed, my mind flipped a plastic
overlay of confused thoughts ... for lunch, will it be some ancient style
gurum fish sauce dip or a modern-day buffalo
mozzarella caprese salad ... , I continued to fantasize on who the
original occupants of this villa had been. Certainly not my made up characters, though
undeniably wealthy, privileged, and important individuals in their day. Could their images be somewhere among the
pixelized images, hidden in the hunt or among the female athletes, their
soliloquy bound-up somewhere in silent stone?
Whoever they were, from the collective images they've left us, they provided
an invaluable window into what Roman life was like, how they lived, and
what was important to them. The wonder
of it lay beneath our feet.
From
That Rogue Tourist
Paolo
1.
http://www.italiantourism.com/unescohtml.html
2.
http://www.ancient-code.com/roman-construction-secret-concrete-mortar-based-volcanic-ash/
3.
http://www.antiquitiesinc.com/Ancient-Mosaics-Brochure.pdf by John
Olbrantz
4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_bikini
5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bikini
