This past week our class traveled south, discovering the town of Terracina; a town between a mountain and the sea.  The class went on our typical tours to get a basic understanding of the town and to observe its highlights and flaws. The overall impression of Terracina seemed to be positive with friendly residents, rich views and interesting architecture. In a matter of hours we had learned about Terracina, but in a matter of minutes, Professor Emilio Selvaggi explained to the class the Terracina we did not know existed.

What began as a discussion in Terracina’s Parco Della Rimembranza about the park’s history, quickly transitioned to a lengthy story about Terracina through the view of Mr. Selvaggi, a lifelong resident of the area.  He passionately described the days when Terracina was a flourishing town from the fish and grapes it harvested.  After Terracina fell victim to many world war bombings and a crop disease that wiped one of its primary sources of economy (grapes) it was forced to rebuild.  No longer is Terracina known for its once vast orchards of grapes, but now of a semi-successful town divided by the remains of its old and the expanded, lower portion of its new.  In result, a new that unfortunately (Mr. Selvaggi admits) has lost its cultural identity.  While observers may view Terracina and make assumptions about what it is, stories exist explaining what it was.

A town stands between a mountain and the sea, but if you investigate deeper, its stories can be found.

What’s the difference between a big building and a small city?

I would label Castelvecchio a small city. Reasons for doing so are because of its small population of a couple hundred, the minimal footprint that the town covers appears in comparison to the spacious land around it and because the amount of retail stores or commercial spaces within the town can be counted on one individual’s hands. I would label the Monument to Victor Emmanuel a big building. Reasons for this decision are directly related to my previous decisions made about Castelvecchio. The Monument to Victor Emmanuel hosts many visitors, daily, on its premises. From Rome’s various vantage points, observers can gaze out on the city’s skyline and most always see the Monument. The Monument even has a restaurant on its top level and a bookstore and souvenir shop inside.
While these characteristics exemplify how different the town of Castelvecchio is to the Victor Emmanuel Monument, it’s also supports the original question as it seems evident a big building can perform strikingly similar to small city.
So what is the difference? Scale and relationship in regards to interaction. An observer within a small city will have a completely different relationship than that at a big building. Again to show how similarities support differences (in this blog), standing at both the Victor Monument Building and within Castelvecchio, the sense of scale is much different I would argue to what most are used to. At the Monument, an observer feels almost insignificant as staircases seem to function more like a stepped courtyard with generous space they offer. Contrastingly, while walking in Castelvecchio, I felt like a giant with the feeling of compression surrounding me, cautiously tiptoeing through alleys insisting I’m careful with the tiny stone playhouse I wondered through.
A big building and small city may act similarly, but they way they interact is where I most significantly experience a difference.

Walking from studio to home

Ponte Cestio

House Ripa’s social networking hub

notice Ramon in the background, laptop on lap

Park near the French Academy

Fountain off Piazza della Trinita dei Monti above the Spanish Steps

Additional evidence in response to “Blog 01- Am I in Rome?”

I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

The Gruesome life of the walls of Vicolo Di S. Elena
Along a spacious and energetic road in Rome resides a dim and dark alley known as Vicolo di S. Elena. Two main walls make up this particular alley and they are, McNear and Portland. McNear and Portland offer pedestrians a narrow portal between Via di S. Elena and Vicolo dei Falegnami, and in return, received the occasional urine deposit and aerosol tagging. To make things worse, McNear and Portland are merely 2.1 meters apart from one another, creating an East-West axis, and very rarely are they fortunate enough to receive sunlight. This is the story of Vicolo Di S. Elena; McNear and Portland.

It’s late, a drunk man passing by spots the alley and alleviates himself.

M: That’s it. I’ve had it with this dump! We’ve got no sun, we’ve got no respect, are face’s finishes are falling off!
P: Okay, just calm down.
M: We gotta do something Portland. We need to put an end to this.
P: Yea and do what? What are we going to do?
M: I’ll tell ya what. We’re going to unite. We’re going to merge together. We’re going to close this gap and become an interior wall like the rest of this road!
P: I don’t know McNear. Wait a minute I know what you’re up to.
P: Yea, you just want to merge to keep people from walking between us and you need me to help you.
P: Right, am I right?!
M: Yea! So!

The walls begin to argue.

M: So I wanna do something that allows us to be plugged into the structural gridline.
P: No. No no no McNear!
P: I say we stay here, continue to allow people to pass though and hope we eventually get respected.
P: I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of letting these little things bother me.
M: You know what I’m sick of Portland?
M: I’m sick and tired of the shadows we live in.
M: I’m sick and tired of have teenagers leave there mark on our facade.
M: But most of all, I’m sick and tired of the lack of respect we’re shown.
P: Okay McNear. Unite as one it is.
M: You better not be fooling.

McNear begins to cry as the decision brings an overwhelming feeling of happiness. From that point on, the two walls have been slowly beginning to pull themselves together until one day the alley shall no longer exist. And so concludes the story of McNear and Portland.

Taking a stroll northeast form the Vittorio Emanuele II Monument, I found myself at yet another busy boulevard of Rome. Via Nazionale offers just what one may assume consists of a typical, multi-lane street. A constant flow of cars, scooters and buses racing from one stop light to the next. Congested sidewalks full of gelaterias, restaurants and shoppers passing in and out of a variety of clothing stores. Occasionally, buildings along Via Nazionale elevate themselves off the road, creating a stepped transition, allowing pedestrians a shady spot to relax.

San Vitale Church on Via Nazionale

During this walk, I was not expecting to find a particular set of stairs descending off of Via Nazionale, nesting itself tightly between its surround buildings. The Roman Catholic church of San Vitale began construction in 400 A.D., long before gelaterias and shops arrived. Looking at its surroundings, it appears evident the city has established at new level of ground about twenty feet above the church’s entry. While the church breaks obliquely from Via Nazionale with a generously wide staircase, the thirty-five steps remain absent of loiters. Moving down the steps, the noisy street above becomes merely faint, background noise and the church itself becomes the object of interest and concentration.

In Spring 2009 while attending school and Cuesta College, my architectural design class was assigned to read “Chambers of a Memory Palace”.  The book references different architectural elements and discusses their success in different instances.  Each student was to present a chapter of the book to the class, mine on platforms, slopes and stairs.  While most of my presentation is a bit fuzzy today, I recall using the example of the Piazza Campidoglio and the Capotoline Hill.  While researching my project, I became quite familiar with the area and felt my understanding of it was clear.  My understanding changed Monday afternoon when the class took our first walking tour of Rome.  Tom Rankin led our ascension to the piazza and uncovered what I had tried to comprehend years before.  The still images of frozen people had now come to life.  The buildings had grown far greater than the size of my screen, forcing my neck to bend back to digest all of their beauty.  And for once the subtly domed piazza that I had read about many times before became vivid as it sloped away from the statue of Marcus Aurelius, residing in the center.

It was quite clear I was in Rome.

Approaching the Piazza Campidoglio