Fountains of Water, Mountains of Chocolate

I don't really have any good words to describe Tivoli... it's a town southwest of Rome, and within its microcosm it's possible to see glimpses of two civilizations millenia apart, and yet living such astoundingly similar lives that one would think they were neighbors rather than ancestor and descendent. It is home to two of the most lavish, unthinkably grand residences in Italy; one belonging to the Emperor Hadrian and the other to Cardinal Ippolito II d'Este. So shockingly similar in intent and lasting effect are these two villas that I can't help but think of Tivoli as a testament to how, though our civilization has evolved and changed so much that sometimes it is beyond recognition, even to us (yes, I'm talking to you, 1993, when no one used the Internet), our essential natures are no different than they were thousands and thousands of years ago.


Tivoli, as is the case with many of the most significant historical sites, gives us glimpses not into the lives of those who lived modest, productive and private lives, but of the rich and the powerful who could afford ostentation and the immortality that comes with it.


The Emperor Hadrian was something of a megalomaniac; for evidence of this fact I'd like to direct your attention to a ginormous wall sitting complacently along some cliffs/fields in Great Britain. Also, the Temple of Venus and Roma in Rome. It's the biggest temple in the city. And the Temple of Jupiter at the Acropolis in Athens. It also has the distinction of being the largest thing in the Temple District there. The dude did not think it was appropriate to build anything smaller than your average high-school. Dr. Freud, interpret as you will. But Villa Adriana is no exception to this tendency... in fact, it might be the culmination of Hadrian's penchant for stupidly large structures.

We arrived there in the morning on a charter bus filled not only with my Roman Imperial Art class, but also with my Villas class and an archaeology class that I'm not in. Professor Gadeyne then zoomed off to parts unknown, leaving those hapless individuals who aren't used to his speed to struggle up the hills, through the olive groves and chunks of travertine sticking up at dangerous intervals, finally catching up without time to catch their breath.

As enthusiastic and knowledgable as he is in the city, Professor Gadeyne was truly in his element surrounded by the ruins of the villa. I'm not a big antiquity girl; I appreciate it mostly insofar as it influenced the creation of the art which I truly love. But majestic doesn't even begin to cover the ruins of Villa Adriana. I'm not sure how much I would have liked it if I had been a contemporary of Hadrian's, but in it's ruined state it has flown in the face of everything the Roman rulers wished out of life, namely, to be so godlike that they controlled the natural world around them along with everything else, and been totally reclaimed by the landscape around it. The brick and limestone of the skeletons of what were once grand entrance halls and frescoed baths now appear to spring up organically out of nothing. They belong there as much as the olive groves and anemone do. I guess millenia standing in the same place will have that effect...

Villa d'Este, on the other hand, hasn't been around long enough for it to not be a little tacky in it's lavishness. The Cardinal Ippolito was close to his geographical forefather in more than the power he wielded in the society he lived in. The ancestral residence of the Cardinal-Governor of Tivoli was a monestary of the Franciscans, an order which had a reputation for having a very... um, monastic aesthetic, even among monks. This didn't jive well with our man Ippolito. Nah, he had the whole think encased inside a ginormous villa... so technically he still lived in the monastary... it just had a lot nicer furniture and a little more leg room.

He and Hadrian had another thing in common: wanting to control the natural world around them. It's a funny thing about human beings that we can't just let the majesty of nature be enough for us; we have to put our stamp all over it. At Villa d'Este, this tendency in particularly evident. The place isn't known for being the luxurious residence of an almost-Pope who got booted from the College and relegated to the po-dunk town of Tivoli because he was too popular, even if he was of the d'Este family. For those of you who don't know, the d'Estes' were sort of like... well... who's a political dynasty that's not as big as the Kennedys or as stupid as the Bushes?... They were kind of like the Adamses of the Renaissance. Not the Mortitia and Wednesday type. The John type. But I digress. The villa is known for its water gardens. And man, these things are serious business.

The villa is built into the side of a hill, but it's a very steep hill that's not so good for planting gardens. Or, you know, walking. So what Ippolito ordered was for huge amounts of dirt, etc. to be dug up from around Tivoli and he made his own hill. The guy was sort of like what Donald Trump might have looked like in the Renaissance. But the good thing about that the little red skull cap would have covered any unfortunate hair decisions.

The gardens are this veritable wonderland of splashing, dripping, cascading, trickling and water in it's every other incarnation. There are fountains which just spray water in interesting shapes and some that have mythological and classical themes intricately built into them, and some that literally have little hydraulic birds that sing and move through water power alone. And all of this in the 1530s. Doesn't that just kill you? And the amazing thing is: they're still using the same hydraulics system that was originally installed. It blew my mind. The only downside to this garden is if you have to pee before you start your tour. They're big gardens, you see, and it's easy to get distracted when all you hear is the sound of rushing water. Not so relaxing in certain instances, it turns out.

The day at Tivoli was really fun, because of the historical continuity wrought by ostentatious, self-aggrandizing bastards about how materialistic one can get. Narcisism is really fun when you don't have to deal with it face to face. The bus ride back was relaxing... basically everyone was worn out from trying to keep up with Professor Gadeynne all morning, so we slept. Then a bunch of us went out for Chinese. Sigh. That's one thing that I really miss from the States. Rice Kitchen is the ambrosia of the gods.

On Sunday Kelcie and I got up early to go to the Perugia Chocolate Festival with some other kids from school. Well, we weren't really going with anyone in particular, but as you can imagine, American kids flock to the Perugia Chocolate Festival with the same fervor as Mick Jagger fans to a Stones festival. So we knew we'd probably meet some new people on the train. Turns out we did. We spent most of the day with Emily, the resident student who organized the trip, and John, Kevin and Rish, three other study abroad students.

As you can imagine, a chocolate festival is something like heaven on earth. It smells orgasmic, to begin with, but then there are the free samples and the relatively cheap and delicious tasties everywhere you turn. Some of the highlights: hot chocolate, which is not your Swiss Miss mix, let me tell you. It's basically melted chocolate. That's all. I had peperoncini, which was spicy as well as burn your tongue hot, which was wonderful considering the fact that fall has finally arrived in central Italy. It's like soup. So, one cup will have you groaning and begging to die, basically, because of chocolate overload. But of course, we didn't stop there. I also fought my way through the mosh pit to get some of the chocolate bits flying off of the chocolate sculptures that were being carved in the street. The boys and we bonded over chocolate covered churros, which made me feel like a giant zit after I ate them. But they were still a pretty damn good choice.

After meeting up with the three boys, the six of us went to the main piazza, where I geeked out to general disinterest about the fountain carved by Nicola and Giovanni Pisano, and we noticed a lot of people with these odd chapeaus. Basically, they were Burger King crowns in the shape of purple cow heads. Like, with ears and horns and stuff. Well, we saw the source of the cow hats, and that was a tent where people were moshing (there was a lot of moshing happening. Chocolate brings that out in people) to get in and emerging with a cracker covered in oozing fondue chocolate. This was Milka. We braved the choco-mosh to get the dinky little cracker, but Kevin and I were both way more interested in procuring those hats. So, we jerry-rigged our way to the front of a line that was comprised mostly of seven year olds (you do what you gotta for the purple cow hat) and after some negotiating in ItaloEngliSwedish, we got six of them. And then proceeded to wear them for the rest of the day. Some of the people you find randomly on trains really are the best friends you can make.

I actually had to admit choco-defeat a lot sooner than the others did. Don't get me wrong; I eat Nutella like it's my job and I'm going for Employee of the Month, but not all at once and not starting at 11 in the morning and going until 5 at night. I just can't do that. So I watched placidly as everyone else put their game faces back on and went on a chocolate binge to kill a horse or two. I did break my swearing off of chocolate to participate in a round of chocolate beer, which was actually surprisingly good. It didn't taste like chocolate while you were drinking it, just a very dark ale, but there was a chocolatey aftertaste that was really interesting and fun.

Huh. How many times can I say chocolate in one post? The one most crucial thing to note about this day, besides the deliciousness and the food coma that resulted that night, is the crowd. Holy crap, people like their chocolate. It was only through extreme good fortune in the morning and extreme pre-planning in the afternoon that we got seats on the train both ways. There were people sitting and standing in the aisle for the whole two hour trip. That's dedication, my friends.

So the moral of the story is: if you're planning on the Perugia Chocolate Festival at any point in your future (and you should be), make sure to A) get the train early both ways. B) bring your ipod to drown out the chocolate-beer drunk Italians singing Shakira on the ride home and C) always remember to wear your purple cow hat. It makes the outfit.