Specter of the Games

posted January 17, 2012

Even for a focused foodie like me, it was impossible to visit Rome this Christmas without a little excitement at the prospect of seeing the Coliseum. In fact, my inner historian was practically tap-dancing with glee. 

With the Coliseum serving as a remaining, massive representation of an entire culture that lived, thrived so long ago, only to meet its demise, arguably, on the point of its own bloody gladius - who could stand in the shadow of such an amazing monument to human accomplishment, ingenuity, gluttony, and cruelty, without feeling at least a minimal sense of awe and gravity? 

Not this vagabond, to be sure.

Even with the stones paving my way below and shading my view above, even with the underground networkings opening up before me, even with the stadium seats surrounding me, overtaking my entire perspective in an inescapable embrace - even then, my mind struggled to process the magnitude of this place. 

Even now, words to describe the Coliseum, its wonderful and horrible significance, escape me. 

I tried to envision the many thousands of amoratae, their thunderously lustful clamor deadening the sound of lions’ roars. I tried to grasp a sense of the bloodlust pounding through gladiators’ veins, brawling for sport, at the mercy of their spectators. I tried to imagine the chilling terror of innocents, thrown to the fangs of beasts with any remaining hope of mercy waiting at the gates of Heaven.

Surely, to any informed visitor, the Coliseum must represent a warning, a memorial, as much as a monument. And like the rock-carvings of Petra, the Coliseum’s true magnitude exceeds that which photographs can capture or words can conjure. It’s so much more than a site or sight. It’s an experience. 

My pictures don’t do the Coliseum justice, but then, I suspect its lack of justice, lack of humanity, are what keep this specter of the Games so haunting.  

original post available here.