I Am Disconcerted At The Palazzo Farnese

On Wednesday morning, my roommates woke me up thirty minutes early and told me that I needed to get to the bus station Termini lickety-split. I complied, without question, in the same manner with which, an hour later, I boarded an out-bound bus when so instructed: with an unaffected air that suggests I have no idea what's going on, and have not had any such ideas since arriving in this country over two months ago.

The what's-going-on was shortly explained, as it had been the previous day and the day before that, but that was an explanation I missed, because once I sat down in the bus I immediately took out my current book, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, which, by the way, was recommended to me by Seth Cohen on the first season Chrismukkah episode of the O.C. That is where I get most of my reading material.

Instances like these, missing out on important instructions and instruction because I am star gazing or, the more often occurrence, glazed gazing, where I become as comatose as an animated person can, define my time here. Ignoring Professor Emilio's itinerary outline in favor of my own personal world, complete with personal rules and physics, I think, is a cookie cutter cross section of my Roman academic career.

Once inside the massive Palazzo Farnese, I caught up to a classmate and finally got some answers. "We're in the Palazzo Farnese," she said, with the words you here in movies where someone caught time traveling asks a passerby what year it is; "weren't you listening?"

The Farnese were a very powerful Roman family, spawning multiple popes and many of their secular counterparts. They built this palace about an hour north of Rome, as the bus drives, but I guesstimate it took longer by horse and carriage. The building is a pentagon centered on  a circle; the innards dazzle with biblical frescoes and a sense of humanism that almost upends such frescoes with sarcasm. Much more interesting were the gardens.

Behind the Palazzo Farnese lie three successive gardens, each increasing in magnificence. The backyard is a small, take a turn about the garden type; very square and small, hemmed in with shrubbery crafted like tile. The second garden was a bit larger, and resembled (as was a common motif there) as miniature hedge maze. Show me a man who does not dream of participating in and reigning victorious over a hedge maze race, and I will show you proof that there are aliens, and that they have certainly not ever heard of a hedge maze, poor things, or they would wish to race in them, as well.

The third upended and moved itself up the street, at the top of the hill, in a bit wilder and more secluded suburb than the first two. Walking up the path, it became obvious that the Palazzo Farnese was a hot spot for jerry atrics; we were by far the youngest, and apart from our group, everyone was living off their retirement checks, I imagine. There must have been a shuffleboard hidden away in one of the more dense recesses of the park, because there was no other reason for so many old people to congregate in such a place.

The upper park was the Italian Pemberley; I realize that houses and lots do not have legs, but, upon my honor, I swear the Palazzo Farnese stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. The grounds were sprawling, and the bushes trimmed in such a way as to coil about the place with a purpose; no, the hedges were not so high as to satisfy my height, but they would certainly give young children and dwarves a run for their money. There was such a symmetry in the place that even fountains had their twins, facing them from across the lawn; Emilio at one point funneled us all into a small room, which soon revealed itself to be one of those fountains, long dormant, soon activated, as it laid in wait for unsuspecting Americans, pied by piper professors.

As bluehairs filed in like wayward Israelites under new management, I realized that the reason America is considered so uncultured by the world is simply because we have no real gardens. Any country without such a reserve as the Palazzo Farnese should be considered barbaric; add this to the ever growing list of such things. It shall join the ranks of widespread public transportation, multi-use buildings, and coffee shops that don't demand payment up front.