I find ruins infinitely more fascinating than whole buildings. There’s a romantic wondering in what the finished edifice, square, town, looked like and felt like.
Italy certainly is the place to think of such things.
The other day, my friend K and I went on a day trip to Pompei. This was a dream come true for me–Pompei was my first historical interest, back when I was a wee kid of four or so.
Well, even trudging through the impending (and rapidly incessent) rain, I couldn’t help but feel transported. My imagination roamed over rocks, buildings stripped of their decorative frescoes, roofs, walls, floors. I delighted in slipping through the delapidated houses, some excellently preserved and others little more than a corner.
I just don’t get the same feeling with entire villages, even if they are ancient. Walking through Florence’s medieval section doesn’t awaken quite the same sense of wonder–but when I pass the store with the glass floor (where you can see the ancient remains of previous Florentine buildings), that feeling wakes up in my chest. Passing newer buildings, destroyed by bombs during WWII and never repaired, brings it about, too.
And there’s the romantic in me, crafting worlds and stories around a few old rocks.
On an unrelated note–I’ve been in Italy for two months! My, how time flies. I hope to make a few more posts in the near future. I’m embarrassed to see that I haven’t written a new post in twenty days.