Arising on the other side of the shallow valley of what was once the Circus Maximus, just opposite the ruins of the Imperial Palace, the Aventine hill is a tranquil, verdant oasis amid the din and chaos of modern Rome. It is also home to two singularly remarkable churches with similar names—Santa Sabina and San Saba—which for the contemplative traveler can evoke endless speculation and meditation. Most popular guidebooks barely mention these ancient places of worship, and large tour buses are never seen chugging up the steep inclines of the hill. But once your imagination is seized, you will want to return to them again and again, eager to appreciate yet another detail or new view, or even a new insight into yourself and the burdensome thing called life. It is fitting that these largely unheralded sacred sanctuaries are housed on a hill most tourists never visit, since it’s not on any “Top 10” list of things to see in Rome. Yet, each of these churches is a universe unto itself, and each illustrates in stone and marble important transitions in the history of Rome, transitions which affect us even today, countless centuries after their foundation. (See entries for both of these churches under "Tours.")  

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Legend has it that the divinely fathered twins Romulus and Remus argued over where they should locate the new town that would someday become the capital of the world. In their contest—it was an augery, which involved reading omens from flights of birds—Romulus set camp on the Palatine, and Remus on the Aventine. Well, we know who won, and the Aventine was eclipsed by the Palatine and Capitoline hills. Early in the history of Rome, the Aventine was on the outskirts of the town, initially not even included in the first walls encircling the place. At first, foreigners and later plebeians inhabited the hill, many bringing their own cults and gods. In the 6th century B.C. a temple to Diana was erected on the Aventine, which survived well into the 4th century A.D., and several beautiful columns are preserved in the elegant dining room of Apuleius, a cozy and reasonably priced restaurant in the heart of the Aventine—imagine what the ancient priests would have thought if they’d known that remnants of their temple would be pleasant visual accompaniment to very fine rigatoni carbonara! (See "Travel Tips" for a review of Apuleius.) There were many small temples to various patron deities dotting the Aventine, which initially was crowded with working class people, many of them foreigners who worked as laborers, overseers, and merchants on the Tiber, which was abutting the north side of the hill. In the TV series “Rome,” the two soldiers lived in the Aventine, which was depicted realistically as crowded and polyglot. However, just as the affluent eventually took over Harlem in New York City, rich Romans moved in, building mansions with gardens and baths to provide shaded refuge from the busier monumental area of the capital just down the hill.

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As Rome shuddered through barbarian invasions from the 5th century onward, the Aventine once again became isolated and part of the disabitato, the uninhabited and often dangerous environs of Rome. But its churches and monasteries remained, fortified by the height and steep incline of the Aventine. Indeed, one of the hill's must-see sites is the large terrace in the Parco Savello which overlooks the Tiber and offers a panoramic view of the city, including St. Peter’s—you can easily imagine the monks and friars hurling rocks and molten lead down onto uninvited intruders. Viewed from the Tiber, the approach to the Aventine appears quite forbidding, and many barbarian war parties probably decided to sack more accessible neighborhoods.

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Today, the Aventine is a gracious residential area, consisting of large houses and upscale multi-level apartment buildings, most from the 19th and early 20th centuries, all shaded by trees and surrounded by gardens. Traffic is minimal, and you can often walk in the streets unimpeded. One of the most wonderful things about this area is its quietude, which is especially evident in the evenings. The silence of the Aventine is deafening in its immensity, enveloping you in the endless centuries of the past, when only priests and the occasional robber inhabited the place. The contemplative traveler would do well to stay in one of the several hotels here. My favorite is the San Pio, which has a quiet garden and comfortable public areas to sit out in and enjoy an aperitif after a hard day of site-seeing. However, the others are also quite nice, including the San Anselmo, the Santa Prisca, the Domus Aventino, and others. (See Travel Tips.)

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On your first outing on the Aventine—as well as on all of your subsequent visits to the hill--you will want to stop by the lovely Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta, right next to San Anselmo, a church which is modern in construction and best known for the beautiful Gregorian chant sung by the monks every evening. The piazza was decorated in the 18th century with heroic sculptures, military trophies, and obelisks designed by Giovanni Piranesi, an artist and architect who specialized in depicting romantic views of Rome. Shaded by overhanging cypress trees from the adjacent Benedictine monastery, Piranesi’s trophies are based on ancient fragments scattered throughout Rome, such as the ones on the parapet at the top of the approach to the Campidoglio, or the large panels in the courtyard of the Capitoline Museums that once adorned triumphal arches in the Forum. Along with shields and spears—even a Medusa--Piranesi packed his sculpture with heraldic eight-pointed Maltese crosses. At one side of the piazza is the baroque entrance to the Villa and Priory of the Knights of Malta, also embellished by Piranesi. The Knights of Malta is the oldest order of chivalry, granted extraterritorial rights by the Italian government when Napoleon kicked them out of Malta and they landed in Rome. The small bronze keyhole in the large wooden door is one of those so-called “must-see” sites that I never really understood—rare is the time when there isn’t a queue of tourists patiently waiting their turn to peer through the hole to see a nice view of St. Peter’s dome in the distance framed by a canopy of trimmed cypresses. The real pleasure of this picturesque piazza is sitting back a distance on one of the stone benches lining the walls and observing the people coming and going, many on foot, a privileged few by chauffeured cars with their private tour guide, and lately some standing on electric powered Segways.            

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A short walk from Piranesi’s fantasy on ancient trophies, on the way to Santa Sabina, is Santi Bonifacio e Alessio, a church of ancient lineage which was completely rebuilt in the 13th century and, except for a few forlorn ancient columns from the 4th century in the apse, is your generic baroque Roman church—nondescript in its ornate decoration, dark, and redolent of incense that evokes many centuries of masses, weddings, burials, and urgent pleas to the Blessed Virgin for release from pain, disease, and heartache. This is the sort of church you can pass by on your first—or even second or third—visit to the Aventine, venturing in on subsequent trips just to see what it looks like inside. The small park beside it has a view of the city from its overlook, but it’s best to carry on down the via Santa Sabina a few more steps, to Santa Sabina. Plus, there’s the Parco Savello, which has an even more magnificent overlook next to this treasure of the Aventine.

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