The Symphonic Orchestra of Rome Lights up El Jem

09 July 2012 | 0 Comments

It all seemed too easy. I bought my concert ticket to the Rome Symphony Orchestra online for 20 dinars and my roundtrip train ticket for 18. I was on my way to the 27th annual International Music Festival in the Roman amphitheater of El Jem and I could hardly contain my excitement.

I arrived for my 6:30 train 30 minutes early because I was so nervous about missing it. I could not find my train number anywhere on the screens that listed all the trains that had arrived, so I decided to sit down and relax until my train became listed. 6:10. Nothing. 6:20. Nothing. 6:30. Nothing. I was freaking out. In desperation, my masculine pride broke and I went and begged a station official for help. He probably did not understand a word of my broken French and hopeless attempts at Arabic, but he definitely understood my wild violin playing gestures and grabbed me by the arm in an attempt to get his hopeless charge onto the correct train.

The train turned out to be a nondescript, unmarked train right in the middle of the station. The screens had made no mention that this was the “official” train of the El Jem Symphonic Festival and only the train’s inspector seemed to be advertising the final destination of the train by mimicking a maestro and yelling “Symphony” to anyone that passed by. The entire station may have been battling against him in his effort to help lost passengers find their way to El Jem, but sometimes a heroic effort can save the day. However, he appeared to be outmatched, as I saw groups of well-dressed people frantically checking all the screens and wildly pointing at trains.

Luckily, they need not have been worried. 6:35 – the supposed hour of departure – came and went and the train remained still. Then 7:00 passed and passengers laughed nervously at this display of “Tunisian Standard Time (TST)”: a time zone where everything assuredly, absolutely, definitely and undoubtedly will happen – Inshallah. 7:30 came and the jocular inspector came around smiling and laughing amiably with the passengers, who in turn grilled him with questions of why the train had not left. The train was so empty that all people were moved up into the air-conditioned first class: possibly to quell dissent in the ranks. The clock struck 8:00 and our favorite inspector continued his absurd balancing act: meeting pointed accusations with smiles and guffaws. Nobody seemed to get the hilarity of the situation. Finally, around 8:15, the train began moving after an apparent engine failure had been fixed.

The remainder of the ride was passed very smoothly, as the compartment was well air-conditioned and the seats quite comfortable.

We arrived in Al-Jem around 9:45 – only 15 minutes after the beginning of the performance – and were treated to the spectacle of a massive, eerily-lighted wall of stone rising up right at the end of the road leading out of the train station: our road had finally led to Rome.

As I handed over my ticket and walked into the amphitheater, I was struck by a wall of light, color and sound: the brilliantly lit ramparts sparkled with the glow of hundreds of small torches; the walls were splattered with patches of purple, red, and green light; and the 1st movement of Beethoven’s 7th symphony slowly crescendoed as his notes spiraled higher and higher and tumbled down with one great movement: the finale. Applause exploded from the Coliseum and ricocheted around the walls and corridors. A setting fit for a Roman God.

People sat in seats lined up on the floor of the amphitheater and in the ancient seats cut into the Roman arena. The orchestra was set up on a stage with the stunning backdrop of the torch-lit back half of the ancient structure. The staff there was very friendly and did not seem to care where you decided to sit. The amphitheater was not packed and there were plenty of places to lie down and bask in the music.

However, after listening to the end of Beethoven’s Symphony, I decided to do some exploring while the orchestra began to set up for Dvorak’s 9th Symphony. I tiptoed down a set of dark stairs and was greeted by a long, underground passageway: the final place for contemplation before gladiators were tossed into the arena to face the bloodthirsty crowd.

Suddenly, the next symphony began and I was treated to an ancient spectacle: shadows of the musicians above slipped through the grate above me and danced with the soothing rhythm of the symphony. As the symphony accelerated, it became a battleground of moving figures and fluttering melodies, reminiscent of the ghostly shadows that gladiators would have watched, as the roar of the crowd assured that their death would be appreciated.
I watched the shadows play off the wall for a second more and then ascended up the stairs to continue my exploration of the structure. A helpful staff member pointed me towards some stairs that led to the top of the amphitheater and I began to climb.

The music became more and more distant as I climbed each flight of stairs and eventually I found myself on the top balcony looking down on the performance. As seemed to be customary of the performance, security was non-existent and there were a bunch of locals who had jumped over the railing and were now sitting on the edge of the top of the building. I glanced at them for one second and thought “when in Rome” – and joined them. We were sandwiched by a gaping hole behind us and the lonely drop to the floor of the arena in front of us. There was a small torch in front of us that the locals were using to light their cigarettes as they watched the show. One of them spoke English and told me that he had never seen so few people at this performance. He added that before the Revolution it was usually packed to capacity and there would not be one seat available. Despite this piece of sobering news, it was impossible to quench my joy at finding an English speaker. Likewise they were thrilled at finding an American with a camera who could record the moment for them.

After their photo-shoot, the final notes from the symphony drifted up to our ears, before tumbling down into an applause that seemed much quieter than before. We exchanged names – so as to be able to find each other on Facebook – and went our separate ways.

After getting lost multiple times, I jogged up to the train station expecting my ride home to be on the verge of departure. Instead, I found a train station almost devoid of people, but with the same train standing in the middle. The carriages appeared deserted and I began to panic and look around. An older man looked at me, waved his hand idly at the train and then said, “it will leave, Inshallah.” Wonderful. I forgot I was back to the train station.
People eventually began to trickle into the train station, as if already assuming the train would be on good old TST – and how right they were. After attempting to sell sodas to us for about half-an-hour, the train station officials decided it was time to let us return home for a 4 a.m. arrival. How kind.