When confronted by Monty Python’s age-old question, “what have the Romans ever done for us?” my first response is, “urban flowers.” I am an ignorant flower enthusiast. Whatever ardor I previously possessed for blossoms has only increased during my time in Rome, but my knowledge of the specific flower types has not grown with it. I write this post with great excitement, for it enables me to relive some of the most lovely (and lovely smelling) moments of the trip. I have had to be highly selective for the sake of the reader, however, as I have an overwhelming number of flower pictures, and my audience only has so much goodwill. Below please find a presentation of my favorite Roman blooms, what kind of flower I thought they were, what kind of flower they actually are, and a bit of history (for this is a history OCS after all). I would like to add that I am aware of how monochromatic this post is. Alas, I am a rather simple woman: my favorite color is pink.
Spilling out of its window box, this plant caught my eye whilst I was walking in Trastevere. I was convinced it couldn’t be an orchid because it grew downwards. In fact, I think I turned to my friend and said, with the confidence of a seasoned botanist, “there’s no way this is an orchid.” But, it is an orchid, and I’m just confidently unknowledgable. They are Spathoglottis plants, otherwise known as purple orchids (this is embarrassing), that are typically found in Asia, Australia, and several Pacific Islands. These flowers were formally named by German botanist Carl Ludwig Blume in 1825. Spathoglottis comes from the Greek spathe, referring to the bract of the flower, and glotta, meaning tongue. I have not seen another plant like this during my time in Italy, which means that this botanical encounter was all the more delightful.
There was one day this term I found myself walking along the highway five miles outside of the city walls. I truly thought this was an orchid. If it surprises anyone, it’s not! Couldn’t be further from it. It’s a Lathyrus Clymenum, or peavine. I was struck by the blossom’s vibrant pink, the intensity of which seemed to contrast the plant’s apparent fragility. These little peavines are grown most commonly in Santorini, Greece, and the beans are used to make several traditional Greek dishes. They have been cultivated in Greece for 3,500 years, and their vulnerability to the elements makes them a particularly expensive crop. Only recently did the EU add peavines to the list of products with a Protected Designation of Origin. Despite their supposed grandeur, I found this plant wedged in some corner of a dusty Italian highway.
I was walking by a restaurant when I noticed the above-pictured colorful aliens blooming in one of the restaurant’s garden boxes. The first adjective I can think of to describe them is ‘exquisite.’ They are whimsically shaped, yet the gentle overlapping of the petals evokes a sense of sweetness and simple beauty. If I am being honest, I had no clue what these were. If I could name them myself, I’d call them ‘extraterrestrial glamorous megaphones (with the additional feature of volume-controllable probes)’, but they were already named fuchsia triphylla by French monk and botanist Charles Plumier in 1696. They were discovered on Hispaniola, and quickly became very popular in England in the 18th century. Both America and England have produced many fuchsia varieties. Although this flower is perhaps anglo-centric, it seems to fit in nicely with the Roman cityscape.