A philosopher’s congress in early August taught me two things: why the Roman Empire expanded northward, and why August might actually be the best time to go.
Two summers ago, someone thought it was a good idea to organize a philosophy congress in Rome in early August. Philosophers, as a guild, are not known for their practical intelligence, and the scheduling of this particular gathering confirmed the reputation. I arrived at Fiumicino in 36-degree (98F) heat, took a taxi into a city that felt like the inside of a bread oven, and spent the first 20 minutes wondering whether I had made a serious mistake.
By the end of the week, I had revised my opinion — partially.
The first thing Rome in August teaches you is a historical insight. I am now convinced that the Roman Empire expanded northward for the weather. Standing in the Forum at two in the afternoon, the sun bouncing off travertine with a ferocity that feels personal, it becomes entirely plausible that any reasonably ambitious Roman general, given the choice between governing the scorching Tiber basin and campaigning in the relatively mild climate of Gaul, the Iberian coast, or the green hills of Britannia, would have chosen the campaign. The legions did not conquer Europe purely for glory. They were surely looking for shade.
Air conditioning in Rome exists, of course, but is not treated as an irrevocable achievement of civilization. It is distributed unpredictably across hotels, restaurants, churches, and even Vatican museums, appearing and disappearing without apparent logic. What this means in practice is that your days organize themselves around two priorities: finding cool stone and finding cold drinks. Grattachecca — the Roman shaved-ice drink, flavored with fruit syrups and available from kiosks along the Tiber — becomes a survival mechanism rather than a treat. The aperitivo hour, always generous in Italy, takes on an almost medical urgency. A spritz in the shade at six in the evening is less a pleasure than a prescription.
And yet.
The Vatican Museums in August are not empty. Anyone who tells you otherwise has not been. The queues are still long, the crowds are still considerable, and the Sistine Chapel is still a hot and airless room full of people craning their necks. This is not a secret that the tour operators have overlooked. What is true, and what my August in Rome confirmed, is that the experience is comparatively easier than the alternative. Comparatively.
What changes in August is the ratio. The Romans themselves largely leave — the city empties of its inhabitants in a way that is almost eerie, with entire apartment blocks shuttered and neighborhood restaurants closing for ferie. What fills the vacuum is a somewhat thinner layer of tourists than the city absorbs in June or September, and that thinness — relative, not absolute — is enough to make a difference in some places. The Colosseum and the Forum, booked in advance, move at a pace that allows you to actually stop and think about where you are standing. The churches — San Luigi dei Francesi, Sant’Agostino, Santa Maria del Popolo — are cool, dim, and on a Wednesday afternoon in August, sometimes nearly empty. I stood in front of the Contarelli Chapel Caravaggios for a full 10 minutes without anyone standing in front of me. In June, that would not have happened.
This is the August bargain: you pay in heat and you collect in access. The currency conversion is uncomfortable but real. The church that is impossible to enter quietly in July becomes, in August, a place of actual silence. The ruins that are ringed with selfie sticks in spring are merely busy in August. The difference is not dramatic, but for anyone who has tried to look at a fresco while being jostled by a tour group, it is enough.
The practical advice is simple. Start early — the city is bearable before 10 a.m., maybe 11, and the light on the ruins at 7:00 in the morning is extraordinary. Stop completely between noon and 4:00. Carry bottles to fill with the gloriously cool water of the fountains. Remember what they say: In Rome, beauty and water are free. Book tickets in advance for everything that requires them. Eat where the air conditioning works. Have the grattachecca without embarrassment. And spend the long afternoon hours in a dark church, in front of whatever masterpiece happens to be on the wall, taking your time.
Rome in August will not be super comfortable. But the Laocoön group will still be there in the Octagonal Court of the Vatican Museums — the marble sculpture that made Michelangelo weep when it was unearthed in 1506, and that you can stand in front of without a crowd at your back if you time it right. The Apollo Belvedere is in the same courtyard, still the work that made Johann Winckelmann invent art history in order to describe it. The Galata Ludovisi — the dying Gaul, arm giving way beneath him, looking at the ground as the life leaves — is in the Palazzo Altemps, one of the least-visited great museums in Rome, on a quiet piazza near the Pantheon where the August crowds thin considerably.
These are not backup options for when the Sistine Chapel is too crowded. They are among the most important works of art in the history of human civilization, and in August, in the heat, with something cold in hand and the good sense to arrive early, you have a real chance of seeing them the way they deserve to be seen: slowly, quietly, and alone.
