Sunday, February 17, 2008

A BUSY PERSON IS A HAPPY PERSON

How is it with nothing really to do, there is not enough time in the day to do anything.
This morning, we are off to the gym by 10. (Well, I go first and Steve follows.) I run home to shower and change and then we set out across the Ponte Sisto at 12:30 to look for a men’s salon that some one has recommended for Steve. Three hours later, we have strolled up and down through picturesque streets and piazzas, stepped into a bar for the now obligatory early afternoon prosecco, ducked into random palazzos to marvel at painted ceilings and ancient statuary, stopped for lunch and a bottle of wine at some nameless trattoria (where the pasta is home made and cooked perfectly all dente) and still haven’t reached the point of our excursion.

Non c’e problema. We are happy to keep moving, looking in shop windows (where everything is reduced by 50%!), having a quick cappuccino and eccolo!, finding ourselves quite by accident at Piazza Navona amidst crowds of tourists, street artists, buskers, students and just ordinary Italians enjoying this magnificent outdoor living room at the end of the day. Like every other tourist, we run into Tre Scalini for a cup of gelato (fior di latte for me and ciccolata for Steve), our first in Rome, and sit on a bench to watch the world go by and the sky turn a deep lapis blue.

Finally, we decide to head back towards the river and Trastevere but not before making one more stop at a fabulous salumeria whose windows beckon Steve with a gorgeous display of cured meats--.salamis, hams and sausages of all shapes and sizes—as well as cheeses and assorted goodies. (Confession: I, a non-meat eater, have decided to eat pork products while in Rome. Too delicious to pass up.)

Some time around 7 we arrive home to Vicolo del Cedro with Steve carrying the food and me the other packages. (Yes, 50% off was too good to resist.) We’ve done nothing all day but wander and look and walk and wander and, of course, eat and drink. Another great day. Now where should we go to dinner. . .

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