On my own, part 2

Wow! It must be 70 degrees today. I’ve opened the shutters and hung my laundry outside to dry.

All the tourists in the Piazza di Santa Maira in Trastevere are stripped down to teeshirts and even occasionally flipflops (not recommended footwear on the cobblestones) but the Roman women, especially the older ones, are still wearing boots and heavy coats. Perhaps they don’t trust the warm weather.

As part of my continuing participation in Culture Week, yesterday I trekked out to Testaccio to visit Macro Future, a comtemporary art museum in a renovated old power plant. Actually, my real goal was Volpetti, Rome’s greatest deli and a true temple to Italian cheese, salami and other Italian delicacies. I had to wait until 5 o’clock when it finally opened. (What do they do in the mid afternoon?) I was so hungry that I immediately wolfed down two delicious fried rice balls filled with tomato sauce, rice and some kind of meat. I definitely must bring Steve back here. The salami selection alone will astound him.

Today, I decided to walk to the Palazzo Venezia to see a restrospective of paintings by the Renaissance painter Sebastian del Piombo, a contemporary of Michelangelo and Raphael. I’ve never heard of him so the exhibit was a revelation to me—exquisitely painted and moving portraits and religious scenes. The exhibit was also beautifully hung to maximum effect and best of all, it’s just the right size—some 27 paintings—so that I could absorb and appreciate the art without feeling overwhelmed.

On my way there, I did stop off in the main square of the Jewish Ghetto which was crowded with families—Italian or Jewish, who knows since we all look alike—chatting away at full speed and full volume. The restaurants were packed and spilling out into the street. Not a bagel or a piece of lox in sight but lots of yummy looking fried artichokes, Jewish style. I made a note to myself: Must have one soon.

On my own

Spring is here. The sun is out; it’s 65 degrees and Nicoletta came today dressed all in pink—a low cut pink sweater in a leopard print (Where does she find these clothes?) a pink knit skirt, a pink rose pinned to her jacket, a pink pocketbook and, for the first time, no hat on her blonde curls.

After my lesson, I head up town to the Palazzo Doria Pamphili for another dose of culture. The palazzo is built around an inner courtyard planted with lemon and orange trees. The gallery upstairs, all gold and mirrors, reminds me of the Barnes—painting after painting, hung in no apparent order, cover the walls. The recorded guided tour is narrated by a current member of the family in a very proper British accent. He fondly recalls rollerskating in the ballroom!

I’m kicked out at 5 pm but not before spending some serious one on one time with the gallery’s prize possessions, a Velasquez portrait of Pope Innocent X, and an early Carvaggio.

Afterwards I head past the Forum towards the Colosseum to Monti, a neighborhood new to me which, according to my guidebook, is an up and coming area. It’s a quiet and sweet district with few tourists walking along its narrow, hilly streets. Up and coming seems to mean that there are many small boutiques and galleries here. I diligently stop into every one of them.

As the sun is setting I start to walk back to Trastevere but not before climbing up to il Campidoglio to enjoy once again the view over the city. Liz asked me the other day if I was tired of all this yet. Certamento non!!

High on culture

This is culture week in Rome which means free entry to many of the museums. I’ve decided it’s culture week for me too since Steve is away in Amsterdam--experiencing culture no doubt--and leaving me free to wander from gallery to gallery without worrying when to feed him.

His leaving was not without a little drama. Last night I prudently thought to give him his passport in case I forgot in the morning rush. Guess what? No passport. At some point in the last few weeks, it must have fallen out of my pocketbook or been lifted. Who knows. Bottom line we showed up at the American Embassy at 8 this morning so that Steve could get a new emergency passport in time to make his flight to Amsterdam.

I spent the aftrnoon at the Galleria Borghese, a virtual treasure house of sculpture and painting. Bernini, Bernini, Bernini, Carvaggio, Carvaggio, Carvaggio, Raphael, Raphael, Raphael. I left feeling the same way I often feel after a fabulous meal--sated with pleasure and slightly dizzy from all the richness.

We are tourist superstars

Steve and I ran the marathon today. Well, not really, but right now it feels like it.

We started off at noon in the Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere. The piazza was full of families strolling in the bright sun and moving in and out of the church. A crowd was standing around a young woman playing the cello to recorded piano accompaniment. Lovely. Everyone seemed very relaxed.

We left the square, crossed the river and walked to the Aventine past the Circus Maximus, site of ancient chariot races and now a favorite spot for joggers, to Terme di Caracalla, an amazing 25 acre complex of buildings that served as a sporting club and spa of sorts for Romans in ancient times. The scale of the buildings is awesome and once again we were lucky not to have deal with crowds of tourists but could stroll through the ruins at our own pace.

After wandering through the palaestrum (“Aha,” said Steve. “That’s where the Palestra got its name.”) the frigidarium, the tepidarium and the calidarium—soaring vaulted spaces now open to the sky but where one can occasionally see remnants of mosaic flooring and fragments of wall decorations—we headed up one big hill and then down another to Testaccio, a working class neighborhood we hadn’t been to yet.

By now it was past 3 and we were both getting more than a little hungry but unfortunately it seemed like every restaurant or food store was shuttered for the long Easter holiday. Finally, we dashed down a side street and found a small trattoria bustling with business. Thank god! Even better, the food was fabulous, definitely fatto a casa especially the tiramasu, the best we’ve had in Rome so far.

Fueled by a bottle of the house red, I decide we can’t leave Testaccio until we see more despite the fact that the weather has turned cloudy and cold. Steve follows me obediently as we drudge through the deserted streets to my goal—an old power plant now restored as a contemporary art center. Purtroppo e chiuso oggi. So we head across the river and begin the long, long, long walk back to Trastevere.

Six o’clock we are back at Vicolo del Cedro 12 just in time to escape a downpour. Perfect timing.

An Orgy of Joy

Steve has coined an apt phrase for what we are experiencing in Rome—an orgy of joy. No wild sex today but definitely a lot of fun.

Easter Sunday began with a torrent of rain accompanied by thunder and lightening. (The weather here lately has been unstable to say the least. Two days ago we had a hail storm. ) Finally, around 2 it looked like it might clear up so we ventured out intending to go to a free concert of music by Duke Ellington in a church near the Campidoglio. I never did find the right church but we decided to plow through the crowds around the Piazza Venezia and somehow found ourselves at Trajan’s Market, which has only recently been excavated. The space looked particularly beautiful after all the rain, the stones and ruins glistening in the sudden sunlight. What was best of all was there were hardly any people there. We could wander around the ruins without negotiating through hordes of tourists.

Afterwards, we stopped into a café for steaming mugs of fabulous hot chocolate and then walked back to Trastevere in the late afternoon. Steve got to watch a basketball game on Sky TV while I did some laundry. We are fortunate to have a lavatrice but it seems like no Roman household comes equipped with a clothes dryer. When it’s raining, I drape our clean but wet clothes on the bannisters and the radiators. It works.

After the game, we walked to a yet another pizzeria just a short walk from out house that we’ve been meaning to try. The verdict after sharing a thin crusted five cheese pizza: outstanding!

Easter Weekend

Easter weekend in Roma. The weather is not cooperating. It’s rainy and cold. Surprisingly, the city doesn’t feel particularly crowded. Maybe everyone has fled to the south and sun.

It seems that nobody works for these three days. Even the gym is closed until Tuesday. I can't imagine the Sporting Club closed for three full days. There would be crowds of angry anorexic women and muscle bound bruisers pounding on the doors to be let in.

We’ve been tooling around the city with Tony and Patty. Yesterday I led them up to the Campidoglio and then to the view over the Roman Forum. We wandered through the streets of il centro and stopped for lunch at a restaurant specializing in fresh bufalo mozzarella. Later we made our way to Via Margutta where Steve popped in to a tiny parrucchierre run by a two brothers and one son for a haircut and beard trim. Everyone agrees he's looking very Italian now with an ultra short haircut and new red glasses. He, of course, loves the attention and stops frequently to look in the mirror and admire himself.

After a brief stop for a glass of prosecco at a café on the Piazza del Popolo, we headed home to Trastevere to rest up for the next main event--dinner. This time we ate a restaurant new to us up on the Janiculum hill above Trastevere. Very white and modern, it felt like eating in a hip Philly restaurant except for the fact that its wine list was much bigger and better.

Normal life

It’s back to our old routine at Vicolo del Cedro 12 now that Liz and her friends have gone. Not that I am complaining. There’s nothing wrong with a routine that begins with fresh squeezed blood orange juice, a workout session with Aramis/Adonis, a delicious lunch of fresh buffalo mozzarella over arugula at home and then a leisurely walk along Rome’s cobblestone streets to a piazza where we have a prosecco and watch the world go about its business. And let’s not forget dinner and a bottle of wine.

My Italian lessons with Nicoletta have resumed. Yesterday she was a vision in turquoise including turquoise tinted leopard print shoes that that must be seen to be believed. They looked particularly killer worn with lacy black stockings. And of course the entire outfit was accessorized by turquoise colored costume jewelry—multiple rings and bracelets, earrings and even a matching watch—the full regalia. Nicoletta is truly the chatka queen of Roma. I am really looking forward to seeing her attire this afternoon. So far I have not seen the same outfit twice.

If only my Italian was as coordinated as Nicoletta's clothing. I still feel ridiculously incompetent as a student. The worst is when I say something in what I think is correct Italian and the person I am speaking to looks at me blankly. And the second worst thing is when they respond in a torrent of Italian words, very few of which I manage to comprehend, and I can only nod and say, "Si, si." At least I can make a reservation at a restaurant and successfully order food. For this, Steve considers me "fluent."

Our first take out meal

Last night with the girls. Abby, Asha and Sanaya are still here. Liz left this morning. A truly lazy day…at least for me. I putter around the house doing laundry after Liz’ s departure and then meet up with the rest of the crew. We have a long, long lunch at a little red checkered table cloth restaurant in Trastevere where Steve and I have gone several times before. It’s more crowded than we’ve ever seen it—Sunday lunch is a big deal in Rome. By the time we leave, it’s almost 4 o’clock and time for a nap.

I swear I will never eat again or least not for 24 hours but somehow dinnertime rolls around and everyone’s thoughts drift towards pizza. Steve is “starving” of course so some time after 9 we head off to our local pizza place fueled by a bottle of incredible Ornellaia wine we’ve downed accompanied by cheese and olives. When we are told that the wait will be an ora minimo, I have the inspiration—let's porta a via.

Fifteen minutes later, we are in the dining room of Vicolo del Cedro eating three incredible thin crusted pizzas and drinking the second bottle of Ornellaia.

Good vibrations

There’s a reason that for almost one week I’ve not had time to read a book, do the crossword puzzle or write a blog entry. The girls—Liz, Asha, Abby and Sanaya—have been living in our little house, bringing with them glorious spring weather and a blast of energy.

Our days start late. Believe me, it’s not easy getting four girls out of bed, out of the bathroom and out of the house. Our usual routine starts off with a short stroll to the Piazza di Santa Maria de Trastevere for a tall glass of blood orange juice and a cappuccino. Then a leisurely ramble to an area we haven’t seen yet for lunch and perhaps a mid-day prosecco.

I am the official cicerone leading them on our daily excursions and they are a most appreciative and willing audience. All of us—including Steve!—walk and walk and walk and walk. . . to the Pantheon, Piazza Navona, the Ghetto, the Campidoglio, the Vatican, the Trevi Fountain, Campo di Fiori, the Spanish Steps, Piazza del Popolo and then back to Trastevere at the end of the day. It certainly helps that the weather is sunny and warm, perfect for both our long walks and then for chilling in the piazza once we get there.

Even at night, we are out on the pavements walking across the Ponte Sisto to a fabulous restaurant that I have carefully selected for just the right combination of good food and good vibes. Our dinners have been especially fun with the girls. There’s nothing like walking into a restaurant with four beautiful young women and watching heads turn and waiters smile. Each night we toast to being together in Rome. We all agree that Rome is an “amazing” city, that Vicolo del Cedro 12 is the most charming house and that Trastevere is absolutely the best neighborhood to live in.

After dinner, we stroll back together to Trastevere, where a party is always going on. Perhaps we stop for a drink at a hip and happening bar but then Steve and I head back to our house, eager for bed. The girls, of course, stay out and I love to hear their reports the next morning on the late night scene.

Italian Bar Mitzvah

I have Italian homework to do tonight. I’m supposed to write some 150 words about a person, place or experience that I am very excited and enthusiastic about. Of course, I plan to write about Maine.

Thank god Nicoletta doesn’t make me do dictation exercises. That was the worst part of studying French in high school. I must be getting a little better, though. Today I was able to understand the directions on how to add credit to my Italian cellulare.

Nicoletta has been dressing in a relatively restrained fashion lately. I wouldn‘t call her style demure but no plunging necklines or leopard prints recently. Instead she wears lots of purple and lots of lace but still those dangerous high heel shoes.

Late this afternoon, Steve and I walked Jonathan up to the Fontana di Trevi where we joined mobs of school kids screaming, “Take my picture.” So I did, too, take a picture of Jon and Steve tossing two coins over their shoulder into the fountain.

After putting Jon in a cab to meet a school friend, Steve and I headed off for a walking tour of the area. Michelin in hand we walked up to the elegant Piazza di Quirinale where the president of Italy lives and where there is a beautiful view over the rooftops of Rome especially in the late afternoon when the light is golden. Two churches later we headed back down the hill and took a circuitous but picturesque route back to the river and Trastevere. Our twilight stroll lasted almost an hour and while we walked, the sky turned a deeper and deeper sapphire blue. Looking up I could see a crescent moon and even a few stars. And, most exciting to me, little yellow buds on the chestnut trees along the river. Spring is definitely on the way.

Tonight, our last with Jonathan, we went to yet another local pizza place. We sat in the back room with about 20 Italian kids celebrating someone’s 13th birthday with French fries and pizza and a lot of noise. The mothers, not a father in sight, sat in the front room drinking carafes of wine and periodically checking in on the party. The girls, looking quite sophisticated with stylish haircuts and cool clothes, sat at one end of the table while the boys ranging in looks from nerdy to adorable hung out at the other end. Just like a bar mitzvah. I’m convinced they were all Jewish. We left after the birthday cake was brought out.

Youth

Rome with the boys—and Roz, too—is a lot of fun. They eat a lot, drink a lot, walk all over and manage to stay up much, much later than us. Steve and I can’t wait to toddle home and jump into bed after dinner—it’s after midnight, for pete’s sake-- while they are busy calling and texting to arrange a whole new session of socializing.

Yesterday morning, we all walked over to the Campidoglio, an incredibly beautiful Renaissance piazza designed by Michelangelo. There we met up with Anne Ahern for a three hour walking tour of the Forum and the Palatine. The sun was finally shining and despite the crowds—every school kid in Europe is here right now—it still felt incredibly peaceful to wander through the ruins. Up on the Palatine Hill, where Augustus and other Roman emperors built their homes, the grass was strewn with wildflowers and kids were picnicking or just hanging out and enjoying the warm weather.

This morning Ross and Roz, particularly diligent tourists, woke up relatively early after their late night to go to the Vatican. Steve and Jon are out for a walk which probably means they are “having a bite” somewhere and I am home alone quite happy doing the laundry and trying to make sense of Italian TV.

We are not alone

The end of togetherness. The boys—Jonathan and Ross—are here.

Jonathan’s arrival on Wednesday night was particularly dramatic. Somehow—too much red wine or just old age—I had forgotten to give him the number of our house. So for almost two hours, he wandered up and down the narrow and rainy streets of Trastevere looking for us. Finally, at about 12:30 (Steve was already sound asleep) I heard someone calling my name. I poked my head out the window and eccola! there was a very wet and cold Jonathan Beck. To prove I was still a good and caring aunt, I stuffed him with cheese and salami and sent him to bed.

Next day, Steve, who can talk of nothing except food to anyone who will listen, treated the boy to a huge lunch at one of our favorite trattorias. Despite the nonstop rain, Jonathan and I walked off the pasta (homemade, of course) with a speed walking tour of il centro. Piazza Navona, check; the Pantheon, check; the Spanish Steps, check.

Dinner was at a neighborhood pizza place so now Jonathan has experienced the two poles of Italian cooking—pasta and pizza.

His mom will be very proud, though. This morning, while I was at the gym and unable to provide cicerone services, Jonathan and a friend went to the Vatican, something I haven’t managed to do yet since we’ve been in Rome.

Uptown girl

Time to get my hair done. But where? I don’t want come home with purple hair or weird highlights. Finally after some research, I make an appointment at Noi, a tiny salon uptown off the Piazza del Populo. It’s owned by two transplants from southern California—Massimo is originally from Rome and Rick is pure LA with artfully tousled grey hair and a schtick that never stops.

It’s a long walk from the grit and chaos of Trastevere to the high rent district but Steve is a good sport and comes with me. What else is he going to do? He sits and drinks at a cafe while I am made gorgeous by Rick. Afterwards, I switch into cicerone mode and make him look at the Carvaggios in a church on the piazza.

We walk back to the Piazza da Spagna along the Via Margutta, lined with pricey galleries and antique shops. The mood in this part of town is elegant, expensive and exclusive—not at all like where we live. It’s a nice change, though, for the afternoon.

Despite the cold and damp, I decide to ramble all the way back to Trastevere. I pass through the Piazza Navona, make a quick stop at the Pantheon and visit yet another church with a painting by Carvaggio. I’ve decided that Carvaggio is my favorite painter. His saints have dirty feet.

Crash

I can’t do it anymore. Tonight I stood firm. I am not going out to dinner. Instead, I actually stayed home alone and ate tuna fish salad on bread. Ok, it was Italian tuna fish not Starkist and the bread was wonderful crusty whole wheat bread from a local bakery. And I did pour myself a glass of red wine to go with it. But I couldn’t face another plate of pasta or another thin crusted pizza from al forno del legno. What I’m yearning for, actually, is a nice whole grilled fish drizzled with olive oil and accompanied by a salad of fresh rugaletto.

Maybe tomorrow.

Pizza or pasta, part 2

It is possible to survive on a diet of pasta and pizza and artichokes. I am living proof.

Steve is obsessed by salami. He came home today from a trip to the store (yes, he goes food shopping in Rome), loaded with three different kinds of salami and a loaf of crusty bread big enough to feed a family of 12. All this, he says, in preparation for “the kids,” despite the fact that Jon and Ross aren’t due until this weekend and Liz and her crew will be here next week. The whole first floor of our little house now smells of salami.

Tonight, yet another dinner of pasta con vongole, my favorite. I am careful to order a plate of grilled radicchio as well. Max would be proud.

This afternoon I walked across the Ponte Sisto to return the movies we rented. Nothing like watching a movie in bed on my MacPro. (Steve lasts about five minutes before the snoring begins and I tell him to turn over.) The video store is just a short walk from Campo dei Fiuori and Piazza Navona. Enjoying my time alone, I wander around the area debating whether to treat myself to a gelato or a glass of prosecco. Instead, I stumble into a church to discover that it features three amazing paintings by Carvaggio. I only leave when a large group of tourists arrive and start clambering for position in order to take pictures and videos. I don't mind because I know I can come back.

Pasta or pizza

Sins of spring in Rome: It’s getting warmer every day. There are more tourists on the streets. I saw fresh fava beans in the market this morning.

Sunday afternoon we were lucky to score a table in the sun at a café on the Piazza Faranese. We sat there for two hours, first nursing coffee and hot chocolate, moving on a little later to a glasses of prosecco and finishing up with panini. The only thing missing was the New York Times and I had already done the puzzle the day before. The rest of the afternoon we strolled around the district finally walking back to Trastevere along the riverbank for the first time. Not too many people down there yet; just the occasional runner and some homeless people encamped under the bridges.

That night we tried to get into two small restaurants in our neighborhood. Both had crowds standing outside. Once seated, we had a serious decision to make. Should we go for a thin crust pizza or home made pasta with a simple sauce of fresh pepper and cheese. (I can really tell the difference now between home made pasta and the box variety. Home made has a very distinctive and complex texture--softer but firmer at the same time.)

Life is tough.