The train speeds east and then south at 300 km/hour (186 m/ph) and it's like the story of my life unfolding before me. We stop at Milano, Bologna, Firenze before finally pulling into Roma (and after, but without me, proceeding to Napoli). All that's missing is Venezia and I will have had before me pages from all those years of deep affection, for trains, Italy, men. Yearnings for those whom I wanted to travel with me here, memories of those who did, whom I loved so much, who for one reason or another no longer ride the trains of Italy with me, no longer pause for an aperitivo at Milano Centrale, who don't want to give Firenze's old streets another walk through. But they all had such a walloping impact on my life -- some especially so, and some still do, except not in Italy, and so once again, Italy is just my own. Reflection, recollection, return, revisit, reimagine now at age 70.
* * *
My last morning in Turin. When I look out the window, I see the pink light falling on the mountains. So pretty! (It doesn't last. Before I'm out of the hotel, the mist will have returned.)
Breakfast, still on the light side.
And then I check out and pull my suitcase to the train station in Turin. At the last minute I changed my booking to an earlier train. I felt that two more hours in Turin would accomplish nothing, whereas the extra time in Rome will net me some more walks, solo today, because my friends aren't flying in until late in the evening.
Here's a forewarning: the length of my writing will greatly diminish for the next four days. I expect that I will have no time for it. The purpose of being in Rome is, after all, to spend time with people whom I rarely see. Retreating to my room to work on Ocean is not an option and I do know this about me right now: I cannot stay up at all hours to write here. I need to carve out time for sleep. So, yes, I'll do updates, but they wont be 37 photos long (yesterday's post, insert smiley face here!).
* * *
And now there's Rome. Much has been written about it and I cannot improve on any of the carefully studied and detailed accounts. Tomes on the history, volumes on the culture, the people here. A copious number of travel guides that will spell out fun facts about every stone in the city. All I can do is describe my Roman walks, with some fleeting mention of time spent with four friends who traveled from Warsaw to Rome to meet up with me here. (There were to be two more, but unexpected infirmities got in the way of that.) These four have appeared many times on Ocean pages. Indeed, one of them spent a day with me in Rome just last year. I've known these guys for more than fifty years (well, with a midpoint introduction of some new spouses) and you could say we've been through a lot, together and apart. Nonetheless, true to national character (of my generation), they're guarded, and I hesitate in saying even that, for fear of being too revealing. A true sign of my straying from my past is that I am not at all like that. For you, this means that as always, you'll read too much about my own stumbles through the day and too little about anyone else. This, of course, is as it should be. Blogging is much like painting a canvas, only with words. You paint or write what you observe, not what someone else sees or experiences.
But I've strayed. Back to Rome.
For a long time I did not especially like the city. I came here as a child and none of it struck me as approachable. My love for Italy, to the point where I signed up for an Italian language course in college, excluded the belly of the boot. Viva the Dolomites! Viva the Venetian Lagoon, the Fenician Boboli Gardens, Sicilian olive and orange groves, Amalfi sunsets. Am I forgetting something? Perhaps deliberately?
Sure, I brought the kids to Rome on their first Italian adventure, but it was more out of duty than out of a true passion for this sprawling city. (In retrospect, I think much of my distaste for coming here had to do with the fact that I always seemed to visit Rome in July or August. Never come to Rome in July or August.)
My younger daughter turned me around on it though. She picked it as a place to spend a week when she was already post-college (in May!). The two of us did a thorough reexamination of all that's here. I came to love it then (insofar as I ever love big cities).
But not for its big ticket sights. The crowds around the Vatican, the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps are, to me, off-putting. Yes, I know I am a tourist and I bring an extra body to the mix, but still, hearing absolutely zero Italian around me seems so, well, sad. You've traveled far to be here and now you can't even do an informal study of what shoes Romans wear because in those places there are no Romans.
Instead, I like the neighborhoods of Rome, with the occasional fountain thrown in. Okay and a few Caravaggios, but not too many. What I do love is to meander. To pause for something to eat or drink. To listen, even though I can't always understand what is spoken. With Italians, you can infer all that you cannot translate. Rome is well suited for observation. For comparison. How does the Monti neighborhood (where we're staying) feel these days? And Trastevere, how has it changed over time?
So when my friends proposed Rome, I was delighted. Even though we may split at times as they pursue far more Caravaggios and churches and fountains than I will.
* * *
It's such a lovely, leisurely train ride! I needed the rest!
(under the Tuscan sun...)
I arrive at Roma Termini at about 2:30. I take the time to check my departing train (Sunday). An email tells me that there are schedule changes. I want to make sure I understand that the train will be leaving an hour earlier than the schedule indicates. Weird but true. Good to know!
I walk to the hotel Rome Times. It's not too far. Maybe 20 minutes from the train station. And the weather is just incredible! Better than Turin! Sunny, bright, 21C (70F)! Again, hold your envy, it will all turn on us very quickly.
It's during this walk that I pick up a call from Ed. One more chicken, the only named one left (Unie) is dead. Ed thinks she was in a catatonic state after the attack. Could it be that a hen would suffer a heart attack? We are down to two now -- the greatest attrition since we started chicken raising. (Of the remaining two, we have one more that's suffering great trauma. She spent the night on the garage roof rafters and as of today, Ed has not been able to coax her down.)
Sigh...
But the weather here!
Yes, please do notice the shoes. They are not sneaker type anymore. Oh, you think it's the young who parade in better stuff? Here's someone my age...
On the walk, I pass a small cafe/pastry shop. I'd had a few bites of an eggplant and buffalo mozzarella sandwich on the train, but I could use a coffee. It's an inauspicious entrance...
But inside? A marvel of bite-sized sweet treats. Perfect with a macchiato!
And now I'm at the hotel and I throw down my suitcase and pretty quickly head out again. A chance to walk the streets of Rome, aimlessly, with eyes wide open in this drop dead gorgeous weather.
(Here's a big difference between this city and the one I just left: Turin maybe flocked by high mountains, but the city itself is flat. Rome? There are the hills...)
With hills come good views. Somehow I find myself at the top of the Spanish steps. From here, the view all the way to the St. Peter's is legendary!
Perhaps it's unfair to make this next comparison while standing on top of the Spanish steps, but it is so obvious that I have to say it -- Rome is much more crowded than Turin. Rome is listed at 4.5 million people. Turin is at nearly 2 million. But the presence of tourists here make those numbers irrelevant. If Turin seemed empty, Rome feels dense. I veer away toward the Borghese Gardens. Here is where you have to stop with the comparisons. I remember first walking through this very park and thinking -- well, the one in Warsaw if nicer. This, I see now, is unfair. The Borghese park is different and very Roman in its integration of nature and art and the burdens of urban life. I try to look at it from the perspective of a person living here, say with kids. Suddenly I sense the quiet (at least as compared to the streets below). And I notice the benches where you can expect some peace, and maybe a little privacy.
(What catches your eye? the Roman trees? Her shoes??)
The park is on a hill, so again, there is a view: toward Piazza del Popolo.
I walk down the hill...
My, oh my, does Rome have the churches! Italians show a steady decline in church attendance, especially over the last decade: fewer than 19% claim to go to services on a regular basis. Americans, by comparison, have a much higher attendance rate, though there too it's declining.
Blame the young people! Maybe these girls?
I turn toward the river. There are no great tourist sights here and the tourist flow is significantly diminished.
And yes, the sun is setting. And it is lovely.
By the time I make it back to the hotel, it's nearly dinner time. Here's a funny mistake I made: I found a trattoria type place serving simple Roman food nearby. Hostaria Romana. A twelve minute walk. Very doable. Much loved by locals. But my friends are getting in around 8, so I needed to book a table on the early side. An impossible assignment! And yet...I go to the reservation service for the Hostaria: it opens at 6:30! Perfect. I book it immediately. And I head out. But what's this -- I see that it's closed? I knock on the door. A woman leans out and tells me -- we aren't open until 7:15. But, but, here, let me show you my confirmation for 6:30! She looks at my phone, she scrolls. She laughs. You booked a table at the Hostaria Romana in Miami Beach!
Ooops.
In the end, I lucked out. I found a pizzeria place -- L'Antica Fraschetta -- just by my hotel and they were open and it was crowded, but they found a place for me.
And I discovered the new Italian pizza that's the rage right now (at least it's new to me!) -- the pinse. It's a puffier softer crust. I ordered the one with veggies and it was in fact delicious!
And at the hotel, after dinner, I finally meet up with the awesome foursome. We try to catch up in the few hours that we have tonight, but it's no use. There's so much to review! We'll save the rest for tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that...
Time to get some rest. Under the nearly full moon of a Roman night.
with love...
