Vacanza Romana

Random dribbles during a visit to Rome, Italy...

10/12/06 @ 3:25pm
I just had what must have been the best pizza ever made. It was so fresh and wonderful. The dough had a slight sweetness, and the oils and tomato were ripe and delicious. Soft, chewy, absolutely perfect. I topped off my meal with a dish of superb stracciatella gelato. The chocolate flakes melted instantly upon contact with my tongue. I imagine the sweet cream came straight from a cow out back. It was marvelous! The name of this place: Dagnino. Remember this moment always. It gets no better than this.

10/12/06 @ 9:25pm
It's very interesting the looks I get from people when I dine alone. Like their eyes are saying, "How sad," or "Poor girl." Of course, if I were a man, no one would look twice. This is amusing to me. Naturally, I am performing my own people-watching routine. That couple directly opposite me: from England; newlyweds; appear to be struggling students; talk about art; small diamond on her finger; absolutely madly in love; their first trip together.

The group behind me: retired American women; from Virginia maybe, or as far north as Pennsylvania; cacklers; talk incessantly about grandchildren and knitting and wayward youth and the glory of the Sistine Chapel and where they will visit next; church group perhaps; and the weather - what group of women doesn't comment on the weather? - how perfect it has been, and "I shouldn't have bothered with my raincoat and rainhat," and "Don't say that! Murphy's Law says it would rain the whole time if you left your raincoat behind." Only Americans reference Murphy's Law.

So I may appear sad and pathetic sitting here alone with my Jack and Coke, but chances are, they think I'm a starving writer as I scribble furiously in my little black lined Moleskine. Or maybe they think I have a rich daddy and I'm over here with his platinum card. This place isn't necessarily cheap. How amusing.

The couple in the corner: obviously French; all they do is whisper and kiss; she has a cold, and he obviously adores her in spite of the tissue between smooches; he's wearing loafers without socks; only European men - and maybe men who live in Florida - would sport such a fashion statement; she is wearing a camouflage-print frilly skirt; although this fashion may have worked its way Stateside, she is definitely not American; her hair is too European, and her complexion screams of late nights in bars and lots of harsh European cigarettes; she is also sporting those tall, sexy Italian leather boots. I would love a pair, and have seen several very reasonably priced; however, I fear they would not work well with my Eddie Bauer khakis and LL Bean button-up. I must stick out like a sore thumb American in my yuppie garb, complete with comfortable hikers.

My favorite patrons to observe: the middle-aged man with his young, collagen-induced escort. New wife? Mistress? She is always flawless, and he is ruddy-faced and clearly loaded; he sports either a very pricey watch or the gold chain he believes knocks at least ten years from his age; he likely drives a Porsche, or perhaps a Z3, or maybe even an Audi TT; and he probably dreams of the Autobahn or long drives down the Italian Riviera; he buys her whatever her little heart desires; and he feels powerful.

I need to find a real notebook. This is precisely when my laptop would come in handy. I'm so much faster when I type. My mind seems to be racing lately, whether processing observations or thinking that perhaps I should write more.

I've been here two and a half days and have taken only a handful of photos. I'm not sure why. I'm typically a shutterbug. I took a shot of laundry hanging from a balcony to dry. It just seemed so... Roman. Otherwise, I've merely wandered around and watched people and traffic. I have a gazillion photos from my last visit, so I don't really feel as though I'm missing out.

I broke down and decided to take a tour to Tivoli. I'm sure I'll take lots of photos there. I hear the waterfalls are gorgeous. I may also take advantage of Capri, and maybe even Naples and Pompeii. I've thought about a day trip to Tuscany - maybe stop in Cortona, the small village made famous recently in "Under the Tuscan Sun". I'll be surrounded by tourists, so the shutterbug routine will be expected. So far though, I've just been decompressing...

10/16/06 @ 6:15pm
There is a distinct difference between those who utilize public transportation and those who utilize taxis. I've noticed there is a very large gypsy population. They are found mainly at bus or tram stations or on the steps of a Basilica, begging for money. Many of the women have infants and toddlers in tow. Many of the men are selling odd wares or, worse, displaying grotesque physical deformities to further encourage passersby to drop a few coins into their cups. There is also a large Far Eastern population. Men mostly. They peddle chestnuts on street corners or roses through the piazza. A man today would not take no for an answer and even proceeded to follow me and lightly clutch my arm. I quickly reminded myself that decking him would not be appropriate. After all, this is Europe. People stand close in lines and brush against each other on a regular basis. Instead, I stopped, firmly said, "No," while looking him square in the eye, and continued on my way. Luckily, no means no in Italian too!

I think there's a crime boss somewhere in Japan, and his racket is organized tourism. If I had one Euro for every Japanese tourist I've seen here, I would be independently wealthy and would never have to work again. If I had one Euro for every Japanese tour group I've seen here, I could at least retire early. It's fun watching them download from a tour bus - like a clown car at the circus, they just keep coming! And then it's snap-flash-snap-snap-flash!

I think Roman women are amongst the best-dressed in the world. Unfortunately, they tend to be much taller than I. What I thought was a great pair of black dress slacks turned out to be about 3 inches too long! Although I'm dying to have a pair of hot leather Italian boots, I don't want 3 inch heels! And the tailor service takes 6 days - 4 more than I have remaining. Oh well. They weren't meant to be.

Apparently Nicole Kidman is in town. I heard rumors here and there, but then noticed a throng of young people crowded behind barriers across the street from the entrance to Hotel di Russie - a very upscale place obviously. I thought it might be more intriguing to watch the people than to catch a glimpse of the starlet, so I settled into a cafe on the edge of Piazza della Popolo and observed. After about an hour, and halfway through my gelato, the screams and cheers echoed of the walls of the piazza. Ms. Kidman did, in fact, make her appearance, but was promptly whisked away in a convoy of Mercedes and Alfa Romeos. What a hoot! Needless to say, the crowd quickly thinned out and the cafe likely had its best business of the entire week! Cinema festa internazionale di Roma... Wonder who else is here.

10/17/06 @ 5:45pm
I was taken for a ride by a taxi driver - literally and figuratively. I could have strangled him. The total fare was 24 and change. I handed him two 20s. He promptly exited the vehicle and came around to open my door (which is highly unusual for Italian taxi drivers). I asked him for my change and he showed me his fist, in which he clutched a 20 and a 5. What a jerk! I know what cash I have in my wallet. And I know I spent my last 5 earlier today on gelato. I told him no, that I gave him two 20s, and he gave me that deer-caught-in-the-headlight speakie-no-inglese look, thrusting in my face again the 20 and 5. Aah! What a jerk! I told him I knew exactly what I gave him. "You're cheating me," I said. And then, "Okay, fine." I glared at him - the look of cursed death - and slammed the door. "Tu criminale!" I spat at him. I may be a stupid rich American in his eyes, but I work hard for my money too. The thing is, I'm a generous tipper. He didn't have to steal from me. That's okay though. He'll get his. They always do.