Tomorrow, we leave Roma. Of course, I am looking forward to being home, seeing my cat (who has been to the vet twice since I left, poor thing), sleeping in my own bed, showering in a shower large enough that I can shave my legs without either banging my elbows or suffocating in the shower curtain, and all the other comforts of home. But, I can't say I'm ready for this trip to be over. Usually, I am ready to be home at the end of a long trip, but I feel like I'm only getting my Italian legs under me. I had several good Italian interactions today: we stopped by what we thought was a store that sold prints, only to discover it was the tiny studio of a collective of print artists. The master printer, Frank Martinangeli, was there, and started showing us how he makes the prints, the press, the various materials he uses. He spoke almost no English, but Jeremy and I were able to follow him just fine, and even ask some questions in Italian. The best part was that he wasn't trying to sell us anything (although, of course, we did buy something -- how could we not, especially given that his work is very, very cool!) The image above is from the same series as the print we bought.
Then, we went back into Testacchio, to return both to Volpetti and the market, where a guy sells t-shirts with prints designed by his wife. Jeremy had bought a t-shirt from him last week, and wanted to get another for his brother before we left. The Testacchio market is very large, and very serious, and very not-touristy. In fact, it is by far my favorite of the four Roman markets we visited. Campo di Fiori is very touristy. Trastevere is good, but quite small. Still, I went there enough that the butcher recognized me, and even cracked a smile once or twice. The market in Esquilino is ginormous, even compared to Testacchio, and has a lot of foreign and exotic ingredients, but feels a little like Stockton Street in San Francisco. Testacchio market is the kind of place where traditional Italian women do their daily shopping, and probably buy most of their kitchenware and their shoes. For some reason, there are a lot of stalls selling a lot of shoes there. A lot. While we were there, I bought a Roma soccer scarf for my friend Pat, and the old woman manning the stall asked me if Jeremy was an actor. I asked why, and she said it was because he was so handsome. Then she said (roughly) "E bella, ma e pui bello!" (there should be several accents in that sentence, but I don't know where accents are in the blogspot interface). It was a little thing, but it happened entirely in Italian, and I understood what was happening while it was happening, which certainly would not have happened at the beginning of the trip.
We went to Volpetti, and alas were not helped by the delightful Claudio, so I had to get stuff entirely in Italian. It was basic Italian, sure, but I was able to get the prosciutto, cheese, and bread I wanted for dinner (we are going to picnic on our roof terrace with a bottle of prosecco). Then, we had lunch at Dar Poeta, the greatest pizza I have ever tasted. Perhaps my memory of the great Pizzaiolo in Florence is fading (Jeremy maintains that he prefers that pizza), but I think the crust at Dar Poeta is superior. Chewy, yeasty, ever so slightly sweet, crisp on the bottom but not the usual cracker-thin Roman style, and at least some actually burnt pieces. The toppings seem restrained by American standards, but are actually abundant by Italian standards. We had some last week, and I wanted another one before we left. And, the highlight was that I handled the table getting process well enough that the waitress gave me the Italian menu, and I was able to add tomatoes to Jeremy's pizza, which I count as an Italian victory.
Yesterday, we went shopping in the hard core fashion district around Piazza di Spagna (the Spanish steps). Jeremy bought an unbelievably beautiful pair of shoes. As I tried to explain to my friend Liz, it was hard for me to act with any decorum in this store. First of all, Jeremy bought just about the least expensive thing in the store, and it was still more than either of us have ever paid on a single item of clothing -- more even than my Fluevog boots if I hadn't gotten them on sale. I, on the other hand, was wearing a black tank top I bought at the Rack in Spokane for less than ten dollars. I definitely felt underdressed for the store. Second, the shoes were so incredibly beautiful I had the strongest desire to lick them. I restrained myself, both from the licking and the buying, but I did buy some gifts for friends in the area. I feel as if I've been fairly restrained in my shopping, but I'm still worried that I won't be able to zip my suitcase up tomorrow. And, of course, I'm worried about getting the Perugia plate home. Thanks for the packing tip, Laura!
All of these things make me feel as if I'm just on the verge of cracking this city, of moving beyond being just a tourist and starting to have different kinds of interactions -- meet people, find the places that aren't in the guidebook, get more out of the places I do go. Honestly, I haven't been able to do that in the two weeks I was here, at least, not that often. I'm only now beginning to be able to follow simple spoken Italian, and I have some confidence in my ability to communicate in Italian, if badly. I think if we could spend a few more weeks, either in a different part of Rome or even somewhere in rural Italy . . . But, no, it is time to return to Spokane and friends and more serious writing.
It will take me a while to digest all of this trip, if I ever do. Here, however, are random thoughts and observations haven't yet found their way into the blog:
-- Rome is a palimpset. In America, when we are done using something, we either throw it away or preserve it in amber. Florence has history, but it is a single layer of history. Rome has layer on layer, and it isn't afraid to re-use and re-purpose the highlights of the past. The Elephantino (also called the Pulcino) in front of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva is, I think, a good example. The obelisk is Egyptian, probably 6th century BC, brought over by Diocletian in the third century AD. He used it in his gardens. In the 17th century, a Pope asked Bernini to create a new base for it so that it could be mounted in front of a Christian church, which itself stands over the site of a classical temple dedicated to Minerva. Legend has it that Bernini placed the butt of the elephant -- tail slightly elevated -- facing the office of one of his enemies. Now, of course, the statue is a tourist attraction, a pit stop on the way to the pantheon. It is because of this that I think the Capitoline wolf is such a great emblem of Rome. Sure, it is a pre-classical Roman statue of a wolf, but did you know that the Remus and Romulus babies were added in the 17th century?
-- Roman traffic is not nearly as insane as it initially feels. For the most part, pedestrians have the right of way on all but the main streets. They have the right of way in all unlighted crosswalks, all the time, and Roman drivers honor that. The really busy intersections have pedestrian lights, which makes things really clear. It's just that Americans are used to pedestrians being on sidewalks, and cars being in lanes, and neither of those things work here. None of this means that I didn't often feel that thrill of adrenaline crossing Piazza Venezia!
-- Italians have found more ingenious ways to latch bathroom doors than I would have thought possible. They also have a variety of methods for flushing their toilets and turning on their faucets. I think I have spent at least five percent of this trip trying to manipulate bathroom fixtures and free myself from locked toilet stalls. I wonder how long I would have to be gone before Jeremy would know to come rescue me?
-- Claritin (spelled, here, Clarityn) solves the mosquito problem. I've been taking one a day, and I am only normally reactant to mosquito bites. I get bitten still, and they itch, but not badly, and then they go away. I even survived a bite on my left eyelid.
