Dia Una…Getting there is Half the Fun!

We are experiencing our first morning as Romans in our little apartment at Via Giulia 87. Dennis is making espresso on the two burner electric stove and until I took the computer I was lying in the little upstairs bedroom, under arched ceilings, contemplating the imagination, engineering and artistry it took to reinvent what must have been the ground floor stables of a centuries old building into this small, stylish apartment. The stairs to the second level are steel, painted black. The eight-foot window spans both floors and is exposed via a light well that makes conversation easy, and quiet impossible, between floors. The window also protects us from street noise, sidewalk conversation and privacy, but at the expense of light and air, so we are learning to live in the “street theatre” world of Rome.

Our journey began with BC ferries to Vancouver for a wonderful night with our great friends Steve, Vern, Evie and Kevin toasting us at the Frog and Nightgown Pub. They figured we would be eating pasta and wine for a month so a good feed of pub food with hockey playoffs on TVs in the background was in order. They offered to take care of our car while we were away, but as we discussed rendezvousing on the other end of the trip, it turned out they would be out of town so we drove ourselves to YVR. About half way into the drive, Steve called to say that Dennis’ jacket and cell phone were at their house. We decided on Marine Drive that Dennis would love to have a souvenir jacket from Italy and that cell phone roaming charges would have kept it turned off anyway, so we will pick it up when we are back through in June. Nessun problema.

As we sit on the tarmac in the packed 767 for the first leg to Toronto, the pilot tells us we will be a little delayed as they change the left tires of the aircraft! Really, they hadn’t noticed this sooner? But then the Air Canada pilots have actually called in sick en masse a few times  this month in a job action, so we are just glad to be on the flight looking like we will leave. Forty minutes later we depart, but despite constant westerly winds across Canada we do not make up a minute and land in Toronto with 20 minutes to make a flight to Zurich that leaves from the distant international end of the terminal. They are about to close the doors as we arrive, panting and a little impressed that our 60+ year-old bodies hauled us through the terminal that fast. Have to say though, it's fun to run on those moving sidewalks!

In Zurich, there is a train that runs between terminals called “Heidi.” Really. The announcer on the train tells us enthusiastically in German, English and what I assume is Swiss that we are going to a wonderful place of stores, restaurants and departure gates at which point a cow moos, a cowbell rings, and I get a case of the giggles. Then the alpine horns play, more cows moo. It is actually great that they pride themselves on their country’s internationally known commodities. Had they been able to pump in the scents of chocolate, cheese and banks it would have been full immersion!

The flight to Rome is smooth and beautiful. We are somewhat surprised that there is virtually no Customs check in – just choose the “nothing to declare" door and walk out. We are completely surprised that there is no Immigration check, when everywhere we are going to stay wants our passport information! Perhaps it’s just trickle-down bureaucracy, or just the jovial culture welcoming all comers. 

Driving into Rome is like entering any big city. Sprawl, suburbs, the apartment towers are five or six floors and intimately spaced. The balconies are sometimes storage, more often little urban gardens. Awnings promise that it gets hot and sunny. Our driver doesn’t wear a seat belt and channels his inner Formula One driver. The macho has begun! As we get closer to the core there are peeks at church domes and the buildings become more aged. Finally narrow, pedestrian-rich, cobble stone streets are the norm, which only encourages our driver to speed more, pass closer, and crane his head to check out a particularly tight pair of jeans without slowing.

We are delighted when Via Giulia 87 appears and we can finally walk around after what feels lie 24 hours of sitting.

We are swimmy from the jet lag and think we should be hungry, but aren’t really. So we decide to try to explore a bit. Besides, we need a bottle of wine for later so we set off. Just at the end of our block is the first of the many, many, many, many, many – I’ve made my point – church facades we will see on just this first evening.

Churches are as prevalent  here as bakeries are in Paris. It’s hard to go a block without one. However, we are surprised that we have to search to find stores that sell wine and foodstuffs.

We trade turns choosing a direction at each corner and decide to enter an enchanting church where we see our first huge Caravaggio canvas and a splendid display of the interior decoration for which Italian churches are known.

First church we entered, we didn't even learn
 it's name. It has amazing paintings by Caravaggio,
 guilt pipe organs and extraordinary floor mosaics.

This church, S, Giovanni dei Fiorentini,
 is at the end of our block

Continuing our evening stroll we emerge by sheer “no such thing as coincidence” in Piazza Navona, an area about two blocks long by a block wide that hosts three superb fountains, dozens of cafés, restaurants, gelaterias and bars, probably 100+ artists of varying competency doing caricatures and selling prints, and thousands of Italians and foreigners enjoying the evening. It is animated and alive in that special way that you recognize by the buzz of laughter, conversation, animated gestures and the tinkling of glasses. We realize that we hear Hotel California being played by a musician somewhere amid the crowd and share the joy of recognition that this song has turned up at so many meaningful moments in our life. Of course, we are where we are supposed to be!

One of three fountains in the Piazza Navona. This area

 has been inhabited for at least 2000 years and the
piazza itself was built above an ancient stadium.

We eat our first pizzas on a side street off the Piazza and I sip my first, fresh from the cask, hasn’t travelled far, fruity, delicious Italian white. Yum and yum! As we eat, we note that the people watching here is even better than Paris. The theatre is the street and there is the sense that most of the actors know it! With and endless supply of wine, coffee and food, a person could spend an entire day at our table and be entertained totally.

We stumbled on this site that illustrates what can be found in Rome when an excavation is begun. Layers of history, literally!

We find a sacred excavation Largo di Torre Argentina comprised of columns and rooms exposed from above that is still an active archeological site. It is home to dozens of cats that we can see and likely hundreds that we can’t. It seems that the Romans, like other cultures, tore down and built over other civilizations’ structures.

On our way back to the apartment, we get turned around and walk miles out of our way until we recognize we are beside the massive Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele wow, these guys must have played “mine is bigger” by the tonnage of marble they could put into their monument. Somehow it makes me remember the admonition that you are only as great as other people say you are! We will come back and explore this later.

Miles later, and after discovering there are at least six churches on our little street, we return to our apartment. A few glasses of wine and we enjoy the sleep of the truly exhausted – Dennis wakes hourly and I dream graphically of my worst day ever, LOL. Well, if the worst only comes in dreams I am a lucky girl! (I think I am that anyway.)

Final observations for Day One:

• The espresso is outstanding – I am not a coffee lover, but I love this.
• Not only are Pizzerias everywhere, but Spaghetterias are too...I suspect we'll be checking those out soon ;-).
• So far, and this is a broad generalization, Italy seems to be like a child parented by Mexico and France. It shares the pride of history, tradition, style and prideful ego of France in equal parts to the love of family – especially children – convivial community and machismo of Mexico. All in all a pretty interesting mixture.
• Style is institutionalized. We saw police that were so well dressed, Dennis checked the Internet. It turns out that some police uniforms in Italy are dressed by the likes of Valentino and Giorgio Armani -- and there are still some Police that don't make the cut. Perhaps I just learned a non-sports reason for the cliché.
• Cobblestones are tiring to walk on, especially when they have not been maintained by filling with sand and mirror the lumpy terrain they cover; so it is even more impressive to see the women who choose to teeter on stylish heels. Over here, shoe store windows are like design galleries. I say it is impressive, I did not say I would ever participate.
• Another homage Italy makes to Mexico, or the other way around, is that you have to be conscious of every step, because to a large extent, you are on your own to avoid all manners of hazards; which makes it dangerous to be the kind of eyes-to-the beauty, open-mouth-and-stare, tourists that we really want to be.

I’ve put only a few pics in here, and there are a whole lot more on Facebook. If you are reading the blog, and haven’t “Friended” me on Facebook, you’ll need to it to see more. Hi to all my Facebook lurkers. I hope you see fit to comment once in awhile.

Ciao!