Bella Borsa

I have been down, literally, with little movement for the past 24 hours. This is not good and I do not like it. Muscles and nerves e i problemi con loro (and problems with them) take me out of the game of life immediately.

Being in a foreign country and not feeling well naturally brings about the added discomfort of trying to communicate your needs to persons making faces at words you are using that quite frankly you maybe making up as pain envelopes you.

Yesterday in my quest to find ben gay...a favorite ointment of mine in such cases. There was none to be found in several drug stores and pharmacies. Nor did many persons know this product. Instead I am given Artro-Aid which does nothing for me and muscle soreness medication which I later learn is not a muscle relaxant as was 'communicated' when I whimpered my need for it. So after smoothing on what basically felt like thick lotion and taking what seemed a placebo pill, I was struggling with a plan B.

With no roommates available during the day to turn to for help or advice on the matter...my upper back was in so much pain I was beginning to lose the feeling of my right arm and a few fingers. I ventured out yet again on a mission (plan B) determined to find a hot water bottle. Translated literally is bottiglia di acqua calda. Nowhere was a hot water bottle to be found as well. Until I reached an obscure road in a little hidden neighborhood with a pharmacy sign blinking out front. I almost didn't bother, assuming the larger pharmacies didn't have the 'bottiglia' so this one wouldn't either. When I approached the counter I said a small prayer for impending success. The Signora looked at me with kind eyes. She was going to take the time, her eyes said, to help and to understand me not rush me off as others had that day. In addition, her eyes suggested, she would not grimace at my garbled Italian descriptions of my current pain. (Even if these look of hers was in my imagination I was ok with this.) I, in turn, looked at her with eyes saying - yes...together we will get me well again. I began describing my need for a bottiglia di acqua calda. I motioned the size and general usage of this item for what felt like the 100th time that day. I could see la luce (the light) go on above la testa di Signora. 'Ah!...borsa?' she said.

Now, I know what a borsa is. It's a woman's purse. But at this stage in the game I was willing to agree to anything, any word, at all. 'Forse una borsa, si?...' I said hopefully. (Maybe a purse, yes.) I waited...and waited...and waited as Signora diappeared in the back farmacia catacombs, finally returning with A HOT WATER BOTTLE!! Clouds cleared, rays of sunshine fell upon us, angels sang!

At that point, I would have paid $1000 for that borsa. But fortunately for me, it was 6euros.

In case you are ever in such a predicatment, I have since learned that a borsa is also a term for bag. A bag of relief for me. I am still not 100%, far from it. But I am able to move my upper body around a bit today and that is a vast improvement from yesterday where the only thing that was moving were my legs while the rest of me stayed stiff and inactive. My only motivation, willing myself to find help.

This morning I figured I'd have to bite the bullet and see a doctor. The night had been bad and I had finally decided a doctor was necessary. For those who know me well, this takes a great deal for me to want to see a doctor. I am not crazy about doing this even in the States when I know the language but here the idea was making my pain greater as I tensed up at the thought. I vowed to remain calm and search online for my doctor options. As I started out of bed I heard what sounded like a pop...a car backfiring outside my window? No it was coming from my shoulder, possibly. Half asleep I thought... could this really be the knot releasing it's hateful grip?

Seems whatever that sound was...I am feeling better now, less tight and in less pain. I do not currently have plans to see a doc and hope this continues.

I still cannot feel some of my fingers but I have managed to type this which yesterday would have been inconceivable. I have also managed to get better advice regarding pain relievers in this country from Raffaele my roommate. Seems I have indeed been taking muscle soreness drugs not pain relief meds. I am given pain med information from Raffaele while he hustles on the phone to contact a good friend who works in a hospital. I am told when to take certain meds and what to not mix together. I am grateful for the information which is in Italian and which I understand. Killing several i uccelli (birds) with one stone.

The water bottle, however, did remain consistent in all this and did do as promised. Oh how I love it! Seek and ye shall find. In my case seek for many, many, painful hours but as promised relief you then shall find.

Enjoying The Moment + Thinking Less = Happiness

I'm talking with a Roman Contessa at the Excelsior Hotel on Via Veneto and she is giving me tips on what jewelry she likes best on herself and what would, in turn, look good on me. She speaks English, (attended Oxford) French and Italian. I find her stories fascinating and her fashion style most noteworthy. She seems to know everyone at the hotel and the staff is quick to mention she frequents the establishment. I enjoy her molto (a lot). She gives me pointers on my Italian and how best to learn it...'parla, parla, parla con le altre persone sempre'...she advises. (Always be speaking, speaking, speaking with others) She calls me 'La Americana simpatica' and I add that she is 'La Italiana simpatica,' anche. (Nice American woman and nice Italian woman) My Aunt has given me the idea to head to this hotel. She stayed here awhile ago and you can sense it in her voice that when thinking on the place, it always brings back fond memories. Once I walk in the door I can see why. It is very special.

As I sit and enjoy a Prosecco this evening Luca who works at the Excelsior tells me, 'If you don't stop thinking, I will have to cry.' I ask him why he says this and he says I seem to him a person who is very sensitive and that he thinks I am very sad because quote, 'You think so much these things become you.' The translation is a bit awkward but I think the observation is an interesting one. I vow, at that moment, to try and stop thinking so much ...and just be... The Italians are great at 'just being' and enjoying the moment. The very best thing I could learn from them, I think, is this.

On Sunday, I headed to St. Peter's Basilica for church. The whole way walking with a spring in my step while thinking...I'm going to church today at the Vatican. Life is amazing. Once I arrived, with a thousand others, I made a spot for myself outside and watched the 2hour and 45minute mass on large video screens set up around the Basilica key. Then for approximately 15minutes towards the end, Il Papa addressed the outside crowd. Pictures I took of him show him as a speck underneath an elaborate awning. I made out some of what he said during his lengthy ceremony and laughed when he added, 'Vivi i Italiani!' (Long Live the Italians...) The crowd roared with approval and for one of few times in three hours Il Papa granted us a broad smile. 'Ciao Il Papa!' (I yelled out in my head...) The moment was just so very exciting!

I have made arrangements to try 'to meet' with Il Papa later next month. This is called a General Audience for those of you, like me, who didn't know. In addition to being provided tickets one receives instructions on what to do if the Pope acknowledges you and/or approaches you. You are to accept his presence by kissing his ring and bowing. My hope is that he and I can meet and while I kiss his ring I can slide some marketing/PR ideas into his robe pocket for further discussions...

I was enjoying some pasta for dinner a few nights ago -pasta and Fior di Capperi. (Flower of the capers) I recommend trying this as it is delicious! While stuffing my face, yet again, an Italian woman approached me and said that she had heard that I was studying Italian. (I frequent this Osteria) I nodded. She said she just wanted to tell me that she really appreciated me trying to learn her language adding that not many Americans do. I get this comment quite a bit. It's an interesting notion and brings up a lot of other discussion topics, thoughts and ideas...but I am officially not thinking so much anymore and so will not pause here to do so.

My roommate Giovanni ... I just love. Mostly because he is always trying to feed me. No matter what he is eating- he has a slice, piece or chunk ready to serve up to me too and he won't take 'no grazie' for an answer... or 'i prefer to not take on those calories,' as an answer either. He just laughs as if this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard and it just may be because his delectable treats are devine and should never be missed.

So while Giovanni keeps me well fed, Raffaele (another roommate) makes sure I am warm at night with well stocked winter blankets. Matteo (yet another roommate) enjoys talking about his hometown in Palermo and Laura (roommate number four) shares her artwork and creative side with all of us. She is very talented.

This week I notice I feel less self conscious about speaking around my new 'family foursome' and am finally being a bit more confident when speaking during everyday interactions around the house. I surmise that learning the Italian language is like a doing a puzzle. There a many intricate ins and outs and the whole picture isn't always visible to the speaker. Slowly, slowly you grasp concepts and slowly, slowly the bigger picture reveals itself ... somehow tying together. I was never very good at puzzles however. Potential disadvantage?

So talking at home, in the kitchen, sitting around watching TV, doing everyday, simple interactions and being comfortable doing so (something one takes for granted when living in one's own country) is just a grand feeling while living here. Yes, this phase in my learning has been a long time coming, I think to myself, and I am grateful.

Ciao tutti! A domani.

Our insegnante (teacher) in Italian language school tells us to go to a very famous cafe in Rome located near the Pantheon. Il nome (the name) is Il Caffe Sant' Eustachio. When I enter the quaint caffe I don't get far as the place is packed with people bellying up to the bar with their espressos and others waiting in line for their turn to do the same.

The espresso is strong, here, but I like it. It is served in a teeny tiny cup but packs a very big jolt. Two baristas ask me where I am from. As of late, people have thought I am either Italian or Russian. I usually get French and always American when I am wearing my running shoes because the blisters on my feet, from walking everywhere, prohibit any other shoe choice.

I have been looking for George Clooney as the film festival has been going on this week. It seems plausible that I could spot him and or enjoy il vino rosso con Lui (with him) as we happen into the same Osteria. Alas, I don't see il uomo (the man) nor do I see Meryl Streep who is also said to be here.

I do meet a professor and his Cuban girlfriend while enjoying the view atop the Hotel Bernini. The city from this roof is beautiful and one of my favorite sites. Also why I frequent the establishment. I'm told by regulars that Rome's government officials do as well. I see 'many suits' relaxing and or talking business and assume they are 'governo.' The professor invites me to his table inside where he and his girlfriend are celebrating her birthday. There is cake and singing and candles and stares from nearby 'government officials' looking like they wish they could let their hair down and sing a few bars of Happy Birthday also.

Next I head to the Capuchin Crypt on nearby Via Veneto. This is the crypt of Capuchin Friars. A cemetery, under Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini church, housing the bones of 4,000 Friars now 'decorating' the walls and ceilings. There are many rooms and in the last one I make out a design on the ceiling of what appears to be the skeleton of the grim reaper, complete with scythe and balance. Nearby, a sign I missed but that friends told me later, says: ''what you are, we once were too and what we are now, you will be.'

I am glad I missed this portion of the tour and when birthday cake seemed to not be sitting well in my stomach during this little adventure, I was happy to be making my exit.

Days later I speak with my roommate, Raffaele, about the crypt ... frequently breaking up my Italian phrasing is the word 'ick' as I describe my experience. Raffaele tells me that the crypt is po strano, si (a bit strange, yes) but that the arrangement of the bones is very interesting, creative and 'bell arte.' Once again, I think the Italians always see the good in anything.

They appreciate life, always.

So do the Australians. I'm finding they appreciate a good time. And a good time was had by all last night as several of us went out to play under Roman stars. We were soon howling and laughing and enjoying some refreshments at a hip place they have regularly gravitated towards, off the beaten path.

You know those times when everything becomes funny and you just can't stop laughing? This is the sort of time you have with the Aussie's. Rachel, Luisa, Santo. Roaring with laughter about our Roman findings and experiences these past few weeks, we take pictures, generally goof off and discuss favorite topics which of course includes, 'amore.' Rachel and Luisa have been in my Italian class for three weeks during which we have mixed our Italian with our English and I have even learned a bit of the Australian slang which may come in handy someday. 'This bloke is clearly a tossa,' I learn and nod my head thinking this description feels accurate of the man. There are other quick Australian quips...something about porcupines and peanuts, prompting even more laughter. Beyonce plays in the background and we sing a bit and bargain with a Bangladesh vender for white roses. It's clearly a case of, la bella vita!

Ciao tutti! A domani.

Roman Holiday

The renter of a piccola casa in Toscana says to his Italian landlord/maintenance guru, 'There is no hot water in our shower,' and the landlord/maintenance guru says, 'I'll take care of it.' The renter says, 'How soon?' The landlord says, 'Today or tomorrow.' Renter replies, 'Today would be better.' The landlord states, 'Today is impossible.' (Doran's- 'The Reluctant Tuscan')

After reading this passage in a book by Phil Doran who, along with his wife, came to Italy to purchase and fix up a house in Tuscany, I laughed out loud. I have been in Rome now two weeks and one day and can see this way of 'getting things done,' is both frustrating and hilarious. If you can manage to not let this style get the better of you, you can see the humor and general simple pleasure in the fact that, in Italy, sometimes nothing is more important than enjoying a nice long passeggiata, a great cup of coffee or il sole on your face. Coming to this country as a general type A personality, I maybe leaving a lesser intense type. And for this, my heart and health thank me in kind.

This weekend had the making of Roman Holiday with one of my favs Gregory Peck and one of my Dad's favs, Audrey Hepburn. On date two walking around the awe-inspiring Pantheon, this dome to the heavens, I learn, is the largest of its kind in the world. With a center opening in it's roof welcoming the weather. Rain escapes through small drains in the marble floor and as with all things Roman, this building is simply amazing. Giampiero (date for evening) and myself sneak a peak thru the slightly ajar, enormous, bronze doors as the structure is closed at this hour. I press my cheeks on the cold, antico, (ancient) surface and think how many people have gone through them. GP shows me, near where I am pressed, what looks like large dents in the bronze. He thinks they are from military personnel during WWII. And 500+ years ago Michelangelo is said to have stood perhaps where I am standing when he proclaimed the building was of, 'angelic and not human design.' AMAZING!

We exit from under the darkness and surrounding granite columns and head in the general direction of the cafes, nearby, where Peck and Hepburn sat for a drink in Roman Holiday. I sip a red wine and Giampiero, Prosecco. And like Peck's character, Joe Bradley, Giampiero is already scheming. We have walked too far he says and we need to take a taxi. He begins to talk with a cab driver nearby on the street and before long the two appear to be arguing, voices raised. Some time passes while I pretend to be none the wiser until the two Romans seem to finish with their bravado and have become fast friends. We are then off in the taxi with this 'new amico.'

Next stop, Piazza Navona, one of my favorites. It is here that I can gaze for hours at Bernini's "Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi" or "Fountain of the Four Rivers." The incredible detail of the man who respresents the Nile, with towel over head, is incredible. I never tire of looking at him.

Then onto nearby Campo dei Fiori for 'cin-cin' a toast with Prosecco. (from Valdobbiadene, which I'm told is the best - produced in Veneto) Tastes just like champagne! Topped off with delectible snacks like mozzarella, oregano paste and tomatoes in a glass. It's delicious and nutrious?

We run into some of friends of Giampiero and I struggle to remember their names, beautiful and Italian. Nowhere else in the world, I think to myself, can a very handsome, masculine, man be called Ameliano (Emily in the States) and have it sound and seem perfectly fitting and natural.

Last stop, overlooking the Tiber on a bridge near Castel Sant'Angelo where GP tells me the Italian pronounciation is, Tevere. I commit this to memory.

When our date comes to an end GP asks me, for the fourth time, why I sometimes don't answer my phone when he calls. He is not happy with this and I can see where the Roman man is used to getting his way. I tell him, for the fourth time, that I rely on expressions, body language and eye contact a lot and that talking on the phone, without these things, in a language I'm not used to puts me at a disadvantage. (Or at least I say something equivalent, I hope, as GP speaks almost no English.)

Like the renter in 'The Reluctant Tuscan...' Giampiero tries to confirm once again, 'Will I try to answer the next time he calls?' 'Yes, I will. Tonight or tomorrow,' I answer. 'Tonight would be best,' he adds. 'Impossible,' I reply.

Maybe I'm turning a bit Italian, afterall?...

Ciao tutti! A domani.

Mamma

It's been a long day and I am walking home from school. I take the back roads like a confident native. A car pulls up next to me and two gentlemen stop to say, 'complementi a tua mamma,' (compliments to your mom) then they continue on their way. Ciao Mamma, the Italiani here are thinking of you.

On the subject of Mamma, I am finding that I am acutally using the term 'Mamma Mia,' in sentences and it's not even sounding odd to me. I have carefully calculated when this expression seems to want to escape from my mouth. It appears to be most often when food is being enjoyed. Yes, the food here is as devine as anyone has ever said. The spoons are rich with delights and I am eager to always try another sample of this or that. Ciao, Mamma.

Hand gestures are also beginning to flow naturally for me while I inhabit this gorgeous part of the world. It surprises me, but again doesn't feel odd, when I sport the 'closed fingers gesture' (like holding a peeble on the tips) with my hand simutaneously going up and down waving in the air to imply, in my case, again great pleasure in food. This has been known to happen when struggling with class homework as well...with a Mamma Mia or two also slipping out. Ciao Mamma.

Caprese with buffalo mozzarella...forgetaboutit. It's just my most favorite! Hand gestures running amuck. Don't even get me started with my reaction to cannoli! 'Mamma mia' races out before I can silence myself with this filled dream. Ciao Mamma

Today I go jogging in my neighborhood. I head a different way and get lost within minutes. Every corner literally looks the same as every other corner. I walk around until something looks familiar. "Hello Tiber, grazie...si, sono molte felice a vederti. (I am very happy to see you.) Hello Peter, anch' io." (I am also glad to see you, Peter, there in your Basilica key. Now I know where I am and I have wondered far from home.

I reroute myself and when I am nearing the Colosseo I know I have almost reached, home sweet home. The most increbily large man (he reminds me of an even larger Fabio) decked out in Roman attire stands near the Coliseum and beckons me to take a photo with him. I may have been recently lost, I think, but now I am found and I am no first timer to the old, 'photo with the hunky Roman who will grasp your 'ars' trick' hoping for the surprise reaction that will forever be your photo with him. Dopo (later) he'll then tell you how much you owe him for this experience.

When in Rome...

(insert hand gesture here and add a 'Mamma Mia' for good measure)

Ciao Mamma. Mi manchi! (I miss you)

Il Ginocchio

Il mio ginocchio (my knee) hurts a lot during my latest trick but it's worth it. The pain is part of the experience. I am at Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano and I am crossing the street to 'Scala Santa.' These steps, I have read, are steps Jesus sauntered across during his time. I love this 'posto' (place) because it makes me slow down and think. Each step, here, you have to take on your knees. And each step you pray and spend molto tempo li (much time there) on your knees until the person in front of your continues ... which is usually not for awhile. I take my rosary beads and pray a similar prayer each step. There are approximatey 15+ steps and each step I am in pain. My torn ACL that I do not want to get repaired, just yet, reminds me of pain, pain, pain. But I continue...

At the end of this experience I am reminded of when I, and my sister, did this two years ago and how great I felt afterwards. Today, I am telling some Australians in the neighborhood to try it out and am giving them directions to get to the scala. I tell them that it's great...but I'm not sure how much of it is great (I add when talking with them) because the painful experience is over (suppose to be painful simulating Christ's pain on the cross) or because it's an overwhelmingly great experience. I am honest with them. They comply and will try to go there, they tell me.

Then I am off to near the Colosseo. Here I encounter at Royal restaurant the most fun le ragazze (le donne) I have found in Roma. These women working at this restaurant are hilarious! I stand at the bar and order a white wine and they immediately change the music to Lily Allen. We start bopping to the beat until it changes to Lady Gaga, also a favorite of mine. Does life get any better than this, I think to myself, as I stare off into the distance at the Colosseo across the street?

It's funny to me what you miss most about the States when you are not there. For me it is people and music. Andrea, who I call buffo (funny) and am quick to be corrected is 'divertenti' (a better word for a person who is funny) ... loves 'Poker Face' by Lady Gaga, as do I. She dances in place, as do I, and we laugh. As I think...it's the little things in life that make it fun and tie us all together.

Little things are grand when you think of the troubles you've overcome. Minor troubles today included... I thought I was locked inside my appartamento because I had to figure out which of my three 5 inch long keys were going to release me from the four locks on my ancient door lock. I had to breath and not panic to figure this task out. Tutti e difficile. Then I went to class and everything that was said I had to review in my head several times before I knew what the assignment was, let alone how to do it correctly. Tutti e difficile. Aspetti, (wait)... then I thought I had locked myself in the bathroom, earlier, and that experience still haunted me. Anche, tutti e difficile. (I am forever getting locked in bathrooms. In ristorantes, in il mio appartamento or elsewhere.) Locks and me are not friends. But just before I panic the lock works. So, when I find the little pleasures in life that come easy, they are a treasure to me and I try my best to enjoy them!

Having a white wine and laughing with Andrea and some of her friends that work at Royal while looking at a copy of Michelangelo's work, his Judgement Day, on the restaurant walls. I think how great the little things in life are. I like the music, the Michelangelo copy, the company, understanding what the wait staff are saying about the tourists sitting outside and what they say about the neighborhood, 'Il Padrino.' Apparently, I get off easy as a non native by not 'recognizing' this gentleman. Next time, however, now that I know who he is...if I don't say buon giorno or recognize him as such, it could be curtains for me. I'll take my chances as I'm not sure I completely understood and translated this portion of our dialogue correctly. Ciao Padrino.

Until then it's a great life, I think, and cheers to you 'divertenti Andrea' and others like you that I have met. I am very lucky and thank the heavens again. A good prayer for la scala when I return for more pain.

Ciao tutti. A domani!

Well I had my first date here over the weekend. You know how this goes a friend of a friend. This was a nice time and plenty of laughs. It always amazes me, however, how jealous the Italianos get. In this paritcular scene, I haven't even lived minute one with this uomo (man) and he's already asking me who I was speaking to on the street when he pulled up. He also becomes upset when I say, "buona sera," to someone as we passed them...also a man. And is curious if my camera (bedroom) is a single room and how well I know my roommates? This conversation takes place within the first 20 minutes of said date. I obviously refrain from telling him that one of my Italiano roommates frequently 'forgets' which bedroom is his and barges into mine every other evening. To which we then converse and I pretend the mistake is just that, as does he. I've decided to help my roommate with this in the future and now lock my door.

The Italianos are always quick to add after asking you such questions that they are molto geloso. (jealous) My response after having been around some, certo. (of course) As this geloso seems to come with the territory. But I think it's just one negative in a lot of positives regarding dating the Italiano. 'The date' was a nice time and a long passeggiata around the city and to many city hang-outs that the locals enjoy, not the tourists, which was a pleasant insight. One thing I learned that is useful, I am walking way too fast for the common Italiani passeggiata. The Italians go very slow and enjoy the walk. I am still doing the American 'get to my destination as quickly as possible' style. Learning to go slower and enjoy one's surroudings has been good for me.

Tonight I headed to a little restaurant right across from the Colosseo. I love this little place because I can watch the sun go down over the Coliseum. It's a beautiful sight. While sitting there I enjoyed a spirtz (popular drink in Venezia) con Compari and Prosecco. And got drawn into a conversation with two French couples sitting next to me. They thought I was Italian, though how this was their conclusion is a mysery. They spoke a bit of Italian and were sad to learn I spoke no French. In the bit of Italian that we did speak together, one of two gentlemen in the group (a still very handsome older man) showed me an art magazine that chronicled his family's history in Rome. This family was apparently here 100 years ago before immigrating to France. A few individuals in the family were famous painters and this gentleman had their memoribilia with him as well which he proudly displayed and talked me through. While I 'ooh and ahh'ed' over his family heritage and talent, the gentleman's friends made fun of him being a Casanova even at 76. I thought is was interesting and could see where quaranta anni fa (40 years ago) me and many other women at the restaurant would have been vying for his attention and the information he was presenting. Life is funny, isn't it? Father Time is always nipping at our heels.

But for now, Father Time...I say basta cosi di te. (enough of you) I am living it up for today!

Ciao tutti. A domani!

The heavens opened up last night and thunderous rage echoed the city sky. The gods are here and they are very angry, I thought while still somewhat asleep. My next thoughts- I wonder what people do here regarding mud slides or floods? I then quickly prepared a few escape routes in my mind. Another loud boom, the loudest I've ever heard, followed by sheets of rain and then no power. As far as the eye could see down either side of my street nothing but total darkness. City sirens began to sound.

I waited to see what the natives did in such a situation. Many where looking out their windows like me. It had to be about 3am. Moments that followed were a bit tense and disconcerting until all of a sudden there was the sound of a gentleman screaming at the top of his lungs while running through the streets..."Che Bella Piove! Bella, Bella, Bella Piove!" (What beautiful, beautiful rain!) After this display of pure joy, anxiety ceased. I returned to my bed and lay in the pitch black thinking this is in a nutshell what I like most about Italy. It's people. They love every moment to the fullest. They truly enjoy life. A potential problem ... they see as pure pleasure. A good way to live, I think. Si, il mio amico...e bella, bella piove quando in una bella vita. (It is beautiful rain when in a beautiful life.)

Soon the power returned and lit our ways back through neighborhood streets and alleys and the light in me, to remain always positive, did too.

The next noise to wake me was church bells ringing at 8am. They were clearly chimming out, 'you should be in church, you should be in church.' I should have been but my bed was also coaxing me at that same time with what sounded like, 'rest my darling.' And I love it when my bed sweet talks me.

Yesterday evening I met Gilberto who was happy to spell out his name for me as well as draw me several maps to good locations he finds to jog, 'most pleasureable,' he said. One place he finds is Circus Maximus. (Circo Massimo) Yes, the very one... where '6th Century BC ago' the fifth king of Rome built the track where chariots raced in circles and that is visible today between the Palatine and Aventine hills. Where the history of Romulus, the first of seven kings in this city, is also intertwined starting these events for his pleasure. Yes, the same Romulus you read about who was nutured by the wolf mother and who killed his brother Remus. The very same bambinis you see in store windows every day con il lupo. (with the wolf) Yes, this is the exact same history that you are now thinking about making your present. INCREDIBLE!!! Of course amazing history is everywhere here but sometimes it just creeps up and hits you in the face when you're not even expecting it like this...well, maybe I'll go jog around that famous 'Circus' area over there. Meraviglioso!

So while drawing maps and telling me about his life and where to jog, Gilberto also toasted sandwiches, prepared drinks, performed intricate tricks with his tonges and, overall, was like watching a play in motion. He went in and out of different characters acting out people he knew that the regulars, standing there, also knew. We all laughed at his immitations. Perhaps Signore Gilberto missed his calling to be an actor. I can easily see him on stage playing a comical version of Hamlet using his tonges as his sword.

A gal nearby I notice simply because her outfit is bellisima. Though she is a bit older she is dressed to the nines in white fishnet stockings. They go beautifully with her assemble and are tastefully complimentary. I make a mental note, I will still be wearing fishnet stockings when I am her age too.

Ciao tutti. A domani!

Va bene...

'Just roll your eyes back in your head and pretend you're invisible.' This is what I say to myself when I am jogging or walking the streets of Rome and am crossing six lanes of oncoming traffic. It's obviously not so much that I think I'm going to be invisible as it is a mantra I repeat in my head that helps me to be calm and do what I now call 'The Dance of The Streets,' con le macchine. (cars) The dance goes something like this: I make a move, they make a move, they get closer, I get closer and just when I think I'm going to get hit ... we gracefully pass one another and it's like the dip in a dance and I sigh. ... Then it's onto the next lane ...

Va bene. (It's all good.)

Jogging today and doing the 'Dance of The Streets' several times in order to get to my destination, Il Colosseo, I was thinking it maybe time to rethink running this course. I carry il mio appartamento keys with me and they are proving good weights for my arms but the cobblestones surrounding The Coliseum forever want to reach out and grab my ankles with the promise of spraining them. Potentially

pericoloso. (dangerous)

I notice another blonde in the crowd near il Colosseo. Since we are a rare find around these parts, I go over to parlare. (speak) Biondi, it turns out, reads tarrot cards and there is something about biondi Stephania that makes one think she comes from a long line of psychics who have read for Nero himself. Perhaps my imagination. Stephania reads my cards and tells me nothing surprising but I enjoy her company and give her a few euros as she also looks like she might be homeless. If her predictions work out ... I will be living permanently in Italy with a certain Italian I've liked for some time and I will have great, ongoing, fortune. Clearly, I think to myself, Stephania rarely picks a bad card during her reads. Tutti positivo! Everything is positive and polite which is good but may not be an accurate view into the future. Va bene.

I stop at a fruit stand and buy some frutta fresca. I try, for the first time, franghe. When I google franghe the only thing I find is that it is toxic to house pets. However, I find it delicioso. The fruit is bigger than a plum but similar in texture and taste and has a necturine's coloring. When I say to the vender, 'Che cosa?' (what is it?) He says, 'Franghe !...' as if, of course it's franghe! Hmmm. I guess I can say 'of course I know it' next time someone asks me about franghe. Va bene.

Time for coffee with thousands of others. Italians frequently stand to receive and enjoy their coffee. I have since learned that there are many ways to order this favored liquid and Italians are very picky when it comes to how this drink is prepared. In addition, the bartender is on display and seems to forever be performing while making drinks. Dishes and cups are flipped showing tricks of dexerity and know-how. Milk is poured and more tricks are on display for entertainment. (Entertainment for me it seems as few Italians barely notice.) I yell, "Bravo!" Italians do notice, however, when their coffee is not prepared correctly. One man next to me, complains his caffe normale has milk in it. This is non giusto. (not correct) Normale, I learn when I ask him, means without milk. Just plain strong coffee. Caffe lungo, is also a popular request. One gentleman complains his 'short' lungo (long) is not lungo enough! This is not acceptable he tells me, as lungo means with more latte. This error sets him off as if the world is ending and I note, along with him, that clearly the drink has been made too short. The bartender is quick to pacify him with more milk. As the latte 'lunghes' ... the gentleman's face relaxes into a smile. He is happy once again. I glance at a ten year old next to him ordering his coffee with confidence even though he can barely see over the bar's top. He shoots his coffee and is out the door. Later when I ask for il conto (my check) the manager gives me a free coffee and his phone number. I notice he is wearing what appears to be a wedding band but chalk it up to the Italian way. Va bene.

So two nuns are at a crosswalk near St. Peter's Basilica and one says to the other ... something I can not hear. The other replies. Sounds like the beginnings of a joke but it is my life. As the two penguins converse, I approach. I am on a mission. But how to phrase what I want to say ... words run through my mind as I try to pick the right ones before I get to these ladies. Finally, I say Buon giorno le sorelle (this means 'hello, sisters'). They do not look happy I'm talking with them. I continue. I ask them about classes they may know of where one can convert to Catholocism. Do they know where I would go or how I would find out more information? One nun decides to look straight ahead as if I'm not standing there. The other responds by saying she only speaks Italian. Since I am speaking in Italian, I have to surmise that either she does not want to speak with me and wishes I would leave or I am speaking poor Italian. Since my sentences are short and facile (easy) ... I think it is the former. Will I leave? No, I decide. I continue. There must be classes they teach or even know of that I could find out about? The final reply by speaking nun (as silent nun continues to stare off into the distance) is ... 'buy a watch.' A sister with some attitude. I like it. The spunk in her is good, although I do not find the information very helpful regarding my original question. Va bene.

I'm always big on the experiences this life offers and feel I am rich in these. So, I figure if I happen to drink caffe lungho with too little milk and do not get noticeably upset and raise my voice about this devastating error, or if i do not turn Catholic right away while here, and/or if my fortune telling does not remotely resemble my actual future then, va bene. It's ok because I am rich in these experiences and will treasure them. That to me is what really counts!

Ciao Tutti. A domani!

Rome Beginnings

After consulting with Piero, my cab driver who had a Roman sculptured face and looked like a runway model, I was off and running in city traffic headed for the address of my flat. As Piero zipped in and out of traffic like an autobahn expert, I felt too tired to care. It had been three flights, two days, and around 14hours flying time with intense motion sickness throughout, so Piero's race car driving style was barely of concern.

I had purchased a phone that, naturally, didn't work when I arrived in Italy though I specifically mentioned that's where I was headed two days prior when I bought it and was 'assured' it would. In my broken Italian, as Piero spoke very little English, I asked the runway model/tassista professionale if he could kindly make the call to my roommates who were aware I'd be arriving some time that night. Piero agreed and phoned and the locked door to a building of many flats opened to one smiling Raffaele. My new roommate.


I bid adiu to Piero who asked if I would join him for dinner, adding he would pay. Pago, "I pay," he said, his gladiator-like stature looming high above me. I thanked him and said I'd think on it. Seemed the right thing to say since, without him, I would have been abondoned on the street waiting for roommates to arrive home, that I'd never met. My luggage would have given me away as a potential roommate candidate but as I see it, Signore Piero saved me a potentially long wait in the cold concrete streets. For that I was grateful.

Raffaele quickly showed me around the flat and gave me a lengthy and thorough demonstration on how the locks worked. I was then given my own set of keys that appeared to be made for giants. I laughed but Raffaele didn't understand. Raffaele speaks very, very, little English which is good for me to practice my Italian. However, until my Italian is better I can see where there are going to be many awkward moments durante la nostra conversazione!

So, I just smiled and took my two five inch long keys and headed to my room to unpack.


The next day the sun shined warm for an October morning. and was welcoming. I walked to school from the flat touring thru Rome's train station that seems to buzz at any hour but particularly in the morning with commuters. Italian 'beefcake' is everywhere, here. I notice in a quick glance of the terrain, a gorgeous guy snuggling with his sweetheart, another clearly scoping out the scenery trying to figure out his 'approach strategy', while yet another enjoys an espresso standing at a nearby, open bar. I shuffle through the area and enjoy this people watching opportunity.


Once in class I meet with Gianni, my professoressa. She is spunky, frequently hand gesturing to get her points across, (as many Italians do) and with firey red hair that matches her personality. She is also a tiny, petite signora with zero body fat...also as many Italians are. Lean and stylish. Gianni hands me an assignment and just like that I am paired up with two Ukrainians Petro and Oli and the three of us begin to converse about the Italian task at hand. I am also surrounded by three Brasileiras, beautiful and young they seem to know Italian very well and speak it, velocemente. Very fast. Juliana, Bruna and Lucia make the language sound the way it's suppose to, bellisima, not like the wide mouth sounds that keep percolating out of me, regretably. (I intend to work on this.) Rounding out the class are two lovely and fun Aussie women, I immediately take too because of their zest for life. Luisa and Rachel. Followed by a young gentleman from Switzerland, Eric. And lastly, Raffaele and Monica #1 from Sweden. Monica #2 from Germany. I do not see any Americans and am told that the school has very few. This is not surprising as I experienced this scenario also when in Venice studying the language. No matter. I enjoy getting to know the different personalities and cultures our classroom pulses with.

After class I begin my passeggiata. A common phrase here in Italy as many Italians frequently go on long walks. On the way to the Colosseo I am stopped by a gal who speaks Italian to me mumbling something I don't quite understand. As I reply she adds, in Italian, 'do you speak English?' I laugh while nodding as she says, 'Thank God!' She needs directions to the train station and though I have been in the area for little less than 24hours, I am happy that I know where to direct her.


Lastly, I am proud and therefore must note, within, that I was able to set up this blog via the Italian instructions. That gets a mental gold star in my mind. As such a task originally seemed very daunting. Brava!



Ciao Tutti! A Domani!

Day One in Rome

My first day to start my blog and chronicle my experiences in Rome have melted into three days that have gone by now. And I am just getting to this portion of my 'to do list,' as I create a new home in Rome for tre mesi. Three months to the non speaking Italian, of which I am one, trying to lose the title.

This year I decided to do one of those things I've always talked about doing, 'live in a foreign country and learn the language.' So earlier in the year I found myself floating on a vaporetto bound for my Venetian school. Skipping the waves from the island of Giudecca (my home, a renovated convent, complete with monks or 'cappucini' as the locals referred to them with their brown robes and white belts) to the island of Venice. I was grinning from ear to ear and frequently felt the urge to cry out of sheer joy, something I had heard others talk about but, myself, had never experienced and chalked up as mere myth.

I have found, however, there is no myth to this when it comes to Italia and me. I am now back to continue my schooling, this time in the dynamic and overwhelmingly delicious city of Rome. Delicious in so many ways not just in it's food. The arts, the traffic, the vivacious natives, the churches, the history, the culture, the vino... Yes, I quickly felt my eyes welling up again when my toes touched these Roman quarters. It was truly a case of, bawling for joy in Italia once again.

As my sister has pointed out, the following quote seems to sum me up best when I am in Italy and I would have to agree.

In 1920, after marrying Zelda and publishing This Side of Paradise, Fitzgerald wrote, “Riding in a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rosy sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.”

I use this quote, as the theme for my blog, as it mirrors some of my own feelings as well as to reflect the type of joy that is here within my recordings, memories and experiences, a Roma. Ciao tutti! A domani!