Rome is a city of layers.
On the surface there are great monuments, art, churches, and architecture. At first glance, Romans may appear to live "la dolce vita" as they are surrounded with a unique mix of history, beauty and passion. Situated at the center of Italy, Rome's culture includes aspects of northern refinement, southern charm, and behavioral expectations that seem to get worked out in daily public debates. It is dubbed the eternal city and I suspect it would take just that long to fully know Rome. Tiberio, the Roman I am renting a room from says, "I hope to understand a bit about every building in Rome by the time I die."
My experience of Rome is not so multilayered. My experience includes eating my way across the city and becoming seriously ill.
Waiting on stand-by to fly to Rome I received my first lesson in Italian culture. A group of about twenty elderly Romans arrived for boarding as I waited. The sound of their debates traveled through the airport corridor announcing their coming like the wind that blows before a storm. Once they arrived at the ticket counter their debate seemed to focus on where exactly they should stand - this lasted for forty-five minutes.
If one member of the group took a literal or figurative position on where to stand, another was sure to respond with a counter argument, in a louder voice. This would continue until all members of the group had a chance to make their thoughts known. Although the tone of their voice sounded like they might be making vindictive accusations, I saw smiles on their faces and their mouths moving silently as if they were practicing their next retort in jest. The sound of their squawking hung in the air as they waddled off to the plane like a noisy flock of gray-haired penguins.
Upon arrival at Termini station I could see how some people might find Rome intimidating. The pick pocketing is legendary and the gypsies and homeless are noticeable when exiting the station. Gypsy mothers sit holding their babies as ploys all repeating a version of the same drama laden statement, "Signore, per favore...ho fame signore...per favore."
First ride on Rome's metro is also a bit daunting. There are only two lines that cross through and around the older city that lies below the surface. Trains are coated in graffiti and are packed full, shoulder to shoulder.
On my first attempt the metro broke down. Everyone had to exit the train, and it was not until two trains later that I was able to fit myself and my backpack onto another train.
Getting around turned out to be easy when compared to deciding what to see. Most people I talked to, were overwhelmed by the multitude of sights to see. Traveling in Rome, for many, becomes a spectator sport where people travel from fountain, to historic site, to church granting themselves points for every site seen. I did this for a while as well - until the hedonist in me found greater value finding the best gelato the city had to offer.
It only costs about one dollar for a cappuccino if you buy it slightly off the tourist track. Starbucks, take a lesson! Unless you go to Sant 'Eustachio!
Elbowing your way to this bar you will see that the average Roman drinks a shot of expresso in one, maybe two, gulps. Gran café's specialty is made by beating the first drop of expresso with several teaspoons of sugar to create a creamy, frosty paste all topped with more expresso. Sugar clings to the side of the cup ensuring an extra touch of sweetness with every sip.
The cioccolatino con panna (chocolate with whipped cream) was by far my favorite. The chocolate is so rich that you can feel the half dissolved grains against your teeth as it defies gravity by oozing out of the cup at its own pace. As the cream clears your nose the roasted smell of coffee combines with the overwhelming rich taste of creamy chocolate. For a moment, my surroundings dissolve and I find myself in the bottom of the cup wishing I had the tongue of a hummingbird. But, I restrain from licking and shovel every bit of the rich nectar left unfairly clinging to the cup with my doll house sized spoon.
As I make my way from coffee bar I decide to walk across Rome in the hopes of experiencing one of the "best" pizza places in Rome.
To a visitor, traffic in the city center of Rome is chaotic at best. Crossing the street the first day gives me the strange feeling that I have become a real-life participant in the video game Frogger - the version that makes an American tourist worth bonus points.
Many of the roads lack lane dividers which allows vehicles to fill whatever niche of space available. Like water, the scooters flood in and surround the cars and busses until they reach the red light. There they chomp at the bit eagerly waiting for the light to change. Within seconds they are off and the high pitch scream of their tiny engines leaves only a cloud of exhaust for the cars to travel through.
Miraculously, Trastevere and a few other narrow street neighborhoods have escaped this onslaught. On most weekends, and sometimes during a week day, you can find yourself on a quiet winding street where it is easy to stumble upon an old-fashioned barbershop or a quaint cafe.
My study of Roman pizza leads me to conclude there are two major categories here. There is pizza a tagline which means that it is prepared by the slice and there is the whole pizza where all the ingredients are added prior to baking.
The pizza a tagline offers a thin or foccacio thick crust. However the crust is thicker than when ordering whole pizza. With pizza taglio there is an endless variety of toppings to choose from - sliced potatoes, ham, shrimp, or whatever. The buffalo mozzarella with tomatoes and basil is by far my favorite. Three quarter cut baby tomatoes rise from it like water towers on a landscape of green rolling basil. The crust is just thick enough to stay crispy from the charcoal-fired oven.
If you order a whole pizza the crust is thinner and provides a different culinary experience because you end up tasting more the ingredient on top of the pizza. Unfortunately, sometimes the crust can flounder under the weight of the ingredient so I fold it like a sandwich and commence with my Uncle Ray's rule of eating which goes something like this "You take ya two fingers and push as much food in your mouth as possible. The more food the more flavor!"
My walk form Pizzeria to Gelateria takes me across other neighborhoods in old Rome where on weekends Romans seem to either leave the city or hit the streets. Tiberio tells me on my first day that Romans rarely leave Rome. Perhaps influenced by that statement I start to notice similarities amongst the population. Many of the citizens of Rome have faces that incorporates the characteristics you will find in the many busts that decorate the city.
I never really understood common Italian fashion. Every time I return to Italy there are new bizarre styles. The women wear shoes with points so sharp that I'm sure they could substitute as an ice pick. Pants are worn backwards with the zipper in the rear. Sunglasses are upside down, zippers are in strange and surely not functional places, and there are pants with so many random hanging strips of fabric that I worry about the safety implications. Knowing my luck, if I wore these pants with hanging strips, I would be hooked by a small Italian car racing to get to the front of the traffic pack and be pulled down the cobblestone road.
We think we have Gelato in the United States. We don't! It is so good in Italy that a visitor has no choice but to relent and surrender to the daily gelato gluttony. Ever since I traveled to Italy ten years ago I have used pistachio and chocolate as my gelato litmus test. If a gelateria did these flavors well they would see me at their cashier daily. Others say the not too bright color of the banana tells the truth. Regardless, one of the great world pleasures is eating good chocolate gelato on a bench and watching Italian life pass in front of you. The chocolate is so rich that with little help from your tongue the gelato use its own weight to relinquish its grasp on the cone. In a cup the chocolate color is so dark that it seems to absorb the surrounding light. Lifting a spoon through this goo from god is like lifting a miniature shovel through water. When the spoon finally frees the gelato from the cup it springs back and forth like a diving board. Within a few spoonfuls the throat is coated in flavor, the mouth waters, and the mind hums.
I was able to gain back part of the weight I lost in Spain eating my way across Rome. That is, until I became sick.
I pride myself on having a high tolerance for pain and medicine. The last time I went to the dentist to get a filling I required four shots of Novocain and I still felt the drill. At 155 pounds my dentist was shocked. I also was told I broke my collarbone sometime in my life without receiving treatment, a cast, or without knowing.
I tell you this to put the following statement in perspective, "I'm sick and in pain in Rome." I'm worse than I've ever been since I started working in the human petrie dish of germs otherwise known as an elementary school - a transient one at that. In my suffering I'm starting to wonder if my grandfather, whose parents immigrated from the area surrounding Rome, has passed on some recessive form of the bubonic plague that is now activated as I expose myself to the germs of Rome.
I'm writing on my back in my bed, shivering under two blankets, all while sweating profusely. Two days ago, while walking around Rome, I started coughing. I thought it was just the pollution until my ears clogged, things started to appear out of focus, and my body stared to ache like I just ran a marathon. When I cough it feels like a thousand thorns piercing my throat.
When I sit down, with my arms on my knees, my raised heart rate rocks my body back and forth as if trying to calm my fears. What does one do when traveling and extremely sick? Head to an American embassy for advice about which doctor to see and rest in bed.
Under the European health care system I was able to get antibiotics without a prescription for only four dollars. When I visited the doctor he stuck a stethoscope on my chest and said, "You have exactly what I told you over the phone! One hundred Euros please." He stuck the Euros in his pocket but was kind enough to give me a receipt.
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