Italian Cheese - and I Don't Mean Parmigiana

With my darling Blake, better known to Nicky and Nora as Uncle Pervy, in town I found myself in Centro today visiting oft visited but much loved sights here. I never cease to be amazed and delighted by the incredible perfect geometry of the Pantheon, the slight imperfections of Michaelangelo's Cristo della Minerva, the rush of water you hear just before you turn the corner to the Fontana di Trevi, that moment when an unsuspecting guest discovers the trick of the dome in Sant'Ignacio or entering a church like Santa Maria Maddalena that on other occasions has been shuttered and finding an amazing baroque organ loft.

But for every wonder there are things that have me making that funny sharp intact of breath sound that indicates I am displeased with something or scratching my head in bemused bewilderment. And within the space of a few minutes today I found myself doing both in the area of the Fontana di Trevi.

For some reason the city of Rome has allowed souvenir sellers to set up large stalls to the left and right in front of the Fontana. Aside from the fact that what is for sale is cheap and cheesy it blocks what should be an uninterrupted view of the wonders of the largest Baroque fountain in the city. It is said that back in 1751 Nicola Salvi made sure that an unsightly barber's sign, that a stubborn shop owner refused to move, was hidden behind a vase - only to have his grand design spoilt 250 years later by a hawker of Chinese-made plastic-marble replicas of his masterpiece. Whoever in the city authorized this should hang their head in shame and be made to stand full clothed in the Fountain while we throw coins over our shoulder at them.

And in looking at the wares for sale in a few of the souvenir shops that encircle the Fountain I really wonder if anyone buys any of this stuff - I can only suppose that as the shops continue to operate and the various tchatzkahs are displayed for our buying pleasure someone must. And who wouldn't want this lovely full length synthetic wool tapestry in their home as a reminder of their time in Rome? Just a hint - we are leaving in 9 months time and there will be a farewell party!!!!

10 novembre - San Leone Magno - Papa

A Very Roman Solution

Parking is at a premium no matter where you go in Roma. Our street is lined with cars during the day and parking can be difficult. Of course being in Roma, there is always an answer!



12 ottobre - Nostra Signora del Pilar

Guys Never Make Passes...

At men who wear glasses!
with apologies to Dorothy Parker.

On-going Conversation between me and my Napolitano friend Marco:

6 months ago:
Me: I need new glasses, I think I'll do that next week.
Marco: ....
5 months ago:
Marco: Do you have your new glasses yet?
Me: No but I will see about them next week.
4 months ago:
Marco: Do you have your new glasses yet?
Me: No but I'll see about them next week.
3 months ago:
Marco: Do you have your new glasses yet?
Me: No but I'll see about them in a week or so.
Last week:
Marco: Do you have your new glasses yet?
Me: No I need to go with someone who speaks Italian but I'll see about ....
Marco: No, we will see about them next Wednesday. Meet me at Piazza Regina Margherita at 1745.
Tuesday Night:
Marco: Tomorrow we will get your glasses.
Me: Yes I'll meet you after work.
Marco: You should have your hair cut and make sure you shave!
Me: ???????
Marco: And wear a nice dark blue suit.
Me: I'll wear my tuxedo.
Marco: You are a silly man. You must look your best when you are choosing glasses, its very important.

So this past Wednesday I met Marco at the appointed place and the appointed hour - I did not have time to get my hair cut but I had shaved, was wearing a blue dress shirt and had actually remembered to bring my prescription. We went into a few Optica in my neighborhood.

I tried on a pair of frames and noticed that Marco had that look on his face that you give people who order a cappuccino after noon hour. "Do you really intended to look like an old professor?" he asked rather pointedly. I put them down sheepishly and reached for the next pair and returned them to the counter very quickly when I saw that look! I tried several more sportier, lighter frames and found a great pair of Rayban - blue tinged, light and studious without being antique professor. The look on Marco's face told me he approved. Then he asked all those questions in Italian that I would never have been able to - guarantee, types of lens etc.

At the next store I knew better than to even consider the "professor" frames and went straight for the more sporty ones finally settling on a pair of thin Adidas specs. And again they got the Marco look of approval. More discussion with the oculist about guarantees, lens etc.

I wasn't able to find a photo of the RayBan but here are the Adidas.

But which did I prefer. They were both nice but different. And a pair of glasses is a big investment here. Again good solid Napolitano logic came into play.

Marco: You must go home and think about it. And tomorrow come back with Laurent, he is the one who has to look at you all the time.

Good advise, so I went home and thought about it, took Laurent back the next day and made my decision. Marco agreed wholeheartedly with my choice. In 10 days time I should no longer look like a "professor".

11 settembre - San Ramiro

La Festa di San Giuseppe

Yesterday was the Feast of Saint Joseph here in Italy and because he was the "earthly father" of Christ it is also celebrated as Father's Day. This, in a recent turn, in events has become a bit like Father's Day in North American. Ties and socks are bought and presented, often with a home made card as I don't recall seeing Father's Day cards in the stores here - yet.

As a religious holiday it is celebrated more in the South than in Central and Northern Italy. One of the regular writers for Italian Notebook posted this item on celebrations in Sicily. Of course being Italy there is a traditional pastry associated with the Feast Day. Zeppole di San Giuseppe are large balls of sweet choux pastry, fried not baked, and filled with custard or canolli cream. Though there does seem to a heated discussion as to what it the correct filling to honour the Saint. My friend Marco tells me that there is only one pastry shop in Roma that makes them the right way - it is, surprise! surprise! - Napolitano.

Often, just to ensure the full calorie level for the day is reached, they are topped with whipped cream and a glaceed cherry. I had one at coffee break yesterday - it was... filling!

19 marzo - Sant'Alessandra di Amiso

Cat Naps

I’ve mentioned before about the feral cats that roam the neighbourhoods of Roma and the ladies who attend to their feeding and care. In our previous area there was the little lady with the limp, more noticeable in the bad weather, who showed up without fail every morning to leave food and water at various locations along the street. At Villa Torlonia there are two ladies who go about refilling plastic bowls and plates for the numerous strays who live in Il Duce’s former residence. On Via Nomentana every morning at 10 the cats wait patiently inside fence of the derelict Villa Blanca for the security guard who unlocks the gate to admit the elderly lady with their daily rations.

Our current neighbourhood is no different. Every morning on the way to work I pass plastic plates – most of them empty indicating that the local “cat lady” has been by earlier to feed her charges. However she – I am assuming it is a she as I have yet to see a “cat gentleman” except at the cat shelters – has gone one step further and built a shelter for those under her care.This rather elaborate structure takes half the sidewalk but has remained in tact, unmolested for the past few months. Given the driving rains and violent storms we’ve had this past few months I’m sure the felines in the neighbourhood have been pleased with this extra bit of caring.

17 marzo - San Patrizio

Push Me Pull Me

The subject of flushing toilets has popped up twice on blogs I read this week. Rainey over at Here's The Thing has been explaining the wonders of water swirling down the bowl clock-wise to their Australian exchange student. Or is it counter-clock-wise, I can never remember and am too lazy to go flushing toilets to find out.

And over at AmoRoma, Larry has proven once again that he is an astute observer of life in Roma with an overview of toilet flushing systems he's discovered here. And now that he mentions it, he's right, I've never seen so many types of buttons, handles, cords, pedals et al to activate the simple flow of water into a toilet bowl.

Mind you there is one type he forgot and I can't blame him because I'm sure we're the only people in the world who have it: the vacuum pump button!

The idea is you push the button:
It sends a rush of air down the tube which forces the trap to lift and the water flows.Technically a very simple premise but like any pump it sometimes, to the confusion of guests I might add, requires priming.

17 gennaio - San Antonio abate
Hmmm, I realize I have just posted an item about flushing toilets - this is getting a little strange but what was even more disturbing is I was going to add the label Ballcock, a perfectly fine plumbing term, then I realized what sort of hits I would probably get.

Scenes from a Life in Roma - Pronto Soccorso

Date: December 28, 2008
Time: Somewhere between 4 PM and 10 PM
Place: Pronto Soccorso (ER) Ospitale Geminelli

So we're sitting in one of the waiting areas of the ER, me with a drip and IV stand attached - don't get worried Dora, the outcome though inconclusive was okay - Laurent dozing. Neither of us had thought to bring a book - mental note always have a book at hand for Pronto Soccorso. Pronto by the way means Quick, Soccorso means Help or Aid .. hmmm.

But the lack of reading material didn't mean a lack of entertainment - we are, after all, in Italy. Though much of the entertainment was amusing, if not downright funny, there were serious matters going on.

The young man (14 or 15 at the most) on the stretcher near us in obvious pain. His mother, a small woman with an expressive face and eyes, fighting back tears and trying to comfort him. And in turn being comforted and helped by ourselves (in a small way) and a gentleman who's wife was equally as ill.

The elderly woman - black-dressed and stockinged, right out of a Pasolini film - maneuvering her moth-eaten-sweater clad husband, hat firmly in place, in his wheelchair into the bathroom. The same practiced motions each trip - and there were many - but once stopping to rebutton his sweater, which he had buttoned up the wrong way - now more mother than wife.

Being a few days after Christmas the waiting room was also filled with families with babies and small children - all running fevers or coughing. Flu season is upon us, that and too much excitement and late hours over Christmas. One energetic young lad, whose sole goal was to get a hold of my IV stand and pull the stet out of my arm, seemed to really only need a firm application of hand to bottom to cure what ailed him.

A very confused American woman and her, rather studly, son who had been attacked by the closing elevator door in their hotel, seemed relieved to find someone who spoke English and an approximation of Italian. He thought it was cool when I said this was going to look good on Facebook when he told everyone he was in the hospital the Pope goes to. She thought it was cooler that they didn't charge for the examination and stitches.

The highlight of the evening - both humorous and sad - were the victims of a speeding accident between a car and a motorino - what a surprise!!!!!! . The first young man in was your "I'm only not in fashion magazines because the fools haven't realized how macho-italiano I really am" type. Hand bloodied, pants torn he was sitting upright on the gurney as they wheeled him through with much maledetto-ing, merda-ing and mia macchina-ing*. He was wheeled into X-ray the same time as me and was still bemoaning the sad misfortune that had made him, an innocent speed demon, the victim of such injustice. However the minute his girlfriend and her two friends - sort of three little Prada maids from school - showed up, he was on his feet. Now bemoaning his torn jeans, all pain and anguish forgotten as he demonstrated how really macho he was. What he didn't realize is they had already seen his previous performance and greeted it with much giggling.

The motorino driver, apparently a friend of Mister Molto-Macho-Machina, was less fortunate. He was wearing a neck brace and obviously in a great deal of pain. Mind you some of that pain seemed to be relieved by a game of tonsil football he was playing with his attentive girlfriend. I was going to suggest that they get a bed but then realized that's what he was waiting for, wasn't it?

As we left the concerned mother, looking tired and sad, was admitting her son; the American lady and her son were waiting for a cab and still marveling at the free hospital care; a new set of worried parents were waiting with feverish and hyper-active children; the old lady was taking her husband for his umpteenth trip to the bathroom; and Mister MMM was hiding from the irate mother of his friend in the neck brace.

Stopping to think about it, we really didn't need a book. Did we?

*god damn - shit - my car!

P. S. As I mentioned the outcome of my few hours in PS where pretty inconclusive and we'll have a few more tests and a look at a recurrence of last year's tummy problems in the next week or so.

Note: Thanks to WRG for the correction to soccorso... my Italian seems to be getting worse... we'll put it down to the medication?????

Note to the Note: I'm racking up Italian spelling errors to the point that its embarrssing to admit I've been here for more than a year. Those lessons really didn't take. Thanks Anne.


3 gennaio - Santissimo Nome di Gesù