Day 5 cont. - an appeite for aperitivo

Rome's version of happy hour is the aperitvo, which generally runs from 6-9 pm and means drinking brightly coloured drinks with things sticking out of it and eating little things on sticks.

Well, not exactly, you can drink whatever you like, but many bars take the opportunity to trot out cocktails of many hues to entice the girlies mostly, who then attract the guys and thus the bar succeeds.  The array of snacks on offer is as hugely varied as the druinks menu - everything from simple cheese and crackers or raw vegetables to antipasti, bruschetta, meatballs on sticks to chicken legs and more besides - both hot and cold.  These are usually placed at strategically located surfaces either near the bar or on a table to facilitate gathering but not so open as to encourage hovering.

Aperitivo seems to be largely a method of bar hopping and it's fun to see pools of people spilling out onto the streets, mostly on the young side, all happy to see and be seen before deciding on the locale and programme of the rest of their evening.

We had been checking out quite a few places that were passed on the way to various dinners on various other evenings, and tonight decided on one close to home, a classic bar with brave souls sitting and standing outside in the almost freezing temperature, a goodly drinks selection and a wide array of snacks on offer.  We drank family style (1 beer, 1 classic cocktail, 1 girlie cocktail and 1 prosecco (a light, fizzy Italian wine and a personal favourite) with a dollop of cassis) and got so into our discussion and snack eating that time moved on rather swiftly.  Deciding we were way too old and intellectual (i.e., 'lazy) to do the same thing somewhere else, we just ordered another round and hit the snack table again, so aperitivo became dinner became nightcap became shut down.

Day 5 cont. - holy vestments!

There is a street in the old part of Rome - Via dei Cestari – that contains several shops selling ecclesiastical clothing and items.  It seems odd to think of Catholic bishops and cardinals shopping for underwear and getting robes made by Jewish tailors, but then again, why not?

And if a shop sells items to one group of people, are they not then available to all, given the global marketplace in which we live?

We thus entered one such establishment (Ghezzi - the least intimidating to the lay person!) and marvelled at the robes, and statuary and goblets and icons available for purchase.  One could furnish an entire house with what is sold there.  Or rather, an entire cathedral.

In the end both boys came away with knee length socks in cardinal magenta and bishop purple.

They are made of very thin cotton, so let's hope that over time they do not become too hole-y.

Day 5 - hanging out with the cool priest

Finding out it was possible to buy bishop's robes and priest's cardigans, we planned on doing a little ecclesiastical shopping after lunch.

But how much better is it to go shopping there with a priest.  And a priest who is a professor of the philosophy of art in Rome.  And a priest who is fun to be with and likes the same kind of food and wine we do. 

Father John is one such priest, 'the cool priest' as our friends call him.

We met over coffee and immediately got engaged in deep converastion, and then moved the party to Enoteca Corsi, where we ensconced ourselves (Father John is well known at the establishment was lead through to the back of the place) in a corner surrounded by wine reaching from floor to ceiling. 

The owner ordered for us with Father John's help and our encouragement and it wasn't long before the 5 brains around the table all started clicking and popping with discourse on various topics and musings.   Well, what did you expect with a priest, an architect, two writers and a knowledge consultant, four of which work with the post-secondary education sector, and all of whom travel, read, and question for a living?  It might just have been one of the best lunches of my life.

Wandering around the streets of the old centre with a art philosopher and an architect provides a special sort of perspective as well. I would have passed these buildings with much of a thought, but looking at it with these two guys opened up my eyes to this mashup.  Which came first do you think - the church or the house?  And which building claims those two windows in the middle? 

The only Gothic church (Basilica of St. Mary over Minerva, so named as it was built over an ancient temple to the goddess Minerva, a favourite of mine as she is the goddess of wisdom) was seen anew too from its ancient flood markings on the outside (and Bernini's elephant scupture out front) to the art inside.

There were tombs of popes and St. Catherine (except her head which is in Siena) but Father John pointed out something I've never seen on a grave before - both Roman and Arabic numbers at the same time (on artist Fra Angelo's grave). 

 

I could have stayed so much longer and was especially rivted by one particular fresco by Lippi,  an absolutely gorgeous Assumption that includes Pope Paul IV being presented to the Virgin Mary by Thomas Aquinas (another historical mashup!)

Ok, ok, Martin I hear you - let's go buy some cardinal's socks!

interlude - the morning cuppa

There's something lovely about staying in one place for an entire week, and with friends who have already spent some time there.  For one thing you don't have to lug your baggage around along cobbled roads or heft it up flights of curving stairs more than once. 

For another thing you have enough time to find that perfect little regular spot for your morning coffee and chat before parting ways for the day.  For us it was the Alex Bar, across the street and down a few doors from our apartment.  Comprised of a few booths and a narrow stand up bar, and catered by older men dressed formally in white shirts and black vests, it was the best place for a cappuccino 'ben caldo' and a corneto, downed in 15 minutes over a quick conversation about the day or politics or how everyone slept or how best to market a product online. 

Interlude - food glorious food!

I imagine that by now many of you are thinking - where's the food?

This subject, which is exceptionally dear to my heart and nether regions, deserves a separate post.

In case you haven't already figured out that I am one of those research-before-the-trip-types, let me tell you that I am one of those research-before-the-trip-types.  I habitually read several books, blogs and online materials and then figure out what seems to be the best things to see and do.  I also read between the lines when it comes to recommendations.  Sometimes someone's negative response is what attracts me - everyone's tastes are different.

When it comes to eating out while travelling I veer towards the local and the unique.  Small is also good.  Regional and seasonal is a given.  And I'm also very mindful of locals and their views.

Occasionally I find a place has shut down or has changed hands, but generally I nail it, if I do say so myself. 

One such place was Da Francesco in Piazza del Fico.  We arrived to find the family owned place full of locals but we engaged in playful banter with the lad at the door and it didn't take long to receive the coveted gesture to enter.  We already had a short list of items we wanted to try and our waiter was ecstatic that we chose these and not the usual touristy items.  We eat family style (it helps having friends who feel the same way) so that we can all try everything, which also went down with the waiter.

Another winner was Enoteca Antica, just off teh busy shopping Via del Corso and not far from the Spanish Steps.  At one point there was a small bit of lamb left on the serving dish and teh watier started to remove the place.  I thought Martin was going to stab him with his fork.  Round-eyed, the waiter immediately withdrew, broke into a huge smile and raised both hands in a gesture of mock surrender and deference.  A minute later a complimentary half bottle of red wine landed on our table.

I would have to say that my favourite was a tiny place, Alfredo e Ada, with Alfredo out front and Ada in the kitchen (I suppose it was Ada - some woman was in there).  There are only about 6 tables crushed together and no reservations.  The first night it was busy and, looking at everyone's full plates, we calculated that it would take too long to wait, so we came the next night slightly earlier. 

There's no menu, just a choice of 2or 3 options for each course.  This was the best spaghetti carbonara, a dish that originated in Rome.  Very creamy, with thick hunks of bacon.  My favourite main course was a rustic dish of sausages and beans, very robust and flavourful. 

Alfredo loved that the four of us switched plates in a clockwise movement every few mouthfuls and shared opinions in a cheerful blend of English and Italian as to what we liked best.  Another bottle of wine accompanied by little sweet biscuits mysteriously appeared on our table at meal's end, with yet more wine accompanied by Alfredo after that, who sat down and chatted to us, happy to have travelers who got into the spirit of his local eatery.

Day 4 cont. - from nutella to zuppo

After a very nice lunch at Enoteca Antica ("old winebar"), we followed our noses towards the river.  

We passed Augustus Caesar's massive tomb, and the magnificently newly housed Altar of Peace.  The new block of stone and glass replaces Mussolini's Italian theme park offering, and is the first modern building in Rome in almost 100 years, designed by an American (Richard Meier) and so obviously very contentious.  But I thought it quite lovely, airy and light, displays the ancient altar well, and it will be even lovelier when the roadway beside is buried in a tunnel and a piazza will extend from the building to the river. 

A bit of shopping (my favourite kind, dipping into shops as you pass them and finding the perfect little thing for the perfect person without too much trouble) and then we were ready for tartuffo at the place best known for it in Piazza Navona.  While waiting for this delightfully chocolately, creamy concoction to be prepared (two of us were sharing) we ogled at the vast variety of gelato on display, colours like jewels.  One of our party opted for a scoop of nutella and the other, being British, was transfixed by a flavour identified as 'zuppo inglesie'.

Having moved to Canada in part of escape the horrors of traditional British cuisine and being no slouch in the kitchen himself, he was a little disturbed at the imagine the name conjured in his imagination.  English soup?  Is that really the right translation?  What flavour would that be?  Some brown watery slop filled with overcooked root vegetables and too much salt?  Not exactly inspiration for gelato!  Being a courageous sort of chap (what Brit isn't when really tested?) he gave it a go.  We all watched his face as he tested the first bit, then his eyes brightened and he exclaimed with some relief, "It's custard!"

Day 4 - art and literature

The old part of Rome is a bit of a labyrinth, narrow streets that curve and bend but never seem to end in a wall or dead end barrier - there's always a way through.  It is amusing for us North Americans to see traffic flow - cars, trucks and motorcycles in equal parts, moving in both directions where we would expect only pedestrians and the odd bicycle to be able get through.  There are even buses, albeit a little shorter and boxier than those we were used to.  Bus stops are marked like a casual and temporary scavenger hunt sign, just a small white marker with a number on it in the middle of a lane or in front of a stone building - if one is not vigilant one could pass dozens of these signs without noticing them.

It was with a bit of suspicion that we stood beside one such sign advertising #116, but within about 5 minutes our little bus careened around the corner, lurched to a stop, and then burst forward after snapping the doors shut behind us on its way up the hill to the Villa Borghese, Rome's largest park and home to the famed Galleria e Museo Borghese.

So famed in fact that even though it is February we have had to reserve our 2 hour visiting slot in advance, by phone (now that was a picture to behold - there was me in my jammies in the dark early hours of a Vancouver morning stumbling through my request to someone about to go home for the day and trying to comprehend our reservation number without my glasses let alone any comprehesible Italian), and there was a cluster of other such vistors by the gate, waiting for the museum to open.  It was again a lovely morning, the park full of tulips and daffodils and anemones and citrus trees in full fruit, but it was breezy and extremely cold, just above freezing, and one of us would wait in line while the other tramped around to the sunnier side to get warm for a while before spelling each other off.  There was also a cluster of travellers who either hadn't known about the necessity to pre-book or who had thought it unnecessary.  Judging by the number of people queuing it seemed unlikely that many of any of these would be allowed in, as the Galleria maintains a strict limit of numbers allowed during each 2 hour window.

Paying to have the autoguide turned out to be a good idea, although we had to go from one description to another pretty sharpish to get it all in, especially as there was a temperary exhibition on Cranach also there which was pretty interesting in itself.  I recognized his work but didn't really know anything abut the man.  I would have devoted even more time to this if the main pieces in the Gallery hadn't been so diverting.

And wonderful!  Bernini and Caravaggio at their best, exquisite marbles and paintings all displayed in this fine mansion that used to be home to one of Rome's most important, wealthy and influential families.  Our two hours was filled to the brim, no boredom, and just enough time to see everything although not quite enough to really take it all in. 

We walked slowly through the park to exit down the hill into Popolo Piazza, buzzing with youths as we seemed to be here during Europe's mid-term holiday break and everywhere we go we see school groups and university students 'doing' Rome.  The streets radiating from the Piazza contain some of Rome's poshest shops and it was fun dipping into the odd one here and there on our meandering way to the Spanish Steps to meet our friends for lunch.  Sitting down in the sun for a quiet moment it wasn't - is this place ever empty I wonder? - and fending off aggressive and persistence rose sellers was a team sport endured by every visitor. 

I gave a nod to Keats, one of my favourites from schooldays (studying his poetry, not in school with him as a fellow student you understand!) as we turned our backs on the house at the bottom of the stairs where he died (yesteday actually, Feb 23, but 190 years ago, in 1821) at the age of only 25.  I had spent a year or two living in Hampstead, London, only minutes from Wentworth Place, where he lived and wrote some of his best work.  It is now a museum and I would visit it quite frequently to escape my tiny bedsitter.  My favourite part was reading the letters on display that he wrote to Fanny Brawne, his true but unconsummated love.  Illness and depression stalked his words: "I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks;" he wrote to her, "...your loveliness, and the hour of my death".  His letters to her were wonderful and so passionate - I would read them by the hour then sit on a bench in the garden and imagine him there too, thinking the words and feeling the sentiments.  Despite moving to the warmer Italian climate as advised by his doctors, the tuberculosis that had taken most of his family took him too.  Now people come from all over the world to Rome to pay homage to this literary light.  Ironically he didn't think a lot of Rome.