The Rome Diary

Hard to believe but this used to be at the end of my street

A long, long time ago when I was fresh out of University I spent a hedonistic summer kicking around Rome.  As much as I loved that summer and Rome I had never managed to go back until last week when yet another Italian holiday gave me four days of freedom and the opportunity to hop a train to the capital. 

My reintroduction to Rome began at Termini station and immediately the world was different.  The Termini of 1998 was a tired, dingy place where among the legions of tourists was a constant population of seedy characters.  Often I would find myself walking past a poor junkie on the way to oblivion with the needle still in a vein.  Today the place has been cleaned up, it’s all polished surfaces and bright shops with the same interior design that renders airport terminals bland retail nightmares.  Outside the station it was heartening to see that all of Rome hadn’t succumbed to march of consumer progress – the main bus station was as chaotic as I remember it.  It was always an endeavour finding your bus but with half the square ripped up it was a double drama.  Weaving my way passed bewildered visitors, taxis and impromptu stalls selling pope branded cigarette lighters and novelty aprons, breathing in the warm air mixed with petrol fumes I realised that the last place I felt to be this chaotic was New Dehli train station.  Given the situation I impressed myself by locating the 170 bus in minutes, on the bus driving past many an iconic edifice that for now was just a fancy traffic island I quickly realised that I was no longer in the reserved north.  As soon as the bus got moving people started to talking to each other by the end of the 20 minute journey my life story had been gleaned by the lovely (yet a little nosey) old ladies.

Off the bus I was met by my host the genial R.  I’d never met R before but he had offered to host me in exchange for an Indian meal – this cooking thing is proving most useful.  R lives in Trastervere which in 98 was my absolute favourite part of the city and after dinner we headed out for a walk and a few drinks.  It’s funny how memories play tricks on you and I always remember Trastervere to be a reasonably quiet place with the main part of the city being the place that was packed but Friday night Trastervere was heaving with people.  But it wasn’t my memory playing tricks rather having lived in Treviso for a year I have become desensitised to city life.  Suddenly I found public transport that ran past midnight a novelty! Taking a tram was exciting again, and I found the whole place amazingly noisy and the traffic – well that was something else. 

The Roman traffic is a dog eat dog world and for the pedestrian a daily trauma and your companion asking “are you ready to die?” as you negotiate a pedestrian crossing is a little disconcerting.  R explained that there is a procedure to crossing roads in Rome, if you cross while traffic light is green cars will most likely aim for you and you will die.  When the traffic light changes to red cars will still run the light but you can step out and drivers will do their level best to avoid you.  (and to think I used to make sure I crossed with a nun!) You must maintain your walking pace which allows drivers to anticipate your trajectory.  With this helpful advice I only managed to nearly get killed once over the whole weekend.

The first day and finally after what seems like weeks of rain the sun came out and I walked through Trastervere to the Vatican and my old street (not in the Vatican city but very close.)  It was a very nostalgic walk for me everything looked the same but different.  All those years ago you didn’t have to walk through metal detectors to enter the basilica.  Anyone who knows me and as my friends in Argentina can attest I have a love for religious kitsch and the streets around the Vatican provide me with ample fun – glow in the dark rosary beads, Vatican ash trays and the like, still nothing tops the pope bottle opener (or popener as I like to call it.)  

     

Sunday and after a couple of happy hours trawling the Porta Portese markets I accompanied my host to a birthday picnic in a park that was another favourite place of mine all those years ago.  My host failed to mention that the birthday girl is Australian and I found myself among a small expat Australian community.  It seems an age since I was in Australia and it was great to be back in the company of convivial Aussies and to not have to explain my cultural references for once! 

The thank you meal

Monday was the day when I finally had to pay for my accommodation and cook a feast.  After a long and lazy morning wondering the sights of Rome it was back to home to prep for the night.  Word of R having temporary live in curry cook had got around and there was going to be quite a little group for dinner.   As I got down to cooking my host went about documenting the process taking a seemingly endless number of photographs – me chopping onions, me rubbing spices into meat, me throwing spices into a dish, me stirring dish and so on and on.  As the evening wore on the kitchen filled with wonderful smells and expectant faces and I’ve never had so many willing sous chefs.  It being a warm evening we ate on the terrazzo.  The food was a hit and there were more than one suggestion of a Rome relocation (although I’m not sure Trevisans are willing to give up their Indian cook.) My Roman weekend finished in the best way – sitting outside on a warm evening and sharing food with lovely people.  The next morning there was just enough time for a morning coffee with my host before it was back to Termini and the frecciarossa back to what now seems a terminally quiet Treviso.  I can’t quite believe I left so long between visits and only hope I don’t leave it another 14 years before I’m back.