On board the plane to Rome, Leo says, “This is life in the air.”
July 22, 2018:
We arrived in Rome today and we’ve
already visited the Pantheon, my favorite building
in Italy (Mike's, too). I asked Leo if it was now his favorite building in Italy, too.
Wisely, he held off on commenting, having only arrived two hours ago.
Our hotel is tucked inside the walls
of the city, by the Villa Borghese.
A proposito: at the park
around the Villa, our visit morphs into a one-of-a-kind, laugh-filled
afternoon tooling around the sprawling property in a "rickshaw bike." It looks –
vaguely – like a rickshaw but has bike wheels. And feels as though it is about
to tip over every second!
*
I am awake now at 3:30 a.m. Probably partly an oversight, as far as the sleep aids I chose, but also the Italian
motor within has been awoken and won’t shut down! Walking + streetlife +
errands + vistas + the lingua di Dante. That’s too potent a combination for a
simple sleep aid to conquer.
*
Take, again, the Villa Borghese and the
magnificent park that surrounds it, which includes an overlook in Piazza
Bucarest of the city, bursting with cupolas of every size. Oh this exists? Oh, okay.
Plus Via Veneto. I
remember being there maybe once. How fancy! Home to the American Embassy, well
whaddaya know. Even Palatine Hill – sure I’d visited before but so much of it
appeared thoroughly new to my eye. Is that Rome's magic?
In the taxi ride from the airport, I
saw a sign for Via Merulana, from the Gadda book (The one with the title that begins "Quer pasticciaccio"). First time visitor!
*
In Florence now: we are staying on Via del
Campuccio, in Santo Spirito, a stone’s throw from my old apartment on Via
dei Serragli. The key for the door: to open, place the logo down and turn
clockwise a quarter turn. Va bene. I’ll try.
Leo says, “Mommy, what’s your
favorite vowel?”
“E.”
(I've learned to have answers for any question he asks, even if I have to stall first with, "Oh that's a good question.")
He agrees. “Me, too. ‘E’ is in my
name and the word love and there are two in your name.”
July
25, 2018
Scoperta:
Piazza Torquato Tasso has a playground. And a
small soccer field. The piazza is also home to Il Tranvai (where Floriano took
me many moons ago). Leo and I walk onto the mini soccer field where we find a
6-year-old Florentine boy who’s more than happy to kick around the soccer ball
(courtesy of the Della Roccas -- see below).
Over their shoulders, a “real”
soccer game unfolds with a multi-ethnic coalition of soccer enthusiasts who
call Florence home, it would appear. Japan is represented, and England and possibly Egypt and...
July 26, 2018
I realized today I’ve been keeping
my friendships with my Italian friends alive for 20 years. They were born
earlier, of course, but the process of maintaining the friendships in exile (as
it were!) extends now over two decades.
The Bialetti shop sells the little
Mokina for 15,90 (euro). In Piazza della Repubblica. Do I need another one? Maybe.
*
What I love most about being in
Italy is walking the streets, as I’ve, ahem, mentioned before. From the moment I
return, it feels natural to prowl around piazzas and up viuzzi, looking in shop
windows and planning acquisti.
I like it, but more to the point, it
feels normal. Necessary. My way. (Editorial note: does that mean I've lost my way?)
Walking the streets especially under
a veil of Italian chatter. We reach the streets from the apartment and it
starts. The constant flow of Italian conversation, and in this neighborhood,
Santo Spirito, Florentine conversation. So distinctive, with the hard ‘c’ sound
omitted or softened almost anytime someone needs to say ‘c’ (as in casa = hasa)
or ‘qu’ (as in questo = hwesto). Even the ‘t’ is whittled down a bit.
In fact it begins BEFORE we reach
the streets: the chatter rises up and slides through the open window of the
apartment. It’s better than pasta, sweeter than gelato, more filling than
bistecca alla Fiorentina. It’s life blood for me.
The language doesn’t exist in isolation
– it’s perfectly suited to strolling, to perusing the wares at
the market, to shooting the breeze at the counter of a bar or over drinks
brought outside in piazza, and enjoyed standing up, backs to the wall.
I suppose if suddenly they began
speaking Italian in Arkansas, it wouldn’t be enough. It has to accompany the
Italian lifestyle.
AND ... I argue the language is the best
expression of the lifestyle.
*
American friend reunion in Italy, episode #1
*
Kiersten, from Wesleyan. We meet up for dinner (in Rome) in a piazza between the Spanish Steps (where I was meeting with an author I’m translating) and the river. Mike’s just bought a rakish hat. I order spaghetti alla carbonara (particularly tasty in Rome), we complain about Italy as only two people who actually love the country could and life is good.
American friend reunion in Italy, episode #2
Heather Della, from St. Anthony’s. She and her family (two sons and hubby) and her parents (Jerry!) and her sister Gina are visiting Florence. We meet up in Santo Spirito for gelato. Then we go to Caffenotte, a tiny, quirkly little locale a block from the piazza.
We = Heather, her husband, Tim, Gina, Mike and me. Who watches Leo? Oh, you know, Mr. and Mrs. Della Rocca along with Heather’s two sons. (Hey, I haven’t seen you in 20 years. Can you watch my kid? But of course it didn’t happen that way. They suggested it. Because that’s who they are).
As we’re leaving piazza for the adult getaway, Mrs. Della Rocca inquires about buying a soccer ball, I suggest they try the cartoleria across the way, which they do, and Leo spends an hours playing soccer with Heather’s in piazza! I like to complain about my life and lots of other things, but then there are moments like this one.
*
Writing while in piazza Torquato
Tasso, inhabited (again/still/always) by a polyglot crowd of young soccer enthusiasts holding court
on the tiny soccer field by the piazza’s playground and by senior citizens on benches
and families sprawled out on the playground equipment. The piazza is teeming
with life in the early evening. Is it any wonder the Italian lifestyle is the
envy of the whole world?
*
Go to Museo del Novecento Friday?
*
Ode to the Italian bar: A refuge, un appoggio, a democratic
venue culinarily speaking (i.e. on offer: coffee, wine, juice, pastry, tasty sandwich, shot of
vodka, etc etc).
*
*
What I’m buying: a coffee mug with the little Bialetti guy logo that comes
with its own spoon. Ma dai, ci vuole.
July 28, 2018
Whatever happened to Ann L.? I
google her name but nothing comes up for her; instead it looks like her husband
still has his studio legale in Viale dei Mille. Still married? Still living in
Italy? Who knows. An American who married an Italian. Is there a story there?
There’s a store in Santo Spirito, on a tiny side street between the piazza and Palazzo Pitti, that sells a velour pillow with the image
of the church on it! A pink outline of Santo Spirito church! Thank ya Jesus. Now how much is it?
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