Buon giorno from Rome, Italy, where I've taken up residence for the next two years.
I write from an apartment in the historic center of the Eternal City, on day 6 of being here. The jet lag is subsiding, the spouse is reporting to work, and the cats are settling in (this translates to comfortably snoozing most of each day, given their respective ages of 14 and 21). The kitchen is being progressively stocked. We are exploring the neighborhood in ever-expanding navigational circles, scrutinizing menus, and doing our very best to dodge the heat.
The heat. I expected it. Even though I've brought college students to Italy since 2004, I've always dodged the hottest parts of the Italian year. But I'm doomed to a life pattern of moving in summer seasons, and so I expected to be uncomfortable upon arrival. Expectation: met. Roman tricks for assuaging this discomfort? Close and shutter the windows of tall-ceilinged rooms. If you can cancel out the light and the heat, you minimize the need for air conditioning - which is not prevalent. Learn to love the shade.
I am not challenged by this last notion, given that my ancestors came from the British Isles and Northern Europe. I may well spend two years in this city and learn to maybe even speak a little and behave a little like a local, but I will never, ever look like one, with my sun hat and 70 SPF. I was encouraged by the slight dip in temperature today, with a mere high of 82, and yet, I caught a look at myself while out shopping, and saw my predictably red-cheeked but otherwise pale, sweaty face staring back. Dead giveaway to foreigner status.
And while the jet lag is fading, I have fully embraced an additional way to live in this sweltering environment: the mid-day nap. This practice is easier to accommodate when you keep interior rooms darkened and cooler. One downside to this is that it is difficult to gauge the time of day. So, the heat saps you of your energy, you lie down in a relatively cool room at noon, and the next thing you know, it's time for dinner. Or I should say: it's time for thinking about dinner, since that shouldn't actually happen before 8:30 or so.
And speaking of dinner, yesterday was the first day I've cooked in Rome. Achieving this benchmark was more tricky than you might think. Our household furnishings and belongings are being shipped mostly by sea (anticipated arrival - 2 months from now, give or take any variety of impediments, because after all, this is Italy) and a little by air (anticipated arrival - who knows, because no one will tell us, but it is ideally supposed to be at least two weeks). We arrived here with 5 suitcases (4 for the humans, 1 for the high maintenance geriatric felines). Lest you think we're sleeping on the floor: we did not arrive to a completely empty apartment. We arrived to a mostly empty apartment, just barely furnished with some cookware, a very limited number of kitchen items (including flatware, utensils and a couple of small appliances), a remarkably dangerous (read: dull) knife, a loveseat and two chairs, a dining room table and 4 chairs, a bed, two bedside tables, a small dresser, a few wardrobes (there is one closet in the entirety of the place)...and that's it. Suffice to say: the first limitation involved the lack of important tools. My kingdom for a set of tongs!
And the next limitation? Resource availability. Anyone who has ever visited a large European city like Rome may pause to reflect on whether they ever noticed a grocery store, and ultimately dismissed their scant memories, perhaps rationalizing that all of those slim and trim locals stayed that way because they must not eat. Let it be known that those stores do in fact exist, but they are small and labyrinthine. Not that Americans didn't already know this, but they are spoiled for choice. The plus side of narrowed choices here is that the shopping time is shortened. Additionally, Rome has no shortage of outdoor markets. And they are BIG believers in an extremely abbreviated distance between farm and table. So with the grocery store limitation comes the happily welcomed alternative: what IS available is better, fresher and rarely imported.
And after having spent an hour with that dangerous knife and some vegetables, I'm closing this entry for now and attempting a kind of stovetop ratatouille. But before I do, let me say this:
If this reads as nonchalant or matter-of-fact, I am not. If this reads as emphatically complaining in tone, I am not.
I sleep about 5 meters from three gorgeous Caravaggios. A 5 minute walk takes me to Piazza Navona. A 10 minute stroll takes me to the Pantheon. A 15 minute walk puts me at Campo dei Fiori. This place is a haven for history and art and food lovers. And I am fervently all of those things. I have this bizarre and wonderful opportunity to live in the first foreign city I ever visited as a college student. The first foreign city I fell in love with.
But Rome is a tough broad. She wants you to struggle. She wants you to not want to return. She wants your feet to ache from pounding her rough, ancient pavements. She wants you to wait forever for a hot bus that may or may not arrive. She wants you to desperately want her local residents to treat you like a local, too, even though they won't. She wants you to be simultaneously charmed and brought up short by the rough-and-tumble business of being in a city that is over 2000 years old.
And all the years in which I wondered what it would be like to live here, I mistakenly thought I could be ready for this. But I couldn't. At least, no sooner than now.
I had to be this old. I had to have a number of trips under my belt - a number of experiences with the faults and foibles of the place. I needed to be a little cynical and old enough to not care whether a vegetable vendor had to look at my flushed, sweaty face while I struggled to tell him how many eggplants I wanted to buy.
I had to be in a good (GOOD, let me tell you) relationship. I had to be braced for disappointments and ugly surprises...many of which I haven't even encountered yet, I'm sure. But I had to be in this head-space. I had to be this educated and jaded and...still young enough and romantically inclined enough to want to give this a shot.
And this sweet spot couldn't have happened any sooner than now.
I am already grateful that I have the chance to experience it.
I write from an apartment in the historic center of the Eternal City, on day 6 of being here. The jet lag is subsiding, the spouse is reporting to work, and the cats are settling in (this translates to comfortably snoozing most of each day, given their respective ages of 14 and 21). The kitchen is being progressively stocked. We are exploring the neighborhood in ever-expanding navigational circles, scrutinizing menus, and doing our very best to dodge the heat.
The heat. I expected it. Even though I've brought college students to Italy since 2004, I've always dodged the hottest parts of the Italian year. But I'm doomed to a life pattern of moving in summer seasons, and so I expected to be uncomfortable upon arrival. Expectation: met. Roman tricks for assuaging this discomfort? Close and shutter the windows of tall-ceilinged rooms. If you can cancel out the light and the heat, you minimize the need for air conditioning - which is not prevalent. Learn to love the shade.
I am not challenged by this last notion, given that my ancestors came from the British Isles and Northern Europe. I may well spend two years in this city and learn to maybe even speak a little and behave a little like a local, but I will never, ever look like one, with my sun hat and 70 SPF. I was encouraged by the slight dip in temperature today, with a mere high of 82, and yet, I caught a look at myself while out shopping, and saw my predictably red-cheeked but otherwise pale, sweaty face staring back. Dead giveaway to foreigner status.
And while the jet lag is fading, I have fully embraced an additional way to live in this sweltering environment: the mid-day nap. This practice is easier to accommodate when you keep interior rooms darkened and cooler. One downside to this is that it is difficult to gauge the time of day. So, the heat saps you of your energy, you lie down in a relatively cool room at noon, and the next thing you know, it's time for dinner. Or I should say: it's time for thinking about dinner, since that shouldn't actually happen before 8:30 or so.
And speaking of dinner, yesterday was the first day I've cooked in Rome. Achieving this benchmark was more tricky than you might think. Our household furnishings and belongings are being shipped mostly by sea (anticipated arrival - 2 months from now, give or take any variety of impediments, because after all, this is Italy) and a little by air (anticipated arrival - who knows, because no one will tell us, but it is ideally supposed to be at least two weeks). We arrived here with 5 suitcases (4 for the humans, 1 for the high maintenance geriatric felines). Lest you think we're sleeping on the floor: we did not arrive to a completely empty apartment. We arrived to a mostly empty apartment, just barely furnished with some cookware, a very limited number of kitchen items (including flatware, utensils and a couple of small appliances), a remarkably dangerous (read: dull) knife, a loveseat and two chairs, a dining room table and 4 chairs, a bed, two bedside tables, a small dresser, a few wardrobes (there is one closet in the entirety of the place)...and that's it. Suffice to say: the first limitation involved the lack of important tools. My kingdom for a set of tongs!
And the next limitation? Resource availability. Anyone who has ever visited a large European city like Rome may pause to reflect on whether they ever noticed a grocery store, and ultimately dismissed their scant memories, perhaps rationalizing that all of those slim and trim locals stayed that way because they must not eat. Let it be known that those stores do in fact exist, but they are small and labyrinthine. Not that Americans didn't already know this, but they are spoiled for choice. The plus side of narrowed choices here is that the shopping time is shortened. Additionally, Rome has no shortage of outdoor markets. And they are BIG believers in an extremely abbreviated distance between farm and table. So with the grocery store limitation comes the happily welcomed alternative: what IS available is better, fresher and rarely imported.
And after having spent an hour with that dangerous knife and some vegetables, I'm closing this entry for now and attempting a kind of stovetop ratatouille. But before I do, let me say this:
If this reads as nonchalant or matter-of-fact, I am not. If this reads as emphatically complaining in tone, I am not.
I sleep about 5 meters from three gorgeous Caravaggios. A 5 minute walk takes me to Piazza Navona. A 10 minute stroll takes me to the Pantheon. A 15 minute walk puts me at Campo dei Fiori. This place is a haven for history and art and food lovers. And I am fervently all of those things. I have this bizarre and wonderful opportunity to live in the first foreign city I ever visited as a college student. The first foreign city I fell in love with.
But Rome is a tough broad. She wants you to struggle. She wants you to not want to return. She wants your feet to ache from pounding her rough, ancient pavements. She wants you to wait forever for a hot bus that may or may not arrive. She wants you to desperately want her local residents to treat you like a local, too, even though they won't. She wants you to be simultaneously charmed and brought up short by the rough-and-tumble business of being in a city that is over 2000 years old.
And all the years in which I wondered what it would be like to live here, I mistakenly thought I could be ready for this. But I couldn't. At least, no sooner than now.
I had to be this old. I had to have a number of trips under my belt - a number of experiences with the faults and foibles of the place. I needed to be a little cynical and old enough to not care whether a vegetable vendor had to look at my flushed, sweaty face while I struggled to tell him how many eggplants I wanted to buy.
I had to be in a good (GOOD, let me tell you) relationship. I had to be braced for disappointments and ugly surprises...many of which I haven't even encountered yet, I'm sure. But I had to be in this head-space. I had to be this educated and jaded and...still young enough and romantically inclined enough to want to give this a shot.
And this sweet spot couldn't have happened any sooner than now.
I am already grateful that I have the chance to experience it.
