Roman Summer Joys

Summer’s here and you know that means? Sure, Italians have worked hard all year and are preparing to pass the month of August at the beach or traveling or what not,  but that’s not the direction in which this post is headed.  The hot and busy season completely unmasks the not-so-glamorous truths of summer in the Eternal City. Here are some joys, thoughts and reflections on Roman summer life…

1)    The smell of urine infiltrates the streets, sometimes to the point where I gag.  I have since learned to walk strategically, avoiding narrow sidewalks. On the not-so-busy streets–particularly, the shady, tree-lined ones–I stay as far away from the wall as possible and sometimes just walk right smack in the middle of the street. (I move out-of-the-way for cars, bicycles, scooters, motorbikes, etc. of course.)

2)    Tiny food moths have invaded the kitchen cabinets so just about everything that they can get into is stored in the fridge, even if it’s something that doesn’t require refrigeration such as pasta. There are anti-tarme (photo above) in the food cabinets to catch them. There are probably about 10-15 per day at least that stick to the traps and this is apparently a normal part of summer here. I was considering posting a photo of one of the dead-moth-filled traps instead of the packaging, but decided to spare you from witnessing the grim truth first hand.  You’re welcome. 😉

3)    I’m covered in mosquito bites.  But as ubiquitous as the mosquitoes are here, there are even more in Milan. I didn’t think that was possible until I experienced it myself.

4)    The lack of air conditioning isn’t as bad as you would think. At least not yet. The building I’m in stays cool at night, thankfully, but I’m still planning to get a fan because the brutality of August is just around the corner.

5)    Celsius still means nothing to me but I know that 30 degrees is effin hot.  I know this is gross, but I sweat here more than I have ever sweated in my life, and I have run two marathons. My hair is in a permanent bun…I can’t even think of having it touch any part of my skin, face or neck.

6) I have completely stopped caring about things to which I would normally pay close attention. I have stopped layering clothing and I don’t care if anyone can through what I’m wearing. If I later notice that I missed a tiny patch of hair when shaving my legs, I don’t care.. It’s just too hot to give a damn about these things.

7)  I’m trying to avoid public transportation at all costs unless it’s absolutely  necessary. On the rare occasion that I do take the metro, tram or bus,  I refuse to sit for fear of leaving behind a sweat puddle in the seat.

8)    The tourists. There are just too, too many, and the sidewalks can be difficult to navigate. I have to give myself extra time to get anywhere with the expectation of sidewalk traffic putting me at least ten minutes behind.

9) I grow increasingly more misanthropic with each passing day. See number 8.

 

Libro Italiano: Entra nella mia Vita

A couple of weeks ago, I finally got around to finishing  La Cucina degli Amori Impossibili by Roberto Perrone (loved it!) which meant that it was time to dig into a new Italian book, so I’ve since moved on to Entra nella mia Vita by Clara Sanchez. The familiar and haunting green cover aesthetic caught my eye, then I recognized the author’s name. I had read (& enjoyed!) her previous book–which had a similar cover design–Il Profumo delle Foglie di Limone with my Italian class in New York.  You may be thinking, “Sanchez? That doesn’t sound like an Italian surname.” It’s not…she’s Spanish and her books were translated into Italian.

Reading a book in translation seems to be a touchy subject and I’ve gotten just a wee bit of flak for it. The reason: if I’m living in Italy and learning Italian, I should read books by Italian writers. I do see that side of the argument but to play devil’s advocate, do you remember that scene in A League of their Own when Shirley is reading aloud from Mae’s racy romance novel? Evelyn asks, “Mae! What are you giving her to read?” to which Mae (played by Madonna, I’d like to note!) responds, “What difference does it make? She’s reading!”  Shirley was illiterate and learning how to read. Well, I have applied this same reasoning to reading Italian.

Learning the language is a consistently ongoing process, so if I wish to read something that wasn’t originally written in Italian, what difference does it make if I’m reading it in Italian translation? Especially if it’s a good translation that’s compatible with my language level? I’m still reading Italian, damn it! My teacher in New York chose Sanchez’s book for the class because even though it was a translation, it was well done and perfectly complemented the class’s level of Italian. The book was easy–but not too easy–and I completely understood the gist without having to go back and read things a second or third time.  I don’t believe Il Profumo delle Foglie di Limone is available in English but if you can read Italian or Spanish, I strongly recommend it. I won’t give away too much of the plot, but it takes place in Costa Blanca, a Spanish Mediterranean town, where a group of former Nazis retreated after the war and involves two protagonists: Sandra, a young, pregnant lady who is befriended by an elderly married couple and Julian, an elderly man who survived imprisonment in Mauthausen, out for revenge/justice. Yup, it’s a page-turner.

I’m only a few pages into Entra nella mia Vita, but I’m certain that reading it–even though it’s Italian in translation–will not be to my detriment.

 

Summer Sale Shoe Shopping

I love shoes, but I hate shopping for them. Why? Because I hate my feet. They’re big, slightly on the wide side and since my right foot is just a tad smaller than my left, it’s challenging to find a pair that fits perfectly. Plus–to add insult to injury–shoe stores never seem to have my size. During the last few years I have made a habit of buying my shoes solely online or at a help-yourself kind of place such as DSW because you know size availability right off the bat.  There’s none of that back and forth nonsense with the salesperson that starts with, “Let me check for your size” and continues with, “We don’t have that shoe in your size but we do have these shoes in your size.” The shoes don’t tickle your fancy at all but you try them on anyway to humor the sales person, ultimately rendering the experience an exercise in futility.

Due to my aforementioned cobblestone encounters, new shoes were in order and I figured why not take advantage of the July summer sales? I was dreading shoe shopping, but I figured why not just get it over with since it was ultimately inevitable.

A friend suggested the Camper route would be a wise way to go, so after perusing the website I went to the store on Via del Corso with the expectation of a long & arduous try-on process. I had noticed a few shoes that I liked online but shrugged and thought they probably won’t have them in stock and if they do, they certainly won’t have my size.  Well to make a long story short, I wound up with three new pairs, two of which I had admired online. I couldn’t believe it. I have never had a shoe shopping excursion unfold that easily.

Also in need of sneakers with decent walking support, I went to the Nike Town store  (conveniently located on Via del Corso as well) and found a cute pair that were 50% off. Again I thought, we’re three weeks into July now. There’s no way they’re going to have my size and color preference. But lo & behold, I was wrong again….they did! Summer shoes, check. Next up: a bicycle–secondhand of course because there’s a really good chance that it will eventually get stolen–but I promised my mom I would get catastrophic insurance first.

Cobblestone: to know you is not to love you

There is one quintessentially European aspect of Rome that I originally found alluring, but it got really old really fast: cobblestone. Yes, cobblestone is all over Europe. The picturesque form of pavement adds tons of character to streets scenes, but I have good reason for my sentiments.

To start, the cobblestone is uneven. I have to walk with extra care everywhere I go in fear of tripping over a loose piece.  I’ve almost fallen flat on my face at least six times.  It’s also very uncomfortable…..can’t be good for the knees, ankles, legs, feet or anything else that we use to walk for that matter. When I the flip-flop-clad sauntering around Rome  I want to tell them that they’re crazy. (First, out of concern for their wellness and secondly because flip-flops are not real shoes. They’re beach-and-pedicure-wear only. Not for street-walking. Especially the streets of Rome or any other cobblestone-covered locale.)

On a personal level, cobblestone has limited my footwear choices for going out. It’s impossible to wear anything that has any kind of heel because it will get damaged. When I visit Milan, I very much look forward to wearing heels on sidewalks and streets that are actually paved with cement while without having to fear long-term damage.  I’m actually writing this from Milan where I wore heels out last night, and plan to follow suit tonight & tomorrow evening. Sure, there are some neighborhoods in Rome such as Prati and Garbatella where you could parade around in heels because the cobblestone is scarce, but it’s getting to these places that’s the problem. If I wanted to treat myself to the luxury and comfort of door-to-door taxi rides, I could, but it’s just not practical. Suppose the first stop of the night isn’t my last? I don’t want to be the one person who demands a taxi for the sake of my shoes. I’d look like an idiot for wearing them out in the first place with all the cobblestone!  I hate the buses and trams and try to avoid them at all costs unless it’s absolutely necessary.  Especially in the summer!   So it’s either the metro or a piedi for me. Note: the taxi system here is MUCH more civilized than New York’s. You either go to a taxi stand or you call and they’ll pick you up in front of your home, a restaurant, the movies, wherever. None of the chasing-down-cabs nonsense or–if you’re with friends–the dividing & conquering street corners until someone is successful. What’s even better is they give you a confirmation number when you call so if there are five different people waiting for a cab and one pulls up, you know which one is yours and it doesn’t turn into a no-holds-barred smackdown. Speaking of a smackdown, you should see the scramble to snag a recently unoccupied seat on the metro. It can get ugly. Sorry, I’m digressing!

Now, this didn’t cross my mind when I was preparing for the big move. Sure, I had been warned about the cobblestone, but I thought, “I’m a high heels expert. I’ll manage.” I couldn’t have been more wrong. If I had known the true magnitude of what I was in for, there are some shoes I would have foregone for other items since my two suitcases were limiting. But it’s not the end of the world. For now the heels sit in my wardrobe. At least I have Milan and the best remedy of all: July summer sales.

To somm or not to somm? That is the question.

Verdicchio at Le Volpi e L’Uva

In addition to my ongoing quest to improve my Italian, I have recently set another goal for myself: “mastering” Italian wine. Vino is a fundamental component of daily Italian life, and there’s oodles to learn!  Now I know that “master” is a very strong word and yes, I do realize that after years of study and practice, I will be nowhere close to knowing everything in my attempt to achieve so-called masterdom. But that’s not going to stop me from trying.

I do consume a decent amount of wine here, but I don’t know nearly as much as I would like to know. While drinking a glass of Verdicchio with my friend Gina at Le Volpi e L’Uva in Florence this past March, I was trying to discern the nose and I had no idea what I was smelling. Gina grabs my glass, takes a whiff and says, “white flowers,” to which the guy behind the counter responds “very good,” complete with a friendly smile. Honestly, I would never have guessed that. I had/have no clue how “white flowers” smell–aren’t there several varieties?

So, with the wine-mastering idea in the back of my mind since then, I decided it was time to get started and have taken an autodidact approach. Determined to conquer the essentials of Italy’s wine regions one by one, I started with the Alpine-situated Valle d’Aosta, and among other things, I learned that its tiered vineyards are the highest in Europe, reaching an altitude of almost 4,000 feet. I have since moved on to Piemonte, a bear of a region, and am now reading up on Barolo while trying to retain not only everything I have learned about the former, but also Italian vocabulary and grammer rules.

However, there’s only so much you can learn on your own and I think I would like to make this commitment official by enrolling in the AIS Sommelier Course. I didn’t make this decision overnight…I have been thinking about it for months. It won’t be easy; the courses are all in Italian and while I think I will be able to get by, I have no doubt it my mind that it will be challenging and at times, beyond frustrating.  But what’s life without our challenges and frustrations?

It seems that every other person I meet is a certified sommelier and I’m not succumbing to “peer pressure” or looking to jump on a bandwagon so to speak or anything like that, but anyone who knows me can vouch that I have enjoyed tasting and learning about wine since my waitressing days, and I also think it’s safe to say that I know a little more about wine than the average person. Or at least I like to think I do. (Please note that I’m well aware that “the average person” is a subjective term!)

It almost seems like sommelier certification is a rite of passage here and one that would not be to my personal detriment, but rather to that of my wallet’s as the course comes with a hefty price tag. So now I have a decision to make. Will the end justify the means? I think so as the credential will only help me. Oh decisions, decisions. Sigh.

Remembering

Memorial Plaque on Via degli Zingari

I haven’t stopped thinking about David Laskin’s  beautiful, moving remembrance of Rome’s sinister days in last Sunday’s New York Times. It’s not everyday you read a Rome feature that focuses on the difficult-to-digest components of the city’s history. These horrors occurred just 70 years ago, a gentle reminder of how lucky us Rome inhabitants are to reside in the Rome of now.

The Eternal City glamoured me from day one (If you’re immune to falling under Rome’s spell, then there’s something Rome with you!), however, it was my second visit that sealed the deal: I was determined to live here, damn it, if it was the last thing I did.  From the  picturesque architecture and cobblestone streets and the warm orange-and-pink-hued color palette to its crucial role history and culture, it’s easy let Rome bewitch & beguile you. It’s the city of La Dolce Vita after all! For me, a large part of its appeal is how streets, sites and attractions still look as they did for generations–some dating back to antiquity. But there is a part of Rome’s history that’s not so sweet.

There’s a street in Monti called Via degli Zingari which translates to Gypsy Street. I walk down this street at least once a day. I got my hair colored at this Contesta Rock Hair location before my friend Elena opened the Testaccio shop, and at the end of the street–in Piazza degli Zingari–sits one of my favorite destinations: Fatamorgana. I think it’s safe to say that I frequent this gelateria at least three times a week, but it wasn’t until The Rome Digest‘s gelato aperitivo here that I learned from my friend Hande how the street & piazza got its name. During the Nazi occupation, many Rom, Sinti and Camminanti gypsy communities lived here and were deported to concentration camps. A plaque (photo above) was put up in their honor.  I don’t know all the details–I’m sure they’re out there somewhere–but that doesn’t make the story’s impact any less profound. All of Italy–and all of Europe, too, I’m sure–has stories of this nature. Then there’s all the other places in the world that have experienced/are experiencing devastating times with stories of their own.

I think what I find the most unsettling about all of this is that nowadays, it can seem like there’s no end in sight for merciless, sinister and barbaric acts, and there is still genocide happening today. In a sense, history does repeat itself and I can’t help but feel a little heartbroken for the world in general. But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up hope.

Cinema Italiano: La Grande Bellezza

One area of my Italian-mastering efforts in which I could be better is watching movies or streaming RAI on my computer. I don’t have a TV that I can just flick on to hear the language, but I do love going to the movies. There’s one film playing here with which I’m so obsessed, I had to see it twice: La Grande Bellezza. It premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and was one of the contenders for the top honor, but the Palme d’Or ultimately went to La Vie d’Adele, which I also happened to see–with both Italian & English subtitles–because a local movie theater screened it for one day only. Sorry, I’m digressing.

The film’s English title is “The Great Beauty” and it will hopefully be released stateside. You must see it. This is not the first collaboration between director Paolo Sorrentino and the leading man, Toni Servillo, and I look forward to watching more of their work, particularly the film Il Divo (a friend gave me the DVD). I know it’s still very early on so we have yet to scope out the competition, but if Servillo isn’t nominated for a Best Actor Oscar–or at least a serious contender for one of the slots–there is something seriously wrong with Hollywood.  And while we’re on this topic, I wouldn’t be surprised if Adèle Exarchopoulos wins the Best Actress Oscar for her role in the aforementioned Palme d’Or winner.  I’m digressing again.

La Grande Bellezza is a gorgeous, powerful and incredibly moving work of genius, and Rome is featured so prominently that the city might as well be a character itself. I strongly encourage you to see it, if anything for those first spectacularly shot ten minutes.

You can find the trailer (with English subtitles) as well as The Guardian’s review here.

 

A Roman Holiday

 

Castel Sant’Angelo

While the Romans might not be celebrating Fourth of July today, the city celebrated a public holiday this past Saturday complete with magnificent fireworks over Castel Sant’Angelo: the feast day of St. Peter and St. Paul. The holiday, which occurs annually on June 29th, is observed in Rome only–not all over the country–in honor of these saints’ martyrdoms, both of which happened in Rome.

Sadly, I didn’t go see the fireworks–fireworks just aren’t my thing–but I saw some photos on Instagram and Twitter and they were gorgeous!

Happy Fourth all! I hope you enjoy your barbecues and long weekends.

Roman Summer from a Somewhat Sartorial Standpoint

Some of my clothing hanging to dry. Notice the colors? Nothing funereal.

My first blog post was a bunch of bullet points–I love me some bullet points!–about some minor life changes during my first month in Rome. Today, I was sorting my laundry and I couldn’t help but notice another change: the items within my pile of light-colored clothing had significantly surpassed those within my pile of blacks.  In case you’re not already aware, I always wore black, black and more black, with the occasional red or purple thrown into the mix.

I had initially planned to stay here for three months, return to NY with my empty suitcases and bring back anything I couldn’t fit in them the first time around, mainly because I wanted to leave Italy prior to hitting the 90-day mark so I didn’t have to risk getting caught here “illegally” and jeopardize my dual citizenship application. But then for some bizarre reason, my stars lined up and I became Irish–and thus a citizen of the entire EU–way earlier than expected, so there was really no need for me to return in May.  I had toyed with the idea of going back to retrieve some items (among which I would have included my Prada espadrilles and unread Grace Coddington memoir), but since my life was starting to pick up here, I opted to keep facing forward and “missed” my flight.  So much for my summer clothes.

As the weather grew warmer and I started to wear some of the lighter (in the context of weight-wise) clothing that I did manage to pack–most of which were black– I realized that bringing all of my summer clothes here would have been an exercise in futility as they weren’t made for one passing most of her time under the Laziale sun. It’s HOT here. And 90 degrees here feels so much hotter than 90 degrees in New York.  I still wore dark clothing during the NY summers, but I think part of it is that air conditioning isn’t as ubiquitous in Rome and for the time being, I don’t pass my entire day inside an office, only seeing a few rays of sunlight before 9am and sometimes in the late evening (if it wasn’t dark when I was leaving work). So even if any of my NY summer clothes were light hued, the fabric was just a tad bit heavier than what would suffice here.

A friend advised me that while it’s wise to acquire some basics, I should hold out until the mid-July summer sales. I could shop till I drop and still have a few months to wear my purchases since it’s usually hot through September. About a month ago, I did pick up some items to get me started and not one of them is black. There’s white, beige, blue, coral, light gray, but nothing dark. And nothing heavy.

Perhaps this is why Italian women don’t ever seem to perspire? They must have acclimated to the summer sunshine in lightweight clothing.

Un-Roman Provisions

Aunt Liz’s rice balls!

Now don’t get me wrong…I couldn’t be happier about my transatlantic relocation.  Moving to Rome has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Or maybe I should say the greatest thing that I have ever made happen for myself. Because it didn’t just happen; I made it happen…but not completely on my own! I had lots of help from locals and fellows expats alike, without whose guidance I wouldn’t be here right now.  But a life change of this capacity doesn’t come without sacrifice. It can’t be all rainbows and unicorns, plain and simple.  There are some things–food particularly–that I left in New York and no matter what, I just can’t and won’t be able to get them here. To be fair, Italian is my most favorite cuisine ever, but all the pasta and pizza bianca in the world can’t compensate for my former regular consumption of some of these goodies. My Romesick-ness has made me homesick for these:

• Aunt Liz’s cooking! From her rice balls to her pastas to her red sauce to her vegetables to her perfectly breaded & moist chicken cutlets to her soups to everything else she has ever made, Aunt Liz’s cooking is my favorite in the world, hands down. No amount of suppli‘ will ever suffice or completely satisfy any of my cravings for her rice balls. If I can ever recreate any of her signatures half as good as she does, I’d be happy. But half is pushing it, so I’ll take a quarter.
• My favorite breakfast sandwich from Cafe 28: egg, cheese, and hash browns (with bacon on occasion!) on a roll with hot sauce. Whenever I would call and say, “It’s Jackie from NoMad,” the woman knew right away what I was ordering. It was kind of like that episode of “Sex and the City” with Miranda and the Chinese food. 
• Speaking of Chinese food, I miss good bad Chinese food. You know, like those chicken & broccoli combinations that come with white, brown or fried rice, and a choice of wonton soup or an eggroll for around $6.
• Cheesy tots from Melt Shop 
• Empellon – If I could pick one place in NYC to eat three times a week, it would be Empellon, hands down. Give me a margarita, guacamole and some sweetbread tacos, and I’m happy as a clam.
• Keeping with the Mexican theme, I miss guacamole in general. So long as it’s fresh and not that packaged crap.
• Pad Thai (extra spicy!)
• My morning latte from the NoMad barista
• Hash browns from Trader Joe’s
• Pretzel croissants and chocolate chip cookies from City Bakery
• Mark Welker’s peanut butter cookies
• Last, but certainly not least, my daily juice – anything from Juice Press, Liquiteria and the Blueprint Cleanse 
• Added on July 3, 2013: The Shack Burger, Cheese Fries and an Arnold Palmer from Shake Shack