Hot Time in Rome

The past few days are almost too much to blog about, but we are going to give it a try. I say "we" since John is joining me in the editorial department since he is on holiday (that's vacation, if you are a yank).

When you fly from Heathrow Airport on an intra-European flight it’s a different experience than flying to the US. The shops are smaller and simpler. There really is no duty free. There also aren’t any lush spaces to relax and begin a journey. John likes to stop, have a nice meal and drink a glass of wine. He prefers a certain bistro in Terminal 3, but there is no branch in Terminal 2. As we wound our way through the airport we finally found luxury. It was ridiculous, but we decided to stop at a caviar-teria to have a nosh and something to drink. What better way to depart England for Italy?

Our Alitalia flight was uneventful. The airline and its planes are looking tired and worn. The flight was late and the supposedly "luxurious" in-flight service didn’t really materialize. When we retrieved our luggage, John’s bag had a strange tag on it. It said something along the line that the airline and airports take no responsibility for lost or damaged articles. More on this later…

We had arranged for a car to meet us and take us to our hotel. We booked a room at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori online, sight unseen, and had no idea what to expect. It is hot in Rome and John does not tolerate the heat. He has more patience for Republicans! We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find a charming place with air conditioning and an elevator. The hotel continues to be pleasant, clean and well run. It is centrally located in Rome’s historical district, halfway between the Vatican City and the Roman Forum. And it’s just off a square that will play a central role in this blog.

Il brutto americano

Many Americans who travel come up against both the myth and the reality of the Ugly American. Americans abroad are often seen as unsophisticated, rude, arrogant and otherwise crude. This is somewhat unfair. Many Americans make their way through the capitals and small cities of the world with deference and appreciation while people of other nationalities often stand out as insensitive and rude. However, we cannot deny that the Ugly American exists and insists on being seen and heard. Over the years we have overheard phrases like: "How much is this in real money?" or "Who do you think invented democracy?"

On Monday evening we lived through one of the most shocking moments of Ugly Americanism possible. We were sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant on the Campo de’ Fiori enjoying a wonderful meal. A very blond and very bland American family was seated near us. The father was immediately rude to the waiter, demanding water, olive oil and bread for his sons. As we heard bits and pieces of the conversation our ears became sharp as spears and the family didn’t seem bland any longer. At one point they were discussing Roman history and their single frame of reference was the movie Gladiator. While that film does a reasonable job of portraying the lives of gladiators and the bloody games the ancient Romans adored, it does take great liberties with history and has to be taken with a grain of salt. It was sad not to hear a single reference to a book, play, novel or historical document about Rome. The real shock came later as the family discussed their trip to the Vatican earlier in the day. One of the three sons asked his father (the mother rarely spoke up) if the Cardinals of the church still reported to the Jews. The father answered yes. He explained that the Catholic Church in Rome is and has always been a vehicle for the Jews to control the world and that is why the evangelicals left the original church. Who knew Hitler had spawn?

Sitting along side us was another American family: a father and daughter. They were clearly estranged by divorce or maybe separated by physical distance. Was he visiting her or was she visiting him? I don’t know. They tried, however. The father attempted Italian and the daughter tried to be interested in her father. They ate. They left. Nothing was settled. Location doesn’t always make a difference.

The Campo

The Campo de’ Fiori offers some great things. Six days a week there is a morning market with wonderful fresh fruit, cheese, meats, spices and oils. There are numerous cafes and restaurants lining the square. There is a wine bar called Vineria Reggio. Called "the coolest bar in the campo" by one of our guidebooks, this place has the most amazing collection of wines by the bottle or glass. You can also buy a bottle to take away. But you can’t buy drinks in bottles after 8 pm Friday through Sunday.

In the evening the campo is filled with street performers and musicians plying their trade. Some of the music is not bad, but the repertoire is a bit limited. One saxophone player only seems to know "My Way" and "Over the Rainbow." The star of the square was a teenage violin player with some skill and style. He was also able to belt a song (but day 3 of "O Sole Mio" was enough). We made sure we tipped him every evening and were soon greeted with a hello when we crossed the plaza.

Una donna perduta

All of our time in the campo has been shadowed by a homeless woman. She is perhaps around 60 years old, but might be younger. She is heavy set, gray, ruddy and dressed in a blue and white striped muumuu. She is in some strange way a personification of Italy. She doesn’t beg. She doesn’t perform. She is. People bring her food and water. We gave her water several times. We have seen her every day at different hours. I would never want to live her life, but I am happy that she actually smiles when you give her water or something to eat. She lives in this square and nobody disturbs her; amid all the commerce going on around her, she is allowed her space. We may not be able to learn from her as she is lost, but I can learn from the people around her.

L'intimo perso!

How do you explain that as you forage through your suitcase for some fresh underwear you suddenly realize you’ve been robbed? When you can, tell me how and I will do a better job than this! I know I packed at least eight pair--I remember counting. I had four in my suitcase when I got to Rome. Hmmmm. The only missing underwear was Italian. So I bought some new ones today. Let's see if they get stolen on the return trip.