EIGHTY-SECOND
DAY
GOODBYE
FRIENDS
December
4-5-6
The
frenetic pace of Roman life continues unabated.
Our guests, Jay and Rene, have lots of energy and are on the go in a not
so subtle attempt to get in as much as possible of Roma in 4 days. They have been here many times and Rene’s Dad
was the Director of the American Academy here in the mid eighties. Among the staff he is a revered figure
because of his lack of pretension and good humor. He was the first director who really tried to
connect the Academy to Roman artistic life.
Rene’s mom, Marianne, just passed away and for Rene this is a rather
nostalgic trip. Marianne loved Rome and before we left, Marianne sent us her
Roman favorites: walks, restaurants, gelato places and coffee houses. Jay is a pipe organ buff and is on the move
to see organs in as many churches as he can see in 4 days. There is no keeping up with their program,
but as is our practice of trying to do something everyday, we settle on an
Edward Manet show at the gallery behind the Vittorio Emmanuel wedding cake in
Piazza Venezia, a 1o minute walk from our apartment. I like museum shows because they tend to be
organized in a way that makes them understandable, either by date and time or
period or a certain kind of work by the artist.
Manet was one of the artists most responsible for the transition into
French impressionism. This show has a lot of his drawings and prints including
a few of the original copper plates, which I always love to see. His paintings are delicious and
remarkable. I never used to think he was
as good as some of his buddies like Monet and Pissaro but what did I know? His best friend for life was Emil Zola who
was very critical of his work and blasted him as a small minor league painter
who would never make it in the big time.
After that they weren’t such good friends.
Jay has
found a couple of late afternoon organ concerts. Kim and I elect to miss the first and meet
for the second. The church is on Via
Corso and the organ is powerful. The
music is grand, but I think I am churched out -
still, a lovely way to see the church and hear the music.
We sprint
from the church to our dinner reservation at Trattoria del Orso. It is brightly lit and somewhere between
Piazza Navona and Piazza del Colona near the Tiber. This is a great little neighborhood with
dozens of small shops and little alleys.
We are the first in at 8:30 and think Rome is dead, but within 5 minutes
all the tables are filled and the place is bursting with large families and
huge platters of food. They have great
antipasti spread, which we do not order. Our dishes are wonderful, presented in
a very sweet Italian atmosphere with happy waiters, happy diners and fresh food. Most menus in Rome are now in Italian and
English and the restaurants always seem to have one guy who speaks English. We
will return to this place; I am hoping to take our kids when they visit.
I must go
to the bank. This is fraught with many
perils. The bank is essentially in the
suburbs of Rome and rather a long way from our new place. It wasn’t even really close to the Academy
when we were there but at least in the same zip code. My rent is due and the landlady will not take
it in anything but cash. I guess that means she does not pay taxes on my money
- another great surprise. I really
don’t care, but the schlep to the bank on the motorino is a pain. I have carefully researched the route from
our place to the film rental store and then to the bank. Usually, there is some turn that I have not
figured out or I just make a wrong turn.
Aside from the movie guy trying to rip me off on late fees, the rest is
eerily smooth. Gliding past St. Peters
and up the Aurilian Way, it is a cinch.
But wait, I get to the bank, take a number and I am in for at least a
two-hour wait. But no again. My teller recognizes me and pulls me into the
back where we do our mysterious transaction.
I stuff the bills into an envelope and am out the door in about 15 minutes
much to the consternation of those still waiting in line. I am so surprised that I go to a bar and have
my new favorite, coffee corretto, espresso with grappa - really good. Always remember in Italy, it is the little
things. I am in the here and in the
now.
The
American Academy invites us to lunch to say hello to Rene. It is a very nice gesture and pleasant as
well. The food is the same as when I
left. We return to the Academy later that same night to hear a visiting scholar
who is writing a memoir of his Roman experience. His is apparently a work of the heart and
mind. His reading was spectacular and a
performance of its own. It was held in a
second floor room of the brilliant Villa Aurelia. This magnificent 16th century
palace has been shinned and buffed by the Academy. We are fortunate once again to be
included.
It is
part of our deal (Kim and I) that when we ride the motor scooter, there will be
no drinking. Shocking, as it may seem, I
am abiding by this rule. It is so
difficult and dangerous to ride here that you don’t need to make it
harder. So, no wine, no after party, but
lots of rain, lightening and thunder.
Our ride back is exciting, but we are glad to be off the bike. We go to a local place called, Da Sergio, in
the Campo for a farewell dinner with our friends. I hope they have had fun; they sure tried.
and they are so easy to host. Tomorrow
they return to the Bay area for Christmas and a memorial for Rene’s mom, and
then back to Bali to their real home. We
are committed to go next year but so much to do and so little time to do
it. We will see.
A few
observations of Rome are on my mind.
This morning (Tuesday) we get up to our empty house and Kim starts our
routine day. She is doing a load of
washing, I am reading the paper and watching horrible BBC morning news when
once again the power goes off. What kind
of fool am I? Could we possibly expect
the TV, the washing machine and one light to be on at the same time? The answer
is a firm no. Will we never learn? Our
15th century building lived without electricity much longer than
with it and we have the Roman columns to prove it. We had better learn the
ropes on this one or we will blow up Rome someday. Did I mention the vacuum cleaner, which does
not work but also takes lots of power? We have taxed the system and lost. Later, on our way to our morning shopping we
discover another worker’s parade outside our door. It was the AARP of Italy otherwise known as
the pensioners from all over Italy, come to march in Roma. I am happy for them; they look like they are
having fun. Just one caveat; please keep
your whistles at home. The noise is
deafening. Roman workers and shoppers
ignore the whole thing and life goes on.
As usual with such parades, all cars and trucks have been stopped.
Outside the barricades it looks like a traffic mess.
It feels
like a life, the rain continues to fall on and off everyday, the stores open,
people shop, I go to the gym.
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