Saturday
We wake very late, around 11 and can’t seem to get going, so we give up. Joy and I head out to recharge the phone (a crisis in Alysia’s NY life neccessitated back-and-forth trans-atlantic phoning until the minutes ran out around 10 PM last night) and end up deciding to buy Alysia her own phone with her own minutes (Here, you don’t generally sign up for a long-term plan, but pay as you go.) On the way back we do some small shopping and bring back sandwiches for lunch. Alysia grabs the phone and spends most of the afternoon solving problems. We take Ana and head out for a quick trip to the supermarket, which is a complete trip.
We are so used to seeing choice after choice of the same things that having NO choice can seem like a rest. You want cereal? Choco Puffs, Rice Crispies or Conflakes. You want coffee? Illy or Lavazza. On the other hand, there are 7 types of prosciutto, and I spend an enjoyable 15 minutes with the clerk discussing the differences, with tastes, and when I finally settle on one (San Leo, fed on acorns, with a distinctive flavor and silky texture) there are smiles all around and a feeling of comfort. (Sometimes, Rome feels like a very small city.)
There are several things that we think the Italians do better, among them how fruit and vegetables are handled, for example. There is a sign saying, “please use gloves” and a stack of food service gloves that we use to make our choices. Then we weigh the bags and enter a number (the number is on the Shelf tag for the vegetables, so, for example, tomatoes are “11”). The scale spits out a bar-code tag that we stick to the bag, and then we move on to the next item. It takes MUCH less time to do than talk about it,and if people are basically honest, it works. However, given how often I’ve seen pilferage in Stamford and people who try to lie about the vegetables they’re buying (“Those aren’t organic!”, says a 60ish matron at our local market in Pound RIdge, ignoring the bright red “Organic” sticker on her cucumbers. ‘You’re overcharging me!”) and how much I’ve heard about the outright stealing at Home Depot and Wal-Mart self-service checkouts, I’m not sure it’ll work.
Back to the apt, and we pick up Alysia and head out for a long walk, past the Fountain of the Tortoises (unfortunately under repair; when it’s open it’s an adorable place), through part of the Ghetto, past the Sinagogue and over the Tiber to Trastevere. We spend quite a long time just hanging out, looking at the river, eating ices and talking. Joy and I decide we want to send a year here. As we go along, I suggest we spend 2 half-years here (April-October) and eventually we settle on a spring in Rome and a summer in Tuscany. Hmmm. Sounds like what we’re doing now, only longer.
We cross back over the river, and as we go to cross the road, Ana slips on a protruding something-made-of-marble, sticking a foot out of the road, scraping both her knees. We snatch her back out of traffic and hug her to us as the traffic roars by. When the light changes, we cross, and Alysia volunteers a piggy-back ride, a generous thing given that her sister is over 60 pounds! We struggle on and end up shortly back at the Piazza Farnese, and take stock. We’re tired, sweaty & hungry, so dinner it is. We cruise several restaurants of the $Oh-My-God variety, and settle on a nice-looking place that has a good recommendation. Ooops. This time our guides have led us astray, and the food is mediocre, the service is worse and we leave full but unsatisfied. We walk the few steps back to the apt, and take showers. Alysia presents me with an early Father’s day present: a book on muscle cars (which she adores and I’m somewhat interested in) and a very sweet card. I’m touched, and tell her so. We play cards (gin rummy) until bed-time.
We wake very late, around 11 and can’t seem to get going, so we give up. Joy and I head out to recharge the phone (a crisis in Alysia’s NY life neccessitated back-and-forth trans-atlantic phoning until the minutes ran out around 10 PM last night) and end up deciding to buy Alysia her own phone with her own minutes (Here, you don’t generally sign up for a long-term plan, but pay as you go.) On the way back we do some small shopping and bring back sandwiches for lunch. Alysia grabs the phone and spends most of the afternoon solving problems. We take Ana and head out for a quick trip to the supermarket, which is a complete trip.
We are so used to seeing choice after choice of the same things that having NO choice can seem like a rest. You want cereal? Choco Puffs, Rice Crispies or Conflakes. You want coffee? Illy or Lavazza. On the other hand, there are 7 types of prosciutto, and I spend an enjoyable 15 minutes with the clerk discussing the differences, with tastes, and when I finally settle on one (San Leo, fed on acorns, with a distinctive flavor and silky texture) there are smiles all around and a feeling of comfort. (Sometimes, Rome feels like a very small city.)
There are several things that we think the Italians do better, among them how fruit and vegetables are handled, for example. There is a sign saying, “please use gloves” and a stack of food service gloves that we use to make our choices. Then we weigh the bags and enter a number (the number is on the Shelf tag for the vegetables, so, for example, tomatoes are “11”). The scale spits out a bar-code tag that we stick to the bag, and then we move on to the next item. It takes MUCH less time to do than talk about it,and if people are basically honest, it works. However, given how often I’ve seen pilferage in Stamford and people who try to lie about the vegetables they’re buying (“Those aren’t organic!”, says a 60ish matron at our local market in Pound RIdge, ignoring the bright red “Organic” sticker on her cucumbers. ‘You’re overcharging me!”) and how much I’ve heard about the outright stealing at Home Depot and Wal-Mart self-service checkouts, I’m not sure it’ll work.
Back to the apt, and we pick up Alysia and head out for a long walk, past the Fountain of the Tortoises (unfortunately under repair; when it’s open it’s an adorable place), through part of the Ghetto, past the Sinagogue and over the Tiber to Trastevere. We spend quite a long time just hanging out, looking at the river, eating ices and talking. Joy and I decide we want to send a year here. As we go along, I suggest we spend 2 half-years here (April-October) and eventually we settle on a spring in Rome and a summer in Tuscany. Hmmm. Sounds like what we’re doing now, only longer.
We cross back over the river, and as we go to cross the road, Ana slips on a protruding something-made-of-marble, sticking a foot out of the road, scraping both her knees. We snatch her back out of traffic and hug her to us as the traffic roars by. When the light changes, we cross, and Alysia volunteers a piggy-back ride, a generous thing given that her sister is over 60 pounds! We struggle on and end up shortly back at the Piazza Farnese, and take stock. We’re tired, sweaty & hungry, so dinner it is. We cruise several restaurants of the $Oh-My-God variety, and settle on a nice-looking place that has a good recommendation. Ooops. This time our guides have led us astray, and the food is mediocre, the service is worse and we leave full but unsatisfied. We walk the few steps back to the apt, and take showers. Alysia presents me with an early Father’s day present: a book on muscle cars (which she adores and I’m somewhat interested in) and a very sweet card. I’m touched, and tell her so. We play cards (gin rummy) until bed-time.
posted by Anonymous | 7:02 AM
<< Home