Stepping Back in a Stream

It’s a holiday weekend over here, Tuesday being Republic Day, commemorating the abolishment of the monarchy in 1946.  From what I gather, it’s the biggest secular holiday in Italy.  Tuesday will also mark my second month of residency here this time around.

I thought I would have had a few blog posts up by now but, truth be told, I’ve been having a Dickens of a time getting something cogent on paper.  (I make no promises that this will qualify but there’s been enough delay.)

I’m not entirely sure what the problem has been with that but I have a few ideas..  When I moved here in 2010 is was for what was to be a limited period of time .  I had been fascinated by the city in some prior visits and had always left thinking that it was a city that needed more time, that there was so much more here than could be seen in a weekend or a week or a month even.

So I moved here and it was just great and while it may have become a bit more wonderful in memory than fact, the experience was stellar.  So much newness, and when the time came to go home, there was a tug between looking forward to getting on with life, whatever that may be, and wanting to stay.

Still, shortly after I got back to the states, and I’m talking days here, I was thinking of coming back.  Rome had gotten its hooks in me as I suppose any great city can do and after working a few years and saving up some funds, I put just about everything back in storage and flew back.

Upon arrival, the darnedest thing happened.  I didn’t exactly love it, although I wasn’t quite sure why.  There were some of the usual irritants: The tourist crowds were intense.  (I had, after all shown, up on Holy Thursday, a busy time in a pilgrim city.)  The Roman every man (or woman) for his or herself attitude was jarring (more on that at some later time).  Then there was the gauntlet of touts surrounding the major attractions and the ubiquitous and determined selfie stick, rose, or shakalaka-boom-boom vendors. (For reasons that I don’t understand, Roman street vendors tend to call anything that doesn’t have a very specific name a shakalaka-boom-boom.)

So I suppose it’s possible that I’m just 4 years older and crankier than I used to be but I don’t want to contemplate that possibility.  I think it was something else.  If I were writing from the states, it would be appropriate to quote Thomas Wolfe.  You can’t go Rome again or something like that but this is the Mediterranean so we’ll go with Heraclitus’ line the no man ever steps in the same stream twice.  It’s not the same river he’s not the same man.

As mentioned, I suspect I’m somewhat different and, also, Rome is different, at least a bit.  Italy has been in a financial crisis for the last three years and it extends to Rome.  There appears to be more poverty.  There seems to be an increase in the working poor.  The streets are a mess, and the sidewalks are worse (I’m thinking that maybe 70% of  Roman dog owners clean up after their pooches). There even seemed to be less water flowing from the city fountains. All that ‘s true, again, at least a bit.

But even if the man and the stream were the same, the relationship changes the second time around and I think that has a lot to do with expectations and familiarity.  Ever go to a restaurant for the first time and order a dish you haven’t had before and have it turn out to be spectacular?  Ever go back a month or so later, order it again and find it to be, well, just good?  I think there’s some of that at play.  Also, as this is a return, there isn’t quite the same joy of discovery. I don’t want to give the impression that I’ve seen everything here, because I haven’t but that overwhelming rush of living in a foreign country for the first time, well, that’s not going to happen again.

And there is something else and this may be the biggest factor although one that I had forgotten until a conversation I had the other night. Moving from one country to another takes some adjustment. It takes awhile to settle in.

In the last week or so, it’s been starting to happen.  I got out of Italy for a long weekend a couple weeks ago.  Coming back to Rome was, in essence, coming back home and it felt like it (well, mostly).

Also, while I think I know the city pretty well, there are plenty of new things to explore.  Some are archeological.  A couple of quick examples: Sometime in the last couple years and in the process of digging a new subway route, workers discovered an auditorium form the time of the emperor Hadrian (around 110 AD) Similarly, portions of Nero’s Domus Aurea (Golden House), buried over shortly after his suicide (AD 68), are again open to the public.

And then some of those events that are purely Roman have been rolling around.  Last Sunday, Pentecost, I attended Mass in the Pantheon, consecrated as a church in 609.  It’s a popular service.  The pews and folding chairs are reserved for the regular attendees and numerous ceremonial attendees (including the small group that holds vigil at the tomb of the first modern king of Italy holding out for a return to the monarchy.) There’s plenty of standing room but it fills up pretty quickly. By 10, the Pantheon is full and they stop letting people in.  The service is a long one about an hour and 45 minutes.  It’s mostly in Italian but even the English parts are unintelligible because of the room’s echo.  On the other hand, that echo makes the choir and musicians sound great. All that’s well and good, but here’s the cool part and the reason the place is packed.: During the last 20 minutes or so, members of the Vigili Del Fuoco (basically the fire dept) scale the building and at the start of the recessional drop tens of thousands of rose petals through the oculus.  It, of course draws oohs and ahhs from the crowd and rightfully so.  Who would want to be anywhere else?

We’re also enjoying a streak of spectacular weather.  Warm breezy days and cool nights that are just perfect for walking without agenda.  The other night I found a great little burger joint (ok, not so sure about putting a slice of cucumber on the burger but they nailed the fries) in the Jewish Ghetto of all places.  Last night, I sat outside the Pantheon a little after sundown, watching the sky take on a deep and vibrating shade of blue that matches the lapis luzili that was so prized during the renaissance. As a bonus, the clown/mime (more clown then mime) was back at work in the piazza.  Greeted at the outset by pretty much universal indifference he managed over the next hour or so to amass a large and appreciative crowd.  There’s a metaphor in there someplace.

So it’s a holiday weekend.  Tomorrow’s officially a work day but most of the Romans have left town and, well, you know how that goes.  Tuesday there are parades and fireworks and flyovers but I’ll probably skip those.  On the other hand, June 2 is the only day that the gardens in the Quirinale Palace are open to the public and I shouldn’t miss that.  Never seen them before.

Oh, and Thursday the Pope processes through the neighborhood.

It’s nice to be back.  I believe I can do this for a few more days.