Walking home from school

A couple of weeks ago I decided to face the obvious and sign up for Italian classes. It wasn’t a tough decision. I had been hitting Rosetta Stone for months before departing but: 1) I hadn’t been hitting it hard enough, 2) from my experience, Rosetta Stone is helpful for building vocabulary but not so helpful for understanding the rules of grammar, and 3) Rosetta Stone doesn’t come close to preparing one for the speed at which Italians speak their language. I knew I was in trouble when I stopped into a pizza joint in Baltimore a couple of weeks before leaving with the intention of deciphering the banter of the counter guys. I couldn’t recognize a single word.

My current class is an immersion class and is almost entirely in Italian. I am clueless about 60% of the time. My insegnante rattles off a bunch of syllables and first, I have to try to figure out how they break down into words and, only then, try to pull some meaning from it. It’s frustrating and difficult and brings back strong memories of sitting in Mrs. DeCaro’s French class back at St Pete’s (Sts Peter and Paul Warren, Ohio).
But I don’t want to talk about Italian class. I want to talk about the walk home. Class is slightly up a hill that runs behind the Vatican and I live all the way across town, about halfway between Santa Maria Maggiore and the Colosseum. There are convenient Metro (read subway) stops and I imagine there is a straight shot bus, but for now I like to walk it (I may feel differently when August rolls around). While Rome is one of the great cities of the world, it isn’t that big and is very manageable on foot. Besides, in the course of an hour walk, any lingering gelato guilt tends to melt away.
Anyway, the walk starts with an easy jaunt down the hill with my class mate, a young French woman working in Rome for the summer that, much to my chagrin, seems to be able to understand what our insegnante is saying. (I figure it’s an EU thing.) At the bottom of the hill she peels off to catch her bus and I take a left that leads me to and through St. Peter’s Square. St Peter’s Square isn’t a square; it’s an oval. A huge oval, flanked by Bernini’s cleverly arranged columns, and, during the day, filled with people and summer sun. When I hit it, though, the sun has been down for twenty minutes or so, the sky has settled into muted shades, and the crowds have thinned to just a few stragglers. It’s lovely (and I don’t think I use that word very often). I tend to linger here for a bit, let any post-class frustration drift away, and experience a moment or two of bliss.  I question my move to Rome from time to time but never while standing in that square.
From there, it’s down the street past the Castle Saint Angelo (originally built as Hadrian’s mausoleum, now a museum, also the locale of the final scene of Tosca) and across the Ponte Saint Angelo with it’s Bernini designed angels holding various symbols of the crucifixion (nails, crown of thorns, etc.). Once across the bridge I have a choice. I can take an oblique angle followed by a straight shot up Via dei Coronari or I can stay on Via di Panino ( literally the way of the roll) into a jumble of streets that meander through a neighborhood that historically was filled with craftsmen of various stripes (marble cutters, woodworkers, and bakers-hence that panino business). Today it’s home to a wide assortment of trattorias, pizzerias and the like). The route decision is based on how long ago lunch was and time. The latter choice involves usually involves dinner but also getting lost (that’s partially the point and I never the leave the apartment without my frayed and trusty street map.)
Either way, I eventually find myself at the Piazza Navonna. This was originally an amphitheater and race track built shortly after the Colosseum but now, lined with restaurants and dotted with fountains, is a popular place for milling about. I usually keep moving here, but like to notice the play of light reflected of the surging waters of the massive Fountain of the Four Rivers (Bernini again, he is all over this town). From there it’s three short blocks to the Piazza di Rotunda. It’s a similar but thinner crowd than Navonna but the rotunda in question is the Pantheon. Closed at this hour and half shrouded in scaffolding, it’s still impressive and I always stop to just look at it. Simple elegance: a square, a triangle, a cylinder, a globe and just about perfect. Perhaps the original “often imitated but never duplicated.”
Eventually I pull myself away and cut down a side alley. A dozen or so blocks, a few lefts and rights and I’m at the bottom of the Quirinale hill (one of the seven). Looking to the left I can catch the edge of the Trevi Fountain and, if the mood strikes, I can wander down and take in that scene (a similar but thicker crowd than Navonna) but usually I head up the hill and then the steps to the Piazza de Quirinale outside the palace of the same name. I stop for a few minutes to admire the view (OK, I’m actually catching my breath but this is a great spot to take in the city’s horizontal scape. No building is taller than St. Peter’s.)
Breathing normally again and almost home, I head down Via del Quirinale and take a right at the four fountains (Rome is full of fountains and, in most cases, the water still comes in from the aqueducts. It’s cold and tastes great but these four fountains, sitting right on the street, are encrusted with a layer of grime that I imagine in 85% car exhaust. I wouldn’t touch ‘em). From her it’s a short walk to the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, around the circle and down my street. I usually hit my door as the basilica’s bells are tolling 9:45.
On a typical night, it takes an hour and 15 minutes and there’s usually a slice of pizza in there someplace. A few nights ago, my insegnante asked me which bus I took to get home. When I told her I walked, she shook her head, saying it was too far. I suppose if you live here for a while, you get inured to the sights but that hasn’t happened yet. Sometimes it’s the high point of the day. Beats the walk home from St. Pete’s…uh, the other St. Pete’s.