Mostly though, this was more than just the physical discomfort. I’d had a great trip back to the states, took a grand tour of the upper Midwest, seen friends I hadn’t seen in months, years, and close to decades in a couple of cases. I’d even met family members I hardly knew I had (My younger sister recently moved to Iowa, a well-spring of McGreeveys). There’s a comfort in sitting down with old friends and feeling like you’re picking up a conversation from years ago as if it were from right after that second cup of coffee. I’ve made some good friends in Italy, some that I’m very fond of, but none of those relationships have that element of time. How could they? So I think I was mostly missing, well, my homies.
Ambivalence aside, I got on the treadmill through passport control, baggage claim, and customs (non-existent). I took a cab back to my apartment (screw it) where I noticed an unfamiliar twinge in my hip I was lugging my bag up the steps. (I live two flights up. The elevator is one flight up and its first stop is three flights up. What kind of deal is that?) I heaved everything into the apt and crashed for a while. That felt great.
When I got up it was late afternoon and I headed out for a walk. As I went through what passes for the lobby, the super greeted me warmly. Even that owl-faced guy who is perpetually walking his aged and cranky dog called “Salve” as if had missed me or at least noticed I had been away. (His dog could have cared less but even that’s an improvement.) I headed down towards the Domus Aurea park. This was the sight of Nero’s opulent Golden House built on property confiscated from the city after the great fire of 64. (He actually took about 40,000 acres. The park sits on a very small part of it. The Colosseum was built by his more-or-less successor on the sight of the man-made lake that was installed in the property’s lowlands, effectively giving the property back to the Romans.)
When I got there last Friday, what do you think I saw? Romans! Hundreds of them! Doing all that Roman stuff. Cooing over their babies and talking with their hands. Kicking soccer balls and walking their little dogs (I’m pretty sure that Rome leads the league in dogs under three pounds.) It was a little shocking. Over the summer the Roman population steadily declines as people head for shores and mountains, culminating in the mass exodus that is ferragusta.
Anyway, I settled onto a bench, taking in the Roman afternoon. The weather was cooler than it had been when I left but was still warm. The sky was the typical Roman blue with large billowing clouds. A splendid afternoon and a thought occurred-Giolitti’s.
Giolotti’s is one of Rome’s oldest and most venerated Gelato parlors. I’m not going to say that they have Rome’s best gelato (that would bear more research and I’m working on it) but they definitely have the best pistachio gelato in the world. It is, to put it mildly, miraculous, tasting exactly like a fistful of freshly roasted pistachios, only cold and smooth. (I was taking a guy on a tour once and he commented that it tasted so much like the real thing, it had to be artificial.) I usually avoid the place during the afternoon because the crush of patrons tends to run out the door but in the evening it’s not so bad and, well, it was getting close to evening.
I decided to take the high road, over the Quirinal hill and down by the Trevi fountain. I made my way to Merulana and around Santa Maria Maggiore. There was a faint rumor of fall in the air and the clouds were thickening, turning a little grey as well. I took a right at the 4 fountains, stopping to admire the façade of San Carlino. I had walked by the church a couple dozen times before I first noticed Borromini’s graceful mix of the concave and convex. Squeezed into a tight corner of a narrow street, the church steps take up the better part of the sidewalk, leaving only a narrow marble strip worn smooth and slippery over time. Most concentrate on their footing when walking directly in front of it. You have to cross the street to get any kind of view. I was doing just that when the first few light drops of rain splattered on my face. I continued on, thinking of my umbrella, nestled safely in my backpack, hanging on a chair in my apartment.
By the time I got to the Quirinale Palace, a steady rain was falling. I huddled under a window sill for a few minutes, hoping the storm would pass but when I looked down the street, I could see that it was getting serious and headed my way. Across the street and beneath some scaffolding was a passage protected by plywood. I splashed over, moments before the real cloudburst struck. Immediately the tunnel was full. I heard French, German, Italian, English, and something Slavic sounding. All God’s children stuck in the rain. A British couple lumbered in drenched, the man found a spot against the wall, leaned his head against the plywood and within minutes was softly snoring. Four Italian kids in soccer togs sprinted in, stayed for a few minutes and then, apparently realizing that they couldn’t possibly get any wetter, tore off into the storm. The rest of us waited it out, rolling our eyes at each other’s common lot, and uttering the occasional “Mamma Mia.”
The rain eventually stopped and I headed down the hill. I ignored the turn-off to the Trevi and headed straight for gelato (Trevi’s over-rated anyway, particularly during daylight). Surprisingly there was a decent crowd at Giolitti’s. I figured the rain would have thinned things out a bit. I got my ticket and joined the fringes of the amoeba like mass of patrons. Immediately, one of the counter men took my ticket and my order. (This might or might not have been just luck. There’s usually a tip tray, roundly ignored, on the counter at a gelateria. I’ve learned that if you toss in a dime, making sure that they see or hear it clink, you’ll be remembered.)
A minute later I was standing on the San Pietro stones outside, working my way through a pistachio/riso cone. Riso is, as you might imagine, rice flavored gelato, kind of like frozen rice pudding. It’s subtle, doesn’t really taste that much different than vanilla and the frozen rice kernels make my fillings ache but it goes well with pistachio. The pistachio was…well, I don’t presume to critique miracles. Let’s just say it was worth the trip. I believe I can do this for a little while longer.
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