At Home He's a Tourist

I’ve been here for over a year now and it does feel like home, mostly. The language continues to be a struggle. There’s progress but it’s still frustrating. When I ask a question in Italian I usually get one of two responses: either an answer in English which makes me wonder if I had really mangled the language that badly, or a answer in very rapid Roman slang which carries only a passing resemblance to Italian and is, for me, usually indecipherable.
That aside, the city does feel like home. I know what time to hit the grocery store in order to avoid the long lines. The folks at the Tavola Calda on the corner nod and know my order. The guys at the Sri Lankan grocery on Merulana give me a “Salve” when I walk past and the guy at the other Sri Lankan grocery on Poliziana, who used to ignore me because I was one of the faceless masses, now ignores me with intent. I’ve got my favorite coffee shops, pizzerias, and gelaterias, even a couple of favorite restaurants, although I don’t eat out all that often. It’s all gotten very cozy, which may not always be a good thing.
I don’t want to say that I’ve gotten to a point where I’m taking the city for granted but it gets close. From time to time, I walk by the Colosseo without looking up, or pass through the Piazza de Rotunda without stepping into the Pantheon for at least a minute. The other day I even walked by Giolitti’s and didn’t go in for a pistachio cone, even though there was no line (I know, an appalling lack of discipline).
The real danger is that there are some things that I haven’t seen yet. Hadrian’s villa, for one, and a handful of small and not so small museums around town. I haven’t even been to Naples yet, unless you count the ten minutes I spent switching trains there last December (which was just enough time to have my wallet lifted.) The danger is getting too familiar with the place and putting things off indefinitely. I’m afraid I’ll end up like my landlord who has lived here his whole life and never set foot inside the Forum.
Then again, there are the other things that I didn’t really intend to do: those touristy things that a local or ex-pat, no matter how temporary, would shun. Things like sticking my hand in the Mouth of Truth or taking one of those tour around town in a horse drawn cart, or a Segway scooter, for that matter (although that does look kinda interesting). High on the list of never-dos is eating in one of those high visibility tourist priced spots like the Piazza Navonna . Too cool for that school. Luckily though, I have friends who aren’t.
When I first decided to come over here a number of friends said they’d come visit. Few did. A little disappointing but I can’t squawk. Budget, schedules and family responsibilities can make travel vacations hard to pull off and I understand that. May, however, found me entertaininging a couple traveling parties from home and it was a ball. Fun to be spending time friends and family and, between you and me, fun to carry on like a tourist for a change.

While I was flying back from London, old friends Espen and Patty (and, again, that’s old as in enduring, not old as in aged) were winging there way over from Texas. We met up the next morning and I mushed them around town for a couple days showing ‘em the obvious (Pantheon, Colosseum) and the not quite so obvious (the Borromini perspective, that turtle fountain). Late in the second day, foot sore and hungry, we were trying to come up with a dinner plan. Patty and I were looking through guide books and maps trying to come up with some great out of the way spot that no one had ever heard of, ever, when Espen, undoubtedly a little tired of our foodie pretensions, said “Why don’t we go over to that place and people watch.”
The “place” he was referring to was the aforementioned Piazza Navonna, a long narrow piazza built on the site of a 1st century stadium and currently filled with fountains, sidewalk artists, street entertainers and lots of people. It’s also lined by a string of overpriced and indistinguishable restaurants at which no self-respecting ex-pat would be caught dead eating, but, what the hey, it was his vacation and it was close by. Again, what the hey?
Turned out to be a brilliant idea. The food was fine. Truth be told, I don’t even remember what I had so it’s safe to say that it wasn’t spectacular but it was by no means bad. It may have been a euro or two more than one would pay off the beaten track but the location was worth it. Relying on the tourist trade, the waiters were a little more inclined to schmooze. Ours was an Albanian transplant who was hoping to make it to the states where he figured he and his self-reported six pack could find a wife. (He had a thorough understanding of the states and when he heard that E & P were from Texas, he immediately recognized that they must be cowboys or cattle barons.) Just watching him and his fellow waiters trying to lure in the strollers would have been entertainment enough but add in the music on the breeze, the perambulatin’ masses, and the cloudless skies drift from pastel to something much deeper (all that and the secure knowledge that the walk back to the hotel goes right past Giolitti’s) and, well, what do you want, an egg in your beer?

And it was like that for a few days. A quick trip up to Florence where we saw the mandatory David (I’ve seen it a number of times and it never fails to astonish), followed by hours of, well, shopping. It’s what people do in Florence, and it gave me a chance to try on a few park benches. Oh, and we ate a lot of gelato. Builds strong bones, you know.

From there, Venice with its dank and smelly hotel rooms but otherwise, still a stunner. Lunch on St. Mark’s Square which, truth be told, is second mortgage material but charming as hell with all these little café orchestras with their accordions and clarinets, playing music that was simultaneously anachronistic and perfectly appropriate. Wander through at night and the ensembles are taking turns drawing the crowds from the edge of one seating area to another with everything from the overture to La Gazza Ladra to Yesterday to that Andrea Bocelli piece that still seems to be everywhere.
I left E & P in Venice because my sister was arriving for a second round. A few more cultural sites (she’s a cultural gal) but, well, basically another week of vacation. (I think I may have conducted a tour in there someplace.)
So is there a lesson here? Pretty much the basic ones. Suspend judgment. Sometimes the masses are on to something. You know, all that obvious stuff but often times, the obvious evades me. I need reminding.