Rome is not called the Eternal City for nothing. It took nearly 2 hours for the luggage to come out. Not only is the wait for the luggage monumental, but you realise that you would have to cross your legs and hope for the best, for what seems an eternity, because there are no toilets in the baggage reclaim hall.
The city earned its moniker from the belief that no matter what happens, Rome will always remain there. Having seen through several thousand years of tumultuous history, it certainly seems to stand up to this affection.
Much has already been written about its historical landmarks and pockmarks. They, too, have endured wars, pillaging, quarrying, rebuilding, and enhancements. Now, they remain protected, suspended from the animation of time as successive governments seek to display, educate, and above all, remember the glories of days past.
As I write this, Italy is in the middle of a recession – much like its Latin brethren. Together, they form the rather ignominious (albeit catchy) acronym “PIGS”. While Portugal, Greece and Spain have been hogging the financial pages, Italy has provided largely comedic relief through the antics of its longstanding (and now, former) Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi. His inability to resist feminine wiles notwithstanding, Italy has been having a hard time of it. Earthquakes, national debt, unemployment – they’ve all taken a toll.
Yet, Rome soldiers on. Hordes of tourists eternally converge all over the city, making the narrow sidewalks even more insignificant. While they sate their photo mania, and partake in the adoration of the splendour of two thousand year old structures, most will never venture beyond the government-sanctioned and guidebook-recommended experiences of what to see and do and eat.
I stand guilty of the above, at least during my first couple of days in Rome. I relished the sights, I revelled in the ambience of majestic monuments, I played the everytourist.
However, this was no usual sightseeing trip. I was fortunate enough to stay with various friends. My first host, Nico, an amiable Sicilian lawyer-to-be, lived several metro stops outside of central Rome. Perfectly handy it was for my first few days of sightseeing on my own. However, it was on the weekend that I got to experience la vita Italiana. Nico had a close knit group of friend who lived in the same building or in the area. Unsurprisingly, many were Sicilian. It had been pointed out to me, previously, that the southern Italians are louder, cruder, and less cultured than their Northern counterparts. Regardless, I observed a vivacity for life, punctuated by loud laughter and screams of joy. The speech is fast, pronounced, with back slapping, thigh whacking, unabashed emotion. They spoke of politics, how fascism was starting to make a comeback, and what could be done to stop it. Passion spilled out from different areas.
I watched, amazed, as delicious meals were whacked out of ovens, tables pulled out of nowhere and set with plastic sheets, chairs dragged up, and people sitting down to eat noisily. They had neither airs nor conditions. They didn’t stop too long to see if I was alright. It was refreshing, to say the least.
On my final night with Nico, instead of being dragged off to a thumping club with salsa music, as seems expected of today’s youngsters, I was informed that we would be staying at home and expecting a few visitors. “How many?” I asked. Perhaps eight or nine was the answer.
We decided to order in pizza as that would be the cheapest and fastest option. Expectedly, the food was pedestrian, but we were hungry and there were only five of us eating. The meal was devoured with much bickering, laughing, and noisy eating.
Then, the guests started arriving. As the new ‘arrival’, I was interrogated (in a nice way). The more adventurous of the lot ventured English practice with me, while the rest conversed with me in Italian interspersed with English words and giggles.
Nico cleared the table of food and slapped on a board game: Pictionary. I have to confess that I had never played this game before. For those not in the know, you have to draw items which your fellow team members have to guess. The more items guessed correctly, the faster your team would win. It was an interesting experience as they had to translate the various cue cards into English for me, but it soon got everyone into the spirit of things. For some reason, they decided to pit the boys against the girls, which paved the way for more bickering, frantic hand gestures, and laughing.
We played until the early hours of the morning, when it was decided that dessert (in the form of a home-made and utterly delicious tiramisu – thanks, Michele) would serve as the cap to a fantastic evening. I felt truly blessed by the experience as each visitor hugged and kissed me goodnight before leaving.
The next morning, I bade my Sicilian friends a grateful but sad goodbye. I headed to Rieti, a different town, for a quick visit. My next host in Rome would prove to be just as wonderful. I was collected at Furio Camillo Metro station (named after Marcus Furius Camillus, a famed general known also as the Second Founder of Rome) by Michele, a screenwriter. When we arrived at his place, there were two other visitors who would be leaving that evening. Both were girls – from Slovenia and Lithuania, respectively. They had been travelling in Israel together and fled to Rome when Israel started shelling Gaza. We had a nice homemade salad and chatted about all sorts of things while the girls made alternative travel arrangements.
After dropping off Maya, the Slovenian girl, at Termini to catch her train home, we went to a hip, boho-style area of the city called Monti. We had drinks while sitting at the steps of the Fountain in the Piazza della Madonna dei Monti, fielding questions with the neighbourhood drunk about ‘Gangnam Style’ which he insisted was Chinese. Aperitifs over, we left Ignesa (the Lithuanian) at a local hostel. Michele offered me a choice of an upmarket restaurant or a local Roman trattoria. No points for guessing which one I chose.
The proprietor of the trattoria was probably in his fifties – an amiable but no-nonsense chap, his hair slicked back with grease. Michele offered to do the ordering since I wanted traditional Roman fare. I had to say no to horse and offal as my gout had started playing up. However, he went for the horse so I managed to taste a sliver of it – fried horse tastes a lot better than the steamed meat I had had in Almaty, I can happily tell you.
Our starters were all deep fried with some skill – artichokes and cauliflower which were crispy on the outside yet tender in the middle. I had an Arabbiata pasta, done in the proper way – not like the tinned sauce with submerged chillies that you get in London. The meal was hearty and filling.
Michele, my host, was most interesting. He has traversed some of the most offbeat places in the world and experienced unusual things. How many people can say they have been horseback riding on the Kyrgyz trails or trekked through Senegal?
We had a lot in common – a whacky sense of humour, appreciation for the comic book and graphic novel, and we were both writers. He graciously let me read a copy of the treatment for his movie – very good, I have to say. We swapped ideas, and stories, and he found my mimicry of various accents hilarious. I can detect a bromance of sorts starting here.
As a true Roman, he shared some different views on the Eternal City too. Rome, according to him, is hampered by its reliance on its past and an inability to move on. When you have had such an eventful history and such glory, it is difficult to jettison that. Each time they try to dig a new subway line, they find artefacts of the past, and everything grinds to a halt while excavations are carried out. Other cities have surpassed Rome because they have been able to tear down to foundations and rebuild themselves.
All in all, my Roman holiday left me with more than awe-inspiring monuments and history lessons. For me, the Roman experience was all about the people – an experience which encapsulates the essence of not just a capital city, but of Italy itself. It is these memories of these people which will live on eternally within me.