In the air. OK, I am officially disgusted with most of my fellow passengers. Gum-chewing, whiny, talking about getting “some good American food”. Dear God in heaven, The airport snack bar was an Italian Autogrill with about 24 different fresh sandwiches, any sort of coffee drink, six kinds of cornetti, plus Danish, plus fresh-squeezed blood orange juice etc. etc. etc. For about $6 I had a fresh cornetto, a caffee latte lungo and a glass of that aforementioned blood orange juice. What more could you want? A Big Mac with a half a cup of corn syrup and a spoonful of MSG, I guess?
Ms. Packratty slept poorly Friday night, worried about the alarm and waking up because she didn’t have any backup and she was already tired when she set off for the airport. It was very sad to pack the last few things and drag my suitcase down to the front entry before making a final check and grabbing my purse and carry-on. It was well before dawn on Via Urbana and the cobblestones were a bit damp and the air smelled of old stone. I bumped my suitcase down the block, past the little workshops, the coffee bars, the storefront where classes in mosaic are taught, the restaurants, Only one shop was open, the coffee bar closest to the metro and only 2 other people on the platform.
The metro took only a minute or two to reach the Termini station where the lighting was brighter and shops were already opening for the day at 6:15. I found binario venti quattro and heaved my suitcase onto the third car of the Leonardo Express and within 5 minutes, the glossy train pulled out of the station and started speeding to the southeast and Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport.
At the airport after a trip that felt as though the train was running on glass, a transportation comedy began that was to be echoed 15 hours later in Atlanta. First the international passengers for Terminal 5 had to go to Terminal 3, where our boarding passes were inspected and we were ushered over to a bus and driven to another large building. Once there, we were handed plastic bags and told to put all electronic devices in the bag and some very cheerless sorts inspected our boarding passes and checked our passports (for the first time). Then we were sent to another large room where we waited to deposit our checked bags and then put back on the bus and driven to the actual gate area we were to depart from. At the gate, our passports were inspected for a second time and then we sat and waited. The departure area for a flight carrying about 200 people had fewer than 75 seats and since they expect you to get to the airport 2-3 hours before a flight, it was a miserable and uncomfortable wait, especially after I visited the ladies and lost my seat and had to either stand or sit on the marble floor.
Finally they started boarding and in typically illogical fashion, the airlines board the forward sections first and then the back sections, leaving the back sections to squeeze and stumble past the earlier boarders. Coupled with people bringing on suitcases as carryons that are over 20 inches high, boarding is like something in a circus act - an act, though, that one is an involuntary participant in. And before they let us on the plane, they inspected passports a third time.
Once on the plane we sat, despite an announcement that we would be leaving on time, we didn’t take off until 40 minutes after the published 9:40 a.m. departure. Delightfully, Ms. Packratty also drew an aisle seat directly behind the inevitable jerk. The guy with the sound-cancelling headphones and the Steve Jobs imitation buzz cut who conspicuously read his International Herald Tribune during the safety announcements, who jacked his seat back immediately on reaching altitude and then kept bouncing up and down in his seat so that Ms. Packratty’s water was in danger of spilling if she set it down on her tray and didn’t stop until she finally started kneeing the back of the seat every time he bounced the chairback up and down. The same jerk also opened the overhead bin and rummaged in his enormous backpack a total of seven times during the 11 + hour flight and turned on his cellphone the instant the plane landed despite the pilots announcement that electronics and cameras should not be used until customs and immigration had been cleared. Ms. Packratty was relieved to hear his weasel-faced wife whining about having to change planes before they got home because she really didn’t like the idea that they lived in the same city =- and she only wishes they came from another country. To her absolute delight, the two of them were shortstopped by an immigration officer as they used their smartphones while waiting in line to clear immigration. Apparently it was absolutely imperative that Mrs. Jerk update her Facebook status.
So we unloaded and cleared immigration, picked up checked baggage and then trudged over to customs. Ms. Packratty’s total customs inspection was “Got any food?” She replied, “Some risotto mix, a bottle of booze and some chocolates.” And she was waved through. After customs, the baggage went back on another conveyor and we passengers were herded onto buses that took us on to the main terminal and baggage claim, where, after about 20 minutes, bags came tumbling back out.
Checked bag recovered, Ms. Packratty bungee corded her carryon to the suitcase, shouldered her bag and headed to MARTA where she hopped on the train and rode it up to Lindbergh station where she cabbed back to the office and retrieved her car. It was very odd to be driving after 10+ days and her Buick felt like a limo after riding in an Italian taxi or two.
Sadly, her homecoming turned out to be extra difficult. Ms. Packratty got home, and carried her handbag up to the door, unlocked the door and found her ancient cat, Delilah Fuzzybutt, curled up on the front landing, obviously dead within the last 8-12 hours. Delilah was over 18 years old and had had a pretty good run of it, but coming home to bury a four-footer who had shared bed and board for nearly two decades was really difficult. One of Ms. Packratty’s very nice neighbors helped dig a grave behind an azalea patch and Ms. Packratty rummaged up a paver from an old path project to place over the grave until the lure to scavengers is past. And then she went home, washed her face, called her parents and went to bed and had a good cry.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Ciao, Roma!
Ms. Packratty does not know how to describe her dinner at Urbana 47. Thanks to the generosity of her parents who added to her savings and told her to have fun, Ms. Packratty has eaten at several amazing and famous restaurants. She has also eaten porchetta sliced onto a plain roll from a street market and boiled eggs for breakfast and nothing she has eaten in Roma from pizza bianco to the monster prawns at La Rosetta has disappointed. But Urbana 47 was in a whole different league. First of all, the restaurant is very modern with a touch of 1950s retro and a glossy, immaculate open kitchen. The restaurant is, I am told, unique in that every ingredient is sourced within the province of Lazio and is very much seasonal, as well.
Entering, Ms. Packratty was seated at a group table with an excellent view of the kitchen and present with a menu. The possibility was to have two dishes and a dolce, or sweet, or three or four main dishes for the ambitious eater. Having been daunted by what a typical Roman appears to eat at lunch, let alone dinner (pranzo and cena for those interested), Ms. Packratty opted for the 2 dishes and dolce. Her pasta choice was a mix of two pastas, one white, one green, with sautéed guanciale and artichokes all bound together with a local cheese similar to parmesan, but produced in Lazio. Before this particular plate of gustatory heaven arrived, her waitress brought a tiny gratin dish containing a puree of carrots with a small dollop of cream containing some of that aged cheese. Pureed carrot, you say? This in no way resembled baby food. It was more like a few spoons containing the essence of the best barely cooked carrots you ever tasted in your life and the contrast of the cheese and cream against the earthy carrot was astonishing.
After this opener, the pasta arrived and Ms. Packratty almost swooned in bliss – it was creamy but al dente, green but also savory. American chefs who think they have to play crazy tricks with food and mix cuisines need to come eat a plate or two in Rome and stop putting hot peppers and cilantro in everything and calling it fusion. Fusion is when tastes blend happily as compared to the head on train wreck of most American food from McDs to the most expensive restaurants.
The purity and freshness of the ingredients is no small part of the equation and Ms. Packratty believes there is simply no excuse for the dismal quality of most American food, starting with things like bread, eggs, milk and butter. We have some of the best farmland in the world and we’re using most of it in factory farming and way too much producing corn syrup and soybeans – we could be eating food as good as the Italian food – not an imitation, but our own cuisine made from fresh and honest ingredients instead of the swill that fills our supermarkets and restaurants.
Ms. Packratty’s second dish was a nod to Lent and a chance to experience the Roman love of cod. Yes, cod. Apparently since the days of the empire, Rome has imported cod, mainly dried, but the hundreds of thousands of tons, something that continues today. There are a couple of restaurants in Rome’s old ghetto that specialize in baccala or cod, although Ms. Packratty did not get a chance to try them this trip. Since her parents come from an area with no small tradition of cod eating, Ms. Packratty selected a fish pie made with potatoes. Now, Ms. Packratty’s mother, in her day and especially when Ms. Packratty’s beloved grandfather was alive, would occasionally make a wonderful fish chowder with potatoes, salt pork, a very little onion, some form of flavorsome white fish and milk. Well, Urbana 47’s dish was that chowder, minus the milk, served in wedges and dressed with bagna cauda, a traditional fish sauce. (So traditional that cultural archeologists have determined that the Romans built huge factories for producing fish sauce in thousand amphorae quantities on the southern coast of the Mediterranean.) Apparently making fermented fish sauce was not the least offensive process possible and the Romans had their own equivalent of NIMBY yuppies who didn’t want a fish sauce factory stinking up their beachfront even though they bought the stuff in hundred gallon jugs. So this potato and fish combination was delightfully familiar and yet completely different at the same time.
The common table had filled up with a group of five and a couple of other solo diners and Ms. Packratty found herself being questioned about her experiences in Rome by a man of about 50 of a very Roman type – he clearly was well-to-do and he got a little snobby at one point, which Ms. Packratty rather enjoyed. Mr. Snobby is apparently part of a family business doing construction and proceeded to tell Ms. Packratty about the difficulties of building anything in the environs of Rome – as soon as they lift the first shovel, they are likely to find something that requires bringing the archaeologists in – he commented that there was probably enough buried to keep all the archaeologists busy for the next 1000 years studying what they could find from the last 3000 years. To which Ms. Packratty replied that the rest of the world’s fascination with Rome’s older bits had certainly served the city and the country rather well. At this, he finally laughed and leaned back and said, “Well, without you Americans we would have lost so much both in the war and afterward from neglect.” At this point, he ordered espressos for both of us and then my dolce came. To say it was a mocha cream over sponge cake is to make the barest possibly description, but it is almost impossible to describe how complex the flavors were in this small, simple cup of perfection. Ms. Packratty has pretty much eschewed sweets in Rome, with the exception of a couple of cups of insanely good gelato (Grom marrons glace), but this coffee and chocolate combination was extravagantly good.
M\s. Packratty thanked Mr. Snobby for the espresso and made her goodbyes while he was chatting up the owner and walked back up to centi venti tre to start this entry as well as drink half a bottle of mineral water to help make sure she does not miss the alarm at 5 a.m. She has packed almost everything except her current garb, her nightshirt and the clothes she will wear tomorrow, this computer and a book. When the alarm goes off, she will need to shower, make a breakfast, clean out the remains in the fridge and pack the last things. Then drag her suitcase down the hill to the Cavour Metro to take the train to Termini, She has her ticket already purchased for the Leonardo Express and her boarding pass ready and is just terribly miserable at the thought of leaving. However, leaving means the possibility of returning and Ms. Packratty hopes to do just that. She has already told her adorable niece that she will take her to Rome when she completes college which means at the most that she will be back in 6 years – all she can think about is what fun it would be to trot Miss Adorable around this city and show her all the things that Ms. Packratty has already seen and perhaps even more.
Perhaps Ms. Packratty could have pushed a little harder and gone to a couple more museums, but she thinks that by spending some of her time walking around and experiencing the city that she did not really waste any of her time. The only thing she regrets is not being able to reach the historian at the exhibition hall. Perhaps she can try a letter and see if she gets anywhere with that. Taking the buses and Metro and even once one of the streetcars and experiencing the crazy crush of the market at Porto Portese, being crammed into the Metro like an anchovy, the old stone and weathered stucco and the incredible little terraces jammed with greenery, the cold air in the morning and the smell of chestnuts roasting on almost every street corner and the clear pure water running from hundreds of fountains and nasone all filled out the experiences of looking at the art and architecture. Can’t wait to come back. Ciao, Roma!
Entering, Ms. Packratty was seated at a group table with an excellent view of the kitchen and present with a menu. The possibility was to have two dishes and a dolce, or sweet, or three or four main dishes for the ambitious eater. Having been daunted by what a typical Roman appears to eat at lunch, let alone dinner (pranzo and cena for those interested), Ms. Packratty opted for the 2 dishes and dolce. Her pasta choice was a mix of two pastas, one white, one green, with sautéed guanciale and artichokes all bound together with a local cheese similar to parmesan, but produced in Lazio. Before this particular plate of gustatory heaven arrived, her waitress brought a tiny gratin dish containing a puree of carrots with a small dollop of cream containing some of that aged cheese. Pureed carrot, you say? This in no way resembled baby food. It was more like a few spoons containing the essence of the best barely cooked carrots you ever tasted in your life and the contrast of the cheese and cream against the earthy carrot was astonishing.
After this opener, the pasta arrived and Ms. Packratty almost swooned in bliss – it was creamy but al dente, green but also savory. American chefs who think they have to play crazy tricks with food and mix cuisines need to come eat a plate or two in Rome and stop putting hot peppers and cilantro in everything and calling it fusion. Fusion is when tastes blend happily as compared to the head on train wreck of most American food from McDs to the most expensive restaurants.
The purity and freshness of the ingredients is no small part of the equation and Ms. Packratty believes there is simply no excuse for the dismal quality of most American food, starting with things like bread, eggs, milk and butter. We have some of the best farmland in the world and we’re using most of it in factory farming and way too much producing corn syrup and soybeans – we could be eating food as good as the Italian food – not an imitation, but our own cuisine made from fresh and honest ingredients instead of the swill that fills our supermarkets and restaurants.
Ms. Packratty’s second dish was a nod to Lent and a chance to experience the Roman love of cod. Yes, cod. Apparently since the days of the empire, Rome has imported cod, mainly dried, but the hundreds of thousands of tons, something that continues today. There are a couple of restaurants in Rome’s old ghetto that specialize in baccala or cod, although Ms. Packratty did not get a chance to try them this trip. Since her parents come from an area with no small tradition of cod eating, Ms. Packratty selected a fish pie made with potatoes. Now, Ms. Packratty’s mother, in her day and especially when Ms. Packratty’s beloved grandfather was alive, would occasionally make a wonderful fish chowder with potatoes, salt pork, a very little onion, some form of flavorsome white fish and milk. Well, Urbana 47’s dish was that chowder, minus the milk, served in wedges and dressed with bagna cauda, a traditional fish sauce. (So traditional that cultural archeologists have determined that the Romans built huge factories for producing fish sauce in thousand amphorae quantities on the southern coast of the Mediterranean.) Apparently making fermented fish sauce was not the least offensive process possible and the Romans had their own equivalent of NIMBY yuppies who didn’t want a fish sauce factory stinking up their beachfront even though they bought the stuff in hundred gallon jugs. So this potato and fish combination was delightfully familiar and yet completely different at the same time.
The common table had filled up with a group of five and a couple of other solo diners and Ms. Packratty found herself being questioned about her experiences in Rome by a man of about 50 of a very Roman type – he clearly was well-to-do and he got a little snobby at one point, which Ms. Packratty rather enjoyed. Mr. Snobby is apparently part of a family business doing construction and proceeded to tell Ms. Packratty about the difficulties of building anything in the environs of Rome – as soon as they lift the first shovel, they are likely to find something that requires bringing the archaeologists in – he commented that there was probably enough buried to keep all the archaeologists busy for the next 1000 years studying what they could find from the last 3000 years. To which Ms. Packratty replied that the rest of the world’s fascination with Rome’s older bits had certainly served the city and the country rather well. At this, he finally laughed and leaned back and said, “Well, without you Americans we would have lost so much both in the war and afterward from neglect.” At this point, he ordered espressos for both of us and then my dolce came. To say it was a mocha cream over sponge cake is to make the barest possibly description, but it is almost impossible to describe how complex the flavors were in this small, simple cup of perfection. Ms. Packratty has pretty much eschewed sweets in Rome, with the exception of a couple of cups of insanely good gelato (Grom marrons glace), but this coffee and chocolate combination was extravagantly good.
M\s. Packratty thanked Mr. Snobby for the espresso and made her goodbyes while he was chatting up the owner and walked back up to centi venti tre to start this entry as well as drink half a bottle of mineral water to help make sure she does not miss the alarm at 5 a.m. She has packed almost everything except her current garb, her nightshirt and the clothes she will wear tomorrow, this computer and a book. When the alarm goes off, she will need to shower, make a breakfast, clean out the remains in the fridge and pack the last things. Then drag her suitcase down the hill to the Cavour Metro to take the train to Termini, She has her ticket already purchased for the Leonardo Express and her boarding pass ready and is just terribly miserable at the thought of leaving. However, leaving means the possibility of returning and Ms. Packratty hopes to do just that. She has already told her adorable niece that she will take her to Rome when she completes college which means at the most that she will be back in 6 years – all she can think about is what fun it would be to trot Miss Adorable around this city and show her all the things that Ms. Packratty has already seen and perhaps even more.
Perhaps Ms. Packratty could have pushed a little harder and gone to a couple more museums, but she thinks that by spending some of her time walking around and experiencing the city that she did not really waste any of her time. The only thing she regrets is not being able to reach the historian at the exhibition hall. Perhaps she can try a letter and see if she gets anywhere with that. Taking the buses and Metro and even once one of the streetcars and experiencing the crazy crush of the market at Porto Portese, being crammed into the Metro like an anchovy, the old stone and weathered stucco and the incredible little terraces jammed with greenery, the cold air in the morning and the smell of chestnuts roasting on almost every street corner and the clear pure water running from hundreds of fountains and nasone all filled out the experiences of looking at the art and architecture. Can’t wait to come back. Ciao, Roma!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Sadly, sadly Friday came and went
Ms. Packratty had a busy day Friday. She went to the Museo Nazionale Romano and Crypti Balbi and finished the rest of her shopping, including springing (thanks to her parents) for a really pretty pair of earrings in an Etruscan style with rubies, sapphires and pearl drops. Small, expensive and Roman.
Again, there was much walking, a excursion to UPIM, one of the Roman department stores; the grocery, where I purchased the mirto requested by friend Muir, who was stationed in Sardinia some years back, etc. Bought myself a great fake designer purse too.
And came back and packed most of my things.
One thing I realized on the train coming home from the second museum is that for nearly ten days, I have not seen a male with his pants falling off his arse and how very little I missed it. As in not at all. Completely not at all. And NO RAP or hiphop "music" either. Along with bread that tastes like bread and other aspects of terrific food, the absence of rap and pants off arses has been a real visual and auditory holiday.
If her lottery scratch off had won the 500.000€ prize, she'd have been coming home only long enough to collect Charlie and Delilah
Heading back to the apartment to get my code so I can print my boarding pass, nip up to the Tabbacheria and buy a couple of folks some Italian ciggies and then have dinner. Up at 5 a.m. is going to hurt, but at least Ms. Packratty will have the consolation of good coffee and the Leonardo Express to help ease some of the pain.
Again, there was much walking, a excursion to UPIM, one of the Roman department stores; the grocery, where I purchased the mirto requested by friend Muir, who was stationed in Sardinia some years back, etc. Bought myself a great fake designer purse too.
And came back and packed most of my things.
One thing I realized on the train coming home from the second museum is that for nearly ten days, I have not seen a male with his pants falling off his arse and how very little I missed it. As in not at all. Completely not at all. And NO RAP or hiphop "music" either. Along with bread that tastes like bread and other aspects of terrific food, the absence of rap and pants off arses has been a real visual and auditory holiday.
If her lottery scratch off had won the 500.000€ prize, she'd have been coming home only long enough to collect Charlie and Delilah
Heading back to the apartment to get my code so I can print my boarding pass, nip up to the Tabbacheria and buy a couple of folks some Italian ciggies and then have dinner. Up at 5 a.m. is going to hurt, but at least Ms. Packratty will have the consolation of good coffee and the Leonardo Express to help ease some of the pain.
Wednesday & Thursday
Ms. Packratty does not want to leave. In all fairness, she knew this would happen, but it is still sad to know that she has less than 36 hours before her plane takes off.
Wednesday, she got up nice and early and made a fast breakfast before setting off for the Cavour Metro station. From there, she went to Termini and bought a 3 day BIT ticket for trains and buses, her 1 week ticket having expired at midnight Tuesday. Off to the Ottaviano Metro stop and from there about three quarters of a mile hike to the plaza in front of St. Peter’s, where she joined a long long line of people waiting to get cleared by the Swiss Guards and enter the audience hall. Let me tell you, it was not an intimate experience. There appeared to be about 5,000 people jammed into the very modern audience hall. The Pope arrived more or less on time and gave a lengthy address in Italian, of which Ms. Packratty caught about every 20th word. He then gave greetings to the throng in a short address in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English, German and Polish. Whatever else one might say about the incumbent, he certainly is a gifted linguist. The Papacy must be as wearing as the presidency though – Ratzinger looks 20 years older than he did at his election. I left the audience hall and purchased some small religious articles that had been blessed that I had been asked to bring back, then headed back to the Metro.
Fun Roman fact for the day – those bright Swiss guard uniforms? Designed by Michelangelo. Unchanged to the present day.
I did find a shop selling “popeners” - bottle openers adorned with an image of the Pope on one side and St. Peter’s on the other. I then took the subway to Piazza Spagna stop and made a serious tactical error in map reading – I walked about a mile plus to the Gallery Borghese. I was disappointed to see a sign up saying that all tickets for Wednesday were sold, but went in to see if I could purchase for Thursday only to find that there were indeed tickets available – apparently several groups had not shown up for their reservation to my good fortune.
The Gallery Borghese is almost too much eye candy. Unlike the Barberini, which I would like to visit many more times, the Borghese was amazing, but I did not find myself wishing I could come back. Possibly, because unlike the Barberini where there are chairs and benches in most of the rooms so that one can sit and really look at pieces, the Borghese is focused on moving people through and out. The chairs are all roped off and in only one room did they have long ottomans that one could sit on and look up to admire the ceilings. The other exceedingly annoying thing was a group of about 12 young male Germans who were sniggering at anything even slightly suggestive. I was behind them and had spoken briefly with a lady from Verona who had lovely English when they reached the room with the statues of the hermaphrodites. Even with my very limited German, it was clear that the boys ahead of us were making very, very nasty comments. The lady I had been speaking snapped at them in German which shut them up for a while, at least and then I was able to turn right while they went left and avoid them for the rest of the visit.
Leaving the museum, Ms. Packratty was really hungry, so she stopped at the museum restaurant for a panini and a mineral water and to rest her sad, tired feet.
Note about feet – Ms. Packratty wears a European 41 and the only shoes she has found in her size have been high heel platform shoes that look like hookerwear and make her toes ache just to look at. She finally spotted a pair of gorgeous flats, but there is no way in this lifetime that she is paying 450€ for a pair of flats. Besides, even those pinched a little and Ms. Packratty knows perfectly well what happens to uncomfortable shoes – they languish unworn in the back of the closet. She has also noted in the museums that “Morton’s foot” - wide at the ball with a longer second toe – was endemic among the various artist’s models, if not the general population – both ancient and Renaissance. Apparently not so much now, or else a lot of Roman are wearing shoes that don’t fit.
After the Borghese, she caught a cab back to Piazza Repubblica and got all the way into the bowels of the station only to have the next train come in and empty out with a message on the station loudspeakers that the track between Repubblica and Termini was closed. She climbed back out of the station and found the nearest bus stop and went back to Termini, stopping to check on what time the first Leonardo Express to the airport leaves – around 520 a.m. At this point it was about 430 p.m. and Ms. Packratty felt as though she was walking on glass, so she went back to Via Urbana and took a nap before her dinner at Cavour 313, an enoteca that had been recommended to her. Along with 2 glasses of a Brunello that was as close to wine perfection as she has ever had, she also had a cheese and salumi sampler and an arugula salad with shaved gran padano cheese dressed with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. She followed that with a lasagna that was about as far from the ragu-smothered American version as you can get. There was tomato, but not tomato sauce, a limited amount of very good ricotta and the meat was like a diced meat that had been broiled with a little olive oil before being added to the pasta. Unfortunately, this meal was the first in Rome to disagree with the Packratty digestion and she spent a good chunk of the night sitting up waiting for the distress to be over and hence, got a late start on Thursday.
One of the first orders of business was to go down to Mailboxes Etc. near the Cavour Metro and ship back most of her purchases. American non-Express once again screwed up and refused to let Ms. Packratty pay the shipping bill so she had to go to an ATM and get more cash, even though her available balance was nearly 3 times the amount she was trying to charge in Euro. Ms. Packratty will definitely be having a very definitive discussion with American Express when she returns and doesn’t have to pay 15 cents a minute to talk to them.
Shipping accomplished, Ms. Packratty set off to explore around the via Nazionale. Something was definitely going on in the government center because she spotted or heard 4 or 5 motorcades as she walked. There are the regular Rome police, then the carabinieri who wear very fancy uniforms with capes and carry submachine guns on guard duty – very swank. Then there are the financial police (see earlier comments about the Italian national sport of tax evasion) and in various parts of Rome you will also spot Army and Navy uniforms. Got to love a police force that drives Alfa Romeos …
Thursday night, Ms. Packratty dined at La Rosetta, which is noted for its seafood. She had a pair of prawns that had ambitions of becoming lobsters, served on a bed of insanely good risotto and a secondi that reminded her of her mother’s Lobster Newburg along with a half bottle of a slightly fizzy Frascati. Friday night, she intends to try Urbana 47 just down the block, which is famous for serving food sourced only in the Lazio region.
Friday she hopes to visit two of the National museums near her apartment and then take the 118 bus down the Via Appia Antica, although she doubts that she will have the opportunity to take any of the catacomb tours. Although she has done much of what she wanted to, including plenty of time just spent walking around experiencing the city, the list of things she wants to visit next time is now twice as long. And, as mentioned before, Ms. Packratty would like to spend about a week at the Vatican Museums alone. It's very entertaining just walking up and down Via Urbana and Via Panisperna and looking at all the little shops and businesses, which range from a couple of very blue collar metal and woodworking shops through high end glass and jewelry, an undertaker, various frutterias and alimentari, 4-5 coffee shops and Paneficio Monti, whose incredible breads I will miss terribly.
It is rather too bad that the Romans have not revived their public baths – after a week of using a tiny shower and with very beaten-up feet and legs, Ms. Packratty would love a swill in a really hot bath or three. As her bus has gone by the ruins of various baths, she has considered that a truly unfortunate thing – although I suppose most people wouldn’t behave well enough for something like that to be possible. She does suppose that someone who set up foot massage locations like the ones in New York’s Chinatown near some of the major tourist sites might be wildly successful.
Wednesday, she got up nice and early and made a fast breakfast before setting off for the Cavour Metro station. From there, she went to Termini and bought a 3 day BIT ticket for trains and buses, her 1 week ticket having expired at midnight Tuesday. Off to the Ottaviano Metro stop and from there about three quarters of a mile hike to the plaza in front of St. Peter’s, where she joined a long long line of people waiting to get cleared by the Swiss Guards and enter the audience hall. Let me tell you, it was not an intimate experience. There appeared to be about 5,000 people jammed into the very modern audience hall. The Pope arrived more or less on time and gave a lengthy address in Italian, of which Ms. Packratty caught about every 20th word. He then gave greetings to the throng in a short address in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English, German and Polish. Whatever else one might say about the incumbent, he certainly is a gifted linguist. The Papacy must be as wearing as the presidency though – Ratzinger looks 20 years older than he did at his election. I left the audience hall and purchased some small religious articles that had been blessed that I had been asked to bring back, then headed back to the Metro.
Fun Roman fact for the day – those bright Swiss guard uniforms? Designed by Michelangelo. Unchanged to the present day.
I did find a shop selling “popeners” - bottle openers adorned with an image of the Pope on one side and St. Peter’s on the other. I then took the subway to Piazza Spagna stop and made a serious tactical error in map reading – I walked about a mile plus to the Gallery Borghese. I was disappointed to see a sign up saying that all tickets for Wednesday were sold, but went in to see if I could purchase for Thursday only to find that there were indeed tickets available – apparently several groups had not shown up for their reservation to my good fortune.
The Gallery Borghese is almost too much eye candy. Unlike the Barberini, which I would like to visit many more times, the Borghese was amazing, but I did not find myself wishing I could come back. Possibly, because unlike the Barberini where there are chairs and benches in most of the rooms so that one can sit and really look at pieces, the Borghese is focused on moving people through and out. The chairs are all roped off and in only one room did they have long ottomans that one could sit on and look up to admire the ceilings. The other exceedingly annoying thing was a group of about 12 young male Germans who were sniggering at anything even slightly suggestive. I was behind them and had spoken briefly with a lady from Verona who had lovely English when they reached the room with the statues of the hermaphrodites. Even with my very limited German, it was clear that the boys ahead of us were making very, very nasty comments. The lady I had been speaking snapped at them in German which shut them up for a while, at least and then I was able to turn right while they went left and avoid them for the rest of the visit.
Leaving the museum, Ms. Packratty was really hungry, so she stopped at the museum restaurant for a panini and a mineral water and to rest her sad, tired feet.
Note about feet – Ms. Packratty wears a European 41 and the only shoes she has found in her size have been high heel platform shoes that look like hookerwear and make her toes ache just to look at. She finally spotted a pair of gorgeous flats, but there is no way in this lifetime that she is paying 450€ for a pair of flats. Besides, even those pinched a little and Ms. Packratty knows perfectly well what happens to uncomfortable shoes – they languish unworn in the back of the closet. She has also noted in the museums that “Morton’s foot” - wide at the ball with a longer second toe – was endemic among the various artist’s models, if not the general population – both ancient and Renaissance. Apparently not so much now, or else a lot of Roman are wearing shoes that don’t fit.
After the Borghese, she caught a cab back to Piazza Repubblica and got all the way into the bowels of the station only to have the next train come in and empty out with a message on the station loudspeakers that the track between Repubblica and Termini was closed. She climbed back out of the station and found the nearest bus stop and went back to Termini, stopping to check on what time the first Leonardo Express to the airport leaves – around 520 a.m. At this point it was about 430 p.m. and Ms. Packratty felt as though she was walking on glass, so she went back to Via Urbana and took a nap before her dinner at Cavour 313, an enoteca that had been recommended to her. Along with 2 glasses of a Brunello that was as close to wine perfection as she has ever had, she also had a cheese and salumi sampler and an arugula salad with shaved gran padano cheese dressed with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. She followed that with a lasagna that was about as far from the ragu-smothered American version as you can get. There was tomato, but not tomato sauce, a limited amount of very good ricotta and the meat was like a diced meat that had been broiled with a little olive oil before being added to the pasta. Unfortunately, this meal was the first in Rome to disagree with the Packratty digestion and she spent a good chunk of the night sitting up waiting for the distress to be over and hence, got a late start on Thursday.
One of the first orders of business was to go down to Mailboxes Etc. near the Cavour Metro and ship back most of her purchases. American non-Express once again screwed up and refused to let Ms. Packratty pay the shipping bill so she had to go to an ATM and get more cash, even though her available balance was nearly 3 times the amount she was trying to charge in Euro. Ms. Packratty will definitely be having a very definitive discussion with American Express when she returns and doesn’t have to pay 15 cents a minute to talk to them.
Shipping accomplished, Ms. Packratty set off to explore around the via Nazionale. Something was definitely going on in the government center because she spotted or heard 4 or 5 motorcades as she walked. There are the regular Rome police, then the carabinieri who wear very fancy uniforms with capes and carry submachine guns on guard duty – very swank. Then there are the financial police (see earlier comments about the Italian national sport of tax evasion) and in various parts of Rome you will also spot Army and Navy uniforms. Got to love a police force that drives Alfa Romeos …
Thursday night, Ms. Packratty dined at La Rosetta, which is noted for its seafood. She had a pair of prawns that had ambitions of becoming lobsters, served on a bed of insanely good risotto and a secondi that reminded her of her mother’s Lobster Newburg along with a half bottle of a slightly fizzy Frascati. Friday night, she intends to try Urbana 47 just down the block, which is famous for serving food sourced only in the Lazio region.
Friday she hopes to visit two of the National museums near her apartment and then take the 118 bus down the Via Appia Antica, although she doubts that she will have the opportunity to take any of the catacomb tours. Although she has done much of what she wanted to, including plenty of time just spent walking around experiencing the city, the list of things she wants to visit next time is now twice as long. And, as mentioned before, Ms. Packratty would like to spend about a week at the Vatican Museums alone. It's very entertaining just walking up and down Via Urbana and Via Panisperna and looking at all the little shops and businesses, which range from a couple of very blue collar metal and woodworking shops through high end glass and jewelry, an undertaker, various frutterias and alimentari, 4-5 coffee shops and Paneficio Monti, whose incredible breads I will miss terribly.
It is rather too bad that the Romans have not revived their public baths – after a week of using a tiny shower and with very beaten-up feet and legs, Ms. Packratty would love a swill in a really hot bath or three. As her bus has gone by the ruins of various baths, she has considered that a truly unfortunate thing – although I suppose most people wouldn’t behave well enough for something like that to be possible. She does suppose that someone who set up foot massage locations like the ones in New York’s Chinatown near some of the major tourist sites might be wildly successful.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Oh, my aching feet.
Ms. Packratty overdid it Tuesday in a big way. First off, she walked around the neighborhood after breakfast until it was time for the Barberini Museum to open. She took the bus from the corner of Via Urbana and Via Panisperna to Via del Tritone and then hiked to the Barberini. OK, she had an art overdose and is seriously cranky at the fact that the bookstore did not have a single volume overview of the collection. She thinks she could happily visit it every month for a year without it all soaking in.
From the Barberini, she walked over in the direction of the Pantheon, stopping for an espresso doppio at Tazzo de Oro. The Pantheon was very crowded and people had to be reminded (!) that it is a church and that they shouldn’t be eating, drinking and yakking on their cell phones. Once again, the Japanese and the Germans won hands down for rudeness. From the Pantheon, Ms. Packratty snared a cab and took it across the Tiber to Santa Maria de Trastevere, one of the basilica churches of Rome. It was very gaudy and jammed with tourists and not terribly serene.
From there, Ms. Packratty consulted the map and crossed over to St. Cecelia’s. She arrived while the church was closed so that the Cistercian nuns could sing their afternoon office and it was hauntingly beautiful to sit outside and knit while waiting for the service to be complete. Apparently knitting is strictly an old lady thing in Rome because everywhere that Ms. Packratty has KIPed (KIP being Knitted In Public) she has been asked what she is doing and then why. Interesting to try to explain to a fashionable Roman that Ms. Packratty knits because it is good for her and produces something unique, because it appears that the fashionable Roman woman wants nothing so much as to have exactly the same name brands on body and feet as every other fashionable Roman woman. Making an effort to be unique seems to frighten them. But then, looking at the tatty and or cheap hats and scarves they are wearing in the winter cold is enough to convince Ms. Packratty that they really need to take up knitting here in a big way.
Santa Cecelia was a beautiful church – austere compared to Santa Maria. Interestingly, there were quartered pomegranates in bronze scattered around the church – a curiously pagan motif given the piety of the patron saint. Once the church service was over and the nuns - almost all elderly – had filed away to their adjoining cloisters, Ms. Packratty purchased admission to the excavations under the church, which included a very old chapel that looked almost Byzantine in its décor, as well as what appeared to be the remains of a residence.
From St. Cecelia, she walked down to the Tiber and risked life and limb crossing the road that runs along the western bank, then crossed over below the Isola Tiburtina, where the city’s largest maternity hospital is located. Then she caught the bus back to the Barberini Metro stop and walked up the very long hill to Santa Susanna, where she picked up her ticket for the papal audience on Wednesday morning. Then she splurged on another cab because her feet were about to drop off at the ankles and returned safely to Via Urbana centi venti tre, where she nipped into the salumeria and bought some prosciutto and then to Panificio Monti for a couple of slices of rustic bread. A bit of provolone dolce added to the prosciutto and bread and a glass of a really pleasant Montepulciano d’Abruzzo made for dinner.
One observation – Romans must be the world’s most frustrated gardeners. There are plants, including olive and citrus trees, growing on the most improbable balconies and terraces and, at this season, pots of cyclamens blooming everywhere. It definitely serves to soften what could otherwise be far too hard a cityscape. The Roman preference for shades of ochre is apparently persistent across the millennia – the same shades seen on modern buildings around the city is seen in the excavations under the Vatican on the tombs buried since the third century AD.
Ms. Packratty has even found a television channel that transcends language – the pet channel. Last night as she was reading, there was a lengthy program devoted to the piccolo (small) terriers. Europeans no longer dock the tails of the various breeds and it was surprising to see how flimsy the tails of some of the terrier breeds look. Apparently Italians like the same things about terriers as Americans, because the narrator was clearly extolling their courage and pugnacity as well as their energy and happy dispositions.
Wednesday, there is the aforementioned papal audience and then Ms. Packratty plans to go to the Borghese Gallery and possibly follow up with taking the 118 bus down the Via Appia. It is hard to believe she has been here not quite a week – it feels as though she could happily spend the next decade getting to know this city and taking in all of the art and architecture. Sadly, she has not won the lottery and will just have to return home and start saving her pennies again.
From the Barberini, she walked over in the direction of the Pantheon, stopping for an espresso doppio at Tazzo de Oro. The Pantheon was very crowded and people had to be reminded (!) that it is a church and that they shouldn’t be eating, drinking and yakking on their cell phones. Once again, the Japanese and the Germans won hands down for rudeness. From the Pantheon, Ms. Packratty snared a cab and took it across the Tiber to Santa Maria de Trastevere, one of the basilica churches of Rome. It was very gaudy and jammed with tourists and not terribly serene.
From there, Ms. Packratty consulted the map and crossed over to St. Cecelia’s. She arrived while the church was closed so that the Cistercian nuns could sing their afternoon office and it was hauntingly beautiful to sit outside and knit while waiting for the service to be complete. Apparently knitting is strictly an old lady thing in Rome because everywhere that Ms. Packratty has KIPed (KIP being Knitted In Public) she has been asked what she is doing and then why. Interesting to try to explain to a fashionable Roman that Ms. Packratty knits because it is good for her and produces something unique, because it appears that the fashionable Roman woman wants nothing so much as to have exactly the same name brands on body and feet as every other fashionable Roman woman. Making an effort to be unique seems to frighten them. But then, looking at the tatty and or cheap hats and scarves they are wearing in the winter cold is enough to convince Ms. Packratty that they really need to take up knitting here in a big way.
Santa Cecelia was a beautiful church – austere compared to Santa Maria. Interestingly, there were quartered pomegranates in bronze scattered around the church – a curiously pagan motif given the piety of the patron saint. Once the church service was over and the nuns - almost all elderly – had filed away to their adjoining cloisters, Ms. Packratty purchased admission to the excavations under the church, which included a very old chapel that looked almost Byzantine in its décor, as well as what appeared to be the remains of a residence.
From St. Cecelia, she walked down to the Tiber and risked life and limb crossing the road that runs along the western bank, then crossed over below the Isola Tiburtina, where the city’s largest maternity hospital is located. Then she caught the bus back to the Barberini Metro stop and walked up the very long hill to Santa Susanna, where she picked up her ticket for the papal audience on Wednesday morning. Then she splurged on another cab because her feet were about to drop off at the ankles and returned safely to Via Urbana centi venti tre, where she nipped into the salumeria and bought some prosciutto and then to Panificio Monti for a couple of slices of rustic bread. A bit of provolone dolce added to the prosciutto and bread and a glass of a really pleasant Montepulciano d’Abruzzo made for dinner.
One observation – Romans must be the world’s most frustrated gardeners. There are plants, including olive and citrus trees, growing on the most improbable balconies and terraces and, at this season, pots of cyclamens blooming everywhere. It definitely serves to soften what could otherwise be far too hard a cityscape. The Roman preference for shades of ochre is apparently persistent across the millennia – the same shades seen on modern buildings around the city is seen in the excavations under the Vatican on the tombs buried since the third century AD.
Ms. Packratty has even found a television channel that transcends language – the pet channel. Last night as she was reading, there was a lengthy program devoted to the piccolo (small) terriers. Europeans no longer dock the tails of the various breeds and it was surprising to see how flimsy the tails of some of the terrier breeds look. Apparently Italians like the same things about terriers as Americans, because the narrator was clearly extolling their courage and pugnacity as well as their energy and happy dispositions.
Wednesday, there is the aforementioned papal audience and then Ms. Packratty plans to go to the Borghese Gallery and possibly follow up with taking the 118 bus down the Via Appia. It is hard to believe she has been here not quite a week – it feels as though she could happily spend the next decade getting to know this city and taking in all of the art and architecture. Sadly, she has not won the lottery and will just have to return home and start saving her pennies again.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Rainy, rainy Monday
Monday morning in Rome arrived with rain thrumming loudly on the skylight in the tiny kitchen and although it did not last long, the entire day was damp and overcast. Ms. Packratty had planned to go to Naples but there was some possibility of one of Italy’s one day, spotty transit strikes where some trains run and others don’t depending on where you are, so she elected to stay in Rome. Even thought the strike did not materialize, the day was put to good use.
Ms. Packratty downed her morning cappuccino around the corner and took her sheets, towels and dirty shirts and trousers up to the launderette that Alessandro had recommended. In lieu of sitting and watching the tiny little Italian washers spin away, she paid an extra 3€ and arranged to pick up her clean laundry at 3 p.m. Back at the apartment, she made a small breakfast and took out the trash, before getting her paperwork together and walking up Via Panisperna to Via Milano and then on to Via Nazionale to the Palazzo delle Esposizioni.
Valeria Duttweiler’s portrait painted during her first marriage has a partial sticker on the back saying it was exhibited in 1936 or 1938 there and Ms. Packratty has been hoping to find out more about the exhibit and the artist – Rolando Moriti. No immediate luck, but she was given the name of one of the museum’s historians. Her first attempt to contact him failed, but there is always tomorrow.
Ironically, right next to the Palazzo is the basilica church of St. Vitale and St. Valeria. Ms. Packratty went in to say a prayer for Valeria, Ozzie and Raymond. There were statues of all the other saints and martyrs associated with the church, but it was under the control of the Society of Jesus for 3 centuries and apparently St. Valeria was expurgated from everything but the name. A church has stood on the site since the sixth century AD and the present church is reportedly unchanged for about the last 500 years. It is easy to see how things get buried in Rome, though – the surrounding area has been built on and filled in so much that one must walk down a long stretch of stairs to get to the front of the church.
Leaving the church, she proceeded down Via Nazionale to the Via de Quattro Fontane, stopping to admire the eponymous four fountains at the corner of via 20 Settembre. She went down the hill and checked to see if the ticket office at the Barberini might be open – no such luck, but she will return tomorrow. Then back over the hill, stopping for a fast espresso, taken Roman style standing at the bar and back down to Via Nazionale.
A shop lured her in and she spent more of her parental gift on a very pretty blue wallet to replace the wallet her mother purchased for her 12 years ago in Florence which is finally falling apart. Back at her apartment, Ms. Packratty tidied up and had a cup of tea and then went down to try to call the historian. No luck. (Fortunately for Ms. Packratty there is a shop with Internet and Vodaphone service about 8 doors down, since the Mobal phone she bought proved to be useful only as an alarm clock. However, at 15 cents a minute, calling family back in the US is not expensive and it was a godsend during the American Express prepaid debacle. Ironically, the two things that Ms. Packratty thought were going to make her life more convenient were both great big giant flops.)
It was almost 2 p.m., so Ms. Packratty stopped and bought a prosciutto and cheese tramezzi, had it toasted and took it back to her apartment, after which she washed up her dishes and crossed the street to an alley with stairs that cuts through to Via Cavour and picked up her very nicely done wash. Except for the fact that the launderette used some very stinky fabric softener on her shirts, which she has now washed out by hand to desmell them.
After that, she wandered around the neighborhood and located the Mailboxes Etc., where she needs to take some of her purchases tomorrow to be shipped home. She has not decided on dinner, but keeps thinking about this little place down the block that makes Pulgliese style food.
Tuesday, Ms. Packratty plans to visit the Barberini and then go to Trastevere to St. Cecelia and St. Maria. The Barberini has that wonderful Holbein of Henry VIII in late middle age at his piggish worst after he’d already divorced or killed several wives. Ms. Packratty has to pick up her ticket for the Wednesday’s papal audience after 5 p.m. at Santa Susanna which is northwest of Termini, but that’s all that’s scheduled. Wednesday she will attend the aforementioned audience, try to find some popeners (bottle openers with the papal emblem for some of her sacreligious friends) and then she hopes to get to the Borghese Gallery in the afternoon.
Speaking of popes, Benedict may be sitting on the throne of St. Peter, but if one was to judge by the calendars, rosaries and other paraphernalia being flogged to the tourists, John Paul II is still tremendously represented, especially considering that he’s been dead five years.
Ms. Packratty downed her morning cappuccino around the corner and took her sheets, towels and dirty shirts and trousers up to the launderette that Alessandro had recommended. In lieu of sitting and watching the tiny little Italian washers spin away, she paid an extra 3€ and arranged to pick up her clean laundry at 3 p.m. Back at the apartment, she made a small breakfast and took out the trash, before getting her paperwork together and walking up Via Panisperna to Via Milano and then on to Via Nazionale to the Palazzo delle Esposizioni.
Valeria Duttweiler’s portrait painted during her first marriage has a partial sticker on the back saying it was exhibited in 1936 or 1938 there and Ms. Packratty has been hoping to find out more about the exhibit and the artist – Rolando Moriti. No immediate luck, but she was given the name of one of the museum’s historians. Her first attempt to contact him failed, but there is always tomorrow.
Ironically, right next to the Palazzo is the basilica church of St. Vitale and St. Valeria. Ms. Packratty went in to say a prayer for Valeria, Ozzie and Raymond. There were statues of all the other saints and martyrs associated with the church, but it was under the control of the Society of Jesus for 3 centuries and apparently St. Valeria was expurgated from everything but the name. A church has stood on the site since the sixth century AD and the present church is reportedly unchanged for about the last 500 years. It is easy to see how things get buried in Rome, though – the surrounding area has been built on and filled in so much that one must walk down a long stretch of stairs to get to the front of the church.
Leaving the church, she proceeded down Via Nazionale to the Via de Quattro Fontane, stopping to admire the eponymous four fountains at the corner of via 20 Settembre. She went down the hill and checked to see if the ticket office at the Barberini might be open – no such luck, but she will return tomorrow. Then back over the hill, stopping for a fast espresso, taken Roman style standing at the bar and back down to Via Nazionale.
A shop lured her in and she spent more of her parental gift on a very pretty blue wallet to replace the wallet her mother purchased for her 12 years ago in Florence which is finally falling apart. Back at her apartment, Ms. Packratty tidied up and had a cup of tea and then went down to try to call the historian. No luck. (Fortunately for Ms. Packratty there is a shop with Internet and Vodaphone service about 8 doors down, since the Mobal phone she bought proved to be useful only as an alarm clock. However, at 15 cents a minute, calling family back in the US is not expensive and it was a godsend during the American Express prepaid debacle. Ironically, the two things that Ms. Packratty thought were going to make her life more convenient were both great big giant flops.)
It was almost 2 p.m., so Ms. Packratty stopped and bought a prosciutto and cheese tramezzi, had it toasted and took it back to her apartment, after which she washed up her dishes and crossed the street to an alley with stairs that cuts through to Via Cavour and picked up her very nicely done wash. Except for the fact that the launderette used some very stinky fabric softener on her shirts, which she has now washed out by hand to desmell them.
After that, she wandered around the neighborhood and located the Mailboxes Etc., where she needs to take some of her purchases tomorrow to be shipped home. She has not decided on dinner, but keeps thinking about this little place down the block that makes Pulgliese style food.
Tuesday, Ms. Packratty plans to visit the Barberini and then go to Trastevere to St. Cecelia and St. Maria. The Barberini has that wonderful Holbein of Henry VIII in late middle age at his piggish worst after he’d already divorced or killed several wives. Ms. Packratty has to pick up her ticket for the Wednesday’s papal audience after 5 p.m. at Santa Susanna which is northwest of Termini, but that’s all that’s scheduled. Wednesday she will attend the aforementioned audience, try to find some popeners (bottle openers with the papal emblem for some of her sacreligious friends) and then she hopes to get to the Borghese Gallery in the afternoon.
Speaking of popes, Benedict may be sitting on the throne of St. Peter, but if one was to judge by the calendars, rosaries and other paraphernalia being flogged to the tourists, John Paul II is still tremendously represented, especially considering that he’s been dead five years.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Porto Portese, the Forum and more
First of all, Ms. Packratty had what may have been one of the better meals of her life Saturday night at a rather famous Roman restaurant called Checchina dal 1887. It was scandalously expensive, a gift from her parents, but will be something to remember forever. She had veal and a bread and greens salad and roasted vegetables.
Honestly, Ms. Packratty does not know what she is going to do about food when she returns home. Even street food in Rome is so ... clean and clear tasting that American food seems like a very bad memory. I don't know if it is because we season things too much or that the basic ingredients here are better, but even the eggs are insanely good with deep orange yolks. The bread is amazing and Ms. Packratty's rented abode is right across the street from Paneficio Monti, which she has been told is the best bakery in the rione, or district, and the bread is superb. So are the pastries, which she has been rationing one piece and a different sort each day. They also sell pizza bianco.
It was a huge effort to wake up Sunday morning, but Ms. Packratty hauled herself awake, showered and dressed and caught the Metro to the Pyramide station. (There actually is a pyramid in Rome, although unlike all the obelisks, it was not plundered from Egypt, but was built as a tomb in imitation of the Egyptians, although it is much much much smaller and located in the middle of a traffic circle. Apparently Imperial Rome went through an Egyptian craze much as America and England did after the discovery of King Tut's tomb.)
From the Pyramide station, it was a short trip across the river to the weekly Porto Portese market where everything from fake antiques to fake Guccis along with a few presumably genuine articles was on sale. With her money and identification tucked under her clothing, Ms. Packratty had nothing to fear from the legendary pickpockets. She wandered up and down for more than an hour and made a couple of small purchases. She has, however, concluded that people in Rome go through a LOT of underwear. There is an underwear shop on every block it seems, with the raciest unmentionables for both genders on display in the windows - and it seemed as though every third booth at the Sunday market was hawking more underwear.
Leaving Porto Portese, Ms. Packratty caught the #75 bus all the way back to the Colosseum, where she hopped off and used her ticket from Saturday to take an amble through the Forum. It's vastly different to actually walk through the place than to look at all the pictures. The scale they built on without benefit of machinery is astonishing and even though things are BIG, they also retain a human scale.
Unfortunately, it started to mist a bit and Ms. Packratty consulted her map and made a beeline for Via Nazionale, where she lucked out and caught the tail end of a Carnevale parade. Unlike New Orleans' Mardi Gras, Carnevale here seems to be mostly for children, who are dressed up in all sorts of cute costumes, very few of which are merchandising tie-ins for cartoons or movies. From there, she found Via Panisperna and hiked over the hill to where it intersects with Via Urbana, one block from her apartment.
Up until Sunday, the weather has been relatively pleasant. A bit chilly, but really perfect for tramping around without getting overheated. However, from the garb of most Romans, one would imagine that the second Ice Age had begun. Fur coats are present in great numbers, along with overstuffed nylon parkas, heavy wool hats, etc. The children are especially loaded up with heavy coats.
Ms. Packratty does have pictures - although not of Porto Portese market - but needs to get the man who runs the Internet spot down the block to hook up her camera for her to upload them.
And her feet are holding up. Saturday night she was very sore and tired from the knees down, but when she woke up this morning, her feet suddenly felt better. The mileage she has been putting on has been formidable and she has also been greatly thankful for the mapreading skills drilled into her by her father.
Honestly, Ms. Packratty does not know what she is going to do about food when she returns home. Even street food in Rome is so ... clean and clear tasting that American food seems like a very bad memory. I don't know if it is because we season things too much or that the basic ingredients here are better, but even the eggs are insanely good with deep orange yolks. The bread is amazing and Ms. Packratty's rented abode is right across the street from Paneficio Monti, which she has been told is the best bakery in the rione, or district, and the bread is superb. So are the pastries, which she has been rationing one piece and a different sort each day. They also sell pizza bianco.
It was a huge effort to wake up Sunday morning, but Ms. Packratty hauled herself awake, showered and dressed and caught the Metro to the Pyramide station. (There actually is a pyramid in Rome, although unlike all the obelisks, it was not plundered from Egypt, but was built as a tomb in imitation of the Egyptians, although it is much much much smaller and located in the middle of a traffic circle. Apparently Imperial Rome went through an Egyptian craze much as America and England did after the discovery of King Tut's tomb.)
From the Pyramide station, it was a short trip across the river to the weekly Porto Portese market where everything from fake antiques to fake Guccis along with a few presumably genuine articles was on sale. With her money and identification tucked under her clothing, Ms. Packratty had nothing to fear from the legendary pickpockets. She wandered up and down for more than an hour and made a couple of small purchases. She has, however, concluded that people in Rome go through a LOT of underwear. There is an underwear shop on every block it seems, with the raciest unmentionables for both genders on display in the windows - and it seemed as though every third booth at the Sunday market was hawking more underwear.
Leaving Porto Portese, Ms. Packratty caught the #75 bus all the way back to the Colosseum, where she hopped off and used her ticket from Saturday to take an amble through the Forum. It's vastly different to actually walk through the place than to look at all the pictures. The scale they built on without benefit of machinery is astonishing and even though things are BIG, they also retain a human scale.
Unfortunately, it started to mist a bit and Ms. Packratty consulted her map and made a beeline for Via Nazionale, where she lucked out and caught the tail end of a Carnevale parade. Unlike New Orleans' Mardi Gras, Carnevale here seems to be mostly for children, who are dressed up in all sorts of cute costumes, very few of which are merchandising tie-ins for cartoons or movies. From there, she found Via Panisperna and hiked over the hill to where it intersects with Via Urbana, one block from her apartment.
Up until Sunday, the weather has been relatively pleasant. A bit chilly, but really perfect for tramping around without getting overheated. However, from the garb of most Romans, one would imagine that the second Ice Age had begun. Fur coats are present in great numbers, along with overstuffed nylon parkas, heavy wool hats, etc. The children are especially loaded up with heavy coats.
Ms. Packratty does have pictures - although not of Porto Portese market - but needs to get the man who runs the Internet spot down the block to hook up her camera for her to upload them.
And her feet are holding up. Saturday night she was very sore and tired from the knees down, but when she woke up this morning, her feet suddenly felt better. The mileage she has been putting on has been formidable and she has also been greatly thankful for the mapreading skills drilled into her by her father.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Saturation point
On Friday, Ms. Packratty started the day with a tour that included the Trevi, where she threw the obligatory coin - one of the Susan B. Anthony dollars her grandfather gave her many many years ago. She likes to think that he would approve of this adventure. We tramped on to Hadrian's column and then on into the Pantheon. No words. There simply aren't enough words and then there would be too many. It is a still, quiet place, immeasurably calmer and more holy than St. Peter's gaudiness and crowds and the Sistine Chapel, burdened as it is with rude throngs. I hope to go back there many times.
The tour took us past the Quirinale Palace, residence of the Italian president. While the guide was talking about the palace, I noticed someone walking - a Westie - in a gated off alley or vicolo - behind the palace. Clearly someone in the presidential palace has good taste. The tour took us for a turn around Piazza Navona next and was then headed to the Vatican. Since I had spent the entire previous day on the Vatican side of the river, I elected to leave the tour then and take a couple of slow circuits of the Piazza.
After stopping in a very famous toy store, Al Sogno, Ms. Packratty followed the signs to Campo di Fiori, where she bought ingredients for her lunch - including a slice of some absolutely divine porchetta. She also located some gloves for her mother and then negotiated the bus system back to the Termini and then home to Via Urbana. After a nice lunch and an afternoon rest, Ms. Packratty dressed herself up warmly and took off for Piazza del Popolo, where Rome's Carnevale is being observed.
The primary show Friday night was equestrian and what a show it was. It started with one man walking around the ring with four white horses on either side in a perfect line without a single rein among them. After a short while, six of the horses were dismissed and the man leapt onto the back of one horse and then to his feet, first standing balanced on one horse and thenwith one foot on the back of two horses. First walking, then cantering, the trio took jumps and wheeled around the ring like clockwork. Then the remaining six horses came out and performed the same act, lined up on either side of the trio and in perfect unison. It was astonishing - nothing like the bravura of a circus performance, but utterly simple and unadorned perfect training and cooperation.
After about 9 p.m., it was getting so chilly that Ms. Packratty reluctantly headed back to Via Urbana and had a hot cup of tea before turning in for the night. Funny note - across Via Urbana from the apartment, there are a number of small shops. In one of them Friday night there was a group of men in their 50s and older, drinking wine and singing along with one of their group playing the guitar. They were clearly all old friends and associates and having a grand time and it was fun to walk by and get a wave from them as I glanced in the window.
On Saturday morning, she awoke early and went down the street to the little coffee bar and had her cappuccino and roll and then headed for the Colosseum, where, after standing in an endless line, she finally got in to see the ruins. Hard to imagine how many people and animals died in that arena for the amusement of the public - makes football and hockey seem quiet utterly tame by comparison.
Having decided to use the other half of her ticket for the Forum for Sunday, Ms. Packratty set off for the Circus Maximus and La Bocca della Verità. The Roman pavement finally had its way with her though and she tripped and nearly took a nasty header, only to be rescued by three students from the university in Perugia who grabbed her arms before she hit the ground and then walked with her until her ankle stopped complaining. One was Spanish, another Brazilian and the third from The Netherlands, all graduate students in chemistry in Perugia. They were actually a little lost and had been about to ask Ms. Packratty for directions(!) when she started to trip and fall and she very gratefully gave them her spare map and sent them on their way. At La Bocca della Verità, after testing it for herself, Ms. Packratty witnessed what must be a Roman ritual - a young bride and groom in their wedding finery zoomed up in a tiny limo, were allowed to the front of the queue, and placed their hands in the mouth while affirming their undying love.
From there, Ms. Packratty marched to the banks of the Tiber and walked around Rome's great synagogue and through the back streets of the old ghetto and finally caught the #40 express back to Termini from the Largo Argentinia. From Termini, she headed back down to Via Urbana, stopping for a bottle of wine, as well as some bread for tomorrow's breakfast.
Tomorrow, Sunday, she plans to brave the Porto Portese market in Trastevere.
The tour took us past the Quirinale Palace, residence of the Italian president. While the guide was talking about the palace, I noticed someone walking - a Westie - in a gated off alley or vicolo - behind the palace. Clearly someone in the presidential palace has good taste. The tour took us for a turn around Piazza Navona next and was then headed to the Vatican. Since I had spent the entire previous day on the Vatican side of the river, I elected to leave the tour then and take a couple of slow circuits of the Piazza.
After stopping in a very famous toy store, Al Sogno, Ms. Packratty followed the signs to Campo di Fiori, where she bought ingredients for her lunch - including a slice of some absolutely divine porchetta. She also located some gloves for her mother and then negotiated the bus system back to the Termini and then home to Via Urbana. After a nice lunch and an afternoon rest, Ms. Packratty dressed herself up warmly and took off for Piazza del Popolo, where Rome's Carnevale is being observed.
The primary show Friday night was equestrian and what a show it was. It started with one man walking around the ring with four white horses on either side in a perfect line without a single rein among them. After a short while, six of the horses were dismissed and the man leapt onto the back of one horse and then to his feet, first standing balanced on one horse and thenwith one foot on the back of two horses. First walking, then cantering, the trio took jumps and wheeled around the ring like clockwork. Then the remaining six horses came out and performed the same act, lined up on either side of the trio and in perfect unison. It was astonishing - nothing like the bravura of a circus performance, but utterly simple and unadorned perfect training and cooperation.
After about 9 p.m., it was getting so chilly that Ms. Packratty reluctantly headed back to Via Urbana and had a hot cup of tea before turning in for the night. Funny note - across Via Urbana from the apartment, there are a number of small shops. In one of them Friday night there was a group of men in their 50s and older, drinking wine and singing along with one of their group playing the guitar. They were clearly all old friends and associates and having a grand time and it was fun to walk by and get a wave from them as I glanced in the window.
On Saturday morning, she awoke early and went down the street to the little coffee bar and had her cappuccino and roll and then headed for the Colosseum, where, after standing in an endless line, she finally got in to see the ruins. Hard to imagine how many people and animals died in that arena for the amusement of the public - makes football and hockey seem quiet utterly tame by comparison.
Having decided to use the other half of her ticket for the Forum for Sunday, Ms. Packratty set off for the Circus Maximus and La Bocca della Verità. The Roman pavement finally had its way with her though and she tripped and nearly took a nasty header, only to be rescued by three students from the university in Perugia who grabbed her arms before she hit the ground and then walked with her until her ankle stopped complaining. One was Spanish, another Brazilian and the third from The Netherlands, all graduate students in chemistry in Perugia. They were actually a little lost and had been about to ask Ms. Packratty for directions(!) when she started to trip and fall and she very gratefully gave them her spare map and sent them on their way. At La Bocca della Verità, after testing it for herself, Ms. Packratty witnessed what must be a Roman ritual - a young bride and groom in their wedding finery zoomed up in a tiny limo, were allowed to the front of the queue, and placed their hands in the mouth while affirming their undying love.
From there, Ms. Packratty marched to the banks of the Tiber and walked around Rome's great synagogue and through the back streets of the old ghetto and finally caught the #40 express back to Termini from the Largo Argentinia. From Termini, she headed back down to Via Urbana, stopping for a bottle of wine, as well as some bread for tomorrow's breakfast.
Tomorrow, Sunday, she plans to brave the Porto Portese market in Trastevere.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Scaavi tour and visiting the Vatican
AmEx debacle aside, all is going well here with Ms. Packratty in Rome.
The SCAAVI tour was amazing . We were able to see into the area between two 1st century AD walls that they believe were erected during the persecution of the Christians as the only marker of Peter's grave. Placed there you could see a plexiglas box that contains the bones that were found there under three successive altars all under the present altar of the basilica. Peter or no, it was quite amazing as was the rest of the necropolis. Pagan and Christian graves - amazing frescos, mosaics, all preserved for millennia because they were buried to make a level foundation for the first basilica. The guide was a graduate archaeologist - very knowledgeable and very very chic. The Swiss Guards in the Michelangelo designed uniforms make the English lads in the bearskin hats look pretty shabby. Rome is crawling with priests even more so than normal because Benedict is making some cardinals in the next few days - the Romans have very little patience with the swarms of clerics although more for the throngs of nuns.
The Vatican tour was too short, I plan on going back and seeing more of the museum. The Sistine Chapel was beyond amazing and, surprisingly, the Japanese and German tourists were far far ruder and badly behaved than the Americans. We are still the worst dressed, though.
Food is fabulous, whether pizza bianco from the bakery across the street or from a tavola calda near the Vatican. And the coffee is DIVINE. Roman cashiers are obsessed with getting the correct change and their faces when presented with a 20€ or larger bill is striking.
Pantheon is beyond amazing and Ms. Packratty is unabashedly in love with the Roman Metro.
The SCAAVI tour was amazing . We were able to see into the area between two 1st century AD walls that they believe were erected during the persecution of the Christians as the only marker of Peter's grave. Placed there you could see a plexiglas box that contains the bones that were found there under three successive altars all under the present altar of the basilica. Peter or no, it was quite amazing as was the rest of the necropolis. Pagan and Christian graves - amazing frescos, mosaics, all preserved for millennia because they were buried to make a level foundation for the first basilica. The guide was a graduate archaeologist - very knowledgeable and very very chic. The Swiss Guards in the Michelangelo designed uniforms make the English lads in the bearskin hats look pretty shabby. Rome is crawling with priests even more so than normal because Benedict is making some cardinals in the next few days - the Romans have very little patience with the swarms of clerics although more for the throngs of nuns.
The Vatican tour was too short, I plan on going back and seeing more of the museum. The Sistine Chapel was beyond amazing and, surprisingly, the Japanese and German tourists were far far ruder and badly behaved than the Americans. We are still the worst dressed, though.
Food is fabulous, whether pizza bianco from the bakery across the street or from a tavola calda near the Vatican. And the coffee is DIVINE. Roman cashiers are obsessed with getting the correct change and their faces when presented with a 20€ or larger bill is striking.
Pantheon is beyond amazing and Ms. Packratty is unabashedly in love with the Roman Metro.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Ms. Packratty giro in Roma
After a long overnight flight sitting next to a charming Italian machinist returning from working in Mexico (without much English OR a large deodorant budget) and across the aisle a rather portly priest who is a chaplain in the US Army but clearly hadn't had HIS clericals cleaned too recently, Ms. Packratty landed in Rome. Baggage all arrived and she successfully purchased a ticket for the Leonardo Express. However, the first snag was encountered when the Banco di Roma ATMs refused both the Wells Fargo and the American Express. Arriving at Termini (and the Leonardo Express is a treat - almost silent, comfortable seats, smoothest ride - amazing) she shortly discovered that Well Fargo's card was working in ATMs, but not American Express. So Ms. Packratty booked in with Allesandro - who was every bit as nice as he seemed in correspondence - into the little apartment - which is just as small as advertised, but sufficient for my needs and very clean and tidy and then took off for the American Express office in Piazza di Spagna.
Purchased a 7 day train and bus pass and found my way, only to discover that American Express's office in Rome is really only American in name. Their notion of helping me was to call the 800 number when I spent more than an hour on the phone with "Tessa" in India who kept asking me for the state that Rome was in. She did not even have the phone number for the Piazza di Spagna office which has to be like only the most famous American Express office in the world. Then finally, I was informed that I had been lied to and that I could only withdraw via ATM $200 US once a week. I had been told I could make more than 1 withdrawal, but I would have to pay an extra fee. WRONG.
Eventually they wired me $500 to the little Western Union office 5 doors down from the apartment in Via Urbana where I was also, for 2€, able to call the Packratty parents and inform them of my arrival since - guess what - the Mobal phone we purchased seems to be functional only as an alarm clock. Ms. Packratty has been informed that she should try to purchase a prepaid sim to put in it and use that. She is contemplating this.
Passing through Piazza di Spagna en route to the Metro (also very nice, but Roman are ruder than New Yorkers in their transit manners) there were chestnut roasters out on the sidewalk so Ms. Packratty bought a cone and was able to relive a very pleasant taste memory from her childhood.
Things got better then. Went to the little grocery and bought milk and eggs and yogurt and fizzy water and next door, some pizza con funghi and a little round pastry filled with lovely lemony custard, not too sweet. Then hiked up to Upim and looked for an inexpensive blanket (unsuccessful), but the blankets in the apartment proved warm enough. Nipped into the supermercato Despar underneath Upim and got butter and toilet paper and a bottle of Valpollicello and went back to Via Urbana 123.
After visiting Upim and Despar, Ms. Packratty unpacked and sat by the window and made a small dinner with wine and pizza and that lovely pastry and then took an Aleve and went to bed about 8, having been up for more than 36 hours effectively.
The alarm went off at 7, but we woke up just before, which was nice.
Made a small breakfast - this is what eggs look like in Italy!
Then we hiked up to Termini and glancing at the clock and considering our feet, caught a taxi (clean and comfortable although tiny) and zoomed (although with no traffic drama) over the Tiber to Vatican City and the scaavi tour under the basilica where the bones believed to be those of St. Peter were found and are enshrined. It was quite an expedition into what was once an open air cemetery with aboveground crypts and tombs, buried by Constantine to make a foundation for the first church on the site.
It was an awesome experience and walking through the grottoes on the way out, Ms. Packratty was quite amazed at the effigies of various popes and the frescoes and mosaic.
Next? The tour of the Vatican above ground after a lunch at a "hot table" restaurant where Ms. Packratty had a plate of veal slices cooked with mushrooms and a caffe lungo and a lot of aqua gassata.
Purchased a 7 day train and bus pass and found my way, only to discover that American Express's office in Rome is really only American in name. Their notion of helping me was to call the 800 number when I spent more than an hour on the phone with "Tessa" in India who kept asking me for the state that Rome was in. She did not even have the phone number for the Piazza di Spagna office which has to be like only the most famous American Express office in the world. Then finally, I was informed that I had been lied to and that I could only withdraw via ATM $200 US once a week. I had been told I could make more than 1 withdrawal, but I would have to pay an extra fee. WRONG.
Eventually they wired me $500 to the little Western Union office 5 doors down from the apartment in Via Urbana where I was also, for 2€, able to call the Packratty parents and inform them of my arrival since - guess what - the Mobal phone we purchased seems to be functional only as an alarm clock. Ms. Packratty has been informed that she should try to purchase a prepaid sim to put in it and use that. She is contemplating this.
Passing through Piazza di Spagna en route to the Metro (also very nice, but Roman are ruder than New Yorkers in their transit manners) there were chestnut roasters out on the sidewalk so Ms. Packratty bought a cone and was able to relive a very pleasant taste memory from her childhood.
Things got better then. Went to the little grocery and bought milk and eggs and yogurt and fizzy water and next door, some pizza con funghi and a little round pastry filled with lovely lemony custard, not too sweet. Then hiked up to Upim and looked for an inexpensive blanket (unsuccessful), but the blankets in the apartment proved warm enough. Nipped into the supermercato Despar underneath Upim and got butter and toilet paper and a bottle of Valpollicello and went back to Via Urbana 123.
After visiting Upim and Despar, Ms. Packratty unpacked and sat by the window and made a small dinner with wine and pizza and that lovely pastry and then took an Aleve and went to bed about 8, having been up for more than 36 hours effectively.
The alarm went off at 7, but we woke up just before, which was nice.
Made a small breakfast - this is what eggs look like in Italy!
Then we hiked up to Termini and glancing at the clock and considering our feet, caught a taxi (clean and comfortable although tiny) and zoomed (although with no traffic drama) over the Tiber to Vatican City and the scaavi tour under the basilica where the bones believed to be those of St. Peter were found and are enshrined. It was quite an expedition into what was once an open air cemetery with aboveground crypts and tombs, buried by Constantine to make a foundation for the first church on the site.
It was an awesome experience and walking through the grottoes on the way out, Ms. Packratty was quite amazed at the effigies of various popes and the frescoes and mosaic.
Next? The tour of the Vatican above ground after a lunch at a "hot table" restaurant where Ms. Packratty had a plate of veal slices cooked with mushrooms and a caffe lungo and a lot of aqua gassata.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Seven hours and counting ...
Ms. Packratty actually slept well last night mainly because she stayed up long enough to finish packing and really do everything but setting things up for Delilah, which has now been done. What remains is showing, dressing, packing up the car, checking the list for the 100th time, taking Charlie to Mar's and then heading for the train.
Got the boarding pass and other final documents printed last night, loaded up the money belt with all the cash and ID I am taking.
Nervous? Why, yes, I am nervous - why wouldn't I be? I'm stepping off the edge of my normal world and onto a new one for a short time. I don't anticipate anything but good but there are so very many variables that only a sane person would be a bit nervous.
It's going to be good.
Got the boarding pass and other final documents printed last night, loaded up the money belt with all the cash and ID I am taking.
Nervous? Why, yes, I am nervous - why wouldn't I be? I'm stepping off the edge of my normal world and onto a new one for a short time. I don't anticipate anything but good but there are so very many variables that only a sane person would be a bit nervous.
It's going to be good.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Three days and counting
Today is packing day and emptying out the fridge day and so many other little fiddly things day. It's very clear and cold and while Ms. Packratty had a very busy day Saturday, there is laundry and a mite more shopping to do before her last day at work pre-trip. It's daunting - after 2 years of saving, after 9 months of planning and paying for things bit by bit, the day is nearly here. Tuesday, Ms. Packratty will drop off Charlie to hang out with the pack at Mar's house, make sure Delilah Fuzzybutt has food, water and plentiful litter boxes, lock the doors behind her, hoist the baggage into the car and head for the airport on the train. The next morning, she will be in Rome.
For the moment, Ms. Packratty needs to decide what to wear on the plane - comfort and warmth are paramount because the temperature should be around freezing when the plane lands and she will have a longish walk dragging her baggage, although with cash in hand, it may prove brighter to cab to the bank and then walk to the apartment. And remembering to pack at least one full days clothing change in her carryon, just to be safe. Travel insurance card arrived Saturday, so I need to move all the documents I am taking in a small billfold so that most of my junk remains home - guessing I am not going to need my Petsmart card or my library card or my Starbucks card in Rome. It's really sinking in now. It's going to happen.
For the moment, Ms. Packratty needs to decide what to wear on the plane - comfort and warmth are paramount because the temperature should be around freezing when the plane lands and she will have a longish walk dragging her baggage, although with cash in hand, it may prove brighter to cab to the bank and then walk to the apartment. And remembering to pack at least one full days clothing change in her carryon, just to be safe. Travel insurance card arrived Saturday, so I need to move all the documents I am taking in a small billfold so that most of my junk remains home - guessing I am not going to need my Petsmart card or my library card or my Starbucks card in Rome. It's really sinking in now. It's going to happen.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Best Laid Plans and all that
Ms. Packrat should remember that bit, even if mice are just cousins. Last weekend was an unmitigated disaster. Nothing in particular, just a lot of things not working out as planned. Almost no errands got run, little or nothing got done on Chez Packrat or shopping/preparing and the workweek has been really rather icky, with the 8 o'clock shift for 3 nights. However - the AAA TipPack is purchased, Ms. Packrat talked to some people from MegaBank and had them note in her account that she will be using her ATM card in Italy; she purchased travel insurance; paid a bunch of bills and made out her packing spreadsheet. She has many many more chores to do this weekend to be ready, but it looks doable from here and, frankly, if something doesn't get done (except for safeguarding the house and the four-footers) well, I'll pay the library fine or cope with it later.
And all of this as really cold weather descends here and the weather reports that it could possibly *snow* the day of Ms. Packratty's arrival in the Eternal City.
Excited and nervous, but reminded that I do have a first cousin right "up the road" in Florence. Going someplace where I don't know anyone at all and doing it solo? A little more nervous-making than when I was a youngster, but I am going to trust that this will all work out and I will have the adventure I am hoping for.
I need an adventure - I've been grinding along in a rut for too long and I need to be shaken up with some possibilities. I want to do more and see more before I die - and at 57, that's no longer something too distant to glimpse - it's something that's definitely at least a smudge on the horizon. I don't want to spend the rest of my life living a small little life and hiding in my house and being safe.
And all of this as really cold weather descends here and the weather reports that it could possibly *snow* the day of Ms. Packratty's arrival in the Eternal City.
Excited and nervous, but reminded that I do have a first cousin right "up the road" in Florence. Going someplace where I don't know anyone at all and doing it solo? A little more nervous-making than when I was a youngster, but I am going to trust that this will all work out and I will have the adventure I am hoping for.
I need an adventure - I've been grinding along in a rut for too long and I need to be shaken up with some possibilities. I want to do more and see more before I die - and at 57, that's no longer something too distant to glimpse - it's something that's definitely at least a smudge on the horizon. I don't want to spend the rest of my life living a small little life and hiding in my house and being safe.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Falling into Place
My voice is recovering. I have scavi tickets. I received this: Dear Ms. Palmer:
We are happy to assist you with 1 ticket for the Pope's General Audience on February XX; I have tickets for the Vatican Museums and the Colosseum/Forum. I have ordered the European cell phone from Mobal (very cool - a simple one time purchase and then pay for use - no monthly or annual fees) and it has shipped and I have a tracking number.
The only remaining things to do are talk to the bank about using ATMs in Italy and getting a Tip Pak from AAA so I have some € when I arrive. And moving some more $ to AmEx and trip insurance and ordering tickets on the airport shuttle and packing and getting Her Royal Grumpiness Delilah Fuzzybutt all set up to survive in my absence.
I need to hit the ground running this weekend if I am going to get things squared away and be 90% ready a week from Sunday. Granted, I will have Monday am, Monday night and Tuesday am for last minute, but I would really rather not be rushed.
And this time, two weeks from now, I will be in Rome, probably on my way from the shuttle to my pied a terre for the trip. I'm beginning to believe in this - this is the sort of adventure I should have been figuring out how to have all along.
We are happy to assist you with 1 ticket for the Pope's General Audience on February XX; I have tickets for the Vatican Museums and the Colosseum/Forum. I have ordered the European cell phone from Mobal (very cool - a simple one time purchase and then pay for use - no monthly or annual fees) and it has shipped and I have a tracking number.
The only remaining things to do are talk to the bank about using ATMs in Italy and getting a Tip Pak from AAA so I have some € when I arrive. And moving some more $ to AmEx and trip insurance and ordering tickets on the airport shuttle and packing and getting Her Royal Grumpiness Delilah Fuzzybutt all set up to survive in my absence.
I need to hit the ground running this weekend if I am going to get things squared away and be 90% ready a week from Sunday. Granted, I will have Monday am, Monday night and Tuesday am for last minute, but I would really rather not be rushed.
And this time, two weeks from now, I will be in Rome, probably on my way from the shuttle to my pied a terre for the trip. I'm beginning to believe in this - this is the sort of adventure I should have been figuring out how to have all along.
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