LIFE: The Story Starts Like This

CHIAVARI, Italy – The first city in Italy that I lived in was Rome, and like a first love it holds a special place in my heart. I had enrolled in a language course at the Dante Aligheri Society, determined to conquer Italian once and for all. Through the school I found a room to rent on the Via della Vite, near the Spanish Steps. An old woman named Niola owned the apartment, and her only other ‘tenant’ was a girl from Argentina who was studying at the Universita’ La Sapienza in Rome.   

 Rome's Spanish Steps in the Spring

Every weekday morning I would take the bus from Piazza San Silvestro out to the school on the Via Nomentana and spend four grueling hours trying to get a grip on Italian grammar. It was torture trying to wrap my tongue around all the complicated verb forms, but from two o'clock on the day was my own, and oh how I treasured it. 

I loved living in the center of the Rome.  Every afternoon as the stores re-opened from their mid-day break, the narrow streets of my neighborhood, which included the famous Via Condotti, would slowly fill with Romans and tourists alike. I used to spend hours window shopping and dreaming of the day I would live in Italy forever.

Carriage Ride Along the Via Condotti in Rome  

On days I didn’t have school, I would walk to the small outdoor market near the Trevi Fountain and stock up on groceries.  I would cross the Via del Tritone, go up Via del Stamperia, then turn and head toward the vendors. It was just at that point, near the corner bar, that I would be greeted by a Rudolph Valentino look alike who would bow ever so slightly and say,  "Buon girorno, Contessa."  I'd stutter and stammer and finally come out with what I hoped was "and a good morning to you too." 

I didn’t know it then but in Italy everyone calls everyone else carrissima, bellisima, amore or   any of the other hundreds of endearing names they have invented. Even my slightly senile landlady, Signora Niola, used to have imaginary conversations that always started with ‘ciao cara’ and continued as she walked around the apartment talking to herself.  It confused me at first as she always started her conversations with me that way, but then I realized she didn’t even see me during those interludes, so I just stayed out of her way.

Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy  

I liked shopping at the Trevi market, which was more of a meeting place than market where farmers sold their produce and goods like honey and jams and wine. The honey and jam came in a variety of jars that had once held pickled cauliflower or artichoke hearts or some other Italian deliciousness. If you wanted wine you had to bring your own bottles and they would fill them from the barrels they had on the back of their trucks. You also had to bring your own egg cartons if you wanted eggs.

Since I didn’t have egg cartons to bring, the old woman who sold chickens and eggs would wrap my eggs, one by one in torn off squares of newspaper and hand them to me to put in my shopping bag. Then she would hold out her wrinkled hand for the money. She never spoke to me. Never said a word. I figured out afterwards that it was probably because I was actually asking her for two or three grapes, confusing the Italian words for grapes and eggs and she realized any attempt at conversation would most likely be a complete waste of time.  

 The Dome of St. Peter's Cathedral at the Vatican

A more serious problem than knowing the difference between grapes and eggs was trying to convert my US dollars to Italian lira.  Since I had to be on the bus for school at 8:30 AM, when the banks were opening, and didn’t get back to the center of Rome until 2 PM, which was after the banks had closed for the day, getting my hands on cash was a challenge. The only solution was to take a day off from school, which I did not like to do.

But in those pre-ATM days my options were limited. Getting lira was a long, and grueling process. There were forms that had to be filled out, and not the kind of forms you could take with you and fill out while you had a cappuccino at the nearest bar. No. The bank clerk had to ask you the questions, and he would fill out the form. And he was never in a hurry.

I still remember the day he was filling out a form for a pretty Asian girl who was in line ahead of me.

“What is your name,” he asked.

She told him.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

She told him.

“Are you staying in a hotel?”

“No,” she said.

“Okay, where are you staying,” he wanted to know.

“With my uncle,” she said.

“That’s nice,” he said. “Where does your uncle live?”

“Over there,” she said pointing in the general direction of outside the bank.

“No, I mean what’s his address?” said the bank clerk shifting around in his chair. 

She just looked at him.

“Okay, well what’s your phone number,” the bank clerk continued.

She just looked at him, still not replying.

“Look, Signorina,” said the bank clerk who was now showing signs of exasperation, “I’m not asking you these questions for my personal benefit. Personally I don’t care where you live or who you live with or anything else, but the bank wants to know and it’s my job to write that information down, so what is your phone number?”

At that point the bell rang signaling the bank was closing. Please use the center door to exit. Another day shot to hell.

That wasn’t the first time I had been ushered out of the bank without changing money. I looked in my wallet. I had 10,000 lire, about $7.00 and I needed to buy a bus ticket to get to school in the morning, another to get home after school, and then there was the question of food. Faced with a choice of scrambled eggs again or deep fried rice balls called arancini, I opted for the arancini.   

The Pantheon, My Favorite Place in Rome  

That wasn’t the first time I had eaten arancini for dinner, nor would it be the last. As it turned out Rome was just a preview, the coming attractions like at the movies. How could I know what surprises destiny had in store for me, or that the best and the worst was still to come.

It took a few more years for all the planets to align and clear a path for me to actually make the move. This past week I celebrated 25 years of living in Italy. What an amazing adventure it has been. But looking back on those years today I understand that they too were only a preview, the coming attractions of what is in store for me next. If nothing else I've learned the difference between the words for eggs and grapes in Italian, which makes me think I'm on a roll. Yes indeed.

LIFE: All Roads Lead to Rome

CHIAVARI, Italy - Rome was the first city in Italy I ever lived in, and like a first love, it holds a special place in my heart. I was there to study Italian. Through the school I found a room to rent on the Via della Vite, near the Spanish Steps. The apartment was owned by an old woman named Niola, and her only other ‘tenant’ was a girl from Argentina who was also going to school in Rome.   

 

S[panish Steps

I don’t know what she was studying, or anything else about her as she didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Italian. But we got along ok, she didn’t take up space on my shelf of the refrigerator and I didn’t take up space on hers.

Every weekday morning I would take the bus from Piazza San Silvestro out to the school on the Via Nomentana and spend four grueling hours trying to get a grip on Italian grammar. It was torture trying to wrap my tongue around all the complicated verb forms, but thankfully, from one o'clock on, the day was my own and oh how I treasured it. 

Via Condotti 

I loved living in the center of Rome.  Every afternoon as the stores re-opened from their mid-day break, the narrow streets of my neighborhood, which included the famous Via Condotti, would slowly fill with people of every age, Romans and foreigners alike. I used to spend hours walking those streets, window shopping and dreaming of the day I would live in Italy forever.

It was great fun to look in the windows of the oo la la fancy shops on the Via Condotti, but more interesting were the small open air markets that seem to sprout up from one day to the next like giant mushrooms after a rain. I found them irresistible, especially the food markets.  Growing up in a country where most foods come pre-packaged and shrink-wrapped, I loved being able to buy three egg, six carrots or just one potato, if that was all that I wanted.  No one cared. It didn’t matter. Everyone shopped that way, and they still do.

Trevi Fountain 

On days that I didn’t have school, I would walk to the small outdoor market near the Trevi Fountain to do my weekly grocery shopping.  I would cross the Via del Tritone, go up Via del Stamperia, then turn and head toward the vendors. It was just at that point, near the corner bar, that I would be greeted by a Rudolph Valentino look alike who bow ever so slightly and say,  "Buon girorno, Contessa."  I'd stutter and stammer and finally come out with what I hoped was "and a good morning to you too." 

Now I know that in Italy everyone calls everyone else cara or carrissima, or caro if it’s a guy, or Contessa or any of the other hundreds of endearing names and it doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Even my slightly senile landlady, Signora Niola, used to have imaginary conversations that always started with ‘ciao cara’ and continued as she walked around the apartment  talking to ‘her.’ At first I thought she was talking to me, but she wasn’t, so I got out of her way.

 Trevi Market Looked Something Like This

But I liked the Trevi market and if having this guy call me Contessa was the worst that was happening to me, it didn’t seem bothersome enough to worry about. The Trevi market was not organized like most of the other markets in the city, it was more of a meeting place where farmers sold their produce and goods like honey and jams and wine. You had to bring your own bottles if you wanted to buy wine, and they would fill them from the barrels they had on the back of their trucks.

My favorite stall was run by a very old woman who sold live chickens and eggs. She would wrap the eggs, one by one, in torn off squares  of newspaper, hand them to me to put in my shopping bag, and then hold out her wrinkled hand for the money. She never spoke to me. I later figured out that it was probably because I was actually asking her for two or three grapes, confusing the Italian words for grapes and eggs and she realized any attempt at conversation would most likely be a complete waste of time.  

Daily Market at Campo Dei Fiori

There are open markets in most of the city's neighborhoods. One of the best is the one at the Campo de'Fiori. There are two very different versions of how the Campo got its name. The most obvious is that before it became part of the city, it was a meadow of flowers. It's a nice story but I prefer the Roman legend which says the Campo was named after an actress named Flora, who lived during the time of the Caesars. Her theatre, which was the largest in ancient Rome, used to stand on what is now the northeast corner of the square. Or it could very well be that both stories are true. In Rome anything is possible.

Some of my favorite Italian memories come from those early experiences in Rome, and every once in a while I get a hankering to go back and walk the streets and revisit those early days, which is what is going on right now.

LIFE: It's About Time

SARONNO, Italy - Before I actually moved to Italy permanently, I lived in Rome for a short time. I had decided to get serious about learning to speak Italian and figured living here and taking a course at a language school would do it.

Largo Carlo Goldoni, Rome

Through the school I found a room in an apartment in the center of town that was owned by a rather odd old woman.But that's another story for another time. The school was out on the Via Nomentana, about a half hour bus ride from the Via delle Vite where I lived. It was wonderful living in the heart of Rome, and I loved every minute of it. The only real problem I had, besides trying to conjugate Italian verbs, was that for some reason I just couldn't get into the rhythm of Italian life. I kept running out of money. By the time I would get back into town from a grueling morning session with those nasty verbs, most of the banks were closed.

Via delle Vite, Rome

With my stomach growling I would wander the streets trying to find one that was open so I could change dollars into lire – remember this was pre-Euro, pre-ATM days, and buy something to eat. Anything. I wasn't always successful. Most of the time I would put together what change I had and try to make the best of it. This is when I developed my love for those fried Sicilian rice balls called arrancine, although in Rome they are actually called suppli.

And I don't even want to think about how meals I ate at the Delfino Self-Service Cafeteria, (aka cheap and filling) which if I remember correctly is at the end of the Via del Corso. Actually, if I'm going to be truthful, my inability to pick up the rhythm of Italian life was more than just about making it to the bank on time. No matter what I tried to do, it seemed like it was the wrong time to do it. But I learned. I learned the hard way, but I learned.

One of the things that amazed me was just how many people were out walking the streets of Rome in the late afternoon. One minute the city would be almost empty and the next minute it would be throbbing with life. It was as if someone had rung a bell that signaled it was time to leave the house. And it’s still true, even here in Saronno.

Via Condotti, Rome

But like I said, I learned. Now, when friends and family come to visit they seem impressed that I know what time it is without having to look at my watch. They can't figure it out, but it's really very simple. If we have been walking around for a while and the foot traffic on the street is starting to thin, it is noon and time to head home. If it is the middle of the afternoon and the bars and cafes are filling up with customers, it is 5PM and time for an apperitvo. There's no mystery to it at all, just years of observation and conditioning.

Piazza di Spagna, Rome

Italians seem to know everything about time: the best time to eat, the best time to sleep, the best time to plant seeds, the best time to harvest, even the best time to have sex. You think I'm kidding? I'm not. Not long ago Italy's major newspaper, the Corriere della Sera, published a schedule of how you should organize your day. Of course this being Italy the day does not start with Wheaties, but with . . .

7 AM - As soon as you wake up you find yourself in the ideal condition to make love because your testosterone level (the hormone that stimulates our sex drive) is at its highest peak. This is true for both men and women.

8:30 AM - Time for breakfast and also the best time to take vitamins. This is when our metabolism is at its highest peak and there is less chance of what you eat turning into unwanted fat. Besides, if you take A, D and E at night there is a probability that they will disturb your sleep.

9AM - If you are going to have a flu shot, or another type of injection, this is the best time of day to do it. This is the hour when your adrenaline level is at its highest, which means you can tolerate pain better at 9AM than at 9PM.

10-12 Noon - Your brain is now working at full speed. Your attention span and creativity levels are at their highest. It's the best time to work.

12 - 1PM - Time for lunch. No getting around it. Lunch is important not only from a nutritional point of view, but also to maintain your body's digestive rhythm.

1-2 PM - Your attention level has dropped, maybe from eating all that pasta, and according to the medical community the best thing to do is take a nap. Napping, they say, is good for you.

3-5 PM - Your muscle tone is at its peak during this period, so this is the best time of day to hit the gym or take a walk.

4-6 PM - If you are a student and can't hit the gym, then hit the books, especially if you have math homework to do. It seems that at this hour your brain is more prepared to deal with concepts and logic.

6-8 PM - Ahh, time for an aperitivo and dinner. This is the time of day when your liver is the most disposed to digest alcohol. It is also the best time of day for a facial masque because your skin is more receptive to creams and lotions.

10-11 PM - Spend this hour relaxing before going to bed. Take a warm bath or drink a cup of chamomile tea, both put your body in the mood to sleep.

11 PM -7 AM – Make with the zzzzzzzzzzzz’s. Buona notte.