Tube stops: Flaminio, EUR Magliana, EUR Sao Paolo, Piramede, Manzoni

MAXXI, MAX Factor & Mozal Tov!

Life has returned to normal in Rome, that is, the students have returned from their looong holiday breaks and the clanging of pans, banging of doors and dragging of chairs (not to mention laughing girl's Latin-American tribute band) have returned to my cosy quarter in Tiburtina. I have been spending my days with house mate M, who came back a few weeks ago, asking if all was ok when the frustrated shouts of a cabin-fevered student reached my ears. A fifteen minute break and the smell of glorious cabonara filled the marble-floored flat.

I had booked my flights to head home for another mason's meeting, and was planning to spend the weekend anticipating some dreary wet September weather - which lasted for about 3 hours one afternoon: it's now October and short-sleeve shirt temperature! Instead, I headed off to the MAXXI, Rome's leading contemporary art gallery, and was scribbling notes for my other art blog (watch this blogspace), when I got a text from Pi: an invitation to a mystery party in EUR! Senses buzzing, I sailed through the exhibition on Gio de Dominicis and wound my way back to Flaminio to get the tube.

The MAXXI: all you need is David Bowie, Jennifer Connelly and some crystal balls...

Fast forward through a well deserved power nap (I'm clearly getting old) and I dressed up to head to Sao Paolo to meet Pi & boyfriend Ri. One slight error. Rome loves Pauls - every man, son and dog might be called Paolo and when guessing which tube you might need to get to, remember there might be a few with this famous name. The police eyed me up suspiciously, trying to look inconspicuous in my waterproof jacket (read anorak) and shaved head. Hardly Baader Meinhof material... A call, and a correction and I head along two stops before being met by Ri. Seconds later, I'm heading to a party in an unknown location on the back of a scooter. A roman aspiration has come true - I am fearing for my life and seeing Rome at 40+ miles an hour - I could get used to this!

The party is rocking: Pi & Ri, with their friends who speak English (Thank God! too many "devo's" and "posso avere's" for even an English ear to put up with!) The setup: a pretty famous film director in Rome is a friend of Pi's. This is his massive roof-terrace on what must be pretty much the best looking flat I have EVER seen: all, modern breakfast bar, sliding doors onto terrace, bamboo garden trellis effect and currently filled with the about 60 beautiful persons. Comparisons to London are made and London is found wanting. Pretty soon, we're all entranced as the infamous Max (the host & director) puts on his own version of the X Factor: a panel of (disagreeing) judges, performances by "Lady Gaga", "Kylie" and others, interrupted by film shorts about a straight guy who realises that in order to win back his girlfriend, he needs to become gay. Even with my lack of knowledge of Italian gay slang, these shorts were so funny - all the creation of Max, clearly a compere par excellence! A fantastic bloody night thanks to Pi, Patron St. of Expats!

Interlude: five days in London: eating, catching up with Antipodean friends who live too far away (sorry Scott!) sleeping (too little), red wine with old friends and a long chat with my brother-in-law, dancing, dancing, dancing, feet aching, dancing, dancing, lodge meeting, Brothers!, lunch with Lou, old housemates reunion, rehearsing, writing, and back on the plane....

Back in Roma-ville, I realised I was on borrowed time - the coagulation of a level of wine in my body that I haven't been used to for a while was leading me towards a gratingly bad cold. My arrival into Fuimicino lead me to bump literally into Zeke, who appeared to be a Abercrombie & Fitch model, lost amidst a sea of battered baggage and lost New Zealanders. 6ft 5 (I note the additional inch to my height), sporting shaved sides of his head and a curled pate, I motioned that this guy should get on the bus to Termini; I was heading to Ostiense. A second later, sitting on the same bus as me, this pillar of Yankee exuberance is offering me mountains of white Toblerone and explaining that he is, despite ALL appearances, an orthodox Jew studying Hebrew and Jewish History in Israel. His voice boomed down the bus as he balanced a D&G pince-nez on his nose (the arms having broken off long ago.) I brace myself for what could be a clash of cultures taking place with the short, compact space of a mini-bus.

We arranged to hang out that evening at his hostel over on Via Merulana, but due to Z not having a mobile phone (did I hear Amish not Jewish?) , I missed him by half an hour. The next night proved successful: upon arriving at the hostel, and greeted by a grumpy old man pointing to the 'No guests' sign, I found Z with an off-the-shoulder blue tshirt with Hebrew writing on it, stubbled chin, and seemingly not quite on the planet - a hard night the night before. I whisked him off to Angelina, where we dodged the expensive aperitivo and bagged reasonable drinks from the restaurant downstairs, meeting our awesome waitress for whom I had to translate Z's attempts at chat-up lines. Two women eating next to us became friends - Z seemingly being able to speak to anyone & everyone - and gave us their aperitivo tickets.

We finished the night by stuffing our faces full of pasta, tuna, crostini, pastry parcels of spinach and cheese before smoking and admiring the crowd, putting the world to rights from our differing vantage points. We agreed to meet for coffee the next day but it never happened... with only six days in Rome, you have to make the most of it. And I'm pretty sure I know all about that now :)