Tube Stops: Termini, Tiburtina, Vittorio Emmanuelle, Waterloo, Victoria, Tooting Broadway, New Cross
It's been a long time since I've written in the blog: the typical bloggers excuse - "I was too busy living my life to write about it!! But then again, it has been an epic end to 2010 and the start of 2011!
But first, highlights from October 2010 onwards:
A visit from Ma & Pa (Clampett!)
My parents came to Rome at in the middle of October when the weather was still warm and everyone wasn't (yet) winding down for the Winter season. I can't tell you how happy it made me feel to have the folks come over and sample Roma life for themselves. Armed with a list of restaurants that had been compiled by a native to Rome, we ventured from one eaterie to another: the days spent exercising between cultural destinations before filling our bellies in the evening. And how those bellies thanked us!
THURSDAY: Osteria Constanza (epic steak fuelled night w/ ravioli to die for)
FRIDAY: Barnums Cafe (to meet friends with a glass or two) before heading to Il Boom in Trastevere (sixties themed restaurant w/free bottle of wine giveaway!)
SATURDAY: Gusto (great food & wine served by nervous newbie waiter)
SUNDAY: Lunch in Frascati at Cantina Simonetta (see earlier post about first visit!)
I think my attempts to convince Mum and Dad that they should move to Rome for my convenience were bolstered by Dad's attempt to eat his way through the menu at Cantina Simonetta. The owner's wife walked me through the various courses & through our Englitalian conversation, she realised what she and chefs were in for: just before eating pudding, my Dad had to try a Roman speciality: "trippa" or tripe.
Owner's wife: (In Italian) He really wants the tripe?
Me: Yes. He's hungry and loves food. Alot.
Owner's wife: takes her finger puts it against her cheek & twists it repeatedly whilst laughing.
Owner's wife returns a ten minutes later with a platter of bread and a bowl of tripe in a tomato sauce.
Dad: Aaaah! this is some kind of a joke really, isn't it?
Me: Because they don't think you'll be able to eat the tripe?
Dad: No because they don't think I'll be able to eat the tripe AND the bread.
Which he promptly did.
The weather...or more importantly the RAIN
The rest of the Winter months here in Rome were spent in a cool stream of watery days, of torrential rain and thunderstorms slamming and crashing overhead, lighting up the evening and imposing silence on the student revelries going on around me. Laughing Girl was still. The evenings got colder and on one afternoon, it snowed for about half an hour - a record, possibly. But still the feeling that you'll never get too cold in Rome.
Halloween
There's a witch called Befana that visits children on the Feast of Epiphany (or January 6th), bringing them presents after having flown into town on a broomstick. Halloween meets Santa Claus and a predominantly Catholic country entrusts the material happiness of their children to a pagan hag. Paradox, thy name is inexplicable tradition.
I accompanied my relatively new date to a Halloween bash at an apartment in the Termini area and was met by an impressive array of costumed freaks and ghouls, spinning and frolicking to sparkly poptastic Italian tunes before chowing down on polente, fantastic cakes and mouth-watering food. Dressed as an eighties hobo, meets a particularly ungroomed teen-wolf, I supplied Mama's homemade mulled wine which was confused for sangria and let to one party-goer having to sit down for a long period of time. Not sure the weed helped him there.
Eighties night at Barnum's Cafe
A midnight oasis of partying in the centre of Rome at Barnum's cafe, where I, fellow Celtees, U.N. officials and an inordinately large number of Scandinavians gathered, in 80's dress and regalia to strut their stuff and munch an aperitivo buffet. Along came the eighties mullet wig again, accompanied by date's tinsel-creation: just astonishing. Photo opp's spring up at every moment and offers were made to buy the tinsel-wig. The chance to shake my stuff to an eighties track = an awesome experience.
Wigs-a-go-go
Christmas Eve & Capodanno
Each trip back to England (both London & Suffolk) feels a little torturous each time. Not only do I have to get used to apologising all the time and excusing myself, but I find myself standing patiently in queues and rereading adverts and billboards, as if I've had a stroke.
This Christmas and New Year's was truly amazing because I got to catch up with those people whom from the beginning supported my moving here with more peppy motivation than Mr. Motivator himself. I also reminded myself about how much I love English Winter food: pies, ale, roasts etc. And pubs - the once thought slightly stale smell of polished wood, salt n vinegar crisps and beer lines seems glorious now.
Christmas consisted of revelling in the company of my family, drinking too much (as my Mother's new tradition of rose-petal vodka cocktails once again earnt her the title of Ipswich's "Desperate (read Glamorous) Housewife". A neapolitan (card) game of "Morto" descended into chaos: my Dad, in attempts to get back into the game was trying to get my sister to speak to him. As "the dead", players are out of the game only as long as someone doesn't speak to them. Only then can they redeem a lost life and take a new hand.
His objective: convince said sister that her one year old was crying and needed her help.
Result: Sister visibly squirming as Dad did his best to trick sister's maternal instincts, commenting that said toddler was crying and needed rescuing and that the baby intercom was ON and CRIES WERE COMING FROM IT. Bad Dad. Bad bad home-made Limoncello-fuelled parent. I'm in admiration of the panache.
New Year's proved to be a smash-hit. Literally. A night of mixed Italian & British merriment came to an abrupt halt when an open-ended bookcase was fallen into and antique china lay smashed on the floor. There's a lucky tradition in Naples that involves throwing old china out of a window at New Years. But no-one dared mention it because the china has to be old but not *that* old. Still, if it's breaking china or breaking your balls (literally) by wearing a pair of lucky red underpants for (Italian-style) luck, I know which I might resort to. I have Anglo-Saxon man-hips and... well...if you've been wearing boxers for an eternity, the change is like having someone microwaving your groin at intervals. In an optimistic for 2011 way.
Buon prepositi:
1) Two Italian lessons a week.
2) Start up my oil painting and drawing again.
3) Find a better apartment in Rome.
.....
Now that I'm back, the language seems easier. I'm able to converse steadily and with self-identifiable systematic errors by using the following conversation structure:
Maybe; now; today; tomorrow; yesterday
+
I, you, he/she/it, we, they, you
+
verb (likely to be "devere" - to must...which I use without any form of self-restraint. It seems there are regulations my life must comply with.)
+
(laughable) attempts at conjugation; frequently forgetting how many people I am talking about: groups of people doing an action are suddenly reduced to a single entity.
+
perché
+
I, you, he/she/it, we, they, you
+
attempts to use "devere" again; lip-biting; selection of another verb
+
attempts at conjugation (usually met with confused expressions, people turning away, babies crying etc.)
+
some sort of nouns thrown in. Usually the wrong ones, and the wrong collocations, e.g., talking about the emergency services when you're referring to lounge furniture.
So...bear with me Italy, soon you won't be able to shut me up. ;)
