As I write the sun is shining fiercely, driving me off the balcony where I broke my fast an hour ago. In the distance the Atlantic Ocean fades away into the horizon, separated from the woods around this sixties era, ten-storey apartment building by a thin ribbon of beach. The sound of commuting traffic in the distance is the only reminder of the wonderful city Celine and I left behind just twenty-four hours ago that is the place I want to tell you about today.
Trastevere is one of the oldest continuously inhabited parts of the city of Rome, ever since the Etruscans dwelt there five hundred years or more BC. It is now a delightful jumble of narrow cobbled lanes, filled with ristoranti, trattorie and old churches, and bubbling with life, both local and touristic. We have come to Italy to continue our quest for a place to plant our roots and build a new nest – how’s that for mixing my metaphors?! – and as the vagaries of airline travel obliged us to land at Rome’s Fiumicino airport, it seemed a suitably expedient plan to spend a few days of rest and recreation in that ancient city, before travelling to lesser conurbations to the east.
Through our connections on HomeExchange.com we had acquired the use of a small apartment across the road from the impressive offices of the Ministero di Pubblico Istruzione on Viale di Trastevere, just inside the city walls on the west side of the river Tiber (the Italian name is Tevere, hence Trastevere means ‘across the river’). We were within walking distance of many of the most famous sites, which we would take full advantage of the next morning; but tired and jet-lagged, we restricted our first evening’s meanderings to our immediate locale. A loud clap of thunder had greeted us as we walked up the street from Trastevere Stazione, and as we settled gratefully into our new digs, a gentle shower of rain soon washed the leaves of the avenue of plane trees and left the streets shiny and fresh.
The clouds had thinned and blue sky appeared among them as we made our first stop of the evening’s stroll at Suppli, a hole-in-the-wall pizza parlour where we bought two slices of the tastiest take-away pizza imaginable [www.suppliroma.it]. Maybe our fatigue helped to magnify its excellence but it did it well enough for us to stop and be equally satisfied there again a couple of days later. Anyway, our hunger suitably sated, we walked through this pleasant neighbourhood to the west bank of the Tiber, admired the lights of the Ponte Sisto reflecting off the blackness of the river below, and then about-faced into the warren of streets to find ourselves inside and enjoying the calm of the evening “celebration” as we admired the lustrously gold-plated apse and ceiling of Santa Maria in Trastevere, the main church of this district.
Trusting my map reading skills and famed innate sense of direction to find the way back to our apartment, I then led us confidently into the front gate of the local police barracks, “Citerna Militaria”, which is where we first realised how hopelessly lost we were. The local polizia were very helpful however, and soon had us going in the right direction; and with just one more stop at an outrageously expensive “Bio” store where we obtained our basic needs for the next morning’s breakfast, and a pause to refill our water bottles at one of the many roadside springs, we were soon safely “home” and ready for our bed.
The next morning, a Friday, we woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and after our usual healthy breakfast of meusli, coffee, toast and marmalade, we were ready to “hit the city”. Initially heading for the Pantheon, we actually found ourselves close to Ponte San’Angelo and decided to poke our noses into Castel San’Angelo, a place neither of us had visited in our earlier lives. Built originally as a Mausoleum for Emperor Hadrian, and in threatening times used as a refuge for the resident Pope, it is now an interesting museum and from the roof provides a superb 360 degree panoramic view of Rome; so in spite of it’s somewhat uninspiring initial appearance, we were glad we decided to make the visit. After tramping up and down steps for two hours we felt we deserved lunch and having changed our original itinerary again we stopped at Tucci Ristorante on Piazza Novana and had an ‘okay’ lunch as we admired the obelisk and fountains and people-watched.
The Trevi Fountain is on everybody’s bucket list and, indeed, it seemed that ‘everybody’ had decided the 21st of September was the day to cross it off the list! It is of course a very beautiful sculpture, and a real money spinner for the city who dredge two or three thousand Euros out of it daily, but I would love to see it as uncrowded as it was when Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg romanced each other in Fellini’s “La Dolce Vita”.
A wonderfully satisfying ice-cream cone apiece from “Gelato Sicily” [www.gelatosicily.it], we finally reached that most marvellous example of Roman architectural engineering, the Pantheon, and stood in awe of it’s incredible domed roof. A hundred metres away we found our next must-see treasure, the set of three paintings by Caravaggio in the Contarelli chapel in a corner of Chiesa San Luigi di Francesi.
As we were by then most definitely on the tourist trail, we turned north to the Spanish Steps – Scalinata di Trinità dei Monti in the local lingo – where we were inveigled to partake of afternoon tea at Babington’s Tea Shop, an anachronism from 125 years ago when Rome was a stop on the Grand Tour taken by so many North European “worthies” of their day. The threatening clouds opened as we walked up the famed stairs, to head back to the terminus of the #8 tram, somewhere in the vicinity of the huge memorial to Emanuelle ll. After only spitting on us initially, the rain drops soon became heavier and we dived for shelter first of all into a shop selling nothing but carved Pinnochios of all different sizes, shapes, colours and length of proboscis, until we noticed an enoteca across the other side of the lane where we swapped the army of long-nosed puppets for a chance to taste and learn about the local wines and grappa. I had always enjoyed grappa as, well, just grappa, but by the time the rain had stopped the very knowledgable young man therein had taught us that grappa is every bit as variable as the culture of whiskey production in bonny Scotland.
The next morning we both slept in very late, neither of us stirring until well after the time for elevenses; obviously our bodies needed to recover from the combined effects of delayed jet-lag and the previous day of pounding the pavements. So for this second and last day of our whistle-stop tour of Rome we elected to restrict our tourism to a couple of basilicas, the first being the not so-famous but still the second largest one in Italy. The Basilica San Paolo is out in the sticks, well away from the razzamataz of old Rome, and necessitated us catching a #23 bus, which very conveniently passed right by our door in Trastevere. We then had a good view of everyday life in the suburbs as the bus went past shopping streets, high-rise apartments and industry along the length of Via Ostienze. Rome’s buses are aimed at accommodating as many people as possible and seats are limited to allow the masses to strap-hang as the bus rattles along the poorly maintained suburban streets. Originally consecrated in 324AD, the basilica was originally out in the countryside, and of course well away from the Vatican City although owned by the Holy See. Rome has, of course, somewhat expanded since then, which accounts for the rather drab surroundings of this magnificent edifice. From it’s pillared forecourt with its imposing statue of St Paul wielding his sword at the supplicants, one enters a vast nave 132m long by 65m wide, with a flat wooden ceiling of the same egg-box construction as we had seen in the Pantheon, 30m above one’s head. Natural light pours in through fine alabaster paned windows set high along each sidewall and at the far end, an impressive ciborio sits above the altar in front of a beautiful semi-circular apse. A very old carved wooden Easter candle, Candelabra del Cero Pasquale, to one side of the altar deserves a second look.
A small museum of religious artifacts, accessed through the pretty cloister with it’s unusual twisted, decorated pillars, is of interest to those of religious inclination, and to us unbelievers adds to our continuing incredulity at the churches riches!
Returning to tourist nirvana, we found that the #23 bus also went pretty well right past the front door of that other fairly well-known basilica, Basilica Papale di San Pietro in Vaticano, but upon arriving there and seeing the lengthy queue to get in, opted to only walk around the famous square before heading back across the river and into Trastevere where we sought out a small cafe where our hostess had suggested we take dinner. In Rome, dining doesn’t begin until at least 7.30, so we had a pre-dinner aperitif in the rather brash, wine-barish, strangely named, “404:No. not found”, before taking our seats promptly at 7.30 at a streetside table outside Trattoria di Paolo, which very quickly filled up making us glad we hadn’t dallied on the way. A dinner of rabbit stew followed by tiramasu, served by an old waistcoated waiter, seemed a very appropriate way to end a busy, but very enjoyable Roman weekend.
The next morning we awoke feeling fit and able for our next journey, walked out to the street to catch the tram down to Trastevere Stazione, then hopped onto the local train to FCO from where we waved our goodbyes to this fine city – for a couple of weeks anyway – as we flew westwards for a short introduction to whatever delights Portugal might offer this couple of prospective emigrees.