Random notes for the morning walk: What is speck? We see it on everything, I know it is a meat, but what is it. It is weird to see English named places, like "Before" or "Eat & Drink". Must be what it is like for Italians to see places in America named "Noi". We are hassled by people protesting divorce, geneto da figlia, this definitely is a Catholic city.
We skip the horrible hotel breakfast and opt for standing Italian. I love to watch the sugar slowly sink the cappacino foam. There are not many standing cafes on the Via Veneto, only sit downs, which you pay more to do. I will take the 7 euros for three pastries, juice, and two cappacinos anyday.
We search for l'ufficio postale. It is amazingly confusing, and I forget all my Italian. I am given oversize stamps and weird stickers, so I just load up my postcards and drop them in the mail. There can't be rain today, silly Italians, it is gorgeous blue skies and warm weather. There is bird shit everywhere on the way to the Vatican, covering cars, motorcycles, lamp posts, and it smells like a pet store.
As we cross the bridge we see lots of African tour groups. Now the vendors are selling Jesus statues and post cards. Hoards of people make their way to St Peter's. I guess today they are ordaining some cardinals. The square is filled with people and I see lots of red hats and robes on the big jumbo monitors. The Popes voice echoes over the load speaker. There are more tour pushers, but it seems a little more worth it to skirt around the blocks and blocks long line to the Sistine Chapel.
I ask in bad Italian if there is any way to get into Vatican city, but apparently you can only see St Peters or the Vatican museums. So we are off to find lunch. We watch as the purse and sunglass sellers wrap up their make shift shops and run and the sight of the polizia. We happen upon Castroni and do some Christmas shopping. Despite my good Italian this time, the lady doesn't understand Valpolicella Ripassa, she keeps bringing different wines before admitting she doesn't have it.
Thunder booms like gods voice echoing through the streets. Lightning lights up the building fronts. There is that 80% chance of rain. We hide in a snack bar, where they try and get us to eat, as we eye a restaurant across the street. We jump over the flooded puddles and rivers only to be turned away from Taverna Angelica, dinner service only today. We find Tre Pupazzi, which I think is unresearched, until I discover it is in my little book after all.
Olive oil and vinegar sit on every table in Italy like the mustard and ketchup of the US. We watch an old couple eat pepperoni pizza and speak no Italian. Nuns passing by outside munch on gelato. We see jars of nutella in the kitchen in back, Nutella owns Europe, huge tubs everywhere.
We stop to get some more picnic supplies for tomorrow and find more weird Lindt products, earl grey and chocolate. Still no Valpolicella Ripassa for my mom, I should have gotten it in Veneto. We watch a tiny woman order 3 scoops of gelato and then try and lick them before the fall over from sheer weight. We get 2 scoops a piece, and it only comes to 3 euro. Mountains of ice cream for so cheap, makes Ben & Jerry's seem ridiculous. I prefer gelatos fresh flavors to American ice cream.
We take less pictures today, it is less picturesque I guess. We pass through the Piazza de Popoli which is full of goth kids in Tim Burton hoodies teasing each others hair, chains, purple hair, strips… goth is the same everywhere. There are crowds of high schoolers out today. We start walking quicker, with purpose, we want a nap. Its increasingly hard to navigate around the slow Italians.
After the nap, we head to dinner. The passeggio under the city is very convenient. No traffic, beyond the road blocks of Italian couples moving slowly, crowding the escalators. The walls are lined with display cases, like an underground mall. We are dumped out at Piazza Spagna and are shocked at what we see. The city is crawling with hundreds of people, it is flood. There are Italians and tourists. I guess this is just a typical Saturday night in Rome.
We weave our way through the streets to get away from the crowds, away from the light up disc sellers. I start to worry about the Campo di Fiori and our dinner plans, but when we get to Ditirambo there is plenty of room and peace away from the people.
I am delighted they put balsamic on the table instead of red wine vinegar. I am also delighted by their huge wine list of cheap bottles and house wine. I like it when wine lists are big and menus are small (confidently small). We sit beside the quietest couple in the world, are they fighting? They won't even look at each other.
I compliment the chef in Italian, a handy phrase. The chestnut puree is delicious with the speck (smoked ham) wrapped pork. My rabbit ragu is just straight up good chow. We are full, but Tom wants to look at the desert menu. As he doesn't find what he likes, I point out the chocolate covered macaron pudding, which takes us back to Paris… mmmm, dark chocolate chewy macarons covered in a tangy pudding. It is far better than that weird lemon stuff we had at Les Papilles, they should have served this instead.
We meet a nice Parisian couple who speaks great English. They tell us "to be bilingual is good, to be monolingual is to be American". We must have missed the dinner rush, because as we leave, the place is packed. Campo di Fiori is also busy. We pay less at a wine bar by drinking at the bar instead of a table. The Barolo and Brunello are good, but forgettable, a tragedy considering those varietals. The bar plays instrumental Air-type music.
We make up a song about the "travelling poop cart", a travelling shop packed onto the back of a motorcycle spewing pollution as it travels away from the Campo at slow speeds. Via Capellini is a great break away from busy Rome. It's nice to be back to the artsy alley ways and a wine bar, La Fiascetta, catches our eye. Mescita means "by the glass". The Morellino di Scansano is light and fruity. The Vino Nobile di Montepulciano is delcious darkness that reminds us of the Super Tuscan, we jot down the name: Lodola Nuovo Ruffino 2001.
There are so many wine bars in Rome, and I love the "vietato fumare" = nice smelling clothes. Snack plates for free, could you ask for anything more? We find "Vino e Olio" which searching for a different wine bar altogether. We feel so cool and hip drinking with the real Roman city dwellers. The Trebbiano is good, but not the same as Poggio Antico, no where near it. A group of travelers near the bathroom talk about Roman street vendors and origami for a living, reminds me of old friends = The Big Chill.
We journey back home, but find more bars on the way. We are still away from the tourists, hurray. We stop in at Jonathon's Angels, a weird artsy knick knacky bar with a bathroom experience like no other. Fountains, graffiti, and a hole in the floor I can't figure out how to use. More MTV Italy and this time David Gahan is #12 and Nelly Furtado #50, only in Europe is that possible. Weave our way back through the drunken crowds. Window shop the fancy dinners on the Via Veneto, but decide it isn't worth it.