Rome Blog:
Roman Worth Quoting + The Roman Look +The Birds Dance + I Walked the Walls + Dinner at the Ponte Rotto + An Englishman in Rome + In Search of Cheddar Cheese + Trastevere's Back Streets + Guide to Roman Slang +Getting an Italian Driving License + La Notte Bianca + Summer Nights + When are you leaving? + Roman Men +
The Curse of the Touristic Menu +On the banks of the Tiber + Don Francesco Explains La Befana + Hanging Santa + The Holiday on December 8th?

I Wouldn't Leave Rome to Go to Heaven
My new novel, "I Wouldn't Leave Rome to Go to Heaven," is now available at Amazon.com and at Amazon.co.uk.
The book deals with three women, all middle-aged or getting there, who are single. Like most novels, this one is based on my own experience. It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. My mother didn't really know any single women. But I have lots of single friends. I'm single now myself, and the weird thing is, I really like my life. But it took some years for me to come to this happy place, and that's basically the subject of the book. It's set in Rome's expatriate community, because that's where I find myself these days.
For those of you in Rome, The Almost Corner Bookstore and Feltrinelli International will be selling it.
Joie Davidow

You can read an excerpt from the book, and order directly from the publisher at this link:
https://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=44380

Or use one of these Amazon links:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wouldnt-Leave-Rome-Go-Heaven

http://www.amazon.com/Wouldnt-Leave-Rome-Go-Heaven


Roma Worth Quoting
These quotes were collected by Roberta Musolino, who offers walking tours with her "Roman Rendezvous" company. Her clients were suitably impressed by la bella Roma. If you have quotes we'd love to add them. Just send them to info@inromenow.com and you'll see them online! Check out Roberta's website at
www.romanrendezvous.com

“Rome is an open sky museum”
“The oculus of the Pantheon is the centre of the universe for me”
“I wish I were in love just so I could go the orange grove”
“When I was growing up my brother & I would ride our bikes at 2 or 3 in the morning. From Corso Vittorio Emmanuele you could hear the sound of the fountains of Piazza Farnese”
“I promised myself at age 20 that I wanted to live here forever, I went home, raised a family, learnt a profession and now I’m 46. But I kept my promise.”
“It is the most beautiful city in the world”
"How can you not be seduced by olive trees, stupendous art works & statues with naked breasts all around?”

The Roma Look
We've noticed that there's an easy style in Rome. Like most people, we wear a decent pair of jeans, boots, a good jacket and a scarf just about everyplace we go. But we thought we'd ask the experts for some advice. This comes from our favorite manicurist, Stephanie, at Ari's Nails near Largo Argentina:

"Nails are a hot fashion accessory in Rome. In today's Roman society I could not help noticing that  no true diva leaves home with out her cell phone, slipping on her mary jane's, and grabbing her designer handbag. From sophisticated to casual , professional to bohemian, glamour girl to the girl next door are now expressing themselves in a very unique way- Nails -our nails are more of an expression of our personal style and taste as our clothing … they are the ultimate fashion accessories and whether we realize it or not they are the most powerful first impression and your choice in color is a part of your overall look. So, as the season changes... from winter to spring from Piazza di Spagna to Piazza Navonna, do not forget to indulge in the colors of spring that surround, you but also on your nails, too.

P.S. From the runways of Rome to your way Spring colors 2008 - Pink and Pastel"

Submitted by Stephanie Alliman
March 11, 2008

Link to Ari's Nails

I Walked the Walls

Just  two and a half weeks after arriving for a semester at Temple University’s Rome Campus, I was intrigued by the chance to take a fourteen-mile guided walk around the walls built by the Emperor Aurelio that still encircle the city. I had already become an avid fan of the Roman nightlife, but I hadn’ taken any long walks. Most nights, I found myself in Campo de’ Fiori, or the surrounding neighborhoods, enjoying the scene with my friends. I was having a great time, but I reminded myself that  I hadn’t  come all the way to Rome just to surround myself with my fellow Americans.
So, a couple of mornings ago, having slept  roughly four hours the night before, I got up at the horrifyingly early hour of  7:30 am  and made my way to the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano to begin the “Wall Walk.”  I immediately  realized that this walk was going to be  way more than worth it.  Some fifty of my fellow students had shown up at an hour most of us rarely see the light of day, to be ushered around the city by one of our history professors.
Starting from basilica, we made our way south along the ruins of the wall to Porta San Giovanni. The old arches somehow seemed to blend in with the graffiti and piles of old abandoned cars that littered the neighborhood. I learned that this part of the wall was originally solid but the arches were cut out in the early 20th century to accommodate car traffic.
We followed the walls in a southerly direction  making our  way into a labyrinth of cobblestone streets almost too narrow for cars to pass. The ancient wall rose high above to our left, where it was topped by train tracks. The wall blocked the sun’s rays, but whenever a train passed, the sun bounced off the gleaming metal, creating a beautiful nuance of colors.
 After a couple of hours of solid walking, the mass of students had split up into smaller groups of five or ten waking partners. It was way past time for breakfast, so I was delighted when our guide called a time out  at a local pizzeria, where I bought a delicious toasted prosciutto and mozzarella panino.
We followed the walls  towards the British embassy, and eventually to the neighborhood of San Lorenzo, where  the largest university in Europe is located, Rome’s Università La Sapienza.
This student neighborhood is nearly covered with  graffiti but it has a certain charm. Its small cobblestoned  streets, overlook residential buildings, some of them beautiful designed. In fact, San Lorenzo imprinted such a splendid image in my mind, I’ll definitely return there, especially towards the evening when all the small, cozy are pubs open.
The path along the walls turned  uphill to the Villa Borghese. Wow!  The  large park with windy sidewalks is an ideal place to go for a picnic, a run, or a walk with your dog. I was impressed by the all the greenery, even in the middle of January. At the top of the hill, I found  myself  on the Pincio hill, with its series of beautiful fountains, and a view of the Piazza del Popolo below.
Then it was downhill to the Vatican, and uphill once again, as we climbed the Gianicolo to Villa Aurelia, home of the American Academy in Rome, and and an awesome view of the city. I could even see the hills in the distance.
 We’d been walking for four hours and it was barely lunched time! Our second time out called for a beer and another panino, then it was down the hill, following the walls towards Porta San Paolo and  the Piramide, the tomb of the Emperor Cestius, one of the best-preserved monumnets in Rome. At the Viale di Porta Ardeatina, the ancient walls are still nearly intact, and surrounded by trees. With no souvenir stands or pizzerie to ruin the illusion, I flet as though I were  truly back in the days of the Roman Empire.


At the end of the walk, as  we  headed toward the Metro along the ancient walls, I couldn’t help but notice a couple of very nice bars along the way, very stylish and secluded, perfect to stop by after a long walk. (Okay, so I have beer on the brain.)


Submitted by Mihai Morar, January 25, 2008

The Birds Dance
I have spent years marveling at the incredible dance performed by thousands of birds in the twilight sky over Rome. They swirl and dive, divide in two and rejoin without every hitting each other. Sometimes I run up to my terrace when I hear their wild chirping, just to watch in wonder, as they celebrate after a long day of hunting. These swifts have been notorious in the piazza outside the Stazione Termini, where passengers have been known to raise their umbrellas as they leave the station to protect themselves from the unlovely droppings that crash to the ground by the truckload. This never bothered me. I'm not at the station that often, and the birds weren't covering my terrace with poop. But this year, things have changed. One day I crossed the Piazza Sonnino near my apartment in Trastevere, to discover a newly laid carpet of white ... bird shit. What happened? The next day, I got ready to open my car door, to find it encrusted with ... you guessed it. I have heard two theories on the subject, both involving measures taken at the Stazione Termini to get rid of the unwelcome visitors. Someone told me they had employed trained falcons, to scare the birds away. Then I heard the more plausible theory that the authorities had installed loud speakers blaring owl sounds. Owls are the birds natural enemies. Either way, they have moved into Trastevere. Welcome to the neighborhood.


Submitted by Joie
January 11, 2008

 A Postcard from Rome
Dinner at the Ponte Rotto

Have you had dinner on the island yet? If not, run, run, run. The restaurants along the river will only be open until Notte Bianca (the end of summer, when everything stays open till dawn), which this year falls on Saturday, September 8th. But in the meanwhile, there are two wonderful places to eat on the Isola Tiberina, a boat-shaped island in the Tiber separating Trastevere from the Ghetto.

Restaurant number one serves pizza the right way — fresh and hot from a wood-burning oven — as well as great salads. And their scarmoza (melted spun cow's milk cheese) is fantabulous, topped with rugetta (rocket salad).

The other island restaurant is a bit more formal, and it's a real hit with me. The tables are placed directly in front of the Ponte Rotto, the single remaining arch of an ancient bridge, originally the Pons Aemilius, built in 179 BC and rebuilt in the 16th century by the Borghese Pope, Paolo V, who also gave us the façade of Saint Peter's. The Italians really know how to light their monuments, and this one is breathtaking. It looks as though they could be shooting a movie. There's a wonderful dead tree-trunk on the bridge, which landed there during the last flood. It reminds me of an art project. Somebody should make it into a postcard. I've seen photographs of the Ponte Rotto from the late 1800s, when there will still two remaining arches, and a third arch had been replaced by a stretch of wooden planks, so that the bridge spanned the river. It was a functioning bridge until the mid 19th century, when Victor Emmanuel II built tall walls along the river to hold back flood waters, and, in the process, one of the arches was destroyed.

Because the arch is illuminated by a very bright spotlight, you can also see what's behind it. Voila! Another bridge: all modern and steel and concrete. It makes for an incredible juxtaposition of two time periods — the 16th century meets the 20th. This "other" bridge is in reality called Ponte Palatino, the Palatine Bridge, but the Romans call it the Ponte Inglese, the English Bridge, because it's entered from the left side, and you drive across on the "English" side of the road. That's English enough for me.

So there you are, facing this magnificent relic, and what are you eating? Their fettuccini fatto in casa (homemade pasta); it's incredible. I order it with tomato, basil and Parmesan cheese. Go, Go, Go, the Isola Tiberina is calling you.

Ciao Ciao
La Marchesa
August 13, 2007

               An Englishman in Rome on a Shoestring

I was on one of my usual shoestring excursions, flying a budget airline, using a low cost hotel, a mode of travel I had become used to over the years affording me some interesting anecdotes. You don’t get collapsing beds, leaking bidets and shower heads that become autonomous spinning wildly whilst soaking the whole bathroom and a good proportion of the bedroom at a Hilton or a Marriott. My hotel was in the Monti area of Rome, located on the highest of the seven hills the Esquiline. During the days of empire this was an exclusive area. Patrician villas dominated whilst fruit orchards, olive groves and temples dotted the area. The ever increasing barbarian raids forced the inhabitants to safety closer to the Tiber in what is now the Centro Storico district leaving Monti virtually uninhabited until it became a battle ground for rival clans in the Middle Ages. It is now a multicultural area and home to many of Rome’s budget hotels including mine, the Hotel Giubileo in the Via Carlo Alberta.Only about 100 yards from the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore the Giubileo lurked almost apologetically between a barber’s shop, and a couple doors away, the four star Mecenate Palace Hotel. My room is on the fourth floor and there is no lift. At this point let me recap. I am overweight, middle aged, unfit and have a weak ankle, a result of an army injury. I have booked a hotel on a hill, the Cispius, a sub peak of the highest hill in Rome, the Esquiline. The area is called  “Monti” (mountain in Italian), and I am on the fourth floor. I am really excelling myself this time! I had read through the comments left by ex-clients of the Giubileo on the web site. They hadn’t rated the place very highly; noisy and small rooms appeared to be the main concern, the hotel’s web site itself was full of dead links and the photographs bore no resemblance to the hotel where I stayed; only the addresses matched. In the lounge for want of a better word, a small wooden post box was mounted on one wall, it was marked Complaint, in the singular, perhaps wishful thinking rather than badly construed English. The box did, however, seem rather full.
                                                                                                              
My room was therefore a bit of a surprise, quite large with a five foot-wide bed, and an adequate, clean bathroom with all the necessary fixtures and fittings. Air-conditioning whirred away whilst a window looked out from the back of the building onto backs of the buildings opposite. The furniture was utilitarian but serviceable; footmarks above the bed-head did worry me a bit, but when in Rome! The only real problem was the climb up the four floors which made it imperative to keep water, beer or oxygen handy. My initial climb with bags and camera had me running for the mini bar as soon as I could persuade the door to open. To my surprise, it was empty, the room description should have read mini fridge, which I soon stocked. I then set out to find restaurants with easy walking distance of the Hotel. La Vecchia Conca provided my evening meal and the Antico Caffè Santa Maria, whose waiter offered interesting snippets of information concerning the architectural merits of the Santa Maria Maggiore and the undoubted charms of Rome’s young ladies, offered superb lunch time salads.

An after-lunch stroll down the Via Carlo Alberta brought me to the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele II, two large screens had been erected for the Notti di Cinema showing American and Spanish films from nine in the evening until the early hours. But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the square was the remains of Villa Palombara, built by the Marquis Massimiliano Palombara. Integral within its structure was the Alchemist’s or Magic Door. The story revolved around one Francesco Giustiniani Bono who found grass straws capable of producing gold in the garden of the villa, the following day he was unfortunate enough to disappear through the door leaving behind gilded straws. The remains of the villa are now home to a colony of feral cats who parade and preen themselves in the sunlit garden.
                                                                                                                       
Although the Hotel had it shortcomings, it was a low cost establishment, convenient for the attractions of central Rome. Most of its 38 rooms, are embedded in the private flat complexes surrounding the main entrance, a strange setup! But the staff were helpful and friendly replacing my faulty telephone within five minutes. They seem to be making the best of what they have. For a short stay such as mine or a weekend break the Giubileo was perfectly adequate, before complaining one should remind oneself of the cost of staying there!     

Text and photographs by John MacDonald, July 11, 2007
More on John MacDonald: www.caratacus.eu                                            

A Confounded American in Rome: In Search of Cheddar Cheese and Shopping Malls

Personally, I and many of my friends were shocked at the level of daily hassles it took/takes to get even simple things done, like picking up a letter at the post office (bring your passport, be prepared to be rerouted to a different post office, be prepared to come back because the supervisor is out and has the key, you know the story), getting minutes on our cell phones (sorry, the computers are down, come back tomorrow; sorry, we're closing early today, it's a beautiful day, [to which I respond: but your hours are engraved in bronze on your door here...), etc. But, I really would have appreciated knowing the following information as I seriously thought I would land here and be settled within a month. Also, it never occurred to me that they wouldn't have things like cheddar cheese or cilantro.

There is a mall called Parco Leonardo by the Fuimicino airport complete with food court. You can find household items and clothes much more inexpensively here as compared to your neighborhood stores. There are a couple of Ikeas with easy access off the GRA for necessary household items with reasonable prices. [at Porta di Roma in the north and at Anagnina in the south]. Also, very, very important, it's pronounced ee-kay-ah here, NOT i-kee-ah, as I found out after driving all the way to Fregene on gas attendants' advice on how to get to i-kee-ah; in Fregene I finally wrote down "Dove Ikea" and showed an attendant and a lightbulb went off, ahhhh, ee-kay-ah, ee-kay-ah, not i-kee-ah!).

For anyone living by the American Overseas School of Rome, there's a wonderful vet nearby who will give you the proper certifications for carting your pet back and forth to the states or elsewhere (I'm not sure of the address but it's about 700 Via Cassia, in the set of white buildings to the south of the Pastarita/Pizzarita restaurant.) He takes people without appointments (though it's better with) and speaks English.

Cheddar cheese and cilantro are very difficult to find, though they are staples in many Americans' diets. Cilantro is called coriandola and can usually be found if asked for at any of the Asian booths in the daily markets (at Termini or for those by the international schools, Ponte Milvio). You have to ask for it though as they keep it under the table. [Click here for more food markets.] Cheddar cheese is more difficult to come by but can be obtained at any of the military or embassy commissaries as well as at the FAO commissary. Most ex-pats not affiliated with any of these places find new best friends with family members who work at these places so they can keep up a supply line. There are a couple of international food stores that contain very expensive imported items that one can't get here. For instance, missing Duncan Hines cake mix? Pancake syrup? Jello? There is Foods Oasis in the 600 block of Via Cassia on the east side of the street that carries a large bottle of pancake syrup for 8 euros, and a very large bottle of Lea and Perrins Worcester sauce for 10 euros (and yes, I've bought both, desperate people do desperate things). Also, the CTS store on the old Cassia carries American cake and brownie mixes as well as mexican food items like taco shells, flour tortillas, and salsa. [Click here for the In Rome Now Gourmet Foods listings where you'll find more options. Castroni in Prati carrie everything and Inocenzi in Trastevere carries a good selection of American foods.]

Posted by Kimm X Jayne, May 29, 2007

Click here for more tips on overcoming culture shock.

Trastevere's Back Streets
Ah, to be in Rome now that April's here! The buskers are back on the streets, torturing my ears with out-of-tune violins, screeching voices and badly played accordians. The streets are so crowded with tourists I can hardly stand to leave the house. But the wisteria is in bloom. Young leaves have sprouted on the chestnut trees that line the banks of the Tiber. Restaurants have put tables out on the sidewalks again. The shaved lemon ice stands have re-opened and the gelato shops are suddenly irresistible.

This year I got a little dog, which has given me a reason to explore the back streets of my neighborhood, Trastevere, as doggie and I take our morning walks. Just steps from my own door, there's a warren of quiet streets, a world away from the hustle and noise of the via Lungaretta, the Piazza Santa Maria in Trastsevere, and the raucous nightlife for which the zone is famous.

Instead, doggie and I wander vicoli, cobblestoned streets too narrow for even a Smart car to pass, where ivy covers ancient brick walls and every morning I notice something I'd missed the day before— a carved door, a tiny balcony, a medieval window.

On weekend mornings I give directions to ladies in fancy dress and too-high heels who moan "oh, Dio" when they find out they have parked near the wrong church, and that the wedding they are rushing off to attend is blocks away.

The locals snort with laughter when my little dog responds to my command to "ashpeh" to wait, aspetta delivered with the Southern accent I heard from my Italian-American neighbors growing up in New Jersey. And the dog drags me along as she rushes past the doorway where a horny dachsund seems always to be waiting to make yet another fruitless assault on her virginity. This morning I confounded my poor dog by stopping every few feet to take photographs, trying to capture the light of that particular April Saturday in Rome.
posted by Joie Davidow April 21, 2007

Cristof Ranocchi's Guide to Italian Slang

The following guide takes you through the labyrinth of Roman street vernacular, necessary to (’intrattenere’=) holding a colloquy with roman citizens and successfully survive through Rome’s nightlife.
Roman’s slang has had a revival and never has been more present than it is today amongst youth, so if you are thinking about eavesdropping on the younger crowd, you might want to refresh your vocabulary and grammar with a few up-to-date tips.

Romanaccio (or Romano) is not limited to the young, but is spoken, or at least known by many residents of all ages. Trust in the fact that although it is a slang, anyone will understand you.

Personal pronouns MI, TI, GLI/LE, CI, VI, are replaced by ME, TE, JI/JE, CE, VE.

Verbs that indicate the repetition of an action and are characterized by the RI- prefix in traditional Italian, are preceded by A- (e.g. RIFALLO > ARIFALLO = “do it over/repeat”; RITORNACI! > ARITORNACE = “go back (there)!”)

Double consonants aren’t pronounced in Romanaccio (e.g. TERRIBILE > TERIBILE = “terrible”).

O and AO are often used at the beginning of a sentence (usually an exclamation), or to get somebody’s attention, “Hey,” for example.

Male Article IL > ER = “the”. As a result: DEL (DI + IL) > DER = “of the”; CON IL > COR = “with the”, and so on.

With the Infinitive form of verbs, the final –RE is cut off and the final vowel is accented (e.g. OTTENERE > OTTENè = “to obtain”; GIOCARE > GIOCà = “to play”)

-NGI- is replace by -GN- (e.g. MANGIO > MAGNO* = “I eat/ am eating”; PIANGI > PIAGNI* = “ you cry/ are crying).    *[GN is pronounced “-NJ-“] 

ALLORA DAJE! – “so here we go!”:

First of all you will enter into a Roman’s good graces by remembering Rome=LA CAPITALE, Italy’s capital, ofwhich we are particularly proud.

Young Romans males (adolescents, teenagers and slightly over) barely use the traditional CIAO, but instead greet each other through BELLA. Despite the resemblance with the Italian female adjective “beautiful”, the greeting does not apply to the female gender. *[BELLA also means “great/cool”].

• BELLA, COME BUTTA? or BELLA, KE SE DICE? = “hey, whats up?”

(Traditional: CIAO, COME STAI?)

• T’AREGGE? = “are you up to it?”

(Traditional: TE LA SENTI?)

• TE PIJA? = “do you feel like it?” – NO, NUN ME PIJA = “No, I don’t feel like it.”

(Traditional: TI VA? – NO, NON MI VA.)

• SCIALLA = “cool” or “chill/it’s OK” (e.g. O ME DISPIACE – SCIALLA = “Hey I am sorry – It’’s OK.”).

(Traditional: MI DISPIACE – TRANQUILLO)
Also as a verb (e.g. TE DEVI SCIALLà! = “You need to chill/calm down!”)
(Traditional: TI DEVI CALMARE!)

• DAJE = “bring it on/ come on” (e.g. DAJE COR FOMENTO! = “Bring on the heat!”)

(Traditional: DAI)

• STIRà = “to be worn out/fatigued” or “feeling badly (physically)” (e.g. AO STO A STIRà = “whoah I am eating it”; (EGLI) HA STIRATO = “He felt sick” or “He was worn out”)

(Traditional: STO MESSO MALE; (EGLI) ERA SFINITO.)

• SCAPOCCIà = “to go crazy/be angry” or “worn out/fatigued (mentally)” (e.g. TOSTO L’ESAME? – AVOJA**, STAVO A SCAPOCCIà = “was the exam hard? – Definitely, my brain was steaming up.”

(Traditional: TOSTO L’ESAME – Sì UN SACCO, STAVO IMPAZZENDO.)

• **AVOJA = “sure/of course so”; to agree with something
  
• ‘NDO’ VAI? = (“where are you going?”)

(Traditional: DOVE VAI?)

• ‘ND’ANNATE? – STAMO ANNà’ MAGNà’A PIZZA. – BELLA! STO A VENì PUR’IO – NO, NUN TE CE VOLEMO.

= “Where are you (guys) going? – We’re going to eat pizza. – Great! I’ll come as well. – No, we don’t want you to.”
(Traditional: DOVE ANDATE? – STIAMO ANDANDO A MANGIARE LA PIZZA. – OTTIMO! VENGO PURE IO. – NO, NON TI CI VOGLIAMO.)

• STO A GIOCà = “I am kidding/just messing with you.”

(Traditional: STO SCHERZANDO.)

Submitted by Cristof Ranocchi, March 19, 2007

Getting An Italian Driver's License


So, you think buying a house in Italy is difficult? Try getting an Italian drivers license. There are two ways of going about this: legally or illegally. Illegally is a no brainer. Simply pay 800 euros or more, to the right person and get your license (maybe). It turns out there are many con artists, so this is a risky proposition to undertake.

Legally, is the ?great adventure of all adventures?. You can (1) do it on your own (not recommended) or (2) take a class. Doing it on your own requires a Sherlock Holmes type personality. Lacking this trait, I elected to enroll in a class.

This is My Story

I and three other expatriates hired an Italian driving instructor to give us a class on the rules and regulations of obtaining a drivers license. The cost was 350 euros each. We met twice per week, two hours per session for almost four months. During this time, our instructor discussed many things, most of which put me to sleep.

I discovered the Italian love of expressing oneself, extends to their road signs, of which there are approximately 200. There are signs underneath signs, combinations of signs, and signs that tell you to ignore other signs. There are also human signs, called policemen. If the policeman is higher than the road sign, his directions take precedence. However, if he is of short stature, without a box to stand on, you may ignore him with impunity (referred to as ?height makes might?).

If you think the above is complicated, try to understand the ?right of way? rule, without a Phd in mathematics. This rule states, that at a junction without a stop or yield sign, the person on your right has the right of way. Sounds simple. However, what happens if you enter a junction with seven roads all merging together? (In Italy, these really do exist.) Option one, you get out of your car, make a diagram, and have a group discussion on who has the right of way. Option two, he who has the fastest machine goes first, e.g., the tortoise and hare rule.

After four months of class, we were still unprepared to take the test. What we should have studied was the Test Question Manual, consisting of 3000 questions. Unfortunately, this manual, in English, was only in production for two weeks. My copy is available to the highest bidder.

The written exam is taken at the Motorazione in Rome. The first time I went, the computers broke down. The second time, I forgot my identification and was sent home. The third time, after waiting four hours, I was led into a small room with 20 other hopefuls. There were two proctors making sure answers were not being read off your shirt sleeves. We had 30 minutes to answer 30 questions. Sound straight forward? Nope. In order to pass, you must think like an Italian. Major tip: opt out of the written exam and request the oral exam, available to all expatriates.

Once you pass the written test, you have three chances, you then register for the drivers test (cost ? 94 euros). You take the test. You pass!!! Do you receive your drivers license? No. It must be printed. When? It?s a mystery. But you are now legal. Congratulations!

Paperwork Required
(1) Passport
(2) Permesso di Sorgiorno
(3) Carta D?Identità
(4) Driving School form
(5) Eye exam
(6) Bollo for taking test
(7) 3 passport size photos

Submitted by Brian A. Rothbart and Linda Penzabene
November 16, 2006

Bianca Notte ed Alba Rossa
I have been something of a humbug where La Notte Bianca is concerned. After one horrifying experience during which I was nearly crushed to death by a swell of incredibly patient Italians who were packed into the Piazza di Spagna with virtually no room to bend an elbow, I decided to stay in the next year, and the year after that. I began to refer to La Notte Bianca as an "incubo," a nightmare. And I still would like to see the figures that prove it actually makes money for the city. This year a virtual army of workers were required to clean up the mountains of trash that accumulated all over the city- not to mention the cost of all those stages and sound systems and big screen tv projections and the publicity and the brochures- and the ambulance services. But this year, for some reason, which problem has a lot to do with a bottle of prosecco, I got into the mood, and decided that for the first time, I would stay up all night, welcoming in the dawn at the top of the Gianicolo hill. And it was worth it! We attended a wonderful concert by Tim Martin's "Amazing Grace" gospel singers at the Piazza Bocca della Veritá, repaired to the rooftop bar at the nearby "47" hotel, where we had a great view of the procedings and a bottle of wine, from there to the banks of the Tiber for a cous cous and wine supper, and before we knew it it was four am. We staggered up to the top of the Gianicolo with yet another bottle for reinforcements,in time to watch the sun come up, listened to music and felt the general good vibes of our fellow revelers. Walking down the hill in the early morning, I was so happy and drunk I repeatedly greeted the city with a boisterous "Buon Giorno Roma!" and nobody looked twice.
Posted by Joie, September 10, 2006

Summer Nights
One of the best ways to enjoy the summer nights in Rome is to go down to the banks of the Tiber, where the annual summer festival, "Lungo Er Tevere" is alive with people, music, food and drink. The bicycle path along the river has been transformed into a magical setting, lined with potted plants, bars, restaurant, shops, a cabaret, a movie theater, even a hookah den.
Posted by Gaby Bruna
July 7, 2006
Gaby's photo essay

When are you leaving?
This is the question everybody asks these days. The waitress at my café asked me this morning. So did the lady at the market where I buy my fruits and vegetables. And the man in the drycleaning shop asked me the same question when I went to pick up my white linen pants. My friends, who used to open conversations with "So how are you?" have now switched to "So when are you leaving?" Rome in July is like the last hours of the Titanic; everybody seems to be planning to get out. But why? The heat and humidity are beginning to drive us crazy? Not if we know how to deal with it, adopting the age-old siesta schedule of running around town in the cool hours of the early morning then bunking down next to the nearest fan until it's safe to go out again at about seven in the evening. Roman summer nights are FABULOUS! The city turns into an enormous block party. I love browsing the booths and listening to the music along the banks of the Tiber. I love drinking a beer and eating a plate of cous cous at the spot where a damn in the river makes a misty waterfall. I love long, lazy summer dinners with friends at a sidewalk table or on my own litle terrace. I love the outdoor concerts in historic and beautiful places like the Teatro Marcello, Ostia Antica, and the Villa Pamphili. I love walking around in nothing but a loose linen dress and sandals, or shorts and a t-shirt. I love gelato and granita and grattachecca! I love Rome in the summer! So when am I leaving? August fifth. What about you?
Posted by Joie
July 6, 2006


Men in Rome Do As the Romans Do

I am an invisible woman in Los Angeles. If I try to remember how long it’s been since men paid attention when I walked into a room there, I have to count in decades. When I moved to that youth-crazed city. at the age of thirty, I was already considered over the hill. Twenty-seven years later, I’m so far over the hill I can barely remember climbing to the top.
I bought into the youth culture, but it wasn’t cheap. I invested in designer jeans that I hoped made me look young and thin. I spent too much money on skin care. I frequented expensive hairdressers. I went the gym six days a week. I stuck to a low calorie diet until I switched to a low fat diet followed by a low carb diet. And it has paid off. Today I am as well maintained as a woman past fifty can be, short of the drastic surgical intervention favored by so many women in L.A. But no matter how hard I worked to keep my buns firm, I was still as sexy as somebody’s grandmother.
And it made me mad. Women of my generation fought for equality. We spent much of our lives trying to advance professionally in a world dominated by men, chipped away at the male establishment to grasp the slenderest threads of power. But just as we pause, panting, to look around proudly at what we have achieved in the battle against sexism, we get hit in the head with ageism. Not only in the workplace but in our private lives. A well-maintained man of fifty-five is still a hunky guy. A well-maintained woman of the same age is a matron. I don’t want to imply that we need the admiration of strange men to feel okay about ourselves. But a dose of male attention now and then lifts the sprits.
At forty, even forty-five, there were those punched-in-the-stomach moments when the truth first became apparent — when I struggled to lift my suitcase into the overhead compartment on the L.A. –New York flight, and three men pushed past me in the aisle without offering to help; when I went to a club with a younger girlfriend, and men offered to buy her drinks, while I sat there like the old chaperone; when I started a conversation with a handsome man at a party and he asked me to introduce him to the younger woman across the room. 
Eventually, I accepted my lot, acknowledged that I’d had my day and that it was time to move on to the next phase of my life, a phase which turned out to be more serene and productive than the turbulent years of dating, falling in and out of love, beginning and ending relationships. I discovered that being invisible had its advantages. It brought a certain freedom. I never had to worry about getting hit on. I could be alone in a room with a man and absolutely nothing remotely sexual would happen. When I was younger, it seemed as though every man I knew, sooner or later, would make a stab at seduction as though it were some sort of requirement. But an invisible woman can have male friends with no hidden agendas. If a man sought my company, I could safely assume he enjoyed my conversation or my sense of humor, which is, after all, much more flattering than being sought after for my ample bosom.

When I moved to Rome, it was not because I nurtured vain fantasies of an Italian lover — I’d given that up long ago — but because I always adored Italy, and, with the help of high-speed Internet access and a low-cost international phone card, I finally figured out a way to live and work here. Although I no longer thought of myself as an object of male desire, I couldn’t help noticing the men. The ratio of god-like creatures to ordinary mortals was astonishing. Sure, the streets were full of guys who looked like they worked for Tony Soprano, but at least once a day some young Adonis took my breath away. I admired them idly with no thought that they’d notice me. Even though I still wore the L.A. uniform of jeans and t-shirts, I considered myself a middle-aged signora.

Then something amazing began to happen. Men flirted with me. Old men and young men in shops, restaurants and cafés made eye contact and held my gaze. Men changed seats on the bus to face me, followed me through the cars on the train to sit beside me. They found excuses to talk to me. Strange men stopped me to ask me for a cigarette then followed me, still chatting, after I’d explained that I didn’t smoke.
When an overweight man squeezed by me in a crowded supermarket aisle, he muttered under his breath, “Ah, ma Dio, che bella!” Oh my God, how beautiful! The young repairman who came to fix the air conditioner stopped in mid-sentence to tell me I had beautiful eyes. The older man who came to fix the lock on the door invited me out for a pizza. While I was waiting for a bus, a bald-headed guy in overalls asked me for directions then proceeded to ask me to lunch. “But you are so beautiful,” he said. “E per niente.” And it’s for nothing. Just lunch. He kept insisting until I managed to get lost in the crowd. In L.A., I might have looked for the nearest cop. But in Rome he just made me feel good about myself for the rest of the day.

At first I thought it was an aberration. I couldn’t possibly have become visible again at my age. These men were obviously perverts. Didn’t they know I was old enough to be a grandmother? But the almost daily attention began to have an effect on me. I looked in the mirror and saw a still vibrant woman where I had become accustomed to seeing a dumpy old lady. I began to walk straighter, smile more, take a little more time when I got dressed in the morning, knowing that an unknown someone might appreciate the effort.

I am particularly attractive to Roman taxi drivers. I get hit on so much from the back seat of a cab that I’m beginning to think I must look a lot younger in a rear-view mirror. The other day I gave an address to a driver as I slipped into his taxi. “And why are we going there?” he wanted to know. I told him I was going to the dentist. “But why do you want to go to the dentist?” he asked. “You have such a beautiful mouth. It is a mouth for kissing. Let’s not go to the dentist. Let me take you to the beach instead.” When I demurred, the driver went on to explain that I ought to reconsider because he was really good in bed. If that had happened to me in L.A. I might have jumped out of the cab at the next red light, but in Rome, I knew that the driver was just being playful.

I came to realize that Italian men of all ages like older women, in fact, they like most women. My Italian girlfriend, Alessandra, insists it’s because they are all hopelessly in love with their mothers. And I’m sure she’s right. I hear them on their cell phones all day long asking, “Mamma, come stai?” Mamma isn’t calling them. It’s the grown up, even middle-aged sons who are calling her. But God bless them for it, I say.

I’m not suggesting that Marcello Mastroianni look-alikes are following me down the street. I’m still virtually invisible to the virtual Adonis types. But I’m enjoying the chance to brush up on my long forgotten flirting skills in a city where flirting is a national sport. And I don’t really believe that the compliments I get have much to do with the truth. Italian is a language of overstatements. Our American “yeah, right,” is their “Bravo!”  Our “What a bummer,” is their “Che miseria!” But I’d still rather hear “Bellissima!” than “You look fine,” which is the highest compliment a lot of men in L.A. will give a woman, and only after having been asked “How do I look?”

Alessandra says that Italian men make lousy husbands. She says their mothers rule them, that they think adultery is normal behavior, and that despite the cab driver’s boastful claim, they are lousy lovers. I’m not shopping for an Italian husband, anyway. I’m just having fun. I’m sure this period in my life is like Rome in October, a flash of warmth in the midst of autumn before the long winter sets in. So I’ve decided to have a good time while it lasts.

I’ll be back in L.A. soon for a month or so. I wonder how it will feel to slip back into invisibility. But maybe it won’t be so bad. I think of myself differently now. Who knows? Maybe it’s all about attitude. Maybe I’ll walk into a room expecting a little playful flirtation and be surprised by the way men react. It’s worth a try.
Posted by Joie
June 12, 2006

The Curse of the Touristic Menu
And just what is a "touristic menu?" you might ask. It's code for bad Italian food. It's those menus posted on boards outside restaurants that give you a limited choice for what might look like a good price until you think about it. It includes an antipasto, a pasta or second dish, a dessert, a single glass of wine or a carbonated beverage. It closely resembles the food you might have been unlucky enough to remember from your college dormitory. And it pleases a staggering number of tourists, who have been brainwashed into believing that it's impossible to eat a bad meal in Italy. Granted, it might be better than what they remember from the Pasta Barn back in Dayton, but WE'RE IN ROME NOW!!. All the prime tourist spots in town are infested with these menus. Trastevere's Via Lungaretta is a particularly sad case. Tourist traps pretty much line the street. And what the unsuspected visitor doesn't know is that a lot of them are owned by the same people. That's right, folks. They are all opening the same cans to put food on your plates. Do yourself a favor. Stay far, far away from touristic menus. You can find good cheap plate of pasta and a decent house red in lots of places without lowering yourself to that. Sure, you're suckered in by the sidewalk tables and the cute little lights. But just keep walking. There's better fare to be had nearby. Which is why we were so delighted when we saw this sign in the Via Lungaretta, just steps away from the worst of the lot. We couldn't agree more with either sentiment.
Posted by Joie
June 11, 2006

Down by the River Side
For the past couple of weeks, the river bank in Trastevere between Ponte Sisto and Ponte Rotto has been a construction site. I watched the work going on as we've crossed the bridges, knowing that soon, the Tiber's banks would turn into a nightly party. As the tents went up, the stages were built, and the outdoor theater was erected on the Isola Tiberina, I felt the excitement of watching a stage set come to life. The annual summer festival along the river opens next weekend, Friday, June 16.

The deck chairs and benches are already
waiting at the riverside bars and cafes.

The summer movie theater is open on the island, playing classic films in Italian, including homages to Visconti and Almodovar.

"The rum drunk most in the worst bar in Trastevere."

The bar under the Ponte Sisto on the Trastevere side is serving snacks, beer and (according to the sign) lots of rum, from early afternoon until late at night. A stage has been set up for live music and dancing here and there will be additional stages and dance floors at other locations along the river.

Posted by Joie
June 10, 2006

Don Francesco explains La Befana

In the Christian liturgical cycle, January 6 marks the feast of the Epiphany. "Epiphany" comes from the Greek for "manifestation", "revelation" or "showing", referring to the "revealing" or "manifestation" of the Christ Child to the Magi or "Wise Men" or "Three Kings", as they are known in various cultures and/or places.

The feast of the Epiphany complements Christmas in this way, theologically: whereas the new-born Christ Child was announced on Christmas to shepherds outside of Bethlehem (those shepherds represent Jesus' own local, Jewish people), the "manifestation" of the Christ Child to the Magi (who represent all non-Jewish nations and peoples) points to the universal significance of the Incarnation of the Son of God. In other words, Christ came not only for His own Jewish people, but rather for all people, everywhere — universal salvation.

Most liturgical scholars believe that long before December 25th was celebrated in the West as Christ's birthday ("Christ Mass"), the January 6th date was already being celebrated in the East to recall Christ's Incarnation and Manifestation. In fact, many of the Eastern Orthodox Churches celebrate Christ's birth on the Epiphany, rather than the more "Western" or "Roman" date of December 25th, which was adopted in the West as a symbolic date to commemorate when the "Light of the World" and "Sun of Justice" first scattered the darkness of sin — an obvious tie-in with the pre-existing, non-Christian celebrations of light conquering winter darkness.

Since St. Matthew's Gospel describes the Magi as bringing precious, symbolic gifts for the new-born "King of the Jews", the tradition of exchanging gifts on the feast of the Epiphany quickly became popular. In many cultures children still hang stockings on the chimney or put their shoes on the hearth in the expectation of the Magi leaving gifts for them as well.

In Italy the word for Epiphany "Epiffania" slowly got distorted when the initial "E" was dropped and the word became "Piffania", "Beffania" and finally "Befana". While the tradition of gift-giving on the feast of the Ephiphany — now "La Befana"— continued, somehow the gift=givers (originally the Magi) were changed into an old woman or benevolent witch. She is traditionally portrayed riding a broomstick with a sack of gifts over her shoulder for good girls and boys — and the traditional coal or onions and garlic (!) for the bad ones. In Rome, the festivities surrounding the celebration of "La Befana" have centered on Piazza Navona for some centuries now, where one can still find all manner of treats, candies, toys and assorted Christmas decorations.

Submitted by Don Francesco
January 5, 2007

Hanging Santa
Alas, the towering Christmas tree in the Piazza Venezia, the very centerpiece of Rome's Christmas decor, has been pre-empted this year by the dig for the new subway/underground/metro line. In revenge, and to show their dismay, the people of the eternal city have decided to hang poor Santa. He can be seen suspended, in a state of terror, from balconies, buildings, umbrellas and sign posts all over town. In a valiant, but ultimately pathetic, effort to provide a substitute, the Paris restaurant in Trastevere's Piazza San Calisto has erected its own tree, festooned in a cheery but low-rent fashion with red and gold plastic plates and forks. At least we still have the Christmas lights, strung across streets throughout the old center.
Buone Feste!
Posted by Joie
December 14, 2006

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about the Holiday on December 8th

On December 8 the Catholic Church throughout the world celebrates the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception -- a much misunderstood feast, even by Catholics. Many (Catholics included...) mistakenly think that the term "Immaculate Conception" refers to the moment of Jesus Christ's virginal conception in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In fact, the term refers to Mary's conception in the womb of her mother, identified by an ancient tradition (though not in the Scriptures) as St. Anne. So, this is a feast of Mary, though it obviously has Christological significance as well, which could easily be another whole article.

What exactly do Catholics celebrate on the feast of the "Immaculate Conception"? They celebrate the doctrine (and the event it refers to), formally and infallibly defined by Pope Pius IX ("Pio Nono") on December 8, 1854, stating that "The most Blessed Virgin Mary was, from the first moment of her conception, by a singular grace and privilege of almighty God and by virtue of the merits of Jesus Christ, Saviour of the human race, preserved immune from all stain of original sin. (From Pius IX's declaration of the Immaculate Conception called "Innefabilis Deus."

Now, what exactly does that mean? In a nutshell, the Pope was "defining infallibly" or declaring to be authentic, revealed doctrine, the ancient belief that Mary, in preparation for her extraordinary mission as the Mother of the Savior, had received from God a special, literally unique grace or unmerited gift. The woman who would become the Mother of Our Lord was to be preserved --from the very instant of her conception-- from all taint of the Original Sin that is borne by each and every human being since the fall of humanity from its original, created state of grace.

Does that mean that Mary had no need of Christ or of salvation? An emphatic "No!" Rather, the doctrine teaches that the same, saving grace which derives from Jesus' death and resurrection, and which justifies all believers in Christ, was graciously applied by God in Mary's case before her birth. In fact, at the moment of her conception. For God, of course, there is no time, no "before" or "after" -- all is an ever-present "now" for God. Thus, Mary was "preserved free from sin" --saved-- by God's grace, in preparation for her mission of bringing the Savior into the world.

What was the significance of that particular date, December 8? Since an ancient tradition held that Mary was born on September 8th, by counting backwards 9 months one arrives at the "day" (obviously symbolic...) on which St. Anne would have conceived Mary in her mother's womb. In the same way March 25th traditionally came to mark the feast of the Annunciation (of the Archangel Gabriel to Mary). When Mary said "Yes!" to God's invitation that she consent to become the Mother of the Savior, at that moment Christ was conceived in Mary's womb, and was born 9 months later -- on December 25th.

In Rome, December 8th witnesses various solemn celebrations of the Mass around town, and then large crowds flock to Piazza di Spagna to witness the Pope's annual visit to the monument there commemorating the declaration of the Immaculate Conception in 1854. The pope brings a wreath with him in honor of the Blessed Virgin and Rome's Vigili di Fuoco (Firemen) proudly place it at the feet of the Virgin's statue atop the great stone column -- riding their "Cherry Picker" or hydraulic platform to the top. It's well worth fighting the crowds to witness this traditional event and catch a glimpse of the Pope outside of the Vatican. Afterwards many folks take advantage of the holiday to do some Christmas shopping on the famous and elegant Via dei Condotti, or to have a coffee, tea and pastries at Babbington's Tea Room or at the Antico Caffe' Grecco.

Religious trivia lovers may be interested to know that this was the first of two times that a pope has ever solemnly and infallibly defined a dogma -- contrary to the general assumption that everything the pope says is "infallible". Wrong! The second time a pope did so, again defining a Marian dogma, was when Pope Pius XII solemnly declared the dogma of Mary's Assumption into Heaven on 15 August, 1950. Pius thus provided Romans and all who reside in Italy with another famous holiday: the most important day of the annual summer vacation, called "Ferragosto". But that's another story...
Posted by
Don Francesco December 7, 2006