Rome

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

     Last year I decided I would not spend another August in Caunes.  Much as I love the Minervois, by August I need a change of scenery.  So I booked a week in a studio in Rome care of airbnb.  It meant driving to Montpellier to catch my flight, but I had driven there before and thought I could wake early enough to easily make the flight.  The trip would be a test of my theory that in buying the house I was opening up vistas to places in Europe I would not otherwise be able to visit.

     So I started out for Montpellier, having to arrive by 10:30 a.m.  The drive is about two hours, but to be safe, I started out an hour earlier, at 7:30 a.m.  This time (unlike my trips to Tarbes and Prades), I had road maps of France in the car.

     And I ended up needing them, as the GPS wanted to send me through some country roads on the way to Beziers, where I picked up the toll road.  This time I refused to pay attention to the GPS, and took out the map to confirm my sense that it would be better to stay on the main roads.  I drove as fast as possible, and I made it to the check-in line by 10:15 a.m.

     And I had to check in, because check-in via a personal computer was not possible.  Nor was check-in at a kiosk at the airport.  And of course, printing out a boarding pass in either location was not possible, either.  The sorts of things that in the United States make life easier frequently don't exist in France, even though there's no good reason why not.  So I waited on a long line, but easily made it to the boarding gate with time to spare.  The flight was relatively smooth, although a few bumps on the approach to Fiumicino once again started my anxieties going again, as usual.

     I was able to get on the F8 train to Trastevere and was looking for the tram stop when I spied a young woman walking briskly towards what looked like one.  It turned out she was between planes, going to Tel Aviv for a wedding and wanted to re-visit where she spent a semester abroad two years ago.  Her name is Carrie Bernstein and we ended up friends.  We easily reached my airbnb studio where Giuseppe, my host, was waiting for me.  The little studio is in a gated apartment complex, airy and well fitted out, not to mention conveniently located two blocks from viale Trastevere, a major artery.

     Carrie knows Rome well and American University in Rome (where she spent her semester abroad) is nearby my airbnb, so we went in that direction, climbing the Janiculum, a hill from which all of Rome can be seen.  From there we descended into the heart of Trastevere and had a pizza together before she had to leave to catch her fight.  It was a good start to my visit.

     After, I walked to the Villa Farnesina and from there along the Tiber until I reached Castel Sant'Angelo, and crossed the famous river.  By then I was good and tired and wanted to get home, but had no idea where to get a bus.  I bought a bus and train map of Rome from a newsdealer who explained to me that there was no need for me to retrace my steps, I should just cross Piazza Navona, take a left on  Lungotevere di Vittorio Emmanuele, then via Arenula, then cross Ponte Garibaldi.  On the other side of the bridge via Arenula becomes viale Trastevere and I am only a few blocks from the cross street leading to my studio.

     All was as he said.  Via Gloriosa, the street off viale Trastevere that leads to my studio is on one side of a massive public building built in white stone built in the baroque style, the Ministry of Public Education.  The neighborhood is upper middle class, if not posh, and quiet.  My studio has big windows that open out onto a private terrace: from the windows I can see an elegant neo-classic apartment building towering over my building.  Most people are, indeed away, but I caught a glimpse of an older woman getting into her gated apartment building next door: I knew her building was not mine, but I just wanted a chance to talk to someone in the neighborhood, to get a sense of the neighbors.

     She looked at me, her large eyes not entirely trusting, her head a smooth blonde skull atop a tiny body.  "No, this isn't #5, that's next door," she informed me without the slightest note of interest.  However, she was, as are all true Romans, unfailingly polite, even if she thought my question was a silly one, as the number 5 was clearly visible on the gate adjoining her own.

     Rome is quiet and warm: my clothes stick to my body, but the heat is not unbearable.  With everyone away, the monuments get a chance to speak.  Everywhere I walk my eyes see something new, something that draws me on.  It's my goal this trip to get a sense of the geography of Rome, which has always escaped me.  My new address is the perfect location to start my studies as it can be approached from several directions and is far enough from the most visited areas in the city that I have to orient myself, rather than dumbly follow the signs put there by the Rome Tourist Office.