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Our reason for this trip to Italy is helping with our Italian Granddaughter while our daughter trains as a yoga teacher. A very good reason to be here, but I hadn't really examined how it might conflict with some expectations I'd nursed. For our first week here, it was no hardship at all to be this close to Rome without getting to the city because, after all . . . Little Girl!
Daughter and son-in-law gave directions for commuting into Rome: a twelve-minute drive to the nearest station, park, and we could be riding a tram in Trastevere in thirty minutes. That first week, though, momentum was slow in the mornings, and once we got going, we were content with a workout or run; later we'd mosey along the waterfront, stop for coffee, indulge in a lazy lunch, plan and shop for the evening meal. Above all, we were focused on pedalling the 3 kilometres to daycare pick-up so we'd be waiting when She came hurtling out the doors. (Hurtling, and then wheedling -- for five minutes in the playground, or for a stop at Old MacDonald's on the way home, or for a visit to the playground at The Dog Park)
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| Time for some window-shopping as well, and if I'd had a bigger bag, my own porter, and way more cupboard space at home, I'd have been seriously tempted by these fellows. . . |
Somehow, I'd nurtured an illusion of picking up a few Christmas gifts in Rome (I'd brought a few picture books for Little Girl, but wanted a Christmas-morning something for her Papa, and her Granddad). Turns out that, do-able as I'd imagined the commute to be, I faltered when I pictured a missed train, or the car being towed because we'd parked in the wrong place, or anything that might make us late, have her waiting, anxious. Instead, I made peace with staying local, and we explored the small town my daughter's family inhabit, where I found a few little
regali to wrap. Son-in-law drove us into Rome on Saturday evening to see the Vatican lit up and admires its giant Christmas tree, to stroll that immense plaza at St. Peter's with
gelati, a magical outing that meant we'd at least made it into Rome one day this trip.
And then Christmas meals to prepare, greengrocers and fishmongers and butchers to visit, and I wasn't thinking much about Rome, instead focussing on being present here.
Boxing Day -- the Feast of St. Stephen here -- I woke with a cold, so the guys headed off with the Granddaughter to check out some villas outside The Eternal City. We'd decided to shift our road trip south a bit later in the week, preferring to stay closer to comfort given the storm that's rolled in. But that meant, I could see, that we were running out of longer days for Pater and I to head into Rome on our own before regular daycare schedule resumes.
And I might have been caught sulking for a minute or two. Sure, I've been to Rome a few times now, and we've had some good outings this visit (Villa d'Este, especially, that trip to the Vatican, the villas, if only I'd been well enough to go along), but in between coughing ferociously and sneezing into my kleenex, I realized I'd really been counting on at least three things:
One: I wanted to get to Sora Margharita and introduce Paul to the deep-fried artichokes --
carciofi alla giudia-- I'd enjoyed there last time. (Top photo: Done!)
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| Presepe (Nativity Scene) at a side altar (not far from Raphael's tomb) |
Despite the increasingly horrid weather (you might have seen the te
n-second video I posted on Instagram as we were huddled under umbrellas on the leeward side of a Roman street, rain, then hail, lashing down), I insisted we head to the Pantheon. Such an aesthetically gratifying and historically and spiritually rich building, I feel something close to grace, to beneficence, there, and to be that close and not partake seemed a foolishness to avoid. And, as you can see by the photos (few and of limited quality -- so dark in there, and I'm not keen anymore to be all camera-happy in that space), that Two on my list also got checked off, Done.
The exterior of the building's front matched the sky's severity, yesterday -- in fact, the rain, pelting down a bit later, rather resembled those columns!
Inside, it's all about the light and the rich colours of the marble and the complex geometries and the way they intersect and parallel and complement each other.
Number Three on my list was the Rome branch of Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. And between the Pantheon and that shop, only a six-minute walk away, the skies opened, and I was so wet that I could have used my new supply of the beautifully fragrant Pomegranate Soap (Sapone al Melograno) right there. Instead, we tucked it into a bag and sloshed along the sidewalk, across the inundated intersections, to wait for the tram back to the train station. In fact, we would have been home almost in time to pick Little Girl up had it been a daycare day, and the entire outing took not much more than four hours, including the commute. I'm hoping we'll manage at least one more similar scoot into the city, perhaps with better weather and without a cough, sniffles, and the fatigue of a cold. Spending time with Granddaughter (and her papa) is the cake, of course, but a bit of icing is always welcome -- and I still haven't managed to peer in the windows of Al Sogno, the much-lauded toy store at Piazza Navona. . . .
At the moment, though, I've spent another quiet day at home nursing this cold, and I'm currently waiting for Pater to bring a box of Kleenex home along with the groceries -- any bets on whether he remembers or not?
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