Apartment Life

I love my apartment.  It is in a good location, not too expensive, and has some great qualities.  We have a microwave, a new washing machine, and a flat-screen tv.  I live right off of Appia Nuova, the new Appian Way. How many people get to say they live on the Appian Way?  Kind of cool.  The landlord is very nice and easygoing.  The neighborhood is nice and safe, and I live across the Appian Way from the grocery store (kind of a big deal when you have to carry your groceries.  Olive oil, wine, and a massive tub of mozzarella di bufala is heavy).  Dozens of clothes stores, coffee bars, and restaurants are nearby.  The huge park across the street occasionally has ponies.  

I mention these good qualities so I don't sound unappreciative with this next bit. Although it is great, there are a few quirks we have to deal with.

There are 7 people living in this 5 bedroom apartment.  Francesca and I share a room.  Two Portuguese girls, Carolina and Andrea, share another double.  Daniella and Federica are from Napoli and they each have a single.  Matthias is a German doctor doing his residency in Rome, and he has a single as well.  There are three bathrooms (Francesca, Matthias and I share the largest while the pairs of girls split the other two).  

The only common space we have is about 10x20 ft and includes the kitchen, table, and tv.

We light the stove and the oven with a lighter.  Occasionally this is dangerous when making a groggy morning espresso.

The washing machine is in our bathroom, so everyone is constantly running in and out.  Annoying when trying to get ready for work and someone is fussing with laundry for 10 minutes.

The shower overflows.  The hot water also runs out, and then you are stuck with a freezing shower.  

Never, never, never use the microwave while the washing machine is on.  The power will go out.  

If washing clothes at night, keep as many lights off as possible, or the power will go out.

When the power goes out, go down 5 floors, walk outside onto the terrace, and flip the breaker.  

Everything going on in every room can be heard.  Even with two closed doors between you. 

Everything.

Our room is freezing!  The balcony door/window leaks air.  To deal with this we have shoved foam in cracks, taped a tablecloth to the window, and taped a pair of pants to the border.  Francesca and I pushed our beds together in the middle of the room (to keep away from cold walls) and wear multiple layers to bed.  The bathroom is freezing as well, so in the morning we turn the shower on hot to steam up the bathroom.  

The intercom doesn't work.  So when people continually buzz our apartment we can't ask who it is.  The choices are 1. let a random person into the building or 2. potentially ignore a roommate/friend.

Until we received the new washing machine last week, the old one randomly wouldn't drain and occasionally turned clothes green.  Even if there wasn't anything green in the wash.  

A couple weeks ago the sink broke and would not turn off.  We resorted to filling pans with water and dumping them out in the bathroom to avoid an overflow until figuring out how to turn it off.  Until it was fixed, we had to reach under the sink every time we needed water (then we could only use hot or cold).  

You need to open three doors to get into the elevator.  

I'm not really complaining because nothing is too bothersome (except for the cold.  I don't know how we're going to deal with that).  These are just some of the quirks!  

NO, I am not a whore.

Rome is continuously revealing more of herself to me as the weeks pass by.

I was meeting a friend at Piazza della Repubblica in front of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri around 22:30.    He was late, so I went to sit down on an old piece of wall.  A minute or so after I sat down, a car stopped in front of me and the man inside rolled down his window and tried to chat.  This isn't that unusual in Italy, so I just ignored him.  My phone rang and I began talking to Mary.  A few minutes later, someone else stopped and tried to start up conversation.  Again, not that unusual, so I paid it little attention.

A minute later, a man sidled up beside me with a big grin on his face. I continued chatting away with Mary, telling her how creepy men can be.  He seemed to be waiting for me to get off the phone so we could talk.  I continued talking with no indication that I noticed him, but he still inched his way closer.

What is going on here?

At this moment I notice a girl walk up and stand near me.  Her breasts hung out like she wanted to be the she-wolf and her skirt was literally tied to make it shorter.  This obviously warranted a commentary for Mary, and I watched as another car stopped to say hello.  This time, the man inside wasn't disappointed as the new girl walked up to the car and spoke with him.

Mamma mia!  They think I'm a whore!

I jumped up and walked in front of the church, hoping it would somehow shield me from the STD's that were surely swirling in the air.  The she-wolf didn't reach an agreement and instead approached the gentleman who was waiting for me to get of the phone.  They chatted for a bit and walked off.

Over the next 10 minutes more scantily clad girls convened on the corner.  I took stock of my outfit:  skirt, cute sandals, tank top, and a sweater.  Definitely not skanky.

It is a bit ironic, because the legend is the Fountain of the Naiads in Piazza Repubblica was modeled after two famous Roman prostitute twins.  Maybe the present ladies of the night gather here to pay them homage . . . or maybe it's just a great place to pick up a john.

Una Giornata Particolare

Francesca knows some nuns from a convent near her house who are now living in Rome.  Sister Raffaella planned to give us a tour of St. Peter's Basilica, then take us back to the convent to make pizza.  This does not happen every day, so needless to say I was excited.  However October 22 was not chosen on accident.  Today is the 9 year anniversary of Francesca's Dad's death, so we figured going to the Vatican was the perfect way to spend it.

We both requested the day off (my first in 3 weeks!) and slept in.  Then we headed over to meet sister Raffaella at their house a stone's throw from the Vatican.  Literally, we could have thrown a stone into the Vatican from their home.  Perks of religious life.  Sister Raffaella is Roman, but also lived in the States for a few years.  She is super cute and gentilissima.  Since we had her with us, she led us in the gate of Sant'Anna (which is the guarded gate you pass on your right if you walk to the square from the metro), passed three security checkpoints, and behind the scenes.  I could not believe we were just walking around the Vatican, passing through doorways and passages I never knew existed.  I recognized our location when I looked left past a Swiss guard and down some stairs to the crowd of people in the square.  We were on the first floor of the Papal apartments.  This is an area I had seen countless times as I walked from the security checkpoint into the basilica (always wondering how those lucky people got to go in there).  Instead of walking out and joining the throngs of people, Sister Raffaella instead lead us in the opposite direction, deeper into the Vatican.  She pointed out a stairway on our right and said "that is the way to the Papal apartment."  I suggested we go say hello, but apparently he doesn't like surprise visitors.  We walked towards the grand staircase.  This hallway was gorgeous with carved and gilded ceilings perfectly framing the stairs.  I'm failing at describing it and unfortunately we couldn't take pictures (since this area is forbidden for tourists), but suffice to say it was one of the most impressive staircases I've ever seen.

Eventually we joined the crowd and headed down into the crypt, a space filled with the tombs of previous popes.  As we neared the tomb of Pope John Paul II (which is a huge deal, complete with guards and ropes and people forcing you to keep walking) Sister Raffaella asked if we had anything of significance to be touched to the tomb.  Francesa had the necklace her Dad gave her, so Sister said she would ask the guard if it was possible.  He refused, telling her they stopped doing this years ago because there were just too many people.  She told him it was a special day and asked what else we could do.  For some reason he relented and agreed to quickly touch the necklace to the tomb.

A word about the tomb of John Paul II;  his tomb is unlike all others.  It stands out and is particularly impressive, but not because of gold, mosaics, or extensive marble work.  JP II's tomb is impressive because it is completely opposite of all the others.  Instead of a masterpiece, he has a simple slab of marble with his name in plain gold lettering.  This speaks to what a humble and dedicated person he was, and he wasn't overly affected by the spectacle that can surround the papacy.

When we walked away from the guard Sister Raffaella was muttering 'very unusual' and telling us 'we just go with the flow. Unusual.'  We headed up to the basilica and Francesca saw the most magnificent church in Christendom for the first time.  Although I was there yesterday, it was just as impressive as my first time 12 years ago.  St. Peter's Basilica is spectacular.  Thanks to baroque design, almost tangible light mixes with shimmering gold, rich bronze, and stark white marble.  Love love love.  We toured the church, then Sister Raffaella brought us back down to the crypt.  Fran and I did not know why, but we just 'went with the flow.'  When we approached JP II again, the guard told us to stand to the side.  At 5 they kicked everyone out and we were left alone in the Papal crypt.  The guard removed the rope, and allowed us to pray at the tomb of John Paul II.  Sister Raffaella was in tears, saying this was most unusual and she had never been allowed to approach the tomb in all her years working at the Vatican.  Only the Pope and Cardinals are allowed the honor.  We said our prayers then went to thank the guard, Gianlucca.  Sister Raffaella was talking to him about how much it meant to us, how kind he was, etc. She did not understand why he let us do this. Gianlucca insisted that it was nothing big, and he was happy he could so some small favor to make people happy.  Then he decided to give us a tour.  He brought us into parts of the crypt Sister Raffaella had never seen, including the Polish chapel where JP II used to pray.  None of us could believe we were in these parts of the church.

Then Gianlucca brought us into the basilica.  Although a cardinal was saying mass and most of the center was blocked off, he brought us to the statue of San Pietro with his feet rubbed smooth by centuries of pilgrims passing by.  He then led us to the tomb of Clement XIII by Canova (one of my favorite sculptors), and to the Spanish chapel behind the organs that is strictly forbidden to tourists.  It was mindblowingAstin walking us around the Vatican and giving us a special tour.  At the end he told us about the closing ceremony for the Papal Senate on the church in the middle east on Sunday.  Basically all of the cardinals and many bishops go to the service and the Pope says mass.  Gianlucca gave us special tickets and told us to call afterwards and he would take us up to the dome.  Perhaps he should have a number for us as well, he said.

Ah, there it is!  Always the exchange of phone numbers.  I'm still not sure if he is an outstanding person, we are super cute, or maybe a combination of the two that instigated his generosity.  Nevertheless this was an extraordinary experience and we had a nun with us, so it's ok.

We left the Vatican and walked a few feet to the convent, where we proceeded to make four pizzas from scratch.  Yep, making pizza with nuns in a convent. In Rome.  Fresh tomato and mozzarella, margherita, zucchini and peppers, and a pizza bianca.

Before cena we went into the chapel to 'pray vespers.'  I had no idea what this was, but today was all about 'going with the flow.'  In the chapel sister Raffaella showed us a special relic in a tiny golden case.  They had piece of St Francis' bone just sitting in their house (since they are a Franciscan order and the feast day was recent, a friend allowed them to borrow it).  We listened to their chants and the smell of fresh pizza wafted in from the kitchen.  I looked at St. Francis and marveled at what a special day it was.  I can't say good day because a death anniversary is never a good day (as I am acutely aware), but it was definitely extraordinary.

One concern Francesca and I had was that we were supposed to work Sunday morning.  They sisters said they would pray that we could get the morning off.
Well, we got the morning off!  I'll tell the Pope everyone says hello.

Il Mercato

A few weeks ago I woke up super early to slip out of my apartment and avoid an awkward roommate situation.  Since I had some time to kill before work, I decided to explore my neighborhood.  In my exploration I discovered a huge outdoor market just a few blocks away, and vowed to come back when I could.

Today I went into work but didn't have a morning tour, so I decided to walk back from Vittorio Emanuele to my apartment near Furio Camillo.  After some fantastic window shopping I came upon my market and dove right in.

First was the walk through.  I really didn't plan on buying anything and just wanted to check it out.  Rows of stalls filled with every kind of fruit and vegetable you can think of, and more you've never heard of.  Jackets, shirts, underwear, toys, socks, espresso makers, pots, shoes, toilet paper and other random household items are readily available as well.  Meat stalls sell veal, rabbit, tripe and other bits of animal I would never consider eating.  Cheese booths display round wheels of parmigiano and huge soft balls of mozzarella sitting in water.

After a once-over of the market and all the colorful offerings, I remembered all I had sitting in my fridge was a tomato, some lettuce, and a yogurt. Common sense would say to just pick up some food items here, but my nerves were getting the best of me.  Yes I confess, the market intimidates me.  I never know how to act for the different shopkeepers.  At the massive Trionfale market by my old apartment near the Vatican, some forbade you to touch the veggies yourself while others expected you to pick your own.  A mistake could result in an angry old lady.  It sounds silly, but I hate not knowing how to act and want to blend in these situations.

I didn't move alone to a foreign country to be intimidated by vegetables, so I observed the etiquette of a particularly fantastic stall and made my approach.  After I grabbed a bag for my vegetables, I approached the tomatoes.  I bypassed the shopkeeper yelling at an old man after the man asked him how much where the oranges.  "Can't you read? The sign is right there.  Read it, it's not hard. Oranges. There. See?" he rapidly chided in Italian. I decided not to ask this man any questions.  I chose my vegetables and handed them to the scary man.  Thankfully Italians love young ladies, so the only thing he yelled at me was "bella ragazza!"
I bought a few more things at the hectic market, and no one batted an eye at me.  I didn't get any of those "where are you from" looks, and pretty much just blended. Success.

I ended up with:    4 beautiful, huge tomatoes.
                             some basil (my basil plant is hurting after some bad plant advice, so I'm giving him a rest)
                             2 eggplants
                             2 zucchini
                             a big hunk of some fantastic bread
All for 2.50.  That is so much cheaper than the grocery store, I don't think I can ever justify going to the grocery store again.  Unfortunately the market is only open in the morning and I usually work then, so I'm going to have to wake up earlier.  Hmm.

La Festa d'Uva

During my semester in Rome two years ago I attended the famous Marino wine festival. Marino is a tiny town about an hour outside of Rome, but on the first weekend in October it becomes inundated with thousands of people from Rome and the surrounding areas.  All of these Italians gather to witness the 'miracle of the fountain that gives wine' and to enjoy the festivities in a way usually more befitting of American college students.  This festival is one of the few times I've ever seen really drunk Italians.  


You would drink too much as well if instead of water, the public fountains emit wine.  Yes, wine instead of water.  They call it "The Miracle of the Fountain that Gives Wine."  


Unfortunately, two years ago I did not get to see this miracle because I was too busy taking a nap in a piazza.  That is an entirely different story and not the focus of this post.  A few months ago I realized there was another chance for me to take on this wine festival. 


The festival lasts all weekend, but Sunday (yesterday, 3 Ottobre) was the main event.  I worked in the morning (a tour of all Aussie's, my favorite!) and then Fran and I left on the 2pm train to Marino.  After a beautiful trip through the Italian countryside, we arrived at Marino Laziale.  A quick hop over a 7ft fall to avoid the queue and a run up some stairs and we were there.


First off, we bought two of the huge 1.5 liter bottles of wine for 4 euro.  The seller handed us a bunch of cups to go with them, and we giggled. No m'am, just need two.


I'm back Marino.  


The town was packed, almost impossible to move.  My friend Andrew had come earlier and met some fun Italians, so we went to join them.  Problem was, the streets were so packed we could not get anywhere!  Then I noticed the parade of traditionally dressed Italians marching up the street with thousands of people crowded around to watch behind barriers.  To solve this little problem I grabbed Francesca's hand, found an entrance in the barriers, and joined the parade. We did not fit in. I did not wear my Renaissance outfit today. We tried to ignore the exasperated yells of old ladies and parade workers (and an icy stare from the Queen of the parade when we stole her spotlight) while searching for a way to get out of the parade.  This seems to be the one place Italians are thorough - parade blockades - because we could not get out.  
Finally we made it to the main piazza and hopped out of the parade.  After a traditional panino di porchetta (which was way better with ketchup, even if it was trashy and American), we found Andrew and his new friends.  
For the next couple hours we drank and sang and danced with a mix of Italians, Americans, and Scots.  We met so many new and fun people, including an Italian woman living in Chicago who I may meet up with in the States.


Finally at 5:30 it was time for the miracle.  Everyone gathered around the fountain like dogs at feeding time.  

Sorry for the shoddy camera work, I was getting jostled around.

When the wine began flowing, we all rushed forward.  Madness.  As we neared the front, I began to lose Francesca to the mob.  She was being dragged to the ground and trampled, and I was seriously nervous about what was happening.  I tried to pull her up and get people off of her, but there were just too many people in such a small space.  I looked at the fountain not more than 5 feet away, at Fran sinking and crying out in pain, and at my bottle of wine.  With a sigh and the realization that there was no other option, I opened my bottle of wine and began pouring it on the people trampling Francesa. Not on their heads or anything, just enough to get them to move away.  The mob broke up enough that I could pull Fran back out of the crowd.  Then I realized that I was at a wine festival, and I wanted my wine from the fountain. So I ran back into the crowd and fought my way to the front.  Success - I got the wine-man's attention and received some vino immediately.  Being a girl has advantages, especially in Italy.  

After everyone had their free fountain wine, we all gathered around singing along to "Volare" on the loudspeakers (ironically the version from Lizzie McGuire) and dancing. After a while of this we realized one of the last trains was leaving soon for Rome, so we ran down to the station.  Hundreds of people were waiting to cram onto the tiny train, so we faced another battle getting on.  One smashed into the train, everyone became fast friends.  We shared wine, orange juice, and inappropriate Italian songs.  That evening we wandered around the city with a new Italian friend, met an Italian soap opera star on the bus, and enjoyed some delicious tropical hookah at my neighborhood hookah bar.

I love Italy.