All roads lead to Rome, if only for a day, as do we, via Termini late Saturday morn.
As taxi takes us to the top of the Gianicolo my body temperature slowly goes down.
Though not one of Rome's seven hills, this proves a favorite, with Garibaldi overlooking all he united, way beyond the vista, from North to South.
It's low season, everyone's broke, so for 90 euro we get a room with a view and the largest terrace I've ever seen.
From Paris, our view, night prior to depart, dramatic orange sunset w/Pantheon at background
...to all things orange and ocher that is Rome below...
The front of the hotel had it's charm of a garden.
Jesus was there to bless Colette and Godot.
The rain stayed in Spain for the rest of the day, leaving us to wander our itinerary umbrella free.
We unpack, then taxi it outside Trastevere, for luncheon con Signora Cavannarro, a literary editor/doyenne originally from the Connecticut/NY region, prior to marrying her Italian and moving to Italy several decades ago.
C n G stay quiet in the corner while we talk books, politics, books, Italy, books, Pasolini, then books some more...then it's over, just like that....here she is, a one off, knows everything there is to know about the important writers, I get a pic of Pat w/her De Chirico...I love to sit and listen, yet again, as she explains it away...
...after 4 hours we three taxi it back into Trastevere to hang out at the heart of Rome, our old hood.
We walk down the gianicolo, viewing some of the grandest views of Rome along the way, hit the bottom of the stairs, walk down the block towards our street 'via Angelo Tittoni', I look up for Sig Romitti, an old Italian journalist, she's not at home, I step across the street and say ciao to Alexandra, one of the most industrious and prosperous restaurateurs in Rome....she laughs as I ask for a pic, blowing me a big kiss from her door, too bad pic doesn't turn out....'L'Archetto'...people come from LA to enjoy this northern Italian fare...
I then veer left and hit Enzo's joint just prior to Piazza San Cosimato; twice a week I'd stop by his truck for vegetables, then dip inside to buy a bottle of frascati or dolcetto, one of many bottles lined precariously along the walls of this deliciously decadent hole in the wall.
By the time I arrive Enzo has already cracked open a bottle of red, he sees me, gives me kisses, too many, invites me in, calling me principessa, imagine!...I sit on the ladder and begin to inbibe, digesting the old cronies as they come in, as they always do and always will, talking smack, nothing worth repeating, these guys, hanging out, happy.
I capture Enzo in different poses, stepping out of his lair...I can see he's lost one of his teeth...he's so happy to see us, we him.....
someone comes in to buy the last of the punterelli, one divine lettuce only found in Roma....I made this all the time in winter con anchovy/olive oil/pepper sauce....deeeevine.
I ask Enzo to ham it up, he does.
On the ancient telephone, located in front of the old radio that's playing news/music from any of the cities listed on the dials; Salzburg, Istanbul, etc..
...we hang out, then make our way across the piazza, winding round towards Santa Doratea, so I have to have a glass at the wine bar in Piazza Trillusa where we would spend far too much time.
I find the Thanksgiving party, a lovely combo of very crazy Italians and Americans...one young American informs me my motorcycle, my Honda rebel I left behind, not knowing whether Malta or Paris would most conveniently welcome without a proper new permit short term, the very same bike I thought was safely locked up, instead, invece, was being enjoyed by several ex pats in the eternal city.
I found this funny, as one should, after all, ne abbiamo visto di cotte e di crude, translation, 'who cares'...
Voila Jody, exhausted, spilling to the floor next to a well exercised oven, hugging little Godot, eventually we both end up on the floor of the kitchen, drinking, laughing, enjoying every last minute prior to flying out to Malta next day....Enfin.
