That's Amore
Pix: Angel & Clare's Bath & The Family at the Orto Botanicao
We’re beginning to love it a little. I say love loosely. We’ve always been wooed by Rome’s decadence, both in architecture and in lifestyle, but now that the hordes of tourists are gone, something magical has happened. The Romans are actually nicer. I think they get so tired of dealing with needy, bumbling, superficial tourists that they forget that we are all human: those of us out for a temporary history fix on our vacation, and those of us looking for a deeper understanding and experience. Now that most (and I say MOST because I watched three different groups of Americans at a restaurant today speaking English to an Italian waiter and appearing indignant when he didn’t understand) of the riffraff is gone, we are strolling through the streets unhindered by an immovable wall of matching-bandanna-wearing-guide-book-toting-totally-oblivious tourists. The shop owners are considerably less cranky and put-out, and truth be told, we are too.
Our days are spent as such: get up, fed, and out to tackle between one and three churches. We have taken over 2500 photographs and 3 hours of video footage. We photograph the exteriors and then move on to the interiors, much to the chagrin of the presiding prefects. Even though when one of us is photographing, the other is minding Clare, she still tries to race around like a banshee, dipping her fingers in holy water and rolling around on the altars. She is getting better, as I have hit on the genius idea of using my iPod as a pricey pacifier. I loaded a bunch of Disney and Pixar short cartoons onto it and I just sit her in her stroller and plug’er in when we go inside. This works like a charm. I get to take the lengthy exposures I need to capture interior light (or lack thereof) and I draw much less attention as I perform complicated contortion acts on the pews to get my camera balanced to take a timed exposure.
After working on our “official” project, we’ve moved on to the unofficial part of our trip: eating and browsing our way through the Eternal City. I could write a guidebook on what NOT to do, and it would mainly say, “Don’t believe any guide book at all. They’re all wrong and you’ll be frustrated. Just carry a couple along and when you happen on something interesting and OPEN, just cross check it in your books and thank your lucky stars. I can’t tell you how many times we have searched through the crazy-busy winding
Roman streets for a store that was listed as only closed on Sundays to find it shuttered. On Tuesday. Things change so fast in Rome. The guidebooks say to call ahead to be sure. And talk to WHOM? I would like to say. Even if you did understand half of the rapid-fire language, they’d surely be closed when you arrived.
We usually find a nice Osteria or Trattoria for lunch and make it our big meal of the day. Clare goes to bed around 8ish, and nothing really gets going that early at night. So we order two pasta or rice dishes and split one secondi (some meat variety) and wash it down with lots of mineral water (very Roman to drink bottled water when your tap water is some of the healthiest in the world) and/or birra all spina (draft beer) or vino. MMMmmm. Then it’s back home (picture trudging through noisy, traffic-laden streets, full of carbs and garlic and olive oil with a 2 year old) for a nap. Yes, nap. Naps are essential, decadent, and part of our lifestyle. My mom was teasing us while she was here for taking naps each day and I tried to explain the whole concept of nourishing and recharging the body. To a powerhouse of a woman who seems to exist on deep-breathing and the occasional snack, this did not make sense. Only when she left and we got amazingly sick from pushing our bodies for two weeks did it seem necessary to believe me!
After nap it is a plethora of options: paint, draw, watch some cartoons (In English! From the DVD selection we brought with us) wander to the grocery store, have a little snack, glass of wine, read the paper, build Legos, tear apart the sticker book (you see who’s in charge for this section of the day) and generally relax. By this time of the day our feet are throbbing, our heads are aching from breathing in diesel fuel exhaust, and our bodies are dirty from the filmy grime in Roman life. We have a little dinner, do the bedtime ritual and after Clare’s off to dreamland, we have time to ourselves. Usually we read (as you can see by the list of books previously posted) because there is no such thing as Roman television. It is seriously bad. Seriously bad. The cartoons are hideous and there is nothing else but inexplicable game shows, transvestites and politicians, the odd home-shopping channel, and the weather channel, where the newscaster waves his hands around a picture of Rome that has either sunny symbols from top to bottom (in which case he talks emphatically for 7 minutes) or partly cloudy symbols (in which case he talks for 5 minutes and shrugs his shoulders a few times before they cut to commercial). Lovely.
Usually Tom falls asleep with his book tented across his chest, and I am crouched over the computer, straightening and color-correcting pictures with one hand, and turning pages of the novel I’m reading with the other. There might or might not be file folders of Tom’s project notes and sketches on the end of the bed or on the bed stand. Sweet Dreams! It is a lovely and wonderful and exhausting lifestyle.
We’re beginning to love it a little. I say love loosely. We’ve always been wooed by Rome’s decadence, both in architecture and in lifestyle, but now that the hordes of tourists are gone, something magical has happened. The Romans are actually nicer. I think they get so tired of dealing with needy, bumbling, superficial tourists that they forget that we are all human: those of us out for a temporary history fix on our vacation, and those of us looking for a deeper understanding and experience. Now that most (and I say MOST because I watched three different groups of Americans at a restaurant today speaking English to an Italian waiter and appearing indignant when he didn’t understand) of the riffraff is gone, we are strolling through the streets unhindered by an immovable wall of matching-bandanna-wearing-guide-book-toting-totally-oblivious tourists. The shop owners are considerably less cranky and put-out, and truth be told, we are too.
Our days are spent as such: get up, fed, and out to tackle between one and three churches. We have taken over 2500 photographs and 3 hours of video footage. We photograph the exteriors and then move on to the interiors, much to the chagrin of the presiding prefects. Even though when one of us is photographing, the other is minding Clare, she still tries to race around like a banshee, dipping her fingers in holy water and rolling around on the altars. She is getting better, as I have hit on the genius idea of using my iPod as a pricey pacifier. I loaded a bunch of Disney and Pixar short cartoons onto it and I just sit her in her stroller and plug’er in when we go inside. This works like a charm. I get to take the lengthy exposures I need to capture interior light (or lack thereof) and I draw much less attention as I perform complicated contortion acts on the pews to get my camera balanced to take a timed exposure.
After working on our “official” project, we’ve moved on to the unofficial part of our trip: eating and browsing our way through the Eternal City. I could write a guidebook on what NOT to do, and it would mainly say, “Don’t believe any guide book at all. They’re all wrong and you’ll be frustrated. Just carry a couple along and when you happen on something interesting and OPEN, just cross check it in your books and thank your lucky stars. I can’t tell you how many times we have searched through the crazy-busy winding
Roman streets for a store that was listed as only closed on Sundays to find it shuttered. On Tuesday. Things change so fast in Rome. The guidebooks say to call ahead to be sure. And talk to WHOM? I would like to say. Even if you did understand half of the rapid-fire language, they’d surely be closed when you arrived.
We usually find a nice Osteria or Trattoria for lunch and make it our big meal of the day. Clare goes to bed around 8ish, and nothing really gets going that early at night. So we order two pasta or rice dishes and split one secondi (some meat variety) and wash it down with lots of mineral water (very Roman to drink bottled water when your tap water is some of the healthiest in the world) and/or birra all spina (draft beer) or vino. MMMmmm. Then it’s back home (picture trudging through noisy, traffic-laden streets, full of carbs and garlic and olive oil with a 2 year old) for a nap. Yes, nap. Naps are essential, decadent, and part of our lifestyle. My mom was teasing us while she was here for taking naps each day and I tried to explain the whole concept of nourishing and recharging the body. To a powerhouse of a woman who seems to exist on deep-breathing and the occasional snack, this did not make sense. Only when she left and we got amazingly sick from pushing our bodies for two weeks did it seem necessary to believe me!
After nap it is a plethora of options: paint, draw, watch some cartoons (In English! From the DVD selection we brought with us) wander to the grocery store, have a little snack, glass of wine, read the paper, build Legos, tear apart the sticker book (you see who’s in charge for this section of the day) and generally relax. By this time of the day our feet are throbbing, our heads are aching from breathing in diesel fuel exhaust, and our bodies are dirty from the filmy grime in Roman life. We have a little dinner, do the bedtime ritual and after Clare’s off to dreamland, we have time to ourselves. Usually we read (as you can see by the list of books previously posted) because there is no such thing as Roman television. It is seriously bad. Seriously bad. The cartoons are hideous and there is nothing else but inexplicable game shows, transvestites and politicians, the odd home-shopping channel, and the weather channel, where the newscaster waves his hands around a picture of Rome that has either sunny symbols from top to bottom (in which case he talks emphatically for 7 minutes) or partly cloudy symbols (in which case he talks for 5 minutes and shrugs his shoulders a few times before they cut to commercial). Lovely.
Usually Tom falls asleep with his book tented across his chest, and I am crouched over the computer, straightening and color-correcting pictures with one hand, and turning pages of the novel I’m reading with the other. There might or might not be file folders of Tom’s project notes and sketches on the end of the bed or on the bed stand. Sweet Dreams! It is a lovely and wonderful and exhausting lifestyle.
posted by Tom Dowling and Lisa Dowling | 12:20 PM
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