After coffee in Piazza Navona: determined to take in some culture. But my coffee was too small, and really, there's no point taking in culture when you're so tired it feels like a chore- so I walk. I walk all around the culture, and up to it, and I take pic tures of it, but I'm not ready to go inside yet, not while the rain's holding off and I can be outside soaking in Rome. As I planned I went to St. Peter's and admired the lovely piazza; I admired the bridge and the castle, and thought about admiring the outside of the Vatican, too- but I had another coffee instead. The lines are crazy long- I'll go in the morning, when it's supposed to be raining for real.
I walked along the river to the Trastavere, one of Rome's medieval neighborhoods; I crossed the river and strolled back near the old Jewish Ghetto; I crossed back again, this time stopping in the middle on the little island in the Tiber; on the other side I had a beer and paged through an Italian entertainment magazine. Back on the other side, I had a sudden desperate yen to get to the Pantheon. Stat. There was a sprinkle of rain, and I really wanted to see it rain in there.
The Pantheon: that oculis is way, way bigger than I remembered. It used to be the eye of the gods, cosmically speaking. Now that it's a church, I guess it's the Eye of God? At any rate, it's huge. While I stood there looking up, a couple of birds swooped across the sky. The giant coffers in the ceiling, tapering to the top, are mesmerizing. They force the perspective, making the dome look bigger, and keep leading yoru eyes upward. It wasn't raining when I got there, but it had been- they just roped off the floor underneath the oculis and left the water there, to reflect on the marble. I like seeing nature and architecture work together.
After the Pantheon: a real treat. Greg and Kate sent me to a restaurant called Alfredo and Ada's. Perfection. I got there at 6 and was the first one for dinner. It's the kind of place where the burden of making decisions is lifted from you- there are no menus. You will take what you are given, and you will like it. For real. I get a "Buona Sera," and Alfredo opens this waist-high slanting bread drawer and slices some wedges off of a giant loaf. I make it through the "red or white wine" part in Italian, which feels like a small triumph. With my wine Alfredo brings a dish of warm pasta, tossed in a skillet with just enough sauce and a mound of parmesan. By this time a few others have trickled in and they are jealous of my food.
I get my biggest choice of the evening: veal, chicken, or beef? Chicken. My chicken is marinated in rosemary and lemon, with a little garlic, served with greens and a scoop of cold vinegar potato salad. As I eat, I have to close my eyes to keep from swooning. Ada, standing in the kitchen doorway when I open them again, is watching me with grandmotherly satisfaction, wiping her hands on her apron. At the end I am served three simple, not too sweet ring-shaped cookies as I finish my teensy carafe of wine. Bliss.
I decide to take the long walk home, down past the shops on Corso Vittorio Emmanuel, and up to the Trevi Fountain. It's great at night, and it makes me want to go home and rent La Dolce Vita. At this point it starts to rain, in earnest- which is fun because all the umbrellas come out in front of the fountain. Heading home, I take a wrong turn, but accidentally manage to short-cut my trip by ending up unexpectedly at the Quattro Fontane. Sigh. Rome.
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