19 Sabato: Life after flying, stray cats and first meal in Rome

As the sun rose over the Atlantic the turbulence began in earnest on my overseas flight to Rome, so of course the attendants began to serve breakfast. I wisely avoided both food and caffeine, and after a few more hours of easy crosswords, deep breathing, in-flight movies and prescription narcotics we touched down. I was beside myself with joy to be in such an illustrious city, and of course to be on terra firma once more. I was so delighted in fact that I snatched my Ameribag and my carry on and left my jacket on the aircraft. Upon arriving in Fiumicino, Rome's largest airport, I began the hunt for my luggage and the jacket. Baggage claim in Fiumicino is a haphazzard process in which the bags are sent down the ramp and removed willy-nilly along the serpentine belt that runs deep into the deep recesses of the airport. Finally, finally, I found my suitcase laying sadly on its side on the middle of the floor, abandoned my jacket and found my friend Dan who had been waiting all the time I chased around the airport. It was now the morning of Sunday the 19th and I was in Rome.

One cramped train ride and one seemingly impossible taxi ride later I was at Vicola de Renzi 2, my home for the next week. Dan estimates the building to have been built in the late 1600's, and our room was of stucco and timber construction, complete with tiny "kitchen," a large, high-ceilinged bath and central room entirely outfitted by IKEA. The noise outside was terrific with the din of people, cars and Vespa scooters all funneling up through the narrow passages between the buildings. I made the mistake of sitting down on my bed and passed out straight away.

A few hours later I woke up refreshed and we set out to explore the neighborhood. Our section of Trastevere was a loud, confusing, charming place consisting of narrow, winding streets made of uneven cobblestones along which the Italian women sped in high-heeled boots. The streets were lined with small shops including the tobacchi, numerous gelato places, groceries, boutiques, cafes, pizzarias and so on, plus the occasional table of black market jewelry, clothing and junk. Today we found a small flea market set up on the open area across the street from Ponte Sisto. Venders were handing out samples of cheeses, flavored honeys, preserves and cured meats. We made our way across the Ponte Sisto and eventually to the cat sanctuary, Torre Argentina, located in the ruins of the Area Sacra.

The Area Sacra is perhaps a city block-sized section of Trastevere closed off from the sidewalk area with plexiglass, except for a couple of stairways down into the area where the cats live. Formerly a temple area dating from around 400-300 BC, it holds the distinction of being the site where Julius Caesar met his end at the hand of Marc Anthony. Excavated in 1929, it is now covered by the temple ruins and a few hundred of Rome's many thousands of stray cats. The first cat we met was an old black bobtail who looked like he had seen better days but who put up with the attentions I paid him with in the classic offhand Italian manner. The administrative part of the shelter was tucked away beneath the sidewalk area and housed mainly the ailing and special needs cats.

After visiting the cats we began to look in earnest for dinner. We found a place right on the main street through Trastevere with outdoor tables and dining umbrellas that brought out some complimentary bruschetta when we sat down. I ordered pizza mangiare e taci (eat and shut up!), a twelve inch, thin crust pizza with artichokes, mushrooms and slightly undercooked sausage. It was a thing of glory. Dan ordered an appetizer of fritti misti vegetale, mixed deep-fried vegetables, and ordered the popular pizza capricciosa. This Roman favorite is made with tomato sauce and covered in mushrooms, artichokes, ham (proscuitto) and hard-cooked egg. We found that natives eat their pizza from a plate with a knife and fork. The prosciutto is cooked on the pizza in one large slice which the diner must cut and redistribute over the pie. Water is purchased with gas or without, and poured out into glasses like wine. Not only did we confirm Italian suspicions that Americans are barbarians by eating before 8 pm, but we also ordered too few courses and in odd order. Bruschetta or some antipasti is usually eaten first, followed by risotto or pasta (primi). A small piece of grilled meat or fish might come next (secundi), followed by a salad refresher. Dessert is not eaten with the meal except by tourists, and gelati is eaten as a snack. When we went to pay for our meal we found that the concept of separate checks is completely foreign idea in Rome and that you will utterly baffle the waiter by asking for a personal total.

We walked back to the Piazza de Trastevere in "our" neighborhood, where we hung out on the steps of the fountain, ate gelato from a place called Blue Ice, and watched the people. Once back in our apartment I tried to prepare for sleep while the reality of my situation swirled in my head and the party crowd gathered outside. Dan had warned me what the only quiet time in Trastevere was between the hours of 3 and 7 am, but this reality was just now coming home to roost. Added to this was Dan's ability to snore, which may be equaled by none except perhaps my cousin David, but I finally fell asleep.