I thought I'd post a few entries now and then from my old home page from when I lived in Rome. A home page, kids, was kind of a proto-blog. The main difference is that I was writing for friends and family--there was no expectation that the general public would find or even be interested in the pages.
I've edited a bit here and there for readability and included some explanatory notes.
Some background: I arrived about a week before 9/11. (I'll have to write about the experience of being in a foreign country during a national crisis and not knowing a soul sometime.) To my eternal regret, I was faithful to my boyfriend at the time instead of availing myself of the many attractive Italian men around.
I read this and I am touched by how young and giddy I sound.
11/18/01
What a terrible correspondent I am. No updates, no pictures! Well, I can write something for you now, though I haven't taken any pictures lately. I should be able to rectify that soon, when my brother and Mike [the then-boyfriend] come to visit--I'll be more motivated.
What have I been doing lately? Well, mostly just pottering around, going to my Italian classes, and shopping for myself, under the guise of looking for Christmas presents. I do need to get some warmer clothes, so I have a vague excuse. It hasn't been too terribly cold yet—except for last night! I went out with Rachel and Roberto [a couple I got to know and am still friends with--Rachel is British, Roberto is Italian]. First we went to a pub that apparently is very popular with American students. It was OK, except that I felt really old, as usual!* Then we met some of their friends and went to a bar near Piazza Navona. It was about what you would expect—loud, crowded, lots of semi-drunk people. Not really my scene. But I haven't discovered the Roman equivalent of Simon's or the Hideout [two bars in Chicago I used to go to a lot] yet—if there even is such a thing. Roberto's friends were very appreciative of the waitresses in artfully cut outfits showing off lots of skin, so maybe that's why they put up with everything else. We did want to go to this wine bar, or enoteca, that I've been going to eat lunch at lately—it's very popular at night though, so we would have had to wait about an hour for a table. That would have been nicer, quieter, and we could have nibbled at food with some good wine. Next time maybe.
I did get a chance to speak some Italian to Roberto's friends, although when they talked amongst themselves it was once again apparent how much I have to learn. I could pick up words, and usually get the gist of what they were talking about. Roberto said "You speak Italian very well!," but I'm still very limited. On the way back to the car we walked through a nearly empty Piazza Navona. The piazza is a huge tourist thing, always filled with people, so you can imagine how striking it was. (Lisa [my American roommate] says that her boyfriend and his friends used to play soccer there at night when they were kids.) That's the secret of beating the crowds—just stay out til 3 in the morning! It was really lovely—we also passed the Pantheon, no one around, and incredibly, lots of stars visible. If Mike and I can stay up that late after gorging ourselves on dinner, we should walk around there. But it had become absolutely freezing! I don't have a proper winter coat, just a leather one, and anyway I didn't think I would need much of a jacket that night. But I was pulling my thin scarf over my nose as we walked back. I thought it would be really cold today, but it's not too bad. Actually now there's a thunderstorm, but I like storms.
Friday night I actually went to go see a play in Italian. It was called "Odio e nazisiti in Illinois," so you can imagine that I was intrigued by the title. In English that's "Hatred and nazis in Illinois." I thought there was a slight chance it might have something to do with IL and if so, it might make a good Our Town [a now-defunct section in the Chicago Reader] to talk to the writer. After reading the description I thought it even more unlikely, but I went anyway—I didn't have anything else to do. It was one of those "relationship comedies"—a really neurotic woman who rarely leaves her apartment gets a call from this basketball-loving, normal guy (he actually wore a Bulls jersey in the first act), who is supposedly a long-lost boyfriend. Then (I think) after a long time talking they actually figure out after talking for a long time that he called the wrong number, it's a huge mistake, ha ha! I did actually understand some of the jokes, but the guy especially talked so fast, it was just a blur of rolled r's.
Here's my wacky observation for the week: Italians talk to themselves a lot. You pass them on the street, in the store, mumble mumble, paranoia, are they talking about me? I think they just love to talk so much that keeping it inside their head doesn't come naturally.
Here's another thing I experienced: Desert Rain. No, it's not just a vaguely hippie-ish perfume oil you can buy at Whole Foods, it's an actual phenomenon! Last Sunday I was waiting for the bus in some slight rain and I noticed that my bag was covered in spots of dirt. And then my skirt and my boots, too. Apparently it's dust or dirt from the desert carried in the rain. Which desert? I have no idea. It made a mess though—all of the cars and the sidewalks were filthy. The sky that day was really weird too—if it was in Chicago I would say it was tornado weather—it was sort of orange, and warm outside too. Very odd.
Lisa just came to my door and said, "Are you journaling?" Argh! "Journal" is not a verb!*
*I was all of 31. I didn't know from feeling old.
**Still fighting the battle against this.
No comments:
Post a Comment