Note: I now have a photo server, so if you want to see a lot of Rome photos from this trip, go here
My dear friend Bruna once again came through for me in a big way. She stopped by the hotel on a Saturday afternoon and we all (Mom, Dad, El and John, myself and her, of course) piled into her van and took off for the edge of town. It was raining but we wanted to get out and see what we could. First stop: the catacombs.
I had been to the catacombs of Domatilla last year with Laura and Andrea so I knew they were worthwhile. We went there and had a great tour; we were underground a lot longer and saw a lot more than I did the year before; turns out on Sundays (the day Laura, Andrea and I were there last year) they keep the actual underground part of the tour short - maybe 10 minutes. This time we were down there about 30 minutes.
It's fun to do this stuff; in both Laura's and Bruna's cases they hadn't been there for many years (Laura) or not at all (Bruna) (but she'll correct me via email if I'm wrong about that) so they got to see something new, too. It's the sort of thing a local would never do, I suppose.
My uncle took a few clandestine photos of the place, even though he wasn't supposed to. What can i say? This behavior runs in the family.
OK, so now it's off to the next stop, San Paolo Fuori le Mura.
It was beginning to rain as we walked up to San Paolo. It's a magnificent church but it leaves me somewhat cold. It's not very old; it was completely rebuilt in its original style in 1826; but the previous church had been there for centuries upon centuries.
After San Paolo we drove up onto the Monte Aventino and visited Santa Sabina, one of my favorite churches. Santa Sabina is great because it is an unrestored 5th century church - it's never been upgraded or remodeled or rebuilt. The windows aren't even of glass; they're made of something called silenite. It's rather bare inside but the entry doors are original 5th century cypress. It's hard to accept that those wooden doors have been there that long. I like this church because it is essentially unchanged from its original layout and interior. Although it was restored in the 8th and 9th centuries, all of that stuff was stripped away in the early 20th century. It therefore provides a good image of what an early church was like. It has large windows, which let in a decent amount of light. Most churches of this era were eventually remodeled with the original large windows bricked up to reduce the light and make the church more conducive to prayer and reflection. The choir stall is 8th century and the fresco in the apse mosaic is probably a representation of the original mosaic, now lost.
The sun had set and the rain was pouring down. The traffic getting across Rome was pretty bad. I kept thinking about how much Bruna was working for us and how tiring it is to drive in this town. We worked our way across town and then up to the top of the hill called Monte Mario.
Monte Mario is a large hill/small mountain north of town. On a good day or a clear night it provides a panoramic view of the city - there's a nice cafe up there, too, well known for that same view.
Unfortunately for us the rain was really coming down at this point so after we drove up to the overlook we made a dash for the parking lot guard rail and looked out over a dark town. The visibility was extremely poor and I was not really able to make out anything of significance. Too bad, too, since it really is a great place to look at the city.
Off to Trastevere for dinner.
Back across town again for dinner; it was pretty slow going. We first started to seek out Santa Maria in Trastevere, another paleo-Christian church and one of my favorites. We kept snaking around the narrow streets in her giant (relatively speaking) Chrysler mini (ha!) van. Eventually we gave up and wormed our way down a street just barely wide enough for the van. We circled a largo with a florist shack at one end; at my aunt's suggestion I jumped out and told Bruna to take a lap or two. I bought her a nice bouquet. It was certainly the absolute least I could do!
We went to a great place called La Taberna de' Mercanti, a restaurant/pizzeria in a 400 year old building. The ambience is great; it has huge torches with flames a meter high coming off them mounted on the front of the building and inside it's a tavern. Huge beams, props like wagons, open fireplaces and flagons hanging from the top of the bar give it a great feel.
The food is pretty good, too, especially for that semi-medieval/Renaissance sort of grilled meat and grog kind of meal. Most of us picked the grilled meat variety pack, lots of wine and water and bread and to finish, a profiterole. A profiterole seems like an overly delicate dolce for a place like that but the waiter told Bruna she didn't have to pay for it if she didn't like it. She paid for it.
My parents took a menu (with permission) from the restaurant and then later presented it to me, mounted and framed. I hung it on the wall of the breakfast area, next to my vintage reproduction 1920's Italian pasta company advertisement poster.
I told them the only thing that would make it cooler was to have a version with the prices in Lira instead of Euros. Hmmm.. maybe I can write the restaurant and get them to send me one.
Later in the week Bruna came back to the hotel and picked us up. It was raining again, too. Marco was with her this time. We were all going to meet for a pizza party; Laura and Andrea, Bruna, Marco, my group and of course, Paolo. We drove back over to near the Vatican ("Look, everyone! It's Saint Peter's!" she said as we crossed Via Consolazione. And then she'd stop in the middle of the intersection so we all could get a good look. Honk! Honk! You mean there are other cars behind us? Who cares!).
Our group got out in front of the restaurant; Bruna and Marco parked the "mini" van somewhere 2 or 3 kilometers away on top of some little FIAT Cinquecento probably. I walked into the place looking for the other folks; oh shit, we were the first ones.
I managed to tell the waiter (in Italian) that we had a reservation and I used Laura's name but that got nowhere so I told them it was for "dieci, undici o dodici. (Ten, eleven or twelve)" OK, that rang a bell; they had wisely set aside a large group of tables for us in the back, away from the desirable customers.
Within minutes everyone but one had arrived. Eventually Paolo showed up, too and then we ate and ate and ate and drank and drank. The Americani were now no strangers to limoncello so we ordered a bottle of that, too. Whoo hoo!
It was a really fun night; the next morning my uncle's first words to me were "Great party!"
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