A 37 day imaginary travelogue of a trip to Rome (with a few scattered other places such as New York). This is written to match the journey I am actually taking, and so each post is concurrent with the more or less actual day my wife and I are experiencing in Rome.
What day number are we on?:eight
Level of writer's drunkenness (in real life, scale of 1-10): two, but, wait here. I'll go upstairs and get another lemoncello.
What am I eating (in real life again)?: Nothing, but am going upstairs.
Map or picture?:
Any other notes/Status: got another lemoncello (third) and scooped a little Ratatouille into a bowl, crumbled some montemart cheese on it, and added a few pine nuts. It's good, but needs to cook even more, though it's been hours already.
I would think Rome would shut down more on Sundays, but it doesn't really. Wonderfully, cleverly, Rome is always partially shut down and partially open. Churches close, restaurants throw their door open. Restaurants close and then all the shops open. Shops close and the streets and bars come to life. There's a wonderful sense of the city being ever used in layers. There is no more a dramatic, but typical indication of this right out our front door. Downstairs from us is a popular restaurant that we haven't managed to even eat at yet. When it's open it floods the alley we are on with tables and lights and sound and life. But when it's close it's like we live on an abandoned, barely used back alley. There's a store nearby too, and I swear that all over Rome it's like things appear and disappear with the movement of the sun and the whim of the city.
We went to a huge market today in Testaccio. It was full of junk and wonders. We have an astonishing (to me) amount budgeted for gifts and treasures, but I was just getting my bearings, imagining what I might like to have. There was so much junk at this market, but I saw nice paintings from the 1800's as well. Maybe I should scoop up a 200 year old painting. Of course the market too was a whirlwind, full of life, teeming and fascinating. but as I write in our apartment, at nine in the evening, it's probably like an abandoned parking lot or something.