Tag: travel

Finding joy beginning the end…. and in doubt…

6 Comments
 
 

 

Hanging vines on fence in Trastevere, 2.15.11

Leaves must turn towards

 

the colour of rust – Find joy

beginning the end.

-db

I cannot write.  No, I do not want to write…  I have been feeling crappy from the disgustingly deceptive weather that leads you to believe that the bright sun outside is actually radiating heat.  Once you are outside, however, you come to find that it is actually as warm as spending the night naked inside a freezer!  Okay, okay… It’s not that bad, but… The wind here has caused the cold air to rip through your very bones, and every single achy joint that I could possibly have has decided that now is the time to act up!  Besides all of that, I am coming to realize that my time in Rome (this time) is coming to a close…

Piazza Mignanelli, Rome, Italy (2.21.11)

From a very young age, I have had to learn how to say goodbye temporarily to both people and places (cherished objects inclusive).  Due to this, I have been fairly good at parting ways, and am not much disturbed by great changes in the comings and goings of others.  I learned from early on in life that I cannot control the actions of others… I can only control my own.  Thus, here I am, sitting and writing on an early Thursday morning in my small studio space in Rome, trying to think about how to say goodbye, for now, to this space, the new friends I have made, the old friends I have known, and the city I have come to love.

Ending are, however, simply opportunities (perhaps somewhat forced) for beginnings… That is, unless you choose to stand still, metaphorically and literally speaking, both of which I refuse to do any longer.  Thus, I will move in one direction or another, in order to create, begin, and experience the next chapter of who I am to be in this journey of life.  And who will I be? I do not know, the story is creating itself as I take each step forward.  Certainly, I have a profound sense of who I have been and who I am.  I also have hopes of the ways in which I will be in the world and with others.  Who, however, in the future?  I will let the story tell itself, and allow for my faith in the protagonist to grace me with the belief in the goodness and greatness of the final end.

Doubt

Lately, I have been hearing around me doubt reflected.  What I mean by this is that I have been listening to the doubts others have about my present life and/or their perception of my own doubt within.  Of course, I would perhaps be of the same thinking were I to simply look at one layer of my own story.  I, however, have known my own journey and what has led me to this point… Moreover, whatever doubt I may experience and ultimately reflect out into the world, I understand that it has its place as well, and most importantly, it is only temporary.

Farnese Atlas, a 2nd century Roman copy of a Hellenistic work (Naples) Image by Lalupa and taken from Wikipedia.com

For the most part of my life, I have had to be a person without doubt.  I have had to be, or at the very least express, certainty… about my life and my future.  This is the first moment that I can truly say and be okay saying, “I don’t know, but I have faith in myself, my supports, and the powers that be.”  Before I would say (regardless of whatever I truly thought and felt), “I do know and I must make it so.”  Perhaps for some people, the latter statement makes more sense and expresses a type of inner strength.  For me, however, the former statement is more authentic and less isolating.  I no longer have to make myself into the mythic Atlas, carrying the celestial spheres or world atop my shoulders.  I now know how to ask for all types of support because I am able to acknowledge my uncertainty.  It is in times of uncertainty that it is best to reach out and ask for advice from your supports, and not just to keep your own counsel. 

Thus, this has been my process: living with doubt, accepting it, learning from it, reaching out when I need to in order to cope with it, and moving on from it.

I live in childhood

enjoying signs of growth while

nature cycles death

-db

The joy of people-watching… and the interesting people you meet…

2 Comments

All right, so the reality is this: I am writing this on March 4, 2011.  Also, I am no longer in Rome, but sitting in the comfort of my studio-like room in the house I share here in the U.S.  However, better late than never, right?

Tourists at Piazza Navona, Feb. 2011

People-watching is one of my favourite pastimes.  I am also starting to believe that it is the national sport of Italy (yes, yes, I know… there is football/soccer) as Romans, regardless of sex, seem to  naturally engage in the stare-you-down-as-I-pass-you-in-the-street activity.  Also, both Romans and tourists alike enjoy sitting outside cafes and restaurants, in order to take in the events and activities of passersby.  This is without wonder as there is so much to see, smell, hear, listen, and touch in Rome, whether it is the beautiful art prints being sold in the Piazza Navona, or the Bangladeshi street venders asking tourists to try out any one of the many gel-filled objects only for 1 Euro.

Promoter handing out flyers for La Traviata Opera at the Spanish Steps (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

During my stay, I have definitely engaged in my share of people-watching, which has provided me with moments of both humour and contemplation.  What I wanted to address in this post, however, are the talented people, who are fixtures on the streets of Rome, whom we sometimes rush by as tourists, because they are simple “street performers,” or “street vendors.”

Campo dei Fiori – Sasha

I remember the first time I saw Sasha Aleksovski perform.  It was an early evening and I was on my way home.  At that time, I did not have the opportunity to stop and stay for his entire performance, but I made a mental note to look out for him.  Luckily, I found him one afternoon, and was able to take some pictures of him, and learn more about his work.

Sasha Aleksovski (Campo dei Fiori area) Feb. 2011

Sasha is a performance artist.  Upon first glance, one might merely think him to be a mime, i.e. until he truly begins to move.  The fact is, Sasha is an extraordinary dancer with a both grace and a fluidity that enchant the observer.  The storytelling quality of his movements create a sense of empathy…  And even if it is for a brief moment, one cannot help but to stop and pay attention to the story Sasha tells through the expression of movement.

Sasha Aleksovski was born in Skopje, Macedonia, and studied painting and sculpture.  He lived in London for three years, where he studied mime and dance theatre.  He began studying butoh dance in 1996 in Rome.  He continues to perform both in public and onstage in and around Rome.  You can find him on Facebook.com or sashaaleksovski@libero.it.

 


Trastevere – Alex

While making a trek around the city of Rome, it is fairly easy to find your share of watercolour prints, copies of famous paintings, and a host of other image-based art, especially in the tourist-filled areas such as the Piazza di Spagna and Piazza Navona.

Alexandre Veron, photographer, Trastevere (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

Everyday I would take a walk through Trastevere, and it was on late weekend afternoon that I met Alexandre Veron.  Actually, to be quite truthful, I met his photography before I met him as Alex actually sat some distance away from his beautiful work. 

Art stand, Alexandre Veron, Trastevere (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

Alex is a black and white photographer, who takes images of Rome’s everyday life.  He does not set-up situations, or gets models; he simply photographs what he sees… and what he sees and photographs is wonderous.  I wish I had taken a picture of his pictures.  Perhaps, however, a stroll through Trastevere… or emailing him might work too.  Either way, look him up as he is quite a gifted emerging photographer.

  

Alexandre Veron, photographer, Trastevere (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

Alexandre Veron is a French photographer currently based in Rome, Italy.  You contact him via email at veronalexandre@yahoo.fr.

Campo dei Fiori – Taras 

Meeting Taras was one of those odd occurrences… like lightning striking the same place/person twice.  It was quite a cold and dreary Sunday, and one of those days when Rome and I were not the best of friends.  I was walking back from my usual stroll to the Piazza di Spagna.  On this day, I stopped to listen to the band that played daily in the Piazza Navona, and then made my way to Campo dei Fiori.

Band performing in Piazza Navona (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

Taras Bokan, musician, Campo dei Fiori (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

I had not really observed many musicians playing in the Campo dei Fiori area since my arrival.  Then again, I rarely came out at night, and perhaps that is when they often played.  Thus, it was a surprise when the sound of music fell upon my ears as I entered the marketplace. 

 There, sitting on a small stool, sat Taras Bokan playing guitar.  Moreover, on what was truly a grey day, he wore the brightest and most wonderful smile that matched well musical abilities.  Also, close-by stood Sasha Aleksovski, the above-mentioned performance artist, who told gave me some information about Taras.  From this conversation with Sasha, I had the distinct impression that there was a strong community bond amongst street performers, which I could only imagine would be beneficial due to the emotionally grueling nature of the work – It truly is not easy putting one’s self on display for the world and asking simultaneously to be compensated for one’s creativity.  Each day is a financial uncertainty for those performers, who do not have other means of livelihood. 

Taras Bokan's guitar, Campo dei Fiori (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011

Taras Bokan, apparently, is amongst the fortunate, and has been able to utilize his musical talents in different arenas.  

Taras is a multi-talented individual, who is not only a musician, but also a composer (and is quite a gifted artist also).

Taras is a Russian musician and composer based in Rome, Italy.  Visit – http://www.myspace.com/chitaras

 


With Italy’s unemployment close to 9% and also its lure for artists of all kinds, it shouldn’t be unusual or shocking to see many talented, established and emerging artists utilizing the public space as a forum to display their creativity… and most importantly, to earn a living.  Yes, the ancient buildings are important, and the art of old too.  What I am suggesting is to move pass any biases, and take a serious look at the offerings of those who make up modern-day Rome, i.e. the street musicians, performers (and I am not talking about the ones wearing gladiator gear), and artists – These people are helping to build the new image of Rome, and should be equally treasured.

Let’s paint the town… ;) Nightlife – Roman style!

10 Comments

Crossing Ponte Sisto to Trastevere, 2.20.11

So, I have not posted anything in the last couple of days… and there is a very good reason for this – I have been learning a great deal about Roman nightlife!  And given that I have been complaining about my feeling very old… understandably, I have been sleeping in-between and after the nightlife experiences (and you know by now how much this is necessary)!  Thus, this posting for Friday, truly covers Saturday and Sunday as well. 

Thanks to Isobel, both Friday and Saturday nights found me out and about amongst the young and not-so-young, plus the most ethnically diverse crowds of Rome (particularly on Saturday night).

Trastevere, 2.15.11

Trastevere.  Everyday I take a walk through the area known as Trastevere.  It is a grungy, grimy place, filled with streets covered in dog feces accompanied by the random not-so-homeless dogs, garbage, homeless, plus the ever-present tourists.  I love taking pictures of the dying and living plants and flowers there. 

In a way, Trastevere captures well what Rome is like to me, i.e. once you remove the rose-coloured glasses… Then, the impressiveness of the ancient buildings, the lure of the many tourist traps, and the awe you once felt simply fall away, and Rome becomes real.  Initially, it may be difficult to find the beauty in the reality of what Rome is, especially once the glamour is gone.  I promise you, however, that it is in its authenticity that Rome is at its most poignant and magnificent.

Friday

I am fortunate to have a guide and friend such as Isobel, who has lived in Rome for the last 8 years.  She has been able to show me the places, where Romans go to enjoy themselves amidst but apart from the many tourist-geared and tourist-filled establishments.  Friday night was no exception.  We found ourselves at Bir and Fud for dinner, a trendy and popular (with both locals and visitors) establishment due to its Neopolitan-style pizzas and… you guessed it, beer!  I think Isobel described the beers there as quite rare and very good, and she is not alone in her opinion.  Now, I will say this… If you are not interested in drinking beer (ahem, like I was), you are quite out of luck at Bir and Fud!  It’s either beer or water, buddy!  And I’ll tell you this too, whole families were there, and I am not quite sure how their children were managing, but… I, for one, stuck with the natural water (and it was quite tasty too)!

We followed dinner with a pleasant stroll through the well-cobbled streets of Trastevere.  (Ladies, here is where I will advise you to please… rest your feet for several hours before you go out in heels late at night in Rome – The gaps in-between the cobblestones are vicious, and will take out an ankle or two!)  Along our walk we happened upon a bookstore… Now, I will tell you that this is the most unique bookstore in which I have ever been.  Why?  Well, because this bookstore was selling chocolate shots.  That’s right!  Little shotglass-shaped chocolates, in which could and would be poured whatever alcohol your partying heart desired!  Of course, it wouldn’t surprise you that by the end of the night (my night, that is) the line for this bookstore was out the door! (And no, I will not tell you the name of the bookstore!  You can look it up yourself. ;))

Excellent car, Trastevere, 2.15.11 (Nice enough to lean on too!)

I wish that there was more that I could say about the nightlife experience of Trastevere.  There really isn’t, however.  There are many bars, including the famous Bar San Callisto, where young (and of course, not-so-young) people hang outside, drink very cheap beer and other beverages, and lean against other people’s rather small vintage cars.  Outside of this, well… No, that’s it.  There isn’t any “outside of this.”  People walk the streets and hang outside of bars, drinking and smoking.  The crowd is somewhat alternative (whatever that means these days) with a mix of folks reliving the 80’s and 90’s, plus the typical middle-aged Italian men thinking that they are still in their 20s.  All in all, it makes for fun people-watching, if you enjoy this sport as much as I do.  After all, there is nothing quite as a fun as seeing a teenage 80s version of Axl Rose look-alike (hair, hip movement and all) hanging outside of a bar wearing multicoloured spandex tights and a bandana on a cold night.  So, “Welcome to the Jungle” and while you are here on a Friday night… you might as well make it Trastevere.

Saturday

Testaccio.  After recovering from a night in Trastevere, Isobel recommended that we spend some time in her neighbourhood, the #1 Club District also known as Testaccio.  I have to say that I love this neighbourhood… and I have only been here a couple of times.  Each time, however, the vibe here has been one of tranquility and diversity.  The people of Testaccio are all basically moving along with their day, but seem to care enough to stop to ask about each other’s lives.  Even on a weekend night, Testaccio did not lose its tranquil vibe!  Rather, the police actually come into the neighbourhood and shut down the main street, only allowing residents and taxis to travel in – This, I believe, has helped the neighbourhood maintain its relative calm, and as a woman, I felt safe walking there at night.

We began Saturday night at the Caffe Emporio, a restaurant/bar with an ultra modern, chic and urban design.  This was obviously the place to see and to be seen… And boy, did I see!  There was a wide age range, as is typical with many of the Roman establishments in which I have had the opportunity to spend time, and the music played catered well to this.  There was everything, from the early 80s to contemporary electronica.  And of course… not to be outdone by the Trastevere bookstore I suppose, they offered free samples of rum and chocolate (Isobel explained to me that it was some kind of a promotion… so, you had better hurry if you like rum and chocolate – Not that I am endorsing this behaviour.  I dislike both rum and dark chocolate – Yes, I know I am from the Caribbean… Sheesh!)

The only thing missing at Caffe Emporio was a dance floor (Isobel did tell me that they did have a smoking room… and I can see how that might be necessary in Rome).  We found ourselves a dance floor later on in the night (and I mean much later…  Yes, I am old, or feel old… or something – Checking the clock, it was only 11:30pm). 

Now the thing about Testaccio is this: there are many clubs!  And they are all lined up next to each other (I will add: next to the ancient garbage dump – See above article about the neighbourhood.)  There are free clubs and pay clubs.  From what I could tell, nothing was happening and no one happen to be in the free clubs.  So, Isobel and I made our way to a pay club.  Please, don’t ask me the name, because I cannot remember.  All I know is that I could hear Latin music from outside, and that was good enough for me as it suggested that there might be a hint of diversity/integration in Rome!  And surprise, surprise….

If you had asked me earlier in the day if interracial couples exist in Rome, I would have answered, “Not that I’ve seen.”  At this club on this Saturday night, however, it seemed that whatever racial/ethnic barriers that typically exit during the day in Roman society were momentarily lifted and people were free to mingle amongst each other and to express interest in each other.  The shades of brown were many.  Immediately recognizable for me were the Bangladeshi and Africans, but I am sure that there were a host of other people, who like myself, were from other countries.  And of course, our Italian hosts were out in full force. 

Isobel and I spent the night dancing (I, mostly by myself – I am simply a dancing queen… Seriously, you can’t touch this!) to bachata, merengue, and salsa.  It was brilliant, fun, exciting, and a good 10 Euro spent, in order to dispel some of my notions about the issue of racial segregation here in Rome.  So, go to Testaccio, especially, if you are young and have lots of energy… I am still recovering, and so I am going back to bed!  After all, painting the town… is quite a lot of work. 😉

Rome… Rain… Rest… and The Golden Girls

6 Comments

Walking in Trastevere in the morning, 2.15.11

Up until this week Wednesday (the 16th), I have been taking long walks around the city of Rome.  When I say long, I mean like 4 hours long…  I am not quite sure how many miles I have been covering, but I do know I have been enjoying myself immensely!  There would be nothing very special about my walking for long periods of time (especially in my 3-inch heels!) except for one fact:  I have fibromyalgia (FM).

Although the fibromyalgia syndrome has become more well-known over the last few of years, it still remains somewhat of an enigma to the general population.  This is due to the many symptoms associated with the syndrome, the complexity of the diagnostic procedure, and also the continued controversy within the medical field over the validity of the diagnosis – Some doctors like to have a specific “cause” they can treat, rather than dealing with numerous “effects” and uncertainties.  Moreover, the nature of fibromyalgia is that it is chronic, even though many people can live for years in remission. 

Tender points used in diagnosing fibromyaglia (public domain image by NIH, from Wikipedia)

I won’t go into the details of the fibromyalgia diagnosis. I will, however, give you some highlights as to what the symptoms are, so that you have a fuller understanding as to why I am writing about this today.  The symptoms include, but are certainly not limited to:

Fatigue

Pain

Cognitive Dysfunction (problems concentrating, long/short-term memory impairment,  etc.)

Sleep disturbances

Migraines / Nausea

 

So, what does this have to do with my stay in Rome?  Well, everything.  You see, since Tuesday afternoon I have been spending most of my time… sleeping. 😉

I will tell you that the onset of my fatigue coincided with a drop in the temperature, followed by rainfall… and weather typically has a dramatic effect on many people with fibromyalgia.  Also, many people diagnosed with fibromyalgia may also have a comorbid diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D.), amongst a host of many other diagnoses… (see above links).

As a person living with fibromyalgia, especially as a therapist, it is important to incorporate self-care into my daily schedule.  Moreover, it is important for me to be mindful of how much energy I am expending, how much stress I am experiencing, and above all to keep my mood elevated.  🙂  So, what’s the point, D?

D in Boston (late autumn, 2010)

The point is that while I was in Boston, I could hardly walk down my street, or really do any physical activity without feeling extremely tired and being in pain.  I often woke up feeling tired, nauseous, in pain, and sad.  There were probably many factors that played a role in my experiences (like… well, Boston decided that a snow storm every week was really the way to go…).  Upon arriving in sunny Rome, I found that all of these symptoms seem to fade away.  I had boundless amounts of energy, was never nauseous, had no pain, and my mood was great!  Well… Until this week. 😉

D in Rome, 2.17.11

You see, the thing with fibromyalgia is this – You have these moments when you feel amazing as though everything is okay with you, that your brain and body are actually functioning in the way that they ought.  When you have these moments of remission, it can create within you a feeling of self-doubt.  Why?  Because you begin to doubt whether the pain, the nausea, the sadness, and the fatigue are real…  That is, whether or not you are truly experiencing these symptoms or if you are merely being psychosomatic, especially because, as I mentioned above, there is no known/verified cause of fibromyalgia.

When you experience a significant relapse (and the likelihood that you will may be pretty good depending on your lifestyle), it drags you back down to your reality, which is… that you are a chronically ill person.  Yes, it confirms that you are not crazy… that you are not making your symptoms up, and that they are real!  It, however, reminds you that you cannot live life as though you do not/may not experience these symptoms ever again. 

Thus, here I am… a bit tired, a bit in pain, a bit sad, a bit nauseous… Just a bit.  This week has been a reminder for me that I didn’t leave my fibromyaglia behind me once I stepped off the airplane upon my arrival in Rome.  This week is a reminder that I am still who I am in some ways…  I am still a person with fibromyaglia, who needs to take care of herself. 

And yes, Rome has been good to me and for me, and for that I am glad.  I need also to be good to me as well… And so, I am going back to bed. 😉

 

The Golden Girls

I love “The Golden Girls.”  This is not a result of the new Betty White craze.  From a very young age, I enjoyed watching the show because of the wonderful acting, brilliant writing, and important themes.  As an adult, I have continued to watch “The Golden Girls, ” and was presently surprised to come across a two-part episode titled, “Sick and Tired.”  The episode chronicles Dorothy’s experience of dealing with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), which is a similar diagnosis to fibromyalgia (FM) – Actually, many people with fibromyalgia are encouraged to receive a primary diagnosis of CFS in order to receive disability, because FM sufferers are often denied disability.  Back to “The Golden Girls.”

The first time I watched this episode, I was overwhelmed by emotions because of my own struggle with being diagnosed with FM.  I had been suffering for years with many symptoms, from migraines to immense fatigue.   I had been told by doctors that perhaps my problem was that I was “overweight,” or that I “didn’t drink enough water,” or that I “needed more exercise.”  No doctor, it seemed at that time, was willing to help me put the puzzle pieces together… And all the while, I became sicker and sicker, constantly getting colds, constantly feeling pain to the point that I could not walk, and being so tired that I could not get out of bed, even lifting my head felt like a chore.  It took the wisdom of my therapist and (randomly enough) my dermatologist to help me begin sorting through what was happening to me… To give me a name for what I was experiencing.  And more importantly, to validate me and my stated symptoms, and thus help me to validate myself.  So, if you have a chance, take a look at this episode.  I think you can see most of it on YouTube.  You may never know when you may meet someone like me… who may have a diagnosis that isn’t readily apparent, and not easily understood.

 

You can see part 2 on YouTube.

Hunting for Valentine’s Day! Plus, a woman eating alone = Feminista!

Leave a comment

I will admit it.  I forgot. 

Upon waking this Monday morning, I had only two thoughts: one, call April and wish her a happy birthday; and two, finish my blog entry for yesterday.  I completely forgot that today happens to be Valentine’s Day.  As I mentioned in my very first post, I am usually late… and apparently, not just with time.

So, it was that I received excellent electronic reminders that today was indeed the day to run out and get your beloved all sorts of treats and flowers galore! And I thought, “Wonderful!  I am in this city that is supposedly filled with romance.  I am bound to find red and pink heart-shaped decorations, chocolate fountains, and dozens of roses just littering shop windows and even the streets!”

I actually threw on a pair of jeans and sneakers (and for those of you who have been around me more recently, the fact that I am not wearing heels is perhaps amazing), and ran out the door, ready to be greeted by amore and strains of “‘O Sole Mio.”

It's still a regular day on Via Arenula (2.14.11)

What I got, however, was this (image on the right).

Life in Rome was simply going along as though the day had no particular significance.  I couldn’t believe it!

I decided that I must be in the wrong section of town, and walked back over towards Campo dei Fiori, where I was certain I would find evidence of Valentine’s Day! Or, at the very least, some tourists showing excessive amounts of PDA.

Heart-shaped cakes in store window (Campo dei Fiori)

 

Campo dei Fiori did not disappoint me!  Although sadly, in comparison with the commercialization of Valentine’s Day (V-Day) in the U.S., the V-Day efforts of Campo dei Fiori seemed quite mediocre, if that. 

I was pleased to see the evidence of V-Day celebration being displayed by some of the vendors in the marketplace and also by some of the stores (well, one store).  

Woman with heart-shaped headband (Campo dei Fiori), 2.14.11

One woman, in particular, was really in the V-Day mood as she made her way throughout the marketplace.  Another woman was selling flowers (or hoping to) with a beautiful array of roses amongst other equally attractive flowers.  A male vendor sold carnivale masques and some V-Day theme items. (Although I am still not sure what they were… I just saw the sign.)  All in all, Campo dei Fiori had a pretty good and promising vibe for V-Day, especially as the weather was bright, fairly warm and sunny.

Woman flower vendor (Campo dei Fiori), 2.14.11

The experience at Campo dei Fiori left me feeling very hopeful. Thus, I made a mad dash towards Largo di Torre Argentina, camera in hand and at the ready to snap pictures of V-Day in the making.

I love Birkenstock sign (Rome, Italy), 2.14.11

Well… to cut a very short story even shorter.  There was nada, or niente (for the sake of adding an Italian flare).  I did, however, discover that there were expressions of love for other things… like Birkenstocks (I think Germany will be happy to know this on V-Day.)

Couple walking (Rome, Italy), 2.14.11

Oh!  And I almost forgot!  There was also the random couple that actually showed some potential acknowledgement of V-Day… 

Side note: Yesterday, Giuseppe told me that “love is the most important aspect of [Roman] life.  After all, Roma spelled backwards is ‘Amor,’ which means love.”  Really?  You could have fooled me.

 

 

 

 

 

I eat alone.  Therefore, I am a feminist!

After my long and emotionally taxing (Yes, it is quite emotionally draining to search for love – You and I both know it’s true!) morning spent walking around the apparently anti-Valentine’s Day city of Rome, I decided to head back to my neighbourhood of Campo dei Fiori for lunch.  Recently (as in, last night), I discovered a wonderfully inexpensive, but quite good, bar/cafe very close to my home.  It was to this cafe that brought my tired self to enjoy a little V-Day lunch before heading home.

I had been thinking much about yesterday’s demonstration by the women of Rome, and wanted to find a way to talk with some Italian women about their experience of gender roles in Rome.  Luckily, the night before I had met a young woman named Janet, who works at the cafe.  She also happened to be working today.  I decided to ask Janet if I could make a time to speak with her about her experiences. 

At the conclusion of our very brief conversation to exchange contact information, one of the male servers asked Janet a simple question in Italian.  Unfortunately for him, he assumed that because I spoke in English that I could not understand Italian. 

He asked: “Lei è femminista?” (Is she a feminist?)

I answered him, “Sì. Io sono femminista. Perché?” (Yes. I am a feminist. Why?)

In English, he responded, “Because only a feminist would eat alone.”

And so there you have it… If you do not want to be seen as a feminist in Rome (per this Italian man), best not eat alone.  As for me, eating alone is equally as comfortable and appreciated as eating in the company of others. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew that my grand plan for this evening is to watch the movie “Gladiator” and to write?

 

In Rome on Valentine’s Day

Love I will not write

The cold of my heart like snow

Words of my mind – death

Just when I thought hell would have to freeze over… Demonstrations in the streets!!

5 Comments

I will tell you, there is nothing quite like thousands of women and men shouting the English word “bullshit” all in unison!  No… really!  Especially, when this is done with strong Italian accents, it really makes you smile, and feel proud to be an English speaker! 🙂 

Women's Demonstration against Berlusconi & the Government (2.13.11)

Okay, there were many other reasons to feel quite proud today, and they had nothing to do with being an English speaker.  They, however, had everything to do with being a woman!  Yes, that’s right!  The women of Italy must have heard about me complaining in my blog, or somehow psychically felt my ever-growing disgruntled pms-ing energy pervading the universal ethers (because everything is really all about me – No, really, I know! 😉), and decided to show me that the women of Italy knew what was up!  And what was up was their dander!

"Al sesso, bello, sporca, tutto, un capo brutto" Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

The very same thoughts that I have been sharing over the last few days about my observations on the behaviours of Italian men, or at least the structure of the Italian patriarchal society that so highly influences its men’s behaviours, was being reflected back to me by these angry and highly organized as well as mobilized women!  They shouted for respect and equality!  They asked not to be seen as just sexual objects to be used and abused by men such as Berlusconi, the current Italian president.  They asked for all Italian women to be united and to stand up for themselves, and to demand their place in society, rather than be treated as second-class citizens!

"If not now, when" Sign at Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

I was amazed, dumbfounded, and humbled.  I realized that I have had the misfortune of only having had the acquaintance of Italian males, and did not understand at all the experience of the average Italian female.  In my independent, liberal-minded, feminist, American arrogance (Yes, I said, “arrogance,” because it was true.), I had made the assumption that the Italian woman was okay living in this system, and had quietly acquiesced to her place of submission –  I was wrong, and am truly glad for this discovery.

Women at demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

What is equally amazing is that I would not have known anything about this demonstration had it not been for a man.  Enter Giuseppe: a politically-minded, middle-aged, professional.  He along with a number of many other Italian males were participating actively in the demonstration and screaming and shouting along with the women, and applauding the female presenters!  This was highly encouraging to see.  After all, up until this point, I had all but decided that Italian men were… well, let’s just say, not quite enlightened.

Men at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

The cynic in me, of course, is always able to point out the many people who are, what I call, “token” activists.  That is, they come to a demonstration here or there, but otherwise do nothing, or actually do everything to thwart whatever the movement is. 

These “token” activists are able to say, however, that they believe in the movement because they went to a demonstration.  It is like people who say they do not exhibit any racist behaviour because they have minority friends, yet still they may make stereotyped commentary about minorities (all under the guise of “It’s just a joke.”)

I suppose this is my fear –  That these men might just be “token” activists,

Berlusconi Flyer (Given out at the Demonstration), 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

and do not actually believe in the cause, or will not actually do anything to help the women further it.  That these men, in essence, are there just for lip service and to be a “token” display of gender alliance. Well…  I will choose for today to look at the glass as half-full however… and be happy for these women, and happy for myself too, to have been witness to this event. 

 

 

 

 

 

It is not lost on me that the women chose to hold this event on the day before Valentine’s Day… Especially as I have been told, Valentine’s Day is not much celebrated here.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 

"Indignant!" Banner at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

"Enough!" Banners at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)


















Thousands gathered, Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

Rome is in-love… with Viagra. Plus, who knew? Io so come parlare nell’italiano.

6 Comments

Ah…. Love.  It gives you that warm and queasy fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach… kind of like menstrual cramps (For the men out there, think of a bad bout of the stomach flu – It’s basically the same thing.)  By the way, just for the record, my sister, Michelle, told me this morning I was a bit of a cynic.  Though for the life of me, I cannot fathom why!  Now on to more truthful statements. 😉

Yesterday I thought I was emitting pheromones.  It turns out that I wasn’t far off, because today I discovered the source of the pheromone-emission: Piazza Navona.  That’s right!  With its centrally located and overbearingly phallic Bernini fountain shooting sprays of water for all passersby to enjoy and be potentially sprinkled by, Piazza Navona acts as some type of Roman pheromone repository to be accessed just in case the sexual tension eases even ever so slightly in the Eternal City.  And apparently with my arrival, the heaping amounts of asexuality that I normally drag around with me like an untamed and hungry elephant (I had to trade the lioness in – She really didn’t take up quite the right amount of space and didn’t cause nearly enough damage.) was just enough to set off the alarm bells from Campo dei Fiori to the Piazza di Spagna.   

Thus, upon my first visit, my asexual powers were neutralized as I stood (like any good tourist would) close to Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers aka Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (that’s right… four) to take a picture! 

Close-up of Bernini's Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (Piazza Navona)

My subsequent visits only resulted in a type of dousing that has left me… Well, you know already… (And if you don’t, then read the last post and catch up!)  By the way, there are three fountains in Piazza Navona: one on either entrance (Fontana del Moro, located at the south entrance & Fontana del Nettuno, located at the north entrance; both by Giacomo della Porta) and then the above-mentioned granddaddy of them all.  So, truly, there is no getting around the pheromone emissions, ladies… So, deal with it and carry a fly swatter, or a baseball bat, or a can of mace – Whatever your fancy… Unless you like the attention.  If you do, then have at, because the men surely will!

Welcome to Piazza Navona... and it's fountains. (South entrance)

 

Fontana del Nettuno, "Fountain of Neptune." Honestly, I wouldn't mess with him... Just spray me with pheromones already! Especially, if you're going to be all weapon-wielding and testosterone driven. Sheesh! (Piazza Navona)

Fontana del Moro, "Fountain of the Moor." So, I am less intimidated... but still, every orifice something pouring from it... (Piazza Navona)

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 

     

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, "Fountain of the Four Rivers" Um... Yeah. I think that says enough. (Piazza Navona)

  

Ahem, but actually, this section was about love… That’s right! The warm, fuzzy, yada-yada…(and I never watched an episode of Seinfeld in my life)… Couples, couples everywhere and evidence of breeding to spare!… This was the situation in Piazza Navona (and I have the pictures to prove it)… On the one hand, in the overcast gloominess of the morning, it was sort of sweet (in a cloying way) to see these happy young and old couples walking hand-in-hand, pregnant women, and children playing… After about 30 minutes though, I was quite sick of the public displays of affection (PDA).

Love is in the air... (Piazza Navona)

Love, all grown up!

Sweet... Isn't it? (Pizza Navona)

And then, of course... (Piazza Navona)

Not even the next generation is spared... (Piazza Navona)

 

I know… You might wonder, “D, why can’t you just appreciate and enjoy the wonder of love?”  Well, I guess, as I said above, I did… for a brief moment.  It is, however, things like the following situation that just kind of… well… kill it for me.

 
So, I mentioned yesterday that I had been accosted by no less than 4 middle-aged Italian men.  Of the four, I found that one seemed relatively harmless, and didn’t speak a word of English – Ciao, Vincenzo!  Thus, I thought, “Aha!  Here is an opportunity to practice my non-existent Italian… And if I need to (in case he turns out to be more on the strange side of things), I can always simply just start speaking in English while slowly backing away.” 
  
I met Vincenzo at the Piazza Navona in the latter part of the morning to take a walk around Rome and to see the sites (Vincenzo is visiting from another part of Italy).  When we reached the northern entrance of the Piazza, Vincenzo suggested that get a cup of coffee at one of the many gelatarias/coffee shops to be found in the area.  This one happened to be right at the north entrance – I tell you this, so that you can go there one day.  Upon entering, I was instantly attracted by the colourful display of gelato (What?  I am not stupid!  This is gelato we’re talking about!)… Now, when I say that after this experience, there is nothing else in Rome that can surprise me, I really mean it.  I mean…  If this does not tell you about the state of the patriarchal structure here in Rome, then I don’t know what will:

Try some gelato... Viagra flavour! (Cafe, northern entrance of Piazza Navona)

 

I made this picture quite large because I know the quality isn’t the best.  Um, but I think you can make out the word.  Now, I have never seen Viagra pills in my life, but apparently they are blue – Isobel informed me of this later on the day.  So, here it is… A blue gelato called “Viagra.”
 
 
 
I know how to speak in Italian. (Io so come parlare nell’italiano.)

It wasn’t enough for me to simply see this gelato and leave well enough alone.  No, I had to talk to the shop manager, who was quite a lovely lady and who also did not speak a lick of English.  Well, I am not sure how I managed to find my dictionary so quickly, however…  With the aid of my handy-dandy Berlitz Italian-English Dictionary, I was able to have a conversation with the manager about this Viagra gelato. 
 
The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Um… This is Viagra gelato?”
Manager: “Yes.”
Me: “Why?”
Manager: “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Me: “What is the meaning of this ‘Viagra’ gelato?”
Manager: (laughing, turns to male customers) “She wants to know the meaning of “Viagra!”
(A great deal of Italian chatter and laughter then ensues amongst the men.)
Me: “Yes, why do you have a Viagra-flavoured gelato?”
Manager: (Still laughing) “For the men, of course!  They need to have Viagra gelato!  It is good for them”
Me: “Um… I will have to let the ice-cream shops in the U.S. know about this then. Thanks!”
Manager: (Smiling) “You’re welcome!”
  
And so now I believe… sometimes… just sometimes, it’s better to not know… and I will remind myself, every now and then, to simply to leave well enough alone! 😉

 

I am emitting pheromones… and a night of Italian punk

9 Comments

There are certain things I have come to realize about myself during my brief stay in Rome: 1) I more of myself than I ever was, and 2) who I was is now gone, and I am not quite sure if I existed.  With that said, let’s talk about today (Just so you are with me, it’s actually Thursday, February 10… Nevermind the posting date if it’s different.) 

Middle-aged Italian men have “ginormous balls.” What I mean by this is they have the amazing ability to dismiss whatever non-verbal social cues, such as the ABW scowl or head-turn (you know, you know what I’m talking about!), one might be displaying, which might mean something along the lines of “Now, really?  Do I look like I want to talk to you?”  Apparently, the sarcasm is completely lost them, or they choose to ignore it, because they always answer what is a truly rhetorical question with “Why, yes, D! You do want to talk to me.”  (Read/go watch and learn, young Italian men! Cat-calling is not the only way: Sheer and dogged questioning, regardless of language barriers – This is how you do it!) 

So, it was that I encountered no less than 4 of the above-mentioned men in a span of what amounted to less than 2 hours…  And what was I doing?  Was I sitting still?  Standing stationary somewhere, looking desperately in need of company?  Nope!  Actually, if you talk to anyone who knows me, I keep a military pace when walking.  It’s double-time, baby, when you’re with me!  Hop to it!  So, I ask you… How, in all that is beloved, did they manage to catch up to me?  (I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with those 3-inch heels I have been marching around in! Thank you, Mudd shoes!)

Now, you might say, “D, why didn’t you just ignore them?”  Well, first, I hate being rude.  Second, the image of myself, a semi-tall Black woman, being chased by a rather short Italian man was too comical for even me, and so I thought it better to spare everyone the scene – Please, don’t get the wrong impression here.  I am far from egotistical.  Actually, I think I am quite ordinary/plain-looking.  So, I have actually chalked this whole Italian-men-chasing-me-thing up to pheromones, exoticism, and a serious need for a more cosmopolitan society.   In the interim, however, does anyone know if there is any kind of “Pheromone-off” spray I can use?  Please, send to Via dei… Oh, forget it!  Do you know about the Italian postal service? (Let me put it this way: It will probably reach here after I am back in the States.)

The Art of Punk

Let’s just continue with sex… I mean, The Sex Pistols, and the rest of Punk movement, which lasted how long?  Um… Is it actually over?  Someone really needs to tell some of the people I know back home… And apparently, some of the people here in Rome too, like the ones at tonight’s exhibition on Punk art (to be followed by an 80s dance party with intermittent moments of punk, doo-woop, and surf music – That’s right…“Surfing U.S.A.”).

My courageous companion, Isobel, to whom I offer many thanks for the invitation to this very entertaining event, looked shell-shocked as we watched the parade of young and old “punk” Italians break out their best dance moves to the Bet-you-can’t-guess-what-beat’s-coming-next music offered up by the brilliant and talented DJ (who I know, for a fact, possesses mad skills, because he exhibited these prior to people actually coming on to the dance floor).  I suppose, however, that I should stick to mentioning the art exhibition.

Well… Hmm…. I am not really sure what I can or should say about the exhibition,… and that about sums it up.  It’s best to leave well enough alone.  No, really – It was less of an exhibition and more of a reason to get together, drink, dance, show yourself, and be a part of the in-scene.  Perhaps that’s the exhibition I should actually talk about. 😉 So, let’s!

There will be a day (perhaps tomorrow) when I will actually devote some time to describing what I call the “peacock” trend of the Italian male.  Italian men are not merely metrosexual… They are something beyond this (I just can’t think of a word.)  I mean it is like taking every single gay male stereotype regarding grooming and tossing in healthy dose of another stereotype, i.e. the high-maintenance, gold-digging ex-girlfriend/boyfriend in the mix (It’s simply not enough to be high maintenance, in my humble opinion, gold-digging is a must!) You know?  Well, we’ll get into that another time.  For now let’s talk about the attendees of tonight’s exhibition.

I love the word “fop” and am quite dismayed that we do not use it more often in the English language to describe men and have now resorted to “metrosexual” (Wait just one minute!….  This is the word I was missing earlier! Aha… “Welcome, to Era of the Italian Fop!”)  Well, my version of the Italian fop was nowhere present at this event.  Isobel, however, made the comment that these men, more than likely, “spent more time in front of the mirror before coming [to the exhibition] than she did” (and the beautiful Isobel is no slouch in putting forth her best self ).

It was hard for me to understand what she meant, however, because all I could see was some sort of cross between a sort of “roll-out-of-the-bed-welcome-back-to-the-90s-grunge-look” meets the still (apparently) popular “emo” look, which was born out of punk but isn’t true punk.  Then again… I am no fashion expert.  

My lack of knowledge, however, was quite okay.  Isobel let me know that I was graced to be in the company of Rome’s trendiest of scenes – I was actually attending a gathering of some of the ‘It’ people of Rome, who the rest of Rome actually looked to, in order to understand the latest trends in fashion.  Ah hah!…  I wondered why their grungified and emo’ed clothing was so highly fragranced in Eau d’Euro…  It was all coming together for me.  Did I mention that this event took place not a stone’s throw away from Via dei Condotti, a rather famously fashionable, always busy, and disgustingly expensive shopping street?  Actually, I make it a point to walk down it whenever I go to the Spanish Steps… just so my two favourite stores, Goodwill and Buffalo Exchange, have some free international advertising. 😉

Speaking of advertising, why is there a free drink stand for Absolut Vodka at, what seems like, every social event (usually they are  lgbqt ) to which I have been over the last few years?  Is it not enough that Italians have to deal with wine?  Must we now add vodka to the mix?  Furthermore, and not saying that this event involved lgbqt people whatsoever (besides myself), but the prevalence of alcoholism in the lgbqt community is an enormous problem, and having free drink stands at any such event only serves to increase it.

Side note: Oh, by the way, my gaydar says “I see gay people…” Now, if I could only find the cats…

An old gypsy woman, Italian men… and renewing my “Bitch” card.

2 Comments

An old gypsy woman at the Spanish Steps, Feb. 9, 2011

I realized today (…Am I caught up yet?) that unbeknownst to some men (and I am sure some women too), third-wave feminism did not die out in the 90s when it began, but is actually still alive and kicking its very high and pointy stiletto-ed heels as well as steel-toed combat boots (both of which I happen to own, even if I am more partial to the pointy variety at the moment)!  By the way, I am generally inclined towards ignoring the outline of my headlines and just plunging into whatever topic most interests me first.

Italian men

What a way to start?  The topic that most interests me first is Italian men… Right!  Well, it’s perhaps not in the way that you might think.  No… This is not the “Eat. Pray. Love.” – version (Yes, there may be many more references to come… Deal with it) of some handsome, young, Italian man with an unpronounceable (at least, for me) name such as “Massimiliano” sweeping me off my very queer-loving feet into some fairytale love-land or even love-fest.  Actually, this is a two-part observation: one of two men I know personally, and the other of the Roman men I have observed so far… or should I say, who have observed me?

Part 1. I have two friends here.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, they both happen to be male and Roman.  One, I believe, is more accepting of his Roman-ness and wears it as a badge of honour (Friend A).  The other, well… We’ll just say that he thinks of himself as a sensitive type of man (Friend B), which I am not quite certain fits in with my perception of the Roman male… Then again, what do I know?  I have only been here a couple of times in my life, and only know these two guys.  So, what the heck.

Without going into very long and rather tedious stories, I will simply state that both Friend A & B demonstrate a similar behavioural pattern, i.e. the when all else fails, “women-are-at-fault-all-times-no-matter-what.”  Curiously enough, this behavioural pattern has manifested only when I was engaging in an assertive act, such as expressing my own position on a topic, or my own right to act independently, or my own right to be heard and not be demeaned.   Immediately from both of these men, I was told that I was somehow injuring them by being assertive.  That by actually standing up for myself, I was actually being “rude” and “aggressive!” (Insert “Angry Black Woman Syndrome” because that is what it surely sounded like they were suggesting to me.)  I am in therapy.  I know for a fact that I am certainly not a sufferer of ABWS. (Now,where is that certificate of proof?)

Part 2. Beyond my two friends, I have been subject to the scrutiny of the general Roman male population, whose members, I can tell you, are not shy about making their assessment of your sexual appeal known.  Between the catcalls (“Bella!”), the stares (up and down, and up and down, and up and down, and call the friends over to stare up and down again and up… you know), the polite hellos (“Buonasera“), the direct one-on-one pretend conversations (“Hi, are you American?”or “Where are you from?”), and the pull-the-car-over-to-the-side-of-the-road-to-stare-and-try-to-engage-in-conversation (yes, this actually happened on Sunday); life here in Rome has been quite simple as a woman to enjoy. 

I don’t at all feel like a walking vagina on a daily basis whatsoever.  Nope.  Not at all!  I don’t at all feel like I should try to scrub away the filthy, grimy looks I received all day long as soon as I get home – Mind you, one never knows if the looks are due to lewd thoughts, or racist thoughts, or some whacked combination. Either way, it does make leaving my little studio each day quite an adventure!  It could be enough for a more reserved woman might want to resort to wearing a burka, were she permitted to do so.

Back in October as well as now, I wondered how Roman women have been able to deal with this kind of crap (what I deemed Roman male chauvinistic attitude towards women’s equality and sexuality) for generations.  Then, I thought about the rapidity of the language of Italian… and how for the most part, it was pretty hard for anyone to get a word in edgewise… and I had the answer!  The women didn’t listen to these whining,complaining, and seemingly sex-starved men -The women just talked over the men! (Okay, maybe I am being a bit simplistic, but…) 

I suppose the therapist in me had prompted me to have the patience to listen to them, or even to pay mind to them.  In the case of my friends, the reality was that they just did not like having a woman stand up to them… once again.  In a patriarchal society, what’s new in that?  And in the case of the general Roman male population… Well, men always desire what they esteem highly, but can never have.

Renewing the “Bitch” card

So, I renewed my “bitch” card, put on my name tag “Bitch Numero Uno” and wore it proudly today as I walked out of a bookstore, leaving Friend B behind, who thought that I should spend my time chasing after him (after he walked off and left me without letting me know where he would be going… I imagine he did this because of the small lecture I gave him on feminism… Oh well!).  Side note:  I am beginning to think I need to pick better Roman male friends.

Being a “bitch” is a necessary mode that all Black women must be able to access in my humble opinion.  When I say “bitch,” I mean that you are quite capable of showing even deeper levels of your personality, that you too are  a “beautiful, intelligent, talented, courageous hellion,”  and will serve all of that up with a smile. 😉   All you need is a reason.  Right? 

Black women have for too long been subject to the bottom of the totem pole.  It is in our best interest, therefore, to thwart anyone who tries to get in our way from upward movement… At least, these are my beliefs.  I could also apply the same thoughts to a whole slew of minority groups to which I also belong (general women-folk, foreign-folk,  gay-folk, chronically-ill-folk…you get the picture).  In essence, down with the man!… Did I just write that?  Well, what I mean is… Power to the people!  And the people, in this moment, happen to be me.  And I happen to be a Black woman living in Rome, albeit for a short time, where minorities are not well-liked or respected (no matter how nicely it’s put – Thanks, Francesco and Catherine)… and I am not sure exactly what the position women exactly hold… and if it is actually seen as vertical (of course, I am quite new to Rome, so don’t hold this against me… My opinion might change).

Old gypsy woman

There are many beggars here in Rome like many cities around the world – This is nothing new.  Guidebooks, natives, embassies, your friends and even parents warn you against them.   Don’t give them your money.  While one distracts you, others will come to rob you.  Darn right!  It’s true…  It is equally true, and not surprising for me, that a majority of the beggars that I have seen in Rome have been women…  And of course, minority women.  From what little I can tell, my assumption is that they are gypsies, who have been notoriously stereotyped as thieves and who live in fear in Italy due to their minority status, especially as the level of intolerance for cultural and ethnic diversity increases throughout the Italy’s major cities. Sadly, it seems to me there is a lot to be feared by the Italian male, if you happen to be female and a slight shade darker than White… At least, this is my opinion for the moment.  Who knows what experiences and new insights 17 more days will bring.

For the most part, I like beggars.  I always have.  I should actually rephrase that.  I like to help the homeless.  I was brought up that way.  It is not in my nature to look askance at someone, or to turn my nose up, or to shift my eyes away from that which makes me uncomfortable.  I learnt this from my mother, who I watched when I was a child give to many strangers bags of food when we, ourselves, were quite poor.

Distinctly, I have a memory of an old man who came to our home in Jamaica asking for food in exchange for work.  My mother would have been happy to have given him the food without having him work, but he insisted to cut the grass in the back of our house.  I watched him all day cut away at the tall grass with nothing but his frail body wielding, what seemed to me then, a giant cutlass.  This image has never left me. 

So it was that I found myself today standing atop the Scalinata della Trinita dei Monti (“Spanish Steps”), located in the Piazza di Spagna, looking  down at an old gypsy woman holding her hands clasp together as though praying.  She called to each passerby and to those who stood above her, “Ho fame.” (“I am hungry.”)  I stared at her for a long time.  I did not think much about whether or not she were telling the truth.  I only thought that I liked the look of her face.  Her face told many stories as she had seen many things – Stories I would never know. So I took pictures of her – Several.  And for that, I placed a euro in her jar.  Still afterwards she called to me, “Bella, ho fame.”

I smiled at her, and thought, “So am I.”

Playing catch-up… I can be such a hypocrite.

2 Comments
 
Cold pizza tastes good,
warm.  Rome is in its winter –
No frost on windows.

I am sick of pizza.  Perhaps it is a blasphemy to say this in Rome… or anywhere in Italy.  It is, however, true.  As a vegetarian, Rome leaves much to be desired.  And as a vegetarian with penchant for Thai food… I am sooo in the wrong place.  Perhaps this will become some sort of abbreviated ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ – type thing.  After all, I am a young woman searching for herself, or something… No, I don’t think so.   Now, back to pizza.

I have a favourite restaurant now in my little neighbourhood, which is effectively Campo dei Fiori, and a grocery store that is two doors down from my apartment building.  There is even a yarn store (yes, I am a yarn addict – find me on ravelry.com).   What I don’t understand is this: why, my goodness, must there be a million and one pizza restaurants in what amounts to less than one square mile?  Okay, so I am exaggerating… just slightly.  But seriously!  Why not throw in a Thai or Indian or Chinese or Japanese or Caribbean or Ethiopian or some other country restaurant in the mix?  I understand that foreigners are not exactly welcomed… but truly, it would break up the monotony, people!  Is it just me?

Sunday, Feb. 6. Everyday I take a walk across the Ponte Sisto bridge over to Trastevere, which apparently is a favourite night spot for the young people (apparently, I am no longer young as I have no interest in being there at night).  This day found me strolling through what are becoming familiar streets and also quite unfamiliar streets.  And just to go along with my above rant, I thought I would mention the other thing that I found quite incredible in Rome as well: a tendency towards duplicity, hypocrisy, if you will.  A restaurant, Aristocampo, had posted on the front of their building, “We are against war and tourist menu.”  This is all fine and dandy…  Now, one of the things that Trastevere is renown is its wonderfully inexpensive prices for food.  So, it was quite to my surprise when I noted just how “expensively” “touristy” Aristocampo’s prices are.  I suppose they are quite fine to take as much tourist dollars as they can, but not so fine to cater to tourists otherwise. 

Rome cannot hide its duplicitous/hypocritical nature behind the fading “romantic” facades of its ancient buildings.  At least, not from me… as we are quite the same, Rome and I: grasping to become better versions of ourselves while attempting to assuage the years of damage done to us by ourselves and others.