And then there was light....

I found my neighborhood…

When I was in Argentina the first time, Larry told me an expression he and his friend John used to joke with – after a nice steak dinner, they would say, “I need a gelato to get the taste of steak out of my mouth” – it was a way of justifying eating more after an incredible Argentine steak.

Well, I needed a glass of wine to get the taste of the Vatican out of my mouth, and I didn’t mean it as a joke.

Since I had only spent 30 minutes in the museum itself, and only enough time in St. Peter’s to get from the entrance to the exit, I now found myself with a whole day to kill. Trastevere was on my list of things to do in the next few days, but since I was on that side of the Tiber, I thought I would seek it out and maybe even find the old Jewish ghetto and maybe even go to the old synagogue to kind of balance things out a bit.

So I walked along the Tiber and eventually came to a big city wall with an arched entrance. I guessed I was in Trastevere, but I wasn’t sure. I knew there was a famous church there, Santa Maria something or other and came across a Santa Maria de la Scala. I went in and saw nothing remarkable. It was a funky smelling old church. But I liked the neighborhood. It felt old, it felt Roman, it felt like it was populated by Italians, and best of all, there were no tour groups in site.
In the piazza where the church was situated, there were several restaurants with tables set outside. I walked past one and stopped and looked at the menu – I saw fried artichokes (in season), stuffed olives (one of my favorite things), and fried and stuffed zucchini flowers. I knew I had found my favorite restaurant.

I sat down and looked at the menu. They didn’t have glasses of wine, but they did have ½ carafes for only 4 Euros (the wine I had last night was 6 Euros for a glass). I ordered a half carafe of white wine, artichokes were not in season, so I got the olives and two zucchini flowers. Everything was so good, and it was a nice combination. I continued to look at the menu which had so many offerings and everything looked so good. And the prices were right and they accepted credit cards.
Also, the wine was having a good effect on me. That plus the slightly gritty, local atmosphere was lifting me out of my post-Vatican funk and making me want to take advantage of the fact that I was in a really good place, in a fairly empty restaurant, sitting outside looking on a really pretty piazza with no smokers and a vast selection of amazing Italian delicacies to choose from.

So, when the waitress came to clear away my empty plate after I devoured the olives and zucchini flowers, I ordered a bowl of pasta e fagiole (pasta and beans).

Pasta fazool as my family calls it, was a frequent dinner for us on Friday during the days when we were not allowed to eat meat on Friday (this rule was later relaxed and only applied during Lent, which just proves the randomness of so many rules of the church – proving they are not coming from God, but from men who have agendas). For a while my mom took a job in dry cleaners and had to work on Fridays so my sister would cook. My sister loved pasta fazool. She still does. In fact, everyone in my family kind of goes gaga over it. I had a paper route at the time and on Fridays I would collect money. Immediately after collection, I would head to the candy store. I would then go home to dinner and often it was pasta fazool. Because I had a belly full of candy, I was never hungry. It’s one reason why I was not a pasta fazool fan (the other reason was that I didn’t like kidney beans). But I was feeling very nostalgic about things like fried olives (which I remember my mom only making a few times, but I do remember them being around at different times growing up and loving them). I thought I’d try the pasta e fagiole and see how it compared to what I grew up with.

I was surprised to get something that only faintly resembled what my family ate. Ours was a tomato based soup and either had ditaline pasta or homemade noodles – flat and short. This had no tomato and the broth was brown. The noodles were short, thin egg noodles, kind of like what you’d see in chicken noodle soup. But it was yummy. I really enjoyed it and actually liked the kidney beans.

I decided this was going to be my dinner even though it was only 4:30. It was a carpe diem moment – seize the day – I had been complaining and getting really tired of looking for that perfect restaurant and here I was, so why not. So I ordered a tiramisu. I realized yesterday that was one more thing I had to try here, especially when I needed a pick-me-up, which is what tiramisu translates as.

Of course it was good – how could it not be?

I stumbled away from the restaurant, kind of tipsy from the wine and the incredible food and wandered through the streets of Trastevere. It turned out this restaurant, Taverna de la Scala – was the PERFECT restaurant because this piazza was a little off the beaten track. The Santa Maria that was THE attraction in Trastevere was Santa Maria di Trastevere – which had some beautiful mosaics, lots of tourists and women begging outside. Closer to that church, the crowds got bigger, and the restaurants had more people, and just didn’t look as good as my find. I will definitely go back, and I will definitely splurge.

I crossed back over the Tiber, thinking I had finally found the ghetto, but not really sure (I found some info from Rick Steves last night, but didn’t remember all the details and then found on my Lonely Planet map today that Lonely Planet puts the ghetto on the same side of the Tiber as the historic center, whereas Rick put it on the other side – I’m guessing it was on both sides as the Jews were forced to live in parts of Rome that flooded the most).

The buildings looked the same – beautiful colors that I have read referred to as ochre – I am not sure what ochre is, because these buildings are not all the same color – some are rust colored, some are golden, but they are all the same hue and they all look very rustic.

I found myself on a busy little street that looked very local. It was as if I had found a Rome that was actually populated by Romans with just a small smattering of tourists thrown in. I saw a very interesting little church squeezed in a tiny space between two buildings. I went in to see what was going on, only to find there was a mass. The priest was in the center of this little space, and two groups of people sat on both sides of him, facing the center. I had walked in almost on to the altar. I quickly exited.

At the entrance to the church was a little gelateria that also had granita. Since I really liked the idea of granita but did not like the almond granita I’d had earlier, I thought I’d try again, this time for a lemon. I ordered a small lemon granita, and as he scooped it into a little plastic cup, the guy lovingly took out a few spoonfuls of a deeper orange granita. He gave it to me and said something in Italian. I guess he could tell I didn’t understand and he said, “cactus”. He showed me the little sign with the name in Italian and in English. It said “prickly pear” – I think it was “ficcho d’India” in Italian or something like that. I didn’t like it as much as I liked the lemon, but I loved that he gave me a little sample. I felt like I had found the Rome I was looking for – away from the tour groups and with the people, and the people I had found were kind and friendly and down to earth and the surroundings were kind of gritty but still beautiful and not famous and maybe not in any guide books or art history books, but beautiful nonetheless. And then I was shocked to find out I was in Campo di Fiori. I’d read about this place and heard it mentioned but didn’t really know what it was other than a flower and vegetable market in the morning, and I certainly did not know that the neighborhood itself had so much of the charm I was looking for in Rome.

I now felt like my day had been a huge success and was ready to return to my hotel. But it was still a little early.

I knew the sightseeing bus stopped near Campo di Fiori and when I saw a major street with a sightseeing bus from another company pass I decided to try my luck. Sure enough I found my bus, hopped on and went for one round around the rest of the red route. It was now getting dark and I wanted to see Rome at night from the bus (and not lost and walking around in traffic), so I stayed on and made the last round of the night.

The music and the narration were not as irritating to me as it was yesterday. The city looked beautiful at night. Traffic had eased up considerably and the heat of the day was replaced by a nice evening cool. I laughed at lines I had heard on the narration several times now, like the one about not needing a passport to enter the Vatican (because it is a separate country).

The bus made its last stop in front of Termini Station, very near the Sicilian Pasticceria where I had the best cannoli of my life. I’d had a very early dinner and it was now nearly 9, so why not? Turns out a cannoli at the table is more expensive than one to go. It was delicious and just what I needed to round off what turned out to be a pretty near perfect day!