On the list of irksome people, ‘phoren-returned’ often make it to the top. Those who mention ‘dust’ repeatedly, lament the absence of dryers (for clothes, mind you), and believe that shorts make for suitable restaurant attire. Little can please them, other than a ticket back to foreign lands. These aren’t victims of nostalgia, but rather of chronic discontent. But when you return from Rome, little can please you. One might not be guilty of precisely the above sins, but everything seems just that much dimmer. Like the arc light has been snuffed out.
Right now, Italy might not be at the top of the European charts. Its former prime minister could have been the tenor in an opera and a clown in a farce. Its present PM’s biggest virtue might be that he is not the former PM. A recent article reported that joblessness among those aged 15-24 teetered at 43.7 per cent last month — the highest since records started in 1977. The country’s attitude towards those who look different is hardly stellar. You only have to drive to the suburbs of Rome to see graffiti that mock its most famous football striker in the most primate of ways. You might be pickpocketed in Rome, and you will be fleeced — whether by the taxi driver from the airport or the hotel you booked online, which simply does not exist. But still. It is impossible to not be moved by this city and country. To be moved beyond measure.
Tomes have been written about Rome, its history and its monuments. You have to see the Colosseo, you have to go to the Vatican, the Pantheon, the Trevi fountain, Piazza Venezia, the Roman Forum, the Spanish steps, the Protestant cemetry, the Jewish quarters. The list alone makes you breathless. Stroll down the Appian way, which dates back to 4th century BC, admire the umbrella pines and the smoothness of the stones that might be thousands of years old. You need to see the city sprawled out before you from the top of the Gianicolo hill. To earn your cool cred you must buy a bottle of wine, sip it at Piazza Monti and watch couples come and go. You need to spend an evening at Villa Borghese and follow flocks of swallows and swifts as they spin absurd shapes in the sky. You should see Mussolini’s ‘Colosseo’ — for a laugh.
You have to have lunch at the Peroni restaurant. You have to revel in the artisanal gelato available in all the flavours that you can only dream of — pine nut and hazelnut, fruits of the forest and tiramisu. You have to try the olive ascolane or batter-fried olives stuffed with veal or prosciutto. Make a meal of the suppli, the rice balls that hide a secret helping of mozzarella. Cuisine in Roma can leave both the vegetarian and the carnivore equally pleased. And of course, the coffee drinker in ecstasies.
But you will never know all of Rome. Walk without a guide or destination and you will stumble upon a church or fountain that will be all your own. The churches are always as cool as silence. Take off your shoes, and feel the gelid marble beneath your toes. Close your eyes, and the smell of incense, the clicking of a wooden rosary and, if you are lucky, the notes of a violin will waft towards you.
Rome, like London, New York, even Delhi, is one of the great capitals of the world. But unlike New York or Delhi that excites with possibilities for the future, you don’t settle in Rome for ambition but rather for contentment. If your idea of happiness is slanting sunshine, Vespa rides, endless ambles, scoopfuls of gelato and unparalleled art. Rome is for those concerned with the now, who choose to be a bit obtuse about the future. This moment is the best, they tell themselves. With its glorious pre-Christian monuments and gladiatorial venues, Rome deceives you into thinking nothing will change, nothing needs to change. If only countries became superpowers by sipping limoncello, eating biscotti and admiring the view...
Having spent a couple of years in my early 20s in Rome, revisiting it nine years later meant meeting an old self and seeing the city anew. My biggest fear was being mistaken for a tourist. A tough act to pull off in July in Rome; because, for one, I don’t speak Italian and two, all its citizens flee to the beaches in summer, leaving behind only tourists and vendors. But the tourists are easy enough to spot in this city, with their open maps and mouths, they wait for the pedestrian light to turn green. The Italians don’t. They make a calculated run for it. The tourists will order a postprandial cappuccino in a cafe. The abomination! Milk — like ablutions — is only for the mornings, after that it is only espresso, to be had preferably standing by the counter. Tourists earn their tourist stripes as they pose with leather-skirt-wearing, thigh-flashing ‘gladiators’ outside the Colosseo and then seem surprised when they get harangued for five euros. You’ll see them raring down in their white sneakers and short shorts; the Italians, however, strut along in their stilettos unflustered when their heels ensnare in the cobbled streets. Most telling of all, a tourist might ask for pineapple on their pizza. An Italian waiter once replied, “We make pizza, not cake”.
I was on a mission to find my favourite pizzeria in the city, located in Trastevere. Today Trastevere is a trendy neighbourhood, planted on the banks of the Tiber, packed with gawking tourists, residential expats and foreign students. But it also finds mention in The Agony and the Ecstasy, for it is from here that Michelangelo Buonarroti ‘sculptor of Florence’ used to buy his Caracalla marble. Irving Stone describes it as a densely inhabited section of Rome, home of the potters, tanners, fishermen, boatmen, gardeners… a brawling, sprawling population descended from the original Romans. To stand on these streets is to stand where Michelangelo once stood, in the 15th century, and to see what he saw — “a labyrinth of narrow streets”.
What thrilled me about Rome on this visit was not only re-remembering its history and myth but rediscovering places that exist so vividly in my memories. On a cruelly blue evening, I traversed these streets with an old friend who lives in Trastevere, attempting to find the pizzeria from where I used to buy a slice for lunch and eat on the steps by the river. I didn’t remember its name and had no idea if it existed a decade later.
We wound our way to Via Giulia, where ivy drips down an arch with languid ardour, making a perfect lover’s alcove. The arch is testimony to an incomplete master plan dating back to the 1540s. We stopped by Polvere di Tempo, a precious shop that sells antique timepieces, reminding you that this too shall pass. Just as we turned off Piazza Trilussa (watched over by a statue of the poet best known for hanging out on street corners and writing of the everyday) two benches in conversation caught my eye. I had found it. We were soon biting into the best sausage and ricotta pizza in the whole of Rome. Nothing had changed.
We ambled to Campo de’ Fiori, a flea market on weekends and a raucous drinking arena at night. A statue of Giordano Bruno, who was burned at the stake at that very spot — for heresy — presides over the piazza. One can easily imagine him casting aside his hood and tut-tutting the brawlers and drinkers around him. I threw numerous coins into the Tiber — in hope for a speedy return.
Finally, we sat down at one of the many outdoor cafes, ordered glasses of white wine, declined bouquets of red roses and raised a toast to finding old favourites. There was music in the cafes that night. And, I could swear, there were fireworks in the air.
Travel Log
Get there
In June this year, Air India started direct flights from Delhi to Rome and Milan.
Stay
We stayed at Hotel Lancelot, located on a quiet side street, 10 minutes from the Colosseo. While the location is ideal, the hotel staff and breakfast also merit mention ( >lancelothotel.com ).
Eat
If you want traditional Roman fare try Bucatino, in Testaccio, complete with rabbit meat and ox tail. But you can also make a meal of their wonderful buffet of appetizers. I am a fan of L'Antica Birreria Peroni, 10 minutes from Piazza Venezia or the city centre. With its intricate frescoes, rustic interiors and frenzied atmosphere, it is a great place for a meal. And it is very reasonable!
Tip
Stay clear of restaurants that face the famous monuments or are located at the centre of the square. Italians never eat here because the food is over-priced and substandard. Wander away from these tourist traps and find yourself a trattoria, or family-run restaurant.