Roman Holiday

My life is too cool, and I’ll be the first one to say it. I’m about to head off on what will most definitely prove to be the best Spring Break of my life, but before I go, I have to document the insane week that I spent with Matt here in Rome. After his first couple days here, I got a little nervous. I had already showed him all the sights and was fresh out of interesting facts about the city. We fit what I had expected to take a week in about a day. Before leaving for Siena, I showed him the main attractions; we sneaked into Castel St. Angelo (which was ridiculous), and drank wine atop Gioncolo (formerly referred to as the Garibaldi Park).

We arrived home on Sunday exhausted and hungry. Thanks to my Grandma, there was a bunch of fancy veal waiting for us in the freezer, which we ate alongside brussel sprouts as we ogled at our strangely adult meal. Since when do I like brussel sprouts? I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with me. Or maybe I’m just becoming a grown up. Actually, that’s probably exactly my problem.

I had planned to spend the next day at the Coliseum, but he had already been inside and neither of us wanted to pay the expensive price to go back. We decided to sit outside of it on a small patch of grass, whereby I quickly fell asleep in Matt’s lap. I must be pretty jaded and am definitely one of the few American’s who has fallen asleep in front of such a historic monument.

When I went to class that afternoon, I sat Matt down with a Rome guidebook and told him to find things he wanted to do. This is where things got interesting. I had no idea that Rome had so much to offer! Well, that’s not entirely true, but I’ve been too caught up to really explore the hidden spots.

On Tuesday, we climbed Quirinale, the highest of Rome’s seven hills, which was surprising, considering it was actually pretty low to the ground. We saw all sorts of political buildings at the top of the hill and laughed at the uber still guards outside of them. Afterward, we walked down by the Trevi Fountain to San Crispono, an overly fancy gelato spot that the guidebook suggested. I tasted a 30 year aged whiskey gelato, even though I wasn’t supposed to (thanks boobs), but we settled on the Crema di Mele (cream of honey) and Fresh Grapefruit flavor. It was an explosion of magic in my mouth. It was my favorite breakfast and my favorite dessert combined. This was not gelato to be eaten standing up. I made us wait till we arrived back at the Trevi, where we sat, speechless, eating the most expensive tiny cup of gelato ever.

After that we walked back to Piazza Barberini and into a church known as Cappuccini. The church was like any other, but it was what was underground that really blew my mind. For a one-euro donation, we were allowed into the crypt. A long, dark, hallway lead to three-wall rooms filled with skeletons of ancient friars, many of them still dressed in their robes. The walls, ceiling, and lamps, were all decorated with human bones arranged in elaborate patterns. Hipbones and spine segments created what looked like Victorian décor. It was outrageous, and unlike any other historical thing I’ve seen in Italy. That night, I taught Matt how to make Carbonara a la Pantry Raid. He loved it, of course, and was ecstatic to hear that Trader Joe’s sells all the ingredients!

On Wednesday, we headed into Rome’s Compton for an Open Market. After walking straight past the train station, the graffiti became more vulgar, the nuns were less present, and beggars filled the streets. Just as we were about to turn around without fresh food, Matt noticed a nun carrying a grocery bag. Then there was another. Tons of people were filing out of a small door of a gigantic warehouse. We followed the fishy scent inside, where we were confronted with the market of our dreams. There were different rooms for fish, meat, exotic produce, and local produce. We started with the fish, buying two hefty salmon steaks for just four euro and a bunch of fresh shrimp. I bought a plantain, some grapefruits, and a bunch of other things that made me too happy for words.

Later that day, we took the bus to Trastevere, where we visited Palazzo Corsini, a little known museum across the street from Trastevere’s most famous one. It was filled with interesting art from years ago, and in true Matt/Sienna fashion, we made fun of as many as we could. Afterward, we wandered across Ponte Sisto to a posh Sicilian bakery I’ve had my eye on for weeks. We ate a creamy and rich cannoli and were offered dense hot chocolate to accompany it. Matt, who doesn’t normally like cannolis, changed his mind in an instant.

We made the salmon for dinner with some wine, and after I was done studying for my midterm, we left for a jazz club. Upstairs from an unpopulated bar was an intimate arrangement of loveseats in a dim room filled with Italians. At the front, a live Italian jazz band played sweet music that, combined with the wine from dinner, put me right to sleep. A couple hours later, we sadly left the bar behind, but our heavy eyelids just weren’t having it.

Well, I’ve successfully procrastinated on writing this post. I have to head to class now, before my long journey to London begins. Don’t worry, that was only part one of the week. It gets even better. I’ll add photos and more details when I get home, but for now, ciao ragazzi! 

Reprise: Sienna in Siena

This past week and a half has been, hands down, the best time I’ve had in Italy because I got to spend it with my favorite person! Matt flew out to Rome for his Spring Break, and I couldn’t feel luckier. Among a million other things that I’ll get to later, we spent his first weekend here in Siena. I figured that if I could force one person to take countless pictures of me in front of everything and anything with my name on it, it’d be him. The forecast was snow free this time, so we packed our shorts and tank tops and headed off for a romantic weekend in the rolling hills of Tuscany.

After filling up on homemade Matzah Bry, we hopped on a bus to the train station. As we arrived, we noticed two oversized homeless women (Strega Nonnas as we called them) sitting in the middle of a sidewalk bustling with travelers. I noticed their paper towels, and joked that they must be at least sort of well off, considering paper towels are a serious commodity in my apartment. While this discussion took place, we watched as one of them waddled away from her friend. Standing in the direct eye of everyone within a mile of her, Strega Nonna #1 proceeded to lean forward and lift up her skirt, revealing way too many things I didn’t want to see. It got worse. The second her clothes were in the clear, Strega relieved herself, peeing like a well-hydrated horse all over the sidewalk. As the bus inched by, we turned our heads, jaws dropped in disbelief. I can only hope she used those paper towels to clean up after herself. Doubtful.

After verbally fighting with the ticket machine and validating my voucher in every appliance in sight, we made it onto the train and said “ciao” to Roma. A couple hours later, the train docked in Chiusi, a small town in the middle of nowhere. We used our layover to meander through the streets my dad and I once dragged our suitcases through years ago. After finding a farmers market and trying some ridiculous cheese, we stumbled upon a posh café filled with colorful pastries among smooth white décor. We ordered Sfoglia, a blueberry tart, and a couple cappuccini and sat outside in the sun. The total was four euros, a low price that really made me second guess every decision I’ve made to live in big cities. The snack was incredible, and the leftover Nutella melting on my plate didn’t go to waste.  

The train we boarded next was tiny and empty. We sat there for a while before being bombarded by two polizie in search of some action. The older one, a sweaty man with a tangled mustache began by yelling at me for having my feet on the seat in front of me. As I wiped off the dirt, he asked for our passports. I explained that we didn’t have them, to which he reacted very aggressively. “Abitiamo a Roma,” I said, but he persevered in lecturing us in Italian we couldn’t understand. Italy and the US are not the same, we learned. I had no idea! As his meager apprentice copied down the information from my passport photocopy and Matt’s New York license, the persecution continued, as the man wiped adrenalin induced sweat from his brow. Abruptly, they gave back our documents and left the car. I have no explanation for this. But my feet made their return to the seat in front of me in no time.

When we arrived in Siena, I immediately insisted on recreating this photo that I took a few years back:

The taxi driver, who was unimpressed by the relevancy of my name, drove us to Locanda di San Martino, the restored castle that my grandma generously paid for us to spend the night in. It was incredible. We were placed in a penthouse room with exposed wooden beams, a huge bed that we immediately started jumping on, and sponge-painted walls. 

The view was even better. To our right was il Duomo (the zebra church), in front of us was a typical Italian apartment scene, and to our left, the rolling hills of Tuscany disappeared into the distance. Picturesque doesn’t even cover it. It was unreal.

After washing the train off of ourselves, we ventured into the town. The narrow street we were traveling on suddenly opened up to the massive Campo which hosts the Palio. The triangularesque piazza slopes downward toward a church opposite tons of cafes that leak out onto the square. People flooded from a wooden shack near the center, which we discovered was selling Frittelli, small balls of fried rice, sugar, and orange dough. For one euro, we ordered four of these morsels, similar in texture to Thai coconut cakes, but much more exciting in flavor. We finished them sitting amongst Italian students and lovers before wandering around the medival town.

We soon arrived at a hill that puts San Francisco’s to shame. The cobblestones were crumbled and we walked backwards down it because Matt was convinced that it would be better for our knees. On our right was a “Piccola Theatre,” a children’s theater! The gate was opened, so we walked in and discovered a landscape filled with flowers, antique water fountains, and the distant noise of young laughter.

Back at our castle (no biggie), we popped open the left over champagne from Grandma’s visit. The cork bounced on just about every surface in the room before landing conveniently in my purse.

We feasted on Gnocchi di Taverno and Tagliette di Salmone at Taverna di Cecco, where I succeeded in spilling olive oil all over the white tablecloth.

The night was spent dancing at Barron Rossa with flat beer and a million Erasmus students from around the world.

The next morning, we ate the hotel’s breakfast and set off for il Duomo. Opting for the all-inclusive pass, we were able to visit the Museo di Oppera, Cripta, Baptisma, and il Duomo. Starting at Museo di Opera, we filed through ancient songbooks and statues before finding the narrow staircase that led up to the panorama view of Siena. It wasn’t the highest point in the city, but it was damn close. Everything was visible and it was spectacular.

The Cripta and Baptisma were less impressive than I would’ve liked, but the Duomo made up for it. 

The inside was even more amazing than its exterior, with detailed frescos and elaborate chapels. The ceilings were unbelievable, with domes that nearly put the Pantheon to shame. 

We ogled at the floors, inlayed with depictions of war and religious triumph. The pulpit was tall and basked in the sunlight from above. Two stained glass windows faced each other on opposite walls and illuminated the church with vibrant light. The colors were subtle and pastel, creating a relaxing atmosphere. It was great.

I had wanted to find a crew neck Universitia di Siena sweatshirt, and refused to settle for the hoodies that filled every store’s shelves. Just as I was about to give in to the expected, I stumbled upon what has come to be my favorite Italian purchase. Behind I <3 Siena aprons and rhinestone T-shirts, I found a split pea green sweatshirt faded by years in the sun. It said ITALIA in rainbow letters, each with a dancing Pinocchio on top. Written in comic sans, the world’s most hated font, was my name. It was perfect. But it was also the last one. I bought the sun-bleached child’s sweatshirt for five euro, much to the vendor’s surprise. “Per bambini,” he explained, puzzled at my elation. It has the look of a worn sweatshirt, but the softness of a new one. It’s lovely and brought the trip to a wonderful close.

After a gelato from Dolce Siena, we hopped the train back to Rome, tired and excited about the incredible adventure we just had. 

Even though no one in Siena was impressed by my name, I was impressed enough by the city for all of us.