Just a little jet lagged this morning. Woke up at 1am and couldn’t get back to sleep for a few hours. My alarm went off at 6am and was promptly shut off. The photo opportunities are going to have to wait…I need sleep.
After my leisurely morning, I head to the Roman Ghetto. Jewish people were ordered to settle in this area along the Tiber River in the 1500’s. Pope John Paul IV ordered the ghetto to be constructed and it’s the oldest such settlement in the Western world. The Pope restricted them to live within the ghetto and wear distinguishing insignia on their clothes. History lesson over and on to my thoughts of the beautiful neighbourhood that it now is. I’m impressed with Teatro Marcello, also known as the “little Colosseum”. It may be called “little” but I’m still ant sized when standing underneath an archway. Another marvel of ancient architecture. I wind my way through the alleys and see Roman columns standing resolutely beside modern buildings as if the old part of the city refuses to give way to the new.
I cross the Tiber River and head to the Trastevere neighbourhood. I’m welcomed with narrow, cobbled streets and colourful buildings with ivy dripping from the rooftops. All of a sudden the noise of the city is gone and I’m transported back in time. The uneven streets are constructed out of 5”x5” black marble blocks with deep ruts from vehicles. Large gaps have formed between some of the blocks and I pick my way carefully down the alleys. Concrete doesn’t exist here and the sidewalks are black slabs of marble tightly butted up against each other. Small cafes line the alleys and the smell of espresso and fresh baking wafts through the air. I find a church and take advantage of the cool atmosphere and rest my feet.
My water bottle is empty so I find a “fountain” that spurts out cold, fresh water. I guess you would call them fountains, but it looks like a small cistern with a spout. Not sure how to explain them. There’s a trick to putting your thumb on the end of the nozzle to direct the flow of water. I’ve gotten a soaker a couple of times already and need some practice.
A couple of things I’ve observed since being in Rome…everyone talks on their phone with large hand gestures as they walk down the sidewalk (no one texts), the temperature is mid-20’s and the locals are wearing puffy winter jackets with scarves, and men are making kissing faces at me that I don’t know how to respond to.
I head back to the hotel and attempt to edit some photos but I keep nodding off and then forget what I’ve done so far. Slapping myself awake isn’t working so I give up and close my eyes. I have a food tour this evening so I’m mentally preparing myself for the imminent food baby.
I walk to the Prati area and meet my multi-cultural group and guide. We’re going to eat our way through the neighbourhood for the next four hours and my stomach is primed. First stop is a cafe where we start with Prosecco and an apertivo which consists of bruschetta (pesto, olive oil and tomato pesto), three cheeses topped with truffle oil and thirty year old balsamic and bufala mozzarella. Fun fact about truffles: in France they use pigs to hunt for them but in Italy, there is a specific dog breed that is used (Italian pigs were cutting into profits due to them eating all the truffles instead of just locating them). White truffles are so coveted that if your prized dog happens to sniff ou a large cache of them, you’re set for life. You can pick your selling price at the truffle auction and make your millions.
Next stop is the best pizza joint in Rome, Bonci. The owner was voted the Michelangelo of pizza creation and after tasting a few slices, I can see why. The crust is crunchy but with enough air pockets that it doesn’t feel heavy. The toppings are created with whatever is seasonal at the time. I try the lasagna topping (my favourite), broccoli topping and onion topping (you would think this would be horrible but it has a slightly sweet and tangy flavour). The flavours are enhanced by the Chianti that the slices served with. I’m in pizza heaven.
We amble our way to our next stop where plates of cured meats and cheeses await us. The prosciutto has been aged to perfection and another Chianti with a nose of dark cherries is served. In Italy, wine is cheaper than a bottle of water so there’s never an excuse not to drink.
Our final stop is pasta and I choose a three cheese gnocchi that is to die for. I should have stopped eating an hour ago but I can’t not eat this mouth watering creation. I’ve never tasted such tender gnocchi, where it slides down your throat without chewing. And to end off the evening, I cleanse my palette with lemon gelato. It’s so tart, it puckers my lips.
I waddle my way home from the metro station and try to prepare myself for sleep. How am I going to sleep with this fifty pound lump of food in my gullet?
