Diario di Roma Tre (3)
Saturday March 11, 2017
Sunny 69°F/21°C in Roma, Lazio, Italia 00143
Buongiorno,
It’s the first
full day of my newest Roman Holiday. As you know from reading my earlier Rome
Diaries, this is NOT a Rick Steves travel blog.
I spend most of my time OFF the beaten path.
 |
| Il Colosseo, Roma |
After a three
hour flight from Austin’s Bergstrom International Airport to JFK International
in the Borough of Queens, New York and a five hour layover for a grilled reuben
sandwich (pastrami, swiss cheese and kraut grilled on Rye) I spent the next
eight hours on an Alitalia flight from NY to Rome in an end seat across the
aisle from a colicky infant who screamed all the way across the Atlantic. This
was somewhat offset by the kid behind me who expressed his opinion of the
screaming baby by keeping time with the cries with kicks to the back of my
seat. After I glowered at the tyke over the top of my seat, his mom banished
him to an aisle seat at the opposite end of the row. (Most Italians talk with
their hands. I don’t know what this little twerp’s ethnicity was, but his feet
spoke a language all their own). So, I spent most of the flight with the
headset clamped tightly over my ears with the sound off – like earmuffs – while
I watched the little cartoon airplane on the video screen in front of me
traverse the map of the Atlantic. After a stop at Michael and Laura’s house for
coffee and the obligatory Benvenuto a
Roma “selfie” with Sofia the family’s black Volpino, we drove over to a
il Mercado for a few domestic
supplies. The grocery tab including a packet of Lavazza coffee came to about 28
Euros and change ($28.60 USD), which I paid for with a crisp, new 50 Euro bill
($52.87 USD). Michael headed off to work to let me get settled in. He had
already unpacked my one suitcase, so all that was left for me was .to arrange
the voltage adapters and plug in my laptop and my Sonicare. I awoke two hours
later stiff as a board – the effects of Rome’s cool weather on my arthritis,
and 14 hours sitting in a cramped Economy-class jetliner suite in my own
imitation of a sardine packed into an itty-bitty can.
 |
| Obligatory Selfie |
My first evening
was spent with Michael and Laura with a delightful home-cooked meal and lots of
catch-up family chatter. Since my first visit in 2005, Rome has become my
second home, and I long ago decided that in spite of the language barrier, I
would not mind at all becoming an expatriate and settling down for the
duration, whatever that may be. Toward
the end of the evening Laura and I made plans to have lunch the next day while
Michael went to work, so she could show me around my new neighborhood. I returned to my vacation pad, and
shortly after I got home, decided to hit the feathers so Morpheus could sooth
my jet lag. When I regained consciousness it was almost noon the next day.
Sometime between
my departure from JFK and my arrival at Rome’s Fiumicino International Airport,
Laura’s sister, Chiara gave birth to a baby girl, a big first for Chiara and
Maurizio. Little Noemi thus made Laura La
Zia (aunt Laura) and Chiara and Laura’s parents, Sergio and Annamaria first
time Nonno e Nonna (Nonni =
grandparents). That makes Michael il zio.
But he’s a veteran at being an uncle – his sister has five children – two
boys and three girls. So, I am Nonno, too. Chiara had Noemi in a maternity hospital that
is part of the Italian government health system. Unlike many American hospitals
which seem to encourage family picnics in the delivery room to promote family
togetherness, this hospital was decidedly Old
School. Visiting hours are short and strictly enforced. The newborns maybe
viewed by family and friends through the windows of the nursery where the tykes
are on display for onlay a set time. Noemi was #41 and was five rows back in
the gaggle. Nonno, Nonna and la zia are
rightly proud of la nipoti.
Sergio and Laura
and I left Annamaria to visit a bit longer with Chiara, so we decided to walkespresso. As
we left the hospital I asked to take Sergio and Laura’s picture in front of the
graffiti which covers the façade of the hospital. This is big city graffiti
with a decidedly Italian touch, and
only an Italian mind would tolerate any graffiti on the front of any hospital.
But, this spray art is special. Instead of LA-style gang graffiti with gang
signs and slogans, these scribblings are greetings and congratulations to the
newborns and their parents. If this occurred in LA, SWAT would be summoned.
 |
| Nonno Sergio e Zia Laura |
It was over
coffee a few minutes later that Sergio asked me the question that I most
feared, but one that I fully expected, because it is a question that every
European is asking every American that they run into.
SERGIO: Cosa ne pensi di TRUMP? (“How do you feel about Donald Trump as President?”)
I thought for a
long time, and chose my words carefully before answering the inevitable
question. After all, Sergio is family.
MIKE: Non ho imparato abbastanza parolacce in
italiano per dire cosa penso di TRUMP! Io
ho votato per Hillary Clinton! (I have not learned enough Italian swear words
to express to you how I feel about seeing Donald Trump as President. I voted
for Hillary Clinton.
SERGIO: Gli italiani hanno eletto Berlusconi.
L’America sopram vviverà
Donald Trump come Presidente! (Italians elected Berlusconi. America will
survive Donald Trump as President).
I just know I
will be asked about this many times while I’m on this trip, so I’ll have better
polling to report in the near future. But I can tell you this: Italians, who
had their own lapse of sanity when they elected and re-elected Silvio
Berlusconi, the womanizing media mogul, take our election of Der Trumpenfuhrer as the Great American
Joke. But, the Italians, who have seen some 62 governments come and go since
World War 2, see our election plight as a mere blip on history’s radar screen,
while many Americans believe that the
end of civilization as we know it, is at hand.
It always takes
a few days for me to get my land legs back after traveling for 4,000 miles
through seven time zones, so I always allow myself time to adjust before any
further adventures. That’s why the first
few days are spent getting to know my new surroundings, especially since I’m
staying in a rental apartment, and not at the Hilton or another hotel with four
or five stars. I can’t simply call down and order for room service. If I am
hungry and want to eat, I either have to go up the street to the market or il ristorante. So, in a way I find
myself identifying with the refugees that are pouring into Italy from North
Africa and the Middle East. I know only a few words of Italian. But, I have
family here and I know when I’m returning to hearth and home. The refugees
don’t necessarily know where their next meal is coming from. It’s a big story
here, and I’ll be sharing some of my observations as we go along.
Next time – No Funny
Stuff, LIVE at TIFF, and a visit to a famous World War 2 battle site. But, for
now….
Ciao,
MikeBo
[Mike Botula is the author of the
wannabe best-seller LST 920: Charlie Botula’s Long, Slow Target! (Amazon Books) MikeBo’s Blog
is a wholly owned subsidiary of his web site www.mikebotula.com ]
©
By Mike Botula 2017
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