Rome: Moments and Monuments

A little behind-the-scenes admission: every time I sit down to write a blog post, I get a bit overwhelmed. I read over my notes and think, “HOW am I going to encapsulate all of this into words? How do I even begin to organize it?” I especially felt this way about my first visit to Rome. I was there for six days but I’m not going to organize this blog post by-day because—dramatic statement ahead—Rome transcends “days.” Reflecting back on the experience, it felt more like a bouquet of moments and that’s how I’m going to relate it here. So, without further ado, I present to you a collection of moments from my first visit to Rome.

Moment: Arrival

I arrived into Rome’s Termini train station, which was, as expected, crazy, and made my way to the taxi stand. My taxi driver had long, flowing locks of chestnut brown hair and was completely stunning. We spoke a bit in Italian and when I asked him where he was from he said, “Rome. All taxi drivers in Rome are from Rome.”

Now, when visiting Italy, a lot of people arrive into Rome first. And, to be honest, I wanted to start my journey in Rome as well. But that’s not what worked for my schedule. So my first impression of Rome came after having been in Italy for almost a month. And I’m actually glad that it worked out that way because I had a chance to really get a feel for non-Rome Italy before I laid eyes on Rome. And as my taxi careened through the streets, I was overcome by the following realization: Everything in Rome is huge. And grand.

The buildings are taller. The streets are wider. The columns are thicker. And the monuments are, of course, much, much bigger. When researching Rome, the one monument that I was not that excited to see was the Victor Emmanuel II Monument. From the photos I’d seen, it just looked so cold and imposing. But as my taxi whipped into view of it, my mouth dropped open and I said under my breath, “Okay, that’s pretty cool.” And I think I had that reaction because, in context, Rome is big enough to handle over-the-top, gigantic, somewhat-oppressive monuments, because like, it’s Rome, damn it.

Moment: I Did the Things

The Colosseum. The Forum. The Pantheon. Whenever I would read about these things, I could never quite wrap my head around them. I mean, the Colosseum is pretty obvious. It’s the oval thing with arches. But I would always get the Forum and the Pantheon mixed up. (It doesn’t help that many of these names have been co-opted by Las Vegas and outlet malls.) And I could never quite “get” what the Forum was. Like, I knew it was ruins, but I didn’t understand if they were contained in some sort of park or just randomly scattered about the city. And here’s the thing: I’m not going to try to explain them all in this blog post. It would be so boring. (I’ll include some photos though, of course.)

But here’s what I do have to say about finally seeing world-famous sites that I’ve heard about all my life. It’s so rad. You can read about them. You can click through photo after photo of them. You can Google Earth them. But there’s something so moving about actually standing in front of them (or in them), and having it all click into place.

As I toured these sites, I occasionally found myself contemplating what it must be like for the young kids I saw experiencing them. In some ways, I felt envious of them. But in other ways, I did not. Because, while I would have LOVED to have had the opportunity to have seen them as a kid (and have a physical, lived-in experience of what they are like in person when I learned about them in school), those kids will never know what it’s like to spend 40+ years of their lives wondering what they are like in person, only to have their mind blown when they finally—finally—get to stand in the middle of them, look around, and say, “Fuck. I. Am. Here.”

Moment: Move Aside, Cornetto

Italians eat a lot of pastries. And when in Italy, so does Steven. The most common one is the cornetto (or, as the Parisians call them, “croissants.”) And what’s not to love? They’re amazing. But on the morning I was to visit the Pantheon, I stopped to get a coffee at a café with a nice little view of the ancient site. Turns out, it was one of the oldest, most celebrated cafes in Rome: Caffe Tazza D’Oro. I can’t remember exactly why, but for some reason, on this particular morning, I decided to order a “sfogliatella” along with my coffee. Actually, wait, I do remember why: Elena Ferrante mentions it in her (INCREDIBLE) book, My Brilliant Friend. (Quick side note: assuming you have not already heard me rave about this series of books, please immediately open up a new tab and order it from your local bookstore. And if you don’t think you’ll have anything in common with two little girls growing up in 1950s Naples, guess again, my friend.) Okay, where was I? Right, sfogliatella. So I see this on the menu when I’m ordering my coffee and I think, “Ooh, cool. I can finally try that pastry that Elena talks about.” Well, I sit down at a table and along comes my coffee and sfoglitella. It’s shaped like a rounded triangle and formed by layer after layer of a delicate dough. I pick it up and it turns out that the sfogliatella is fresh out of the oven and still warm. I take a bite and the buttery, crispy layers of dough crackle between my teeth. Inside is a creamy ricotta with the slightest essence of….cinnamon? Orange? I’m not quite sure because it’s so subtle. I take another bite. And another. And seriously, I haven’t been the same since.

I wound up going to this same café for coffee and a sfogliatella three out of the six mornings I was in Rome.

Moment: My ‘Secret Rome’ Tour

I made the decision that I wanted to visit Italy at the beginning of the pandemic. For the next two years, one of the things that kept me inspired and motivated to keep planning the trip (and studying Italian), was the podcast “The Bittersweet Life.” It’s hosted by two women who are childhood friends and had formative experiences in Italy. One of them, Tiffany, moved to Rome permanently 18 years ago and now gives tours of her beloved city. So one of the things I was most excited to do during my visit was to meet her and see the city through her eyes.

She gave me rich, detailed stories behind points of interest that you might otherwise miss if you didn’t know to look for them. She took me into a church that appeared closed, but actually just had a hard-to-find entrance and, once inside, revealed a statue of Jesus sculpted by an up-and-comer named Michelangelo. And she delighted me and dozens of other tourists by depositing a Euro into an unassuming machine that brilliantly lit up three stunning Caravaggios tucked away in a darkened corner of another church.

It was fascinating, entertaining, and made me want to do more tours in the future. Non-paid advertisement: If you come to Rome, I highly recommend taking a tour with Tiffany. (She also graciously helped me plan my personal sightseeing by recommending which days to avoid for certain sites and gave me a much-needed kick in the pants when I was running out of time to get tickets to visit Borghese Gallery.)

Moment: Trevi Fountain

If you’re even peripherally familiar with Italian Cinema, then you most likely know Trevi Fountain from its appearance in Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, in which Anita Ekberg’s character wades through the fountain in a floor-length black gown in the middle of the night. It’s a gorgeous scene in a chaotic, gorgeous movie.

For that reason, I wanted to see the fountain for the first time at night. And, because the hotel where I was staying was so close to it, I often had to go out of my way to avoid it for three or four days. When I finally visited, it was overwhelming. Even though it was almost midnight when I arrived, it was completely and exhaustingly crowded. Like, anxiety-producingly so. I didn’t even try to get close. I found a place where I could step up and get a pretty nice view and then scampered out of there, hoping that I would find another time during my trip to do the traditional coin toss into the fountain…

Moment: Amici (Friends)

After spending a lot of time alone in the weeks before I arrived in Rome, it was so edifying to have the opportunity to see old friends and even meet some new ones.

On my last day in Rome, I got together with my dear friend Jenn (who I worked with at Apple) and we visited the Capitoline Museum before meeting up for lunch at Dal Bolognese with a small group of people including Jenn’s husband, a friend from college, and her family. We sat outside in the bright sunshine, while sharing platters of antipasti and Lambrusco, a sparkling red wine. And, I got to have my first cacio e pepe in Rome. **chef’s kiss**

Later that day, I went to see my friend Seth who now lives in Rome (we first met when we both lived in India in 2005, but hadn’t seen each other in more than 10 years). And, I got to ride in style to meet up with him…his husband Andrea picked me up on a Vespa and took me for a Roman Holiday-worthy tour of Italy before we all got together for aperitivo and dinner at La Campana, one of the oldest restaurants in Rome.

At the end of the night, Seth and I visited Trevi Fountain. Thankfully, this time around it was much less crowded and I was able to do the traditional coin-toss into the fountain in hopes of returning to Rome again. [Spoiler Alert: It worked. As I write this blog post, I’ve already been back twice since.]

Bonus Moment: Accidentally Day Drunk

Throughout Italy, I’ve been using a restaurant guide by a wonderful food writer named Elizabeth Minchilli. On the day I saw the Colosseum and Forum, I was walking towards Campo de Fiori and came upon one of the restaurants she recommends: Hosteria Costanza. As I was standing outside of it, reading the menu, I saw three handsome, well-dressed Italian men walk in and though, “Yeah. Sure. This place.”

The restaurant is built into the ruins of an ancient Roman amphitheater, so when you walk inside, it almost feels like you’re walking onto a movie set. At the front are giant cases of fresh fish and stacks of breads and pastries. I was sat at a small table in the corner and got to watch as groups of beautiful Italians dined and drank. There was a lot of laughter and the overall mood of the restaurant felt like a celebration.

I ordered an appetizer that Elizabeth recommended, which is essentially focaccia smeared with pate and mascarpone. What I didn’t realize is that it also came with an assortment of fried treats like zucchini flowers and cheese. When ordering, I asked my server if he recommended a wine that would go well with what I ordered and he said he did, but that it only came in a half-bottle. Certain that the single-glass wines were absolute garbage, I took his advice and ordered the half bottle. After the rich, hearty appetizer, I went for a simple piece of grilled fish and a delicious type of greens that I’ve only found in Rome so far called Cicoria, which is basically the chicory root (and, when dried and ground up, is found in chicory coffee in New Orleans!). And as a green, it’s spectacular. It was sautéed in butter, wine, and garlic and I wound up eating it like pasta, twirling it around my fork.

Needless to say, after such a decadent meal, I decided not to order dessert. But then my server, who I think gradually grew to like me over the course of the meal because of my stilted, awkward Italian, brought me a basket of fresh-baked Italian cookies and a glass of limoncello.

Here’s the thing about me and limoncello. I’ve only had it once, back when I was living in Louisiana. Quick back story: It was the end of a long, wonderful night of eating and drinking at Jeremy’s relatives’ house when his uncle put a record on and asked me if I wanted a glass of limoncello. But that record, dear reader, was Stevie Nicks’ solo debut masterpiece Bella Donna. I mean, how could I say no in that moment? So I accepted and drank the limoncello while twirling around the room, pretending to play an imaginary tambourine. It was a magical moment and, because of how special it was, I was waiting for the right opportunity to have my first limoncello in Italy.

So when limoncello arrived at my table because of gracious Italian hospitality, I figured that this was the moment I had been waiting for. The limoncello was ice cold, bright, and flavorful. And as I left the restaurant and stepped into the gloriously sunny afternoon, I realized that I was totally drunk. So I did the only responsible thing one can do in that moment: I put in my earbuds and listened to Bella Donna while I walked through the city.