Day 3: We wake up on the early side of New Year’s Day with a plan to see The Vatican. It turns out that we’ll miss the New Year’s Mass (which is fine by me, actually, since I’ve been a practicing heathen since I can remember), but we set out in that direction anyway, making a b-line towards Vatican City, which is technically its own country. It turns out they don’t stamp passports here, but we decide that would be a fantastic business opportunity should the winds change. I learnt some factoids this day: Vatican City is the smallest country on the planet, and its capital (essentially, St. Peter’s Basilica) is built upon an ancient Roman (read: Pagan) burial ground which contains St. Peter’s tomb and catacombs. VC even has a surrounding wall sporting grand archways and a passageway to secrete the Pope away (in the private sense) from any danger.*
On the way, we pass through the Piazza Navona and wonder at its magnificent fountains, the most impressive depicting the 4 Rivers (Nile, Ganges, Danube and Rio de la Plata, representing the 4 continents throughout which papal authority has spread) and boasting an Egyptian obelisk at its center. There is another fountain for Neptune, and yet another depicting il Moro, the Moor. Wandering the winding streets, with their ornate doorways, balconies and narrow cobbled alleyways, then bumping into weird and wonderful sights, away from the hordes of tourists, is what I’m liking best here thus far.
So it turns out that half the population of Rome, plus perhaps half the Catholics in Italy, also thought it was a good idea to try to see The Pope today. If the previous night’s throngs weren’t enough, they were all now out in broad daylight. The good news is that while maneuvering through the crowd to ask a guard what all the people were waiting for, we find out that The Pope is slated to do his New Year’s message of peace in just 20 minutes. Somehow, we then maneuver ourselves to the security line (it pays to have a co-wanderer that is a head taller than the crowd!) and into St. Peter’s square in time to see the Papal Rug unfurled and il Papa take his place at the window. While I’m not religious, nor do I understand Italian, I understand the word pace and think that this Pope is trying to guide the Church (albeit kicking and screaming) towards the 21st Century.
Audience with the Pope (erm, an audience with his audience anyway), check! Next stop: Pranzo. Reminded of the food hawkers in Jemaa el Fna, each restaurant here has a maître d’ out in the street, trying to woo customers. One is successful (l’Isola della Pizza) and we’re treated to some of the best roasted vegetables I’ve ever had, a very decent pizza al forno, and an outdoor table for quality people-watching. Nearly every restaurant or café here has outdoor seating and propane heaters to make a meal on a brisk afternoon both charming and much more comfortable.
A friend who lived here has given me recommendations for some of his favourites: food, gelato and tiramisu. It is the latter that we then go in search of (one benefit of traipsing across Rome and back by foot is that the exquisite food is somehow earned!). Another queue, but this one much shorter. Pompi is a chain of bakeries that touts itself as the best tiramisu in Rome. We concur, as we meander and devour our treats, we wander through the charming Piazza di Spagna, towards the Spanish Steps (still not visible) and through the Piazza Colonna, with its impressive monument to Marcus Aurelius, a column built in the 1st century, in a storybook style depicting the battles of the Macromannic Wars, not dissimilar to Trajan’s own colonna just down the street.
We’ve been wandering for hours and the sun begins to set, casting the buildings and statues around the piazza in a golden glow, setting fire to Victoria (Nike), as she rides the Quadriga atop the Altare della Patria.
We’d logged 20km this day, so we arrived back at the B&B both weary and starving. Thus, we were determined to find dinner close to home. What luck that we’re staying quite near a little square, somewhat removed from the din of the Forum and Colosseum, and we find a sweet-looking place nearby that looks bustling. Little did we know that Basil Fawlty had a long-lost twin who ended up in Rome and opened a pizzeria/restaurant 3 blocks from the Colosseum. The meal was decent (not the best nor the worst gnocchi I’d ever had), as was the wine. But it was the service to which I’d give 5 stars for its comedic value. It was like the Flying Karamazov Brothers met an Indian-Italian comedy troupe and decided to partner with Fawlty to open a restaurant. It went something like this:
Waiter 1: *leads us to a table
Waitress 1 (to Waiter 1), carrying food: Is this table 25?
Waiter 1: Sì.
Waitress 1: *goes to put the food down on our table, but realises we’ve just been seated and whirls away
Waiter 1: *vanishes, flustered.
Waiter 2: *arrives with menus and demands our order
C: un momento per favore. Una piccola caraffa di vino et l’acqua spumante
Waiter 2: Okay (English). *vanishes
Waiter 3: *arrives at the next table with a tray of food, offers it to us, then the next table over, realises it’s not for any of us and vanishes.
Waiter 1: *takes our order
Waitress 1: *brings one glass of wine
C (in English now): we ordered a small carafe of wine, please
Waitress: we only have it by the glass. *disappears
Waiter 2: *arrives with a bottle of water marked “still”
C (to any waiter who will listen): we ordered sparkling water. *we give the “still” water to the table next to ours, who open it to find it is, in fact, sparkling. They give it back.
Waitress: *appears as Waiter disappears, brings one glass of wine, which she then gives to the woman at the next table
Waiters 2, 3 and 4: *haphazardly shuttle food back and forth between the large table sitting next to us and other tables around the restaurant.
Other patrons: *confused and amused, watching the show
Waiter 1: *looks at our one glass of wine, then up at us. (At this point, I can’t help but envision Manuel the waiter)
C (straight-faced and I don’t know how at this point): can we have another glass of wine?
Waiter 7: *brings another glass of wine and a massive salad in a bowl with no serving utensils. We still have no forks or knives.
It continues somewhat like this until we have our meal. Placemats and silverware have also materialised. The large party next to us has finished and gets up to pay; one brave soul returns a moment later to look for a waiter who will give them their table number (this is apparently the only way to call up the bill on the electronic system). The waiters and waitress discuss table numbers amidst much pointing and looking over their shoulders. We finish and go to pay, only to find a small queue and a frenzied cashier trying to sort out which table got which food and which bill goes to whom. We do not know our table number. The cashier is going through every open bill with the couple in front of us. C and I exchange a look that confirms that we agree we’ve just eaten at Fawltius Torris. We track down one of the wait staff to determine our table number just in case.
C and I laugh as we walk off dinner, taking in the huge Christmas tree in front of the Typewriter, the structure looming as regally as it did when it was built: the center of most everything nearby, its spotlights illuminating the marble steps and statues that guard the tomb of the unknown soldier.
I fall asleep this first day of the New Year grateful for the experience of travel, grateful for the health and job and friendship and an acquired sense of adventure and wanderlust that make even small trips like this one possible. I giggle a little to myself as I replay the cartoon dinner we’ve just had.
Tomorrow we go back to The Vatican and try to get in.
*This article had me rolling (ROFL and my eyes) when I read it upon my return.