Troppo Caldo

On Tuesday I journeyed to Rome for the second time, but this time I was on my own. I took the train from Fara Sabina where I watched the countryside race past my window, as picturesque as the paintings in Piazza Navona. I arrived at the statione Travestere with the sun high in the sky and I proceeded to stumble blindly through the outskirts of Rome, hoping with every street I took that I would find myself on my creased and torn paper map. Eventually, after two hours of walking beneath the scorching sun, I was a tiny dot on a street at the very edge of my map-o what a relief! While in the throes of confusion, aimlessly wandering, I stopped in a supermarket to once again marvel at the rows of wine and the different foods. After so much walking I was quite famished so I chose a healthy snack of fanta and chocolate...o and a bottle of citrusy Limoncello. Being lost eventually had its rewards as I came upon a hidden part of Rome that I otherwise would have missed. I walked through Piazzele Aurelio which is a gorgeous cobblestoned square high above the city where I sat on a ledge overlooking all of Rome.The view was incredible-tiny buildings and spiraled roofs and mountains as far as the eye could see. I continued walking on the Passeggiata del Gianicolo, a beautiful tree covered street with a small park where I sat and hid from the sun-curled up on a bench with a book. I made it to the Vatican where I ate a tomato and mozzarello panini and shopped along crowded streets. If you know where you are going, you can find shops that dont rob you of all the coins in your pocket. Since Italy is known for its leather, I gave in and bought myself a coat and a cute blue change purse. I then bought little things for friends and family and was forced by the hot sun to buy a creamy dish of gelato. Once I returned to the Vatican, my feet were struggling to find their way-weighted down by the extra pounds added on by my delicious indulgences. I was approached by a smiling man wearing a grossly neon yellow hat-clearly marking him as a tour guide and when he suggested a ride on the bus, I gladly accepted the chance to rest my aching body. We conversed until the bus departed and he was impressed that I was working on a farm and swore that I must be spanish. His female co-worker then took it upon herseld act as (Andreo's) wing woman and inform me that he was a very good man. Before I left on the bus, he made sure to tell me that I had the most beautiful smile and waved fervently as I rode away. The bus was a welcome reprieve from the tiring walk and I listened as a British recording droned on about every building and Piazza we passed-endless detail about the foundations of the ancient city. I was dropped off in Travestere and left to find my way back to the station. I somehow found the tram and managed to read the sign which listed Stazione Travestere as one of its stops. The only problem is that the stops are not clearly marked so I ended up riding the tram to the last stop-and I was back where I started (far from my destination). Going solo to a foreign country is an important experience in my opinion because it forces you to rely on people, to talk to them and leave your pride behind and admit that you cant do everything on your own. After asking for help I somehow managed to find my way back to the station where I boarded the train home with the help of a delightfully adorable old man. He was all smiles and more than happy to help me find the right train (even though he didnt speak a lick of english). But with every good person you meet, you always meet a bad when. Alas, on the train, so crowded I was touching someone different on all sides, I was face to face with a rather creepy man who wouldnt stop staring at me, even when I stared right back. Dont you just hate that?
At home, Sandro and I drank Limoncello and many cups of wine while exchanging our favorite songs and laughing at our difficulty with conversation. Yesterday I continued to work in the field, picking the weeds which infringed upon the zucchinis and onions sun and water. Sandro joined me and whisked a chair from the vegetables, as if willing it into existence. We sat in the middle of the field, day turning to dusk, rolling cigarettes with flower stem filters. I couldnt help but laught at the beauty of the situation. We sat in silence breathing in the country air, the waning summer heat and the forbidden chemicals (which I rarely, rarely smoke mother). For lunch we stopped at a small terraced resturaunt where we ate spahghetti marina and a tradtitional Roman dish (chicken with roasted peppers)...very delicious! In Italy, contrary to our belief, no one uses spoons to twirl their sphaghetti and I was I succumbed to habit, Sandro warned me that the spoon would surely invite war to our table.
For dinner we feasted on a ricotta pasta with goat cheese and herbs, fresh bread and wine, and like most nights we drank more than was necessary for our balance, but just the right amount to sate our thirst. At almost every meal I am full halfway through my plate but I am incapable of stopping because wasting food this good is surely a sin. The red wine was candy to my lips and it glowed like liquid fire in the moonlight. We ate under the stars and the inky black sky. After dinner, Sandro, Matteo and I drank Limoncello and vinegary wine while Matteo gave me a foot massage.
Today in the afternoon, the five of us went to the creek high up in the mountains where we refreshed ourselves in the ice cold water. It was beautiful-more like a jungle or the everglades than the Italian countryside. Lino and Massimo swam butt naked and cruised around in a blow up boat. I swam in the water and was then given on a ride on the boat, pulled by Matteo against the lazy current. No one wears sunblock here so my skin is slowly turning a golden brown from the relentless sun-disguising me as a local Italian.
For breakfast we went to the bar where I ate a croissant that tasted faintly of lemons and drank cafe con latte. For lunch I was treated to a delicious pesce dish-spahgetti with lots of oil and garlic and clams and mussels on the side which tasted of the sea. Words to the wise-do not come to Italy if you have an adversion to pasta, oil or wine. You have been warned.

Arrivederci,
Bella

Ps-Italians really do use their hands for everything. To signal eating, good food, anger, love...anything that can be described with words is accompanied by hand gestures.