Have you ever noticed how when you are walking down the street at night, mostly alone, you will invariably be followed by somebody slightly faster than yourself? Unfailingly they gain on you while you wait, in a cold sweat, for them to grab you from behind and demand your wallet. And, of course, they don't pass you because they are only walking -slightly- faster than you, so for them it would take an uncomfortably long time to pass. This only adds to your anxiety, and as you glance over your shoulder with mounting trepidation, you slow down imperceptibly in the hopes of letting them by you. At first they don't notice that you have slowed, until they see they are within 3 feet of you. They they assume they must have unknowingly accelerated, so they slow down too. And all that is going through your mind at this juncture is that they can only be waiting for a nice dark spot in which to mug you. You contemplate a hare-like sprint for safety, but then decide that is silly, and stop in a street light and quarter-turn to them so you can be ready for anything. They stop, look at you funny, and walk on. So it goes.
To address the topic implied by the title of this blog, I did just get back from Rome. Lina and I went together and had a really nice week. We flew with RyanAir, a British discount flight service, which thankfully got us there in one piece, and even thoughtfully delivered our luggage to the same airport. Flying with them really isn't so bad--it got us there and back for 100 euro less than it would have cost with on other planes, and in half the time it would have taken on the train (including travel time to and from airports, and waiting time at the gate). At the same rate, however, they should really consider branding themselves with the slogan "If you paid any more to fly with us you'd never fly with us again!", or perhaps something comforting along the lines of "Discount flights at prices you won't believe can defy gravity!*" (*usually...).
We stayed at a rather pleasant hostel, in the way that hostels can be pleasant, which is to say not at all. Really it wasn't bad. We had a private room and a bathroom shared dorm-style with three other private rooms. They included breakfast and dinner in the price. All in all it was quite nice, even if the window could not be opened to let in some fresh air and the heat was jammed on high.
Rome itself is huge, which I guess is why people say, "Rome wasn't seen in a day," or something like that. We went to the Fontana di Trevi, the Colosseum, the Forum, the Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel, and saw a lot of other attractions. The best part of the trip though was just getting a chance to hang out and relax. Coffee in Italy is all it's cracked up to be, and they have a delightful take on hot chocolate that is thick and creamy and is what you would expect if you took a high quality dark chocolate bar and melted it into a glass. And the food... well... it warrants a paragraph unto itself.
I actually went the whole week without having a pizza because I am of the firm belief that pizza is a uniquely American phenomenon, even if it was developed by an Italian-American. The pizza that Rome now serves is an adaption of our pizza, which was indeed an adaption of a sauceless cheese bread with toppings that was once served in Italy and has now apparently died out. To my great relish I stuck with pastas. And they did not disappoint. Nor did the table wine at the restaurants. A liter of red or white for 6 euro? Sign me up for one of each, please. And on the by, I discovered a simply amazing appetizer. Please make sure you are sitting when you read this. Honeydew melon topped with prosciutto parma ham. It is wonderful. Please, reserve judgement on this one until you have actually tried it. You will not regret this experience. [Edit: Prof. Court of UW-Madison fame informed me of the following, and I quote:
"Mr. Schultz: I really must protest! Pizza is not American. I won't belabor the point, but it is Neapolitan. American pizza, in fact, was originally made by Neapolitans who settled on the eastern seaboard who sold it in the streets from baskets perched atop their heads to workers who could not go home for the mid-day meal (hence the contemporaneous evolution of the hoagie, sub, grinder etc.). Pizzerie started when the kitchens that developed to serve the ambulatori trade evolved into restaurants. By the time either happened the Pizzeria Port' Alba had been open for more than fifty years! Port' Alba opened its doors before mass immigration from southern Italy, c1830, long, long before pizza was ever tasted on these shores. My advisor Carlo Poni was from Ferrara, arriving in New York in 1938 and he at pizza for the first time and loved it. He too was convinced that Pizza was American even after pizza arrived in northern Italy in the late 1950s. He did not know that pizza was not American until he traveled to Naples in the mid 60s and was shocked to know that by then modern pizza was 130 years old.
Ah, Prosciutto e Melone!!!! One of the only sweet and salty things that Italians eat anymore. Been eaten for four centuries at least; certainly not a gourmet novelty."
Thanks Prof. Court for your correction!]
And on the last day, while we were waiting for the bus to the airport, we broke down and ordered a pizza. Not what we expected, but that is our fault for deviating from the beaten path. We ordered a pizza caprese (which as you know, means fresh mozzarella, basil, tomatoes, and olive oil). This was served as a baked pizza crust with the above ingredients served fresh and cold as toppings. Actually rather good, if a little gloopy and wonky.
Anyway, I have not gotten motivated to upload photos, but when I do I will post a link to the facebook album here so you can see them all.
Got to go--my spaghetti is boiling over. Oh Rome.
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