Sprinter's Eye View Stories and Observations

After I sent out that email to all my folks, I realized I left out some of the neat details I wanted to mention! Here they are....

In the porticoes of many of the older churches in Rome, early Christian fragments adorn the walls. On one such fragment were the following words: ATIDIEA AMANDA
Any idea what that means?

Most of the streets in the historic center are paved with arcs or hatches of uneven black tuffetti, one of the ancient building stones of Rome. These are known as sanpietrosini or little St. Peters, for some reason, and massage your feet as you walk along.

Yes, the air is bad. When Italians are not polluting with their motorinos and cars, they're smoking. Even old men know how to ask for a cigarette in English.

Last Saturday night I planned to go to a concert of Beethoven on the piazza in front of the capital, but in true Italian style, it was simply cancelled with no explanations. My friend and I walked over to the Circus Maximus (think Ben Hur), which was the site of one of the Live 8 concerts in support of Africa. The music was ridiculous - an Italian rapper!? - but it was quite a sight to see the ancient arena filled up with what must have been a million people, flanked by the palatine.

A waitress in New York summed it up nicely once: you don't want to touch them and they don't want to touch you. Here, strangers will grab your arm to pull you onto the tram, standing close together is not just for the bus, and physical affection runs rampant. School boys as well as girls hold hands, women of a certain age walk arm in arm, the two-cheeked kiss goes for men as well as women, and it's not uncommon to see a guy lean a hand on his pal's shoulder.

I noticed one church with removable cushions on the kneelers, in case you'd like to feel more penitent.

This is truly the land of fabulous shoes. Otherwise, Italian style might be summed up as... neo-super-hyper-frilly-Baroque. Italian ladies are glitzed and glimmered to the hilt, showing skin and flashing sparkly jewels. The other night I saw a mother in a tight white outfit in front of me chasing after her kid, and I got a good view of her large sequined belt. And lace thong.

At the church of St. Agostino (whose Renaissance marble facade was pilfered from the Colosseum), a little old man with misty eyes greeted me and offered a pamphlet on the church's highlights. He groaned with delight and kissed my hand when I told him I was studying Italian, and spouted stories about the masterworks in the church. Then he held my hand and looked me straight in the eyes and said, "And today, this morning, there is a new piece of art in the church." Me!

Fun with language: When I think about conversations I had in Italian a few weeks ago, I remember them in German. When I remember my time in Germany, everyone is speaking Italian.

I'm not sure if this story will work without visuals, but here goes: Before a chorus rehearsal a friend and I stopped at a kebab place for a bite to eat. Mohammad, behind the counter, took an immediate liking to my face, and gave me a sweet pastry wrapped in a paper napkin. I tossed it into my purse and ran to rehearsal. Afterwards, a fun kind of guy in the baritone section offered me a ride home on his motor bike. It's quicker than the bus, so I accepted. I also accepted a galss of wine at a sweet local joint. And then we went off to another bar. I remembered the dessert, and offered it to him as we were walking. As I would later discover, he takes to food like a cobra swallowing a dog. When we got to the bar I slipped off to the bathroom, which, as is often the case, was not furnished with toilet paper. When I reappeared, he held out a napkin in his hands and asked, "Do you want to finish?" For what seemed like a very long moment, I thought that perhaps he knew what the toilet paper situation was, and was suggesting I return to the bathroom! I realized there was still some dessert left in that napkin, but by that time I had lost appetite for it.
Postlude: Last week, I was hungry and had just enough time to stop by Mohammed's before rehearsal. "28 days," he said, "it's been 28 days since you last came to see me." The kebab was on the house...