Gone are the days of being able to sleep on red-eye flights. Whether cross-country or cross-Atlantic, Ryan and I have done several together—and each time involves the same cycle from book to magazine to in-flight movie to Spotify, and back to book again. We'd glance at each other, confirm neither was asleep, and move sluggishly on. While Ryan was revisiting the newest Star Trek, I was powering through the first half of The Time Traveler's Wife. We paused at around 2 AM (Italy time) to stuff our faces in our new travel pillows (yes, we even invested in pillows for this), poked each other at around 3 AM to see if they were doing their job (they weren't), and kept on reading/watching/bemoaning our promised jet lag.
Our neighborhood, Trastevere.
But we arrived safely in Fiumicino at 10:20 AM, already on the verge of passing out. We spent 30 minutes in the non-EU visa line only to watch a bearded dude stamp our passports without even looking up, all the while calling each woman entered on his phone in alphabetical order. (From what we saw, no one picked up.) Yay, border control.
Our hotel is a boutique bed and breakfast off the Tiber River just on the other side of Ponte Sisto from downtown Rome. In other words, it's nestled in the northern heart of Trastevere, Rome's hip neighborhood of youths and lifelong Romans. The streets are narrow and winding, laundry hangs out to dry over the alleys, and most homes are covered in ivy, bougainvillea, or gardenias.
We dropped off our bags, tried to look somewhat presentable with eyes that were cartoonishly bloodshot, and headed out again. Ryan had already planned lunch in a shop that he knew would speak to the depths of my cured pork-loving soul: La Prosciutteria, a 1925 butcher's shop with salt-drenched pig parts still dangling overhead. We ordered a charcuterie board on a block of wood almost as long as my leg: There was every type of pork imaginable, alongside fruits (both fresh and dried), jams, cheeses, and home-baked breads with spreads as varied as hummus and lentils.
The rest of the day was a blur, so we'll share those jet-lagged memories via photo galleries instead. We visited most of Rome's famous plazas (piazzas), which have served as gathering places for centuries—Farnese, Navona, Capranica, di Montecitorio, Colonna. Our taxi driver into the city (who, it's worth mentioning, drove a Mercedes so fancy that Ryan kept circling it and muttering in fascination to himself) was appalled that we'd want to visit Campo de Fiori on a Monday—he mimed drinking, threw the imaginary bottle of alcohol out the window, and pointed at the large "Monday" on his display (i.e., no one would be drinking in public, so what was the point). Even so, we paid the famous outdoor market a visit, wound between the vendors, and tried not to look like tourists.
Side note: Watching Ryan try not to look like a tourist is like watching Hagrid pretend he's not at least half-giant. The poor dude stands head and shoulders above everyone around him. Even with a near-perfect Italian accent, people can immediately assume he's (at the very least) Scandinavian, as they stare up at him and ask what language menu he'd like.
We visited the Pantheon, a previously Pagan temple renowned for the largest "perfect" dome in existence, and took a few side streets to Sant'Eustachio Caffé, which Ryan claimed had the best espresso in town. In Phoenix, it's easy to pick out who has the best espresso in a metropolitan area of 4.5 million because it's Phoenix. In Rome, those are fighting words. But sure enough, I have no problem admitting that San'tEustachio served the best cappuccino I've had in my life, which made the cramped space and hectic line worth every bit of sweat.
Ryan has spent more than two months in Rome in previous years while performing with an opera festival, so it goes without saying that he knows Rome well...even 10 years after his last visit. From Sant'Eustachio, he took me to a few small, picturesque churches in the area, and then on to Sant Ivo a la Sapienza, the courtyard-bearing church where he performed both summers with the opera festival. Even in my 30-minutes-of-sleep-induced stupor, I recognized just how beautiful an area it was. (A photo is in the gallery above.)
Ready to set off for street exploring. We didn't mean to choose all-black outfits...
We stopped by Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps, balked at the pre-Memorial Day weekend crowds, and vowed to revisit a future night. Dinner comprised my first ever carbonara experience at Ombre Rosse, just around the corner from our hotel in Trastevere; we sat outside (our new favorite thing to do every evening to secure prime people-watching activities), sipped on local chianti, and looked out at the cobbled streets full of people.
Our last stop for the day was Rivendita Libri Cioccolata e Vino, which (10 years ago) used to be a wine-and-chocolate bookshop in Trastevere. In 2017, however, it's turned into a liquor bar that serves shots in little edible chocolate cups, which you have to swallow whole at the bar (and for some, the bartender wouldn't let us use our hands). Not exactly the restful bookshop experience we'd been looking for, but it was a fun last stop before we passed out for a solid 9 hours.
Our sincere thanks to:
- Mark for sending us all the way across the Atlantic (and back)
- Bobby, Linda, Patricia, and Michael for sponsoring our sightseeing throughout the day
- Josh, Kiersten, Bobby, and Linda for feeding us (yay, prosciutto and pasta!), not to mention fueling our caffeine addiction
- Cute Molly for sponsoring a place to crash at the end of a very long day