My return to Rome on January 4 2006 marked exactly one year (give or take a few trips outside the country) in Italy. After suffering through a wicked bout of jet lag I got my ass out of bed to get on a train with my friend Katherine. I hadn’t slept since 3:30 that morning but I managed to get myself to Termini at 8:00 a.m. to buy tickets and get breakfast. I waited for Katherine in our usual spot: McDonald’s. Yes, Americans die hard; but what can I say, it’s right in front of the departures schedule board. Convenience. I stood there looking around at all the people that were there so early on a Saturday morning, noticing the changes that had taken over since the last time I had been there. New advertisements, maybe a little less graffiti (graffiti probably has an Italian derivative), and the giant McDonald’s that stood before me. It no longer sported the giant obnoxious sign on its exterior ‘AMERICAN BREAKFAST’ as if calling to every Anglophone that passed through the station like a mother calls her children to the dinner table. No, McDonald’s had actually become, dare I say more tasteful since my last train trip, how ever long ago it had been. Katherine and I got our tickets and decided an Egg McMuffin was in order, since we had woken up so early, of course. Not only had MickyD’s exterior become more classy but it’s interior had as well: the white and brown color scheme along with ultra modern tables and chairs made us wonder if we hadn’t actually stepped into Ikea headquarters or a restaurant in Tokyo. In any case, snaps to Rome and McDo (as the Italians call it) for shaping up a little bit. Now if they could just get the menu on the same level.
Since Katherine and I seem to both be a part of the ‘do everything at the last minute’ generation, we were forced into buying first class tickets to Ravenna. Tough. The train ride was uneventful except for the typical European fascination with Asians. I admire Katherine for not ripping people’s heads off for their ignorance. It must be quite a site to witness a blonde girl speak Italian but a Chinese girl? Wow. Worthy of a double-take at least. When we finally made peace with the staring, middle-aged couple sitting next to us, the ride slipped into silence and the sun rose over central Italy’s rolling hills.
In Ferrara we had six minutes to change trains for our train to Ravenna. Six. Thank god Ferrara is a small town and thus does not require a large train station. Again we made a scene, the monstrously tall blonde girl and the Chinese girl running awkwardly through the train station with overnight bags in tow. We made it, laughing as we sat down in the nearly empty regional train. More stares. The train departed and the lonely country stations of Emilia-Romagna punctuated the hour and half ride to Ravenna.
I read in my outdated Let’s Go Italy that Ferrara was famous for its bikes, just as Rome is for its motorini, and Venice for its canals; we couldn’t have known that went for many other cities in Emilia- Romagna. Katherine confirmed that Parma and Modena were bike cities and when we got off the train in Ravenna, seeing a bike rental slash luggage storage establishment made me all the more excited. My bike hero, Cameron McClure, has stirred in me bike-envy that started in New York, grew in Berlin, and was heartily confirmed in Ravenna. Italians ride bikes. I’m staying here forever. Instead of hundreds of motorini lined up along the streets of Ravenna, there were orderly bike racks, and women in their fifties wearing fur coats, riding bikes with baskets full of the day’s grocery shopping. Magnificent.
But we didn’t come to Ravenna for the bikes or the ego boost one gets when cat-called on the street by fifteen year-old boys, we came for the mosaics that allegedly are the closest one can get to Byzantium in Europe. Mind you, from the pictures you may not believe such a statement but, remember that taking pictures in 95% of the historical sites is forbidden. So when you think mosaics, you think lots of gold and Turkish and Middle Eastern imagery, add Christianity in and you get incredible depictions of Bible scenes that come to life in a manner not possible in frescoes.
So, we saw the five sights on our list to see, took a few pictures that won't do the mosaics justice, ate a fantastic lunch in an empty restaurant, and just generally had a good time. Katherine will be missed. I don't have any other friends who enjoy exploring the less touristy treasures of Italy the way Katherine does, nor the differnt modes of living outside of Rome nor the absolute awe-inspiring art that this country is full of. At around six o'clock we made our way back to the train station and were on our way to Bologna to visit Katherine's old friend Donatella for dinner and a tour around the city.
If I could live anywhere in Italy besides Rome, it would be Bologna. It is completely different with it's northern sensibilities, accents, and architecture, but I find that it has the same sense of vitality that Rome has, something is always going on. The porticoes and arcades and medevil architecture is completely apart from the even older Roman architecture of Rome, yet there is a mystical, unknown fantastic history in Bologna that is equally inviting. We arrived in Bologna Centrale around 7:30 and agreed to meet Donatella and her friends around nine at a restaurant of their choosing. Katherine and I, being the punctual, anal americans that we are, arrived at nine and were seated a table to wait for the other women. Donatella, Elisabetta, and Elena arrived about twenty minutes later, introductions were made, and the wine began to flow.
The restaurant was decorated in the style of a italian mamma's country kitchen, complete with 1950's appliances, red checkered tableclothes, and other various parphernalia to make you feel as if you had stepped into your nonna's kitchen. The women were equally impressive. Having never met unmarried Italian women in their 30's before I was inspired and delighted to hear these women's stories. One was a lawyer, who lived in the newest highrise in town with her boyfriend, spoke very good English, and never finished my Italian sentences for me in conversation. The other two were architects, who had at one time worked in a firm together, but over time had each developed her own reputation and thus branched out on her own. Since I am slow to talk in big groups in general, I am even slower in another language. I got caught up listening to these women talking to Katherine, that I forgot to talk myself. At once everyone's eyes were on me, waiting for an answer to a question and when I finally spoke the three bolognese looked at me sttrangely. The lawyer said, 'You know, you sort of have a...roman accent.' I replied as if I had never heard this comment before, and thanked her for her kindeness, but said that there was still much for me to learn. The night went on, we drank more wine, told more outrageous stories, and I began to speak. I was getting more and more comfortable until I felt one of the architects staring at me. We all turned our attention to her and she began to giggle, 'I can't believe that accent!' she said between snorts. Everyone laughed, including me. The Northern-Bolognese accent is so different from the Roman accent, that one word can indicate your origins. The fact that I had anything other than American accent, was astounding to these women. The conversation kept on, and everytime I opened my mouth, she laughed. By the end of the dinner, out faces hurt we had laughed so much.
When we finally left the restaurant three hours after arriving, the architectural contingent carted us around the neighborhood showing Katherine and I the hidden canals of Bologna and five hundred year-old restored palazzos. Then we got into the car to see San Paolo on the hill, the highest point in the city, home to some of the richest families in Italy. It was an amazing night, and it definitely could not have turned out so well without Katherine or her friends. It was nothing less than magical- the wine and the idea of me being the youngest out of the group, learning things from these smart, successful women, made the night fantastic. Sitting in the back of the tiny car, winding down the hill and seeing all of Bologna down below us...there was only one thing missing- a squillo to loved one, a text message wishing he was there with me, or just someone waiting somewhere in the world to hear from me...yes the wine had definitely gotten the better of me.
The girls dropped us out our hotel around three in the morning and made us promise to meet them for brunch the next morning. We were exhausted. I was happy to be back, in Italy.
The next day was filled with churches, centuries old art and architecture, freezing cold air, brunch with Betta, and finally a train ride back to Rome. Betta took us to places we woud have not thought to go, for good food and coffee, architectural triumphs and Bolognese history. Bologna's World War II history is much more prominent than that of Rome. Tributes to the Italians who lost their lives in the war (on all sides), are all over the city, obvious reminders of the senseless damage war causes to the lives of men. Since Bologna is home to one of the oldest universities in the world, accademia oozes out of every crack and corner of the city. Young communists are pinning up propaganda all over the college neighborhoods of the city, and having fun with their friends at the same time. It was like Santa Barbara, only with a heart , a mind, a history, and cause (so I guess more like the best university towns in America where accademia is the dominant culture, and not materialism or debauchery for debauchery's sake) Finally, it came time to say goodbye to Betta. I wanted to thank her properly, in my native tongue, for spending the day with us, leading us straniere around the city, but instead in my broken Italian, it came out only half as good. I hope she understood.
Katherine and I made the long walk down Via della Independenza back toward the train station, sighing all the way. Katherine, because she'd be leaving Italy in a few weeks to start life yet again in New York, and I, because I had fallen in love with a city in less than 24 hours, and the romantic lives of her friends. Hopefully I'll go back again soon.
