Italians love to talk and they love to talk loudly. As they stroll along a busy, gridlocked footpath, deep in animated, musical discourse, dramatic gestures punctuate each of their thoughts. Then they pause, stopped still in their tracks, the crescendo to their conversation fast approaching, completely unaware of the three Australians about to ram them from behind.
Fortunately Chris, Sam and I have become gifted in the sport of dodging and weaving. Romans on foot never seem to be in a hurry or, if they are, they keep it extremely well hidden. Whereas the Sheedy/Bonds, even in holiday-mode, find the pace of the average Italian frustratingly slow. We artfully side-step tourists and locals and skilfully run the gauntlet of North Africans spruiking umbrellas, pashminas, bubble pistols and a seemingly inexhaustible inventory of indefinable toys.
At times, as we walk, the noise from the crowds and the traffic combined make it impossible to hear each other talk. Sam’s constant narrative and questions dissipate before they reach our ears. He has taken to carrying a super-hero action figure when we go out, someone on his own level who is more likely to hear him.
The streets are as crowded as the sidewalks and crossing the road is a leap of faith. We have become adept at stepping out into the oncoming traffic. This is what separates us from the average curb-hugging tourist. When we come to the occasional crossing with lights and are given safe passage by a benevolent green man, cars, buses, Vespas and trucks still rocket by either side of us, ignoring their own red light.
Chris and I have pondered why this might be so. “Perhaps at peak hour traffic is allowed to ignore the red signal,” I venture. But there is no logic. There are no rules. This is Rome. We return to our apartment each evening feeling exhilarated but exhausted and lock the door on the crazy world outside.
My husband has taken to wearing earplugs to bed, especially on Friday and Saturday nights (those who know me well will be acquainted with the fact that I have been wearing earplugs since 1994, the year Chris and I began cohabitating). The Campo dei Fiori area (where our apartment lies) is the equivalent of Norton Street in Leichhardt or Oxford Street in Paddington. It is noisy at most times, but on nights when people party, the din makes Chris’s snoring pale into insignificance.
As I lay in bed early yesterday morning, awakened by the hoards heading home after an evening in the Campo, I wasn’t cross at being rendered wide-eyed. Everyone sounded happy, there was laughter and singing. I actually found the melody of the chatter soothing – more relaxing than a 747 coming into land over the Inner West or a tricked-up Lancer roaring down the Monaro Highway.
Having written all that, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is just one of the reasons why Chris and I keep coming back to Rome – for the difference.
However, when we do long to escape from the madness, we have discovered some serene places of respite.
1. The Botanical Gardens lie in Trastevere, at the foot of the Gianicolo – one of Rome’s seven hills. While not the largest or most picturesque of gardens I have visited, they are peaceful and green. There are many meandering, shadowy paths and hidden nooks that Sam enjoys exploring.
Sam, Mummy and ducks in Rome’s Botanical Gardens
2. The Via dei Fori Imperiali is closed to traffic on Sunday. Stretching between Piazza Venezia and the Colosseum, this is one of Rome’s most significant thoroughfares and was built by Mussolini. In order to lay this grand boulevard in honour of himself, the dictator paved over much of Rome’s ancient past. As a consequence, the road is despised by Romans today who would like to see it destroyed and the long-buried ruins brought to light. As removing one of the capital’s major arterials would cause even more traffic chaos, the people are appeased by the token gesture of opening the road to pedestrians on Sunday.
Sam jogs on the Via dei Fori Imperiali towards the Colosseum, in the distance
3. Churches are a wonderful sanctuary. We have no religious urges but Sam knows he must be quiet and is happy to sit in between us and look at and softly comment on the statues, mosaics and beautiful ceiling and windows. He always lights a candle, but he assumes it is like a birthday candle. While he doesn’t blow it out, he does make a wish – his last two wishes were for: 1) Chick’s truck (from the movie Cars); and 2) a dog. My favourite church is the Santa Maria in Trastevere.
Inside Santa Maria in Trastevere
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