During the week of Thanksgiving, folks back home were having their Festa del Ringraziamento. Back here in Rome, we were having our own festival, an international party of foods from our home countries.
The international festival at school was a party to which we are all asked to share typical dishes from our own countries. Last time, you may recall, I labored mightily over that assignment. Because other than Big Mac, coke and fries, I was hard pressed to come up with an American dish. After all, we are a country of immigrants.
The first month, I brought guacamole and chips. It was challenging to find the ingredients, especially the tortilla chips and the cilantro for the dip, but it was a crowd pleaser. This time, I decided to go simple and bring peanut butter and banana sandwiches–panini con i banana e il burro d’arachidi.
You would have thought that I brought worm and cod liver oil sandwiches, the way others reacted. It was a cultural aversion that eluded me. I figured if they were good enough for Elvis, they were good enough for us!
Suffice it to say, my American entry wasn’t exactly appreciated. It became clear that the other Americans at school had difficulty choosing a typical dish, because from the four U.S. students–besides my P.B. & banana sandwiches–there were three dishes made from potatoes.
I was visited by a New York friend who did a great job of giving me a sense of life in Manhattan right now. Together, we did the sights, like going to the Trevi Fountain, the “three coins in-a-fountain” fountain, where she tossed in her coin.
One night we decided to go for elegance and have coffee and dessert at the Hassler Hotel on top of the Spanish Steps. It was like having tea at the Plaza in New York. However, I passed on the gelato which, at forty thousand lire, was more than ten times the usual cost of that delicious ice cream. After paying six bucks for a cappucino that generally costs one dollar in Rome, I figured it was probably okay for me to steal a pen.
I could no longer deny it. I was going home. Though looking forward to returning to New York, I didn’t want to leave Rome. It was hard to believe that the three months were almost over.
I completed my language studies in my last week with some private lessons. And, said goodbye to my new friends and my adopted city of Rome, closing that chapter of my life.
Change is wilderness.
UN PO P.O.V.
Folks in Rome simply do not use clothes dryers. It is part of their aversion to too many electrical appliances, I guess.
But, it is getting cold in Italy right now and it isn’t as easy to accomplish this household task.
I have written before about washing and drying my clothes in Rome. Basically, I pay my padrona a casa and she does my clothes. Generally, that has meant washing them in the lavatrice, then hanging them outside to dry.
That was fine when it was warm, but now it is getting cold. That has required some variation on that theme.
The other day, I needed some clean clothes for a weekend excursion, but forgot to take into account the time needed to dry clothes when it’s frigid. My pants were hanging outside, in the wind, solid as a rock, almost icy. While inside, I discovered this pole in the shower. Suffice it to say, most of my clothes were still wet when I left for my trip. I ended up hiking through the woods in slacks and my cashmere coat.
I heard on the BBC this morning that Shanghai is banning the practice of hanging clothes out to dry. Apparently the officials there think that it is not the image that they want to project of an edgy, modern city. Ha! One of the things that delights me about Rome is how they have managed to merge the old and the new. If it worked molti anni ago, well then it is good enough for the Romans.
My God, I am going to miss this city.
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