I started language school on Monday, so I haven’t had a lot of time to write. Something I need to readjust for so this doesn’t become another failed hobby. I did record my daily happenings in my journal, so I will relay the highlights to you now:

Monday:

Coffee at Antico Caffe, around the corner from my apartment. They remember my order now and upon walking in they say, “Americano, sí?”. The kid who brings drinks and clears tables, maybe 19 years old, asked me if the book I was carrying was the same one I’ve been reading for the last two weeks. I told him it was, but that I only read it for the half hour I spent drinking my coffee on the sidewalk outside the cafe.

I fussed over my outfit before our first class at 3:30 pm. I couldn’t decide how I wanted to be perceived on the first day of school; as my rock-and-roll Oakland self, as my Italian-wanna-be self with quaffed hair, as relaxed and interesting, or responsible and well-dressed. Because I brought only one suitcase of clothes upon moving to Rome, I went with what I always go with: a young-looking collared shirt, black jeans, no hat, trainers. Put together, causal, practical, busy. A look that said, “Hey! I used to party and be in a band but now those days are behind me, but not too far behind me! I can still hang, I’m still young, but I’m subtly sophisticated too!”. A look that meant nothing to anyone but me. Utter nonsense.

Class was fine. A reminder of how hard it is to stay awake when you’re trapped in an uncomfortable seat in a stuffy room. After class, Nik and I loitered outside the school in the piazza, waiting to make friends. As people trickled out, we magnetized to each other, eventually forming a quorum and making small talk until someone was bold enough to suggest a drink.

Rita, Anna, Nik, Allison, and I. The five of us walked 30 feet to the nearest outdoor bar and got a table. We sat there for two hours, empty beer and spritz glasses filling the table, explaining our lives to each other.

At 9 pm, the group disbanded and Nik and I went to Ai Marmi, a restaurant that specializes in impossibly thin pizzas. Nik got bean and sausage stew and I got pizza with sausage on it.

Tuesday

Up and out of the house by 10:30 am. To the coffee shop to read for 30 minutes. The Nonna / Singora I see often was there. She has a wheelchair that she either pushes herself or is pushed in. When she arrives she is deposited at one of the tables outside the cafe. She is in no rush, and eventually, without prompting, a macchiato is brought out to her. There are only 2 tables in the shade and they are coveted. If neither of the shaded tables are available, she is seemingly content to sit in the sun, her dark, leathery skin becoming even more leathery.

Homework with Nik on the terrace. It took us about 90 minutes and it was really helpful to have another person to do it with. Another person to say the words out loud with and perform for.

Then off to class for the second day. I said “ciao” to those I now considered old friends, despite only having known them from drinks the night before. I understood why children create bonds so quickly. Being in a foreign place together, all there with a limited ability to communicate orally, nervous and excited, we glom onto one another for stability and safety.

After class, the entire group went out for drinks at an Irish pub a few blocks away from school. It was raining lightly and as I pranced around puddles and made small efforts not to get wet, the Dutch woman walking next to me asked in her strong accent: “Are you made of sugar?”.

An hour into drinks Nik and I left to attend an expat meetup which we had already bought tickets for. It would have been more fun to stay at the bar with our classmates but we didn’t feel like we could bail on the meetup to which we had RSVPed.

The meetup was a complete bust. The restaurant had reserved an outdoor area, essentially a portion of the sidewalk, for all of us to mingle on. There weren’t enough chairs and the food was sparse. It was a Mexican restaurant and I was excited to use it as an excuse to eat Mexican food in Italy, something I would have found blasphemous if it weren’t forced upon me.

Once again! After the meetup, we went to Ai Marmi. We took some friends we met at the meetup with us and the 5 of us made the 20-minute walk to the pizza restaurant. Maybe it was 10 pm and we spent a pleasant hour eating and talking. While leaving, our server made fun of me in Italian for constantly referring to Nik as “mia moglie”, meaning my wife. From what I could understand of his rant he took issue with how many times I mentioned that Nikki was my wife. It’s one of the few words I know in Italian and I don’t really remember saying it that much.

I think the main issue is that he had tried to flirt with Nik the week before and probably thought I was driving the point home that she was MY wife and not available to flirt with him. He wasn’t that good-natured about ribbing me but I took it in stride and smiled and shrugged sheepishly while he spoke to me. At least his ribbing wasn’t in English, which was appreciated.

Wednesday:

Hump day with my new routine rutted: coffee shop, homework, walk to class, espresso at the break, then a gathering in the piazza after class. Nik and I had promised each other that we were going to skip whatever bar our classmates were headed to after class and instead retire for a “healthier” night at home. Class ended and our fellow students and Nikki and I gathered in the piazza. Nik raised her eyebrows to me as everyone was making plans around us, silently asking me, “Should we go out for just one?”. I agreed, and as a group we began to migrate towards our neighborhood to find a bar.

On the way, Nik and I parleyed and decided to invite everyone to our terrace for that one drink. We suggested it and everyone was on board. The night was off and running now. On the way we broke out into little groups, each of us responsible for something; chips, beer, wine and upon arriving at our apartment our terrace exploded with “ooo”s and “ahh”s at the beauty of our view and charm of our apartment.

The corks on wine bottles popped and chit-chat ensued as the sun set over the rooftops of Trastevere. The street below us wound up and the mood on the terrace was jovial. Come 9 pm, Anna and I went out and picked up pizza for everyone. We got a smorgasbord of different types and came back to the apartment where I whipped up a salad and everyone dug in. I lit the outdoor fireplace as the night crept over us. The last of our guests left at midnight as the embers of the fire smouldered out.

Thursday

No class as it was a holiday, Italian Labor Day. Slightly hungover from the night before, we had an easy morning. I still went to the coffee shop, and when we got home we tepidly tried doing homework.

In the evening we were invited to a private wine event in Monti by Shom. Nik and I walked the 40 minutes to the event. Around 8 pm we left the event and headed for dinner. Our server was a young guy who stared stopped and stared at us every time we ordered. He was trying to be funny but it came off as bizarre. We would say something and he would sigh and just look at us like he was out of patience. It made dinner unpleasant. However, at the end of the meal he asked if we wanted to take a shot with him to celebrate labor day. We obliged and he poured all of us, himself and his coworker a shot. On the way out of the restaurant he patted me on the back and said bye to us. He pretty much redeemed the dinner in the last 5 minutes.

While walking home arm and arm, Nikki and I came across a woman laying on her back in the in the middle of the street, a pool of blood the size of a place mat around her head. There was a small crowd including two armed military police. Nikki went offered to help and upon finding the woman semilucid and speaking English, Nik took over her care until the ambulance arrived. The woman, who’s name was Genie and about my mom’s age, was in Rome with her sister. She did not understand what had happened but was able to move all her limbs and her neck. After Nikki reoriented her she started to rub her face and hair, steering blood all over herself without realizing. It made for a grizzly scene and Nikki instructed her to lie still. The ambulance took about 30 minutes to arrive due to a large concert that evening that was happening else where in town and Nikki sat by Genie’s side the whole time and held her hand.

The womans sister was very drunk and very scared. She sat on the curb 20 feet away with three young Italian men who were trying to reassure her that everything would be fine.

The ambulance finally arrived and after the paramedics wrapped Geine’s head and drove off with she and her sister, all of us who had stayed to help congratulated each other and were giddy with adrenaline. Had it not been so late we would have all probably continued to hang out, shaking our heads at what had happened and reexplaining the evening to one another. Nik and I walked the rest of the way home and had a hard time falling asleep. I thought about Genie and hoped she was going to be OK and that she would be able to continue her vacation with her sister.

Nik told me that if you don’t listen to your body and take care of it, eventually your body will just make you rest. In this case Genie had flown to Rome and spent all day drinking in the sun only to collapse on the way home and hit her head.

Friday

Headed to the coffee shop at my usual time. The tables in the shade were taken, one of them occupied by the Signora I see there almost every day. She had just sat down and I asked her if I could share the table with her. She agreed; “certo!” meaning “sure”. “Come ti chiami?” I asked. She responded: “Isabella”. “Mi piacere” I responded. I went in to order my coffee and asked if she wanted anything. “Un macchiato”. “Va bene,” I responded. I brought our drinks out, and she pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. Her voice like gravel, she offered me one.

Most people smoke in Italy. A lot of people have traded their cigarettes for vapes but I prefer the smokers. As I’ve mentioned before, I like the smell of second-hand smoke, and thank god I do. I smoked throughout my early 20s, and it’s all I can do to resist picking it back up again while living here. The ritual and reserved moment of peace it provides is tempting. I have told myself (and believe myself when I say it) that returning to smoking is a bridge I will not cross. I have too many unhealthy vices, and I just can’t add smoking to the mix.

So I resisted. I thanked her and eyed her as she lit her cigarette, waiting for the smell to waft over before returning to my book.

School in the afternoon. Nik and I finally resisted going out after class and headed home for a night in. I cooked chicken that we had picked up at the open-air market the previous Sunday, and though we ate it, it was definitely spoiled. I cooked all four pieces we had purchased, but threw two of them away after we were finished.

Another hour of “The best of youth” and then bedtime.

More later…