Il dolce far niente – It is sweet doing nothing.
I think I’ve finally hit my Rome stride. It takes me a good solid week to shake off jet lag, and perhaps longer to fully embrace the rhythm of a new home. Three weeks in one place is still a vacation, but it’s long enough to start to forget what it’s like in the real world. The vacation becomes all-encompassing. We have to go grocery shopping, and learn the layout of our neighborhood: drug store, metro stop, place that sells underwear for babies (our baggy full of Jack’s undies fell out of Erica’s backpack somewhere over the Atlantic). Today I feel like I’ve found my rhythm here. The right time to go out for a long walk in the sun, when to have a siesta, when to have an afternoon cocktail, when baby should go to bed; these are all crucial discoveries if one wants to prevent burnout. Today I have it down! I no longer have to try hard to feel at home here.
We took the number 3 tram on its long circuit from Trastevere to the North end of Villa Borghese. When traveling with a toddler, there is no better or cheaper way to keep them entertained than a long slow ride on a train. For 1.5 Euros, we basically got an air-conditioned tour of the entire eastern side of Rome, including a nice view of the Colosseum and Circo Massimo. I’m thinking perhaps sometime this week I will just hop on a regional train out into the countryside with Jack, with no particular goal in mind except to see what we can see.
Our goal today however is to rent bikes at the Villa Borghese and cruise around town. We arrive at the expansive park at midday, and quickly locate the little stand selling four-wheel pedal carts to tourists. With Jack perched in the front basket, we pedal our way across the park at a leisurely pace, stopping to play in fountains and listen to the random street musicians playing accordion music in the sun. The breeze in my hair makes me feel like a ship captain. Jack calls out “ciao!” to passersby, human and animal alike.
After the ride, we scarf down various sandwiches from a nearby café: spinach, egg, meat & cheese, tuna. These little white bread sandwiches are ubiquitous around Rome, very cheap, and very satisfying. Also easy to find in this city is amazing coffee. I never drink my coffee black in the US, but here it is just so rich and flavorful. Some guidebooks say that it is “un-Roman” to drink coffee all day, but I say drink it at every possible opportunity. My favorite is just a shot of espresso, with or without sugar. But also try machiatto, café freddo, and even café doppio (double shot) if you want a flavor explosion. We eat and drink coffee until we can’t move, then like amorphous blobs floating through space, we somehow drift back to our Rome Home.
Nap time for baby, siesta time for adults. Here in Rome, Jack naps from 3:30 to 6:30, so by the time we venture out again it is much cooler and the locals are beginning to emerge from the caves they hide in during the hottest part of the day. By 8pm, the piazzas of Trastevere are packed with people, eating, drinking, strolling, living the Roman lifestyle. I love this time of day here. Taking Jack for an evening stroll through the crowd of revelers makes every night feel like a festival, and maybe it is here. Jack likes to wear sunglasses at night.
I recently encountered a Roman who told me that people in this city don’t know how to work hard. I can’t comment on whether that’s true, but it certainly does seem like nobody is in a rush to do anything. I could sit at a café for three hours with one glass of wine, and the waiter will never rush me out the door. As an American, so used to immediate gratification, so used to a culture that teaches all young people that hard work for its own sake is a virtue, I sometimes struggle to accept this slower pace. But really, what is the point of hard work for its own sake? The point of work is to accomplish a goal, not to achieve a sense of soul satisfaction simply from the act of working. Here people have jobs, but they certainly don’t seem to value industry above all else. Maybe I’m buying into a stereotype, but they don’t seem to care all that much about getting things done. Joy is derived from the act of hanging out with friends, laughing, eating, and taking it slow. It’s almost as if I need to unlearn how to be an American in order to fully appreciate this life.
Yesterday I saw a group men in their thirties sitting on a park bench in the middle of a work day. These were not bums, but well-dressed men of working age. There they sat, with nowhere to be, doing nothing, without a care in the world (as far as I could tell). I watched them for sometime as Jack played in a nearby playground. They weren’t eating lunch, just sitting and watching. At one point, one man stood and wordlessly walked over to a child’s bicycle leaning against a post. He looked at the bicycle quizzically for a moment, as if he had never encountered such a thing before. Then he rang the little bell twice, turned around to look silently at his friends, and returned to his seat, his curiosity satisfied.
What is that life? How do I bring that home with me? Now granted, I do like to work, I love having a project. I couldn’t give up that Puritan work ethic, its baked in too deeply (even though I can claim no Puritan ancestry). But can I bring home a balance that includes just a piece of that Italian vibe? Can I still satisfy my insatiable need to create (that same drive that makes me write music, update a blog, build a website), but still be able to sit on a park bench for hours and find satisfaction in leisure? After all, why do I work hard if I can’t then put down my project and enjoy the finer things? Like lying around while my son performs a melodica solo.
Aren’t moments like these the most important moments in life?
After our siesta, we walk to Ponte Sisto, a piazza next to a bridge where young Italians are to be found every evening lounging on the steps, listening to the rotating street musicians who seem to work in 20 minute shifts. Down the steps to the banks of the River Tiber, a long row of restaurants and bars trace the curve of the river. More eating, more drinking, more sitting. By the time we get back home, it’s close to midnight, another Roman day well-spent.
Did we build great structures? No. Did we get richer? No. Did we relax and enjoy life, bond and laugh and lounge and live like Romans? Si! Right now, I couldn’t ask for more.
P.S. Jack made friends with an Italian waiter at a cafe today. The waiter was watching Jack from afar as Jack sat in his chair at the cafe, basking serenely in the sun like a cat, enjoying every bite of his chocolate cookie. Jack was in no rush to go anywhere or do anything. He was a master at chilling. His only job in the world was to savor good food, to people-watch, to close his eyes and rest, to just be. He was a true Italian. The waiter came up to us and said, “Now there is somebody who knows how to live.” I couldn’t agree more.
