Roma (pt 1)

naomi in rome
Originally uploaded by ambroseneville.

Well, today is my birthday (I think it's the first ever blog I've written on a birthday), and I thought I'd write about what I've done over the last week or so.

Last Thursday I woke up unusually early to get my things together and make my way to Liverpool Street to then take the Stanstead Express to the airport. Naomi was coming back via Rome (where Schola Cantorum had been asked to sing for the President of Italy), and we'd arranged that I'd meet her for a pre-birthday weekend in Rome, where neither of us had ever been before.

I arrived in the early evening, and owing to the security arrangements surrounding the presidential concert, I wasn't allowed to attend. Instead, I waited for Naomi until she'd finished the concert at a little fountain in the square next to the convent where the choir had been staying. I was engrossed in the Lonely Planet guide to Rome, when I heard an excited pitter-patter of feet across the stones of the square. I'll never forget the grin on her face as we hugged and kissed. Three weeks is a long time apart.

That evening, the choir had been invited to a rather swish dinner (cocktail dressed et al) and scruffy here wasn't allowed to go to that either, so I faced the prospect of eating dinner at a restaurant alone, something that has filled me with dread for as long as I can remember. By way of context, I've often looked at businessmen or women when I've been at restaurants with friends or family and thought that that situation of solitude is an unnecessarily miserable one, and have frequently found myself quite close to inviting lone strangers to join with us to eat together. So, gathering my courage, I went off to find a restaurant.

I found that old trick of eating a lot of food and drinking a 1 litre glass of beer to help me while away the time (you know what I'm talking about - eating and drinking at an accellerated pace when you're in a place where you don't know anyone, because you don't know anyone. It's the non-smoker's approach to trying not to look awkward by means of keeping your hands busy. Generally I'm not very successful here). I also continued to read the guide book. I was in an outdoor veranda area, and the weather changed from being balmy late-summer to rainy autumn in a matter of seconds. As the rain bucketed down, it transpired that there was a leak in the roof near me, causing rain to cascade down onto the seat on the other side of my table for 2. I felt like I'd stepped into Woody Allen's world. The next thing to make me chuckle was the appearance of no fewer than 4 umbrella salesman within minutes of the start of the rain.

Shortly afterwards, I met up with Naomi and the rest of the choir for their end-of-tour awards ceremony. This was held at the impressive flat of a local guy, not far from where we were staying. Naomi was one of two people presenting the awards, and the whole thing was as funny as it could be for someone who wasn't aware of the inevitable tour in-jokes.

The next day we left mid-morning and made our way on the Roman Metro to the Vatican, where we bumped into another couple from the choir (Paul and Helen) at lunchtime. We spent quite a lot of time going through the Vatican Museums, which contained some amazing Early Modern maps of Italy, dating back to when Italy was just a 'geographical expression', as well as all sorts of wonderful sculptures and lots of trompe l'oiel frescoes. The crowds in the Sistine Chapel were enormous, and despite signs demanding silence and no flash photography, the Vatican Police had their work cut out to keep order.

We had some lunch at a little touristy restaurant(served by a brusque waiter) and then the four of us climbed the dome of St Peter's (and Naomi managed it despite her fear of heights). I counted each step as we ascended, and by my reckoning it was around 535 steps up to the top, but well worth it for the amazing views available over Rome, and into the basilica itself. Paul had a really good digital camera and took lots of great photos of the basilica, using specialist lenses to capture the way the afternoon sunlight flooded into the white and gold of the building. As the afternoon drew to a close, we went to a good - if over-priced - cafe for some ice cream.

That evening we found a great little restaurant where I had veal and Naomi had steak, after really good pasta and risotto starters. There was also an hilarious guy banging away at the piano, doing all sorts of pastiches and generally providing great entertainment. The waiters were brilliant, and at the end of the meal we were given shots of complimentary grappa. The boss of the restaurant, who seemed to run quite a tight ship, had also made various wax work busts that adorned the walls, including one of Pope John Paul II and one of a deceased head waiter from the restaurant. There was also a rather large elk head behind our table. None of these things seemed tacky. It was a really great restaurant. So great, in fact, that we would return the following night for more of the same.