with a renewed sense of love

My final morning in Rome was one of delightful proportions. I had a packed itinerary that included visiting Campo di Fiori, running up to school to retrieve a pair of lost earrings, and enjoying one last coffee with Adolfo before my train ride to the airport. I left my newly cleaned apartment at seven thirty for the first of my last adventures.

Struck with a bout of sentimentality, I reminisced about my time in Rome-all the people met, experiences had, gelato eaten, and lessons learned. As I crossed the bridge and caught a glimpse of St. Peter’s, accompanied by cypress trees against the gorgeous blue sky, it occured to me that these beautiful monuments (the Pantheon, the Forum, Fontana di Trevi...) would no longer be in my backyard. I’d gotten used to living in a city that was thousands of years old and still had its history visibly intact, right down to the uneven cobblestone streets. I’d gotten used to my coffee coming in a tiny cup and saucer. I’d even gotten used to speaking Italian first rather than English anywhere I went. I’d made friends, established my favorite places to eat and shop, and learned to figure out how to use whatever bathroom contraption happened to be available. And although elated to return to those I love in the States, I was accustomed to each day presenting a new challenge. Having to fight (in a sense) to get by, having to figure things out on my own, having to accept things that I could not change or did not understand. I could only hope that I would retain these incredibly important attitudes on a life of continuous surprises.

I made it to Campo around eight, just when the market was starting up. I stopped to see my jewelry man, whom I’d been visiting a lot this week. We’d have such a good time-he’d construct earrings, bracelets, and rings for me (and friends) while I’d sing him anything performed or recorded by Frank Sinatra. And each day, the same topic would come up-the importance of retaining “the feeling of the baby” and having an appreciation and an awareness for all. We exchanged addresses and telephone numbers (what has become a ritual with the old men here-they all want postcards from America) and I sang him a verse of “Summertime.” We then took pictures together before he showered me with hugs and kisses, calling me his “piccola stella.” He smiled and waved to me until I was out of sight.

Next stop was school, where I’d left my beautiful green earrings from Fairfield’s Saturday farmer’s market, which I was not about to leave in Rome. Upon arriving, I realized that although the school had opened at 8:30, the student life office (and the lost and found) would not be open until much later. Luckily, a janitor saw me lingering in the garden, and asked if he could help. I tried to explain to him that I’d lost my earrings, and he opened my Italian classroom (no luck) and then the office for me. Sitting on the desk oh so shinily were my earrings, and I thanked him profusely. Again, the willingness of the Italians to help people despite the language barrier... such a beauty. I ran down the hill, taking one last glance at the gorgeous Villa Sciarra before heading to Bar Marado.

Adolfo was exceptionally loving and adorable, as he knew this day was my last and I was on my way to the train station. We’d become even better friends, as he had taken my roommate Saskya and I out to dinner at his friend’s restaurant on Wednesday night. It specialized in fresh fish and seafood, hence it’s name: La Terrazza sul Mare. It was a totally authentic experience-we never saw a menu and only spoke in Italian. This, of course, meant that I used a significant amount of gestures and head nods. He thought it was funny how attentive and intense I was, as it took him awhile to realize that I was comprehending most of what he was saying by reading his expressions. (One of the really difficult things about the Italian language is that it’s very fast and hard to tell where one word ends and another begins. Much confusion.) Everything was ordered and prepared especially for us, and it was really fun not to know what was coming next. We started the meal with a Sicilian white wine, fanTASTIC, pillowy bread sliced ultra-thin, and a cold seafood antipasto (a popular dish here). It contained fresh calamari, octopus, shrimp, and finely julienned carrots and cumber in a very light, lemony dressing. Then came the mussels, as a sort of second antipasto-juicy and tender. The first course was spaghetti (al dente as per use) with clams in a sauce that was basically olive oil and parsley-incredible to say the least. For the second course, we had some sort of delicate white fish covered in finely-sliced potatoes, all roasted with a touch of oil and salt. I was once again amazed at the utter perfection of a dish that was so simple-I have become over this past month a huge supporter of this kind of cooking. For dessert, we had tiramisu and liquors-a bitter one for me. (One of my first priorities when I get back to the states is to find a giant bottle of Ramazzotti-the whole digestivo concept is sheer brilliance.) The evening was lovely-full of good food and fascinating (although not completely decipherable) conversation.

With this joyous experience behind me, I found myself even more appreciative of Adolfo’s care and generosity. It was really difficult to say goodbye to him, and we too exchanged information and took pictures together. I was glad that my last speaking experience was with him, as he had been instrumental in my developing ability to communicate with others. Leaving the bar without knowing the next time I would see him solidified in me an amazement at the close relationships I’d been able to develop. I thought back to how much I’d really been able to communicate with those around me, despite not knowing the language very well. It had been amazing to see how instrumental facial expressions, gestures, and tone of voice are in conversations. Furthermore, I thought back on the live music and theatre I’d seen here, realizing how incredible, yet overlooked, our basic human connection is. We all come from the same place; we all have the same feelings and thoughts and needs and wants. We do feel them in varying amounts and express them in different ways where grammar and vocabulary are concerned, but it’s all a just a different version of the same thing. If this trip has taught me anything, it’s that. With this in mind, I said goodbye to Melissa and Monica at the train station, where they bought tickets to Pescara to visit Monica’s grandmother. And although more time in Italy would be incredible, I am so, so happy to come home and share a renewed sense of love with all of you.

After all, I’ll be back.