Romance at 150 mph

Sunday we left Firenze and her beautiful white marble churches, her tourist filled squares, and her amazing collection of Renaissance art behind. We boarded the FrecciaRosso for Rome--this time business class, so alas, no free drink, but we kept hoping. There was a little beverage cart preview that turned out to be our only opportunity (and we missed it). This is the way of many things delivered in a language only partially understood. Was that an offer? A request? An obligatory duty, their least favorite, but the ritual continues pro forma? Should we politely decline or enthusiastically respond? So much is a mystery when every sentence is imperfectly understood. Will he return with some salt? Or did we just agree that salt is a good thing sometimes.

A young couple cuddled opposite us, tucked under a single blanket and chatting dolce far niente non-stop from some German speaking country to Naples. The young man slipped effortlessly into English and Italian as the situation required--a seat mix-up, some polite confusion we participated in that might work itself out to their advantage (as well as the woman whose seat was usurped and who was bumped to a private compartment). Many things seem possible when you are on a half-empty train in Italy.

We arrived mid-afternoon and set out for our next accomodations, a tiny room with two beds and a private (but separate, down the hall) bath cunningly located on the Via del Corso, the main shopping street in Rome and home to the Sunday evening passagiata--where one walks arm in arm with friends and dear ones, window shopping. We have a french style window/door that opens onto the street and shops only one story below. Occasional outbursts from the giovani touristi, LUSH shoppers purchasing lip gloss (literally) beneath our beds, and the hum of the electric engines on the minibuses punctuate our nighttime rest, so we sleep with ears plugged.

We took our own passiagata, doing our best to avoid the plentiful smokers, who seem to be everywhere. We stopped with the hordes at Trevi Fountain, an over the top, neoclassical baroque affair that marks the terminus of one of Rome's main aqueducts. The fountain was flowing, but half of the monument was covered with scaffolding for reconstruction--this has been true many times, and it's nice to see so many things being refurbished. For 5 euro a street vendor would take your picture, photoshop it into an image of the uncovered monument, and hand you a copy from his portable printer right on the steps.