Roman holiday

I liked nothing better than to lose my way in a labyrinth of tiny, shady, furtive, ocher-hued vicoli, which I hoped would one day, by dint of being strayed in, finally debouch into an enchanted little square where I'd encounter some still higher order of beauty.  What I wished above all things was to amble freely about the streets of the Campo Marzio and to find whatever I wished to find there freely, whether it was the true image of this city, or something in me, or a likeness of myself in the things and people I saw.

--André Aciman, Alibis: Essays on Elsewhere, "Roman Hours"

Italy was the first country, outside North America, in which I ever set foot.  I was an impressionable 21-year-old, bowled over by Florence. First impressions stick with you. 

It's now been ten years since my last visit to Rome -- or to Italy in general -- and I've been growing impatient.  Impatient even though -- or perhaps because -- I'm joining a large contingent of family and friends getting together next May in the beach town of Levanto.  A gathering for which I bear some major responsibility.

And so, in three weeks I fly off to Rome.  It will be a fast visit of just one week.  And of that one week, two days will be devoted to a detour to Levanto, an inspection and orientation visit just to assure myself that I haven't made some terrible mistake in luring my trusting relatives to that town.

After three days in Rome, I'll take the high-speed train to La Spezia, just south of the Cinque Terre, connecting with a local train for an additional half-hour ride to Levanto.  After about five hours checking out the Levanto scene -- will that be enough?  I don't know! -- I'll take an evening not-so-high-speed train to Florence, where I'll spend the night.  The following day, I'll wander about Florence, lamenting my lost youth, and then take another high-speed train in the evening back to Rome.

One more day of enjoying Rome, and I'll return to Seattle, looking eagerly forward to our two-week Levanto stay ten months from now.

This will be my eighth visit to Rome over my lifetime, which suggests that I've seen the major Roman "sights."  That's true to an extent -- the Forum, the Colosseum, the Vatican, the major basilicas, the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps.  But Rome is the only city that's called "eternal," and over the millennia it has accumulated a lot of other less major sights.  Remnants of the Roman Empire, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Baroque era, and odds and ends in more recent times including architectural insults by the Italian Trump -- Benito Mussolini.

But such "sights" -- major or minor -- are not the only reason for enjoying Rome.  The last time I was in Rome on my own, in 2009, I spent more time just exploring areas of the city, getting a feel for buildings, the people, the caffès, the parks, the musical performances.  You can enjoy a couple of hours or so -- especially in the frequently unbearable August heat -- just nursing a beer or a glass of wine at a sidewalk table and studying the hordes, both local and tourist, that pass by.

Certain areas of the city -- especially the ancient twisting streets of the Centro Storico ("historic center") described by Aciman (above) -- seem just made for walking and getting lost in.  I can't count the times that I've concluded that I was hopelessly lost in an endless maze, and then turned a corner and found the Pantheon or the Piazza Navona or the Trevi Fountain staring me in the face.  To those of us who love labyrinths and getting lost, Rome offers many challenging enjoyments.

An unreal spell always descends upon Rome at night, and the large lampadari on these empty, interconnecting streets beam with the light of small altars and icons in dark churches.   You can hear your own footsteps, even though your feet don't seem to touch the ground but almost hover above the gleaming slate pavements, covering distances that make the span of years seem trivial.  Along the way, as the streets grow progressively darker and emptier and spookier, I'll let everyone walk ahead of me, be alone a while.  I like to imagine the ghost of Leopardi, of Henry Beyle (known to the world as Stendhal), of Beatrice Cenci, of Anna Magnani, rising by the deserted corner, each one always willing to stop and greet me.

Aciman, id.

So I'm looking forward to a fast but enjoyable visit.  I leave August 8 and return the 15th.