Roma Urbs Aeterna Part One: The Bacchanalia Begins
Roma Urbs Aeterna Part One: The Bacchanalia Begins
Eating, Drinking and Walking Our Way through Rome!
Part One: The Bacchanalia Begins
Modern visitors to Rome may be surprised to learn that “Roma urbs aeterna” is not Latin for “waiting in Rome for an Uber that never arrives.” For us, it meant that we had finally made it to Rome, lovingly named “urbs aeterna,” or “the eternal city” by the poet Tibullus in 55 BCE.
So here we were in this glorious, eternal city reunited with our dearest friends Alan and Jackie (whom we hadn’t seen in more than three years). Sadly we did not have the pleasure of arriving in grandeur like agéd, portly Roman senators on a horse-drawn chariot galloping through the ancient gates of the city via the Appia longarum, regina viarum (“the Appian Way, the queen of the long roads,” as the Greco-Roman poet Statius so eloquently named it). We flew Wizz Air.
That said, we had all decided not to hold back on our week-long stay together in Rome. The plan was to eat, drink and walk our way across Italia’s ancient capital. It was to be a Bacchanalian orgy (well, minus the group sex, satyrs drinking overflowing flagons of wine, nymphs and fauns mingling with naked revelers in overgrown pagan groves and maenads clawing away at raw flesh). Ok, so we may have indulged in the flagons of wine part.
We arrived very early on a Sunday morning, two days after Alan and Jackie had already settled into our three-bedroom penthouse apartment, located just a javelin’s throw from the Pantheon, with a spectacular balcony and panoramic views of the city from every room. After unpacking, we spent the early afternoon lounging on the balcony and catching up with our dear companions.
We reacquainted ourselves over a couple of bottles of refreshing frascati, some thin slices of prosciutto di Parma, spicy Calabrese salami, truffle bresaola, melt-in-your mouth lardo, sweet red seedless grapes, white Mediterranean anchovies, aged Giallina cheese, green and black olives from Abruzzo and hunks of freshly grilled bread. We dove into this incredible Meditrinalian spread that Alan had procured and prepared for us with absolute gusto. Nonetheless, we were only a few hours into our Bacchanalian revelry and already it became clear that it was time for una pennichella, un pisolino, un poco riposo, un sonnellino. Translation: we’re old and we needed a nap.
After a short rest, we arose, showered and set off on the first of our many “grand walking tours” of the city. Alan, who has been visiting Rome for more than 25 years, had been appointed the capitano of our maiden tour of Roma. And he did not disappoint. Marching us through the hordes of selfie-taking “popolo minuto,” their tongues gluttonously lapping at cones of neon- colored mass-produced gelato, Alan led us like a primus pilus centurion advancing his weary legion to put down a tribe of barbaric Gauls.
That afternoon, we set off past Bernini’s Elephant and Obelisk, the iconic statue just outside our front door, that Alan had affectionately dubbed “Dumbo.” From there, we braved the throngs of tourists marveling at themselves in front of the incomparable Trevi Fountain. Overwhelmed by the masses, we set off in search of some obligatory pizza al taglio . . . when in Rome.
Marching ever on, we scaled the Spanish Steps to the Pincian Hill, strolled through the Borghese gardens past the Villa Medici, finally descending down onto the Piazza del Popolo (which was oddly devoid of most of the popolo).
That evening, Alan took us around the corner for dinner in the neighborhood of my people, the Jewish ghetto. We slipped with trepidation through the gates with the knowledge that for 315 years, from 1555 until 1870, the Jewish population of Rome were locked in every night, armed Roman sentries guarding every entrance and exit of the ghetto.
Pausing to take in the splendor of the endearing Turtle Fountain in the heart of the ghetto, we just barely made the end of service for dinner at the famed Da Giggetto, nestled right next to the Portico of Octavia (a fish market first erected by the Emperor Augustus for his sister Octavia around 27 BCE).
For dinner that night, we shared a fabulous meal of Jewish-style fried artichokes (a Roman delicacy), baccalà, deep-fried zucchini flowers stuffed with cheese and anchovies, a hearty plate of bucatini all’amatriciana, braised oxtails in a spicy sauce with celery and carrots, slow-roasted lamb and some of the most deliciously tender osso buco we’ve ever had. We washed it all down with a liter of house red and were sated . . . for now.
Check back soon for Roma Urbs Aeterna Part Two: Traipsing Through Testaccio!
keep marching!
I love every word you men write....so much joy...keep that joy coming our way!
primus pilus centurion
Oh my! What an experience. Once again I was hanging on every beautifully crafted word and photo and imagining being with all of you there! I can’t wait for part two!