Reacquainting Myself with Rome

It is 7:30 am, and I'm on a mission from Lisa to find a grocery store, and return with coffee, milk and sugar.

Any serious coffee drinker knows that this is a tall order: overcoming sleep deprivation and jet lag while wandering streets that you've never seen in daylight, searching for un'alimentare (a grocery store) in a commercial area, using a non-native language. All without having had any coffee. So I do what any caffeine-deprived coffee drinker would do in such a situation: I immediately get lost.

I walk in circles, hoping to find where I last knew I was lost. I do, however, eventually take enough time from being lost to enter a local bar and order a cappucino. The proprietor, or so I assume, is very entertaining and friendly, so I get my first chance to butcher the Italian language (I succeed!) while he whips up a wonderful warm drink in spite of me. For example:

Barrista: 'What would you like?'

Me: 'The cows jumps over the moon.'

Barrista: 'Ah...you are American.'

Me: 'Thank you.'

And so it goes. I leave to wait for the cappuccino at an outdoor table, explaining that 'Roses are red, and violets are blue.' He seems to understand perfectly, and in a few moments, I have a rich cappuccino to sip as people on their way to work pass by, chatting on their cellphones. I try to listen in, and pick up much of their Italian ('This American just ordered his cappuccino using only childhood rhymes!')

By the end of the cappuccino, I've regained lucidity. Life is good again.

And Rome hits me full force.

First and foremost, there is the roar (if you can imagine such a thing) of the Vespas on every street. There are always more Vespas than cars, and they're always in front of the rest of the traffic at each traffic light. If that's not the case, they drive up the sidewalks to get to the front of the line before the light turns green. I think it's a law.

And with Rome being both an Italian city and perhaps the world's number one tourist destination, there are so many languages drifting by - Italian, Italian dialects, German, English, American, Dutch, French - that it's like having a cappuccino outside the Tower of Babel. Within a short time, I stop trying to identify what language I hear, and simply assume that I can speak it.

After I pay for the cappuccino, I start again in my search for a grocery store. And that's I notice that people are coming up the sidewalks in waves. I get swept away a couple of times like a loose bobber floating down a river. The energy is incredible, and the whole of the morning rush - the languages, the people, the Vespas, the traffic, the noise, the wonderful scent of fresh paninis, cappuccinos, and croissants being prepared - it all hits me, and I duck into a fruit store.

Or so I thought; there are boxes of fruit outside, and they do sell produce, but...they also sell coffee. And milk. And...yes! yes!...even sugar.

I return (well...eventually) triumphant.