In which Sarah and Ben begin to blog...

Ben and Sarah hope to post dispatches about our Italian lives every week or so - maybe more frequently, maybe less...

Here is Sarah's first entry, below. (We forgot to put photos on our flash drives to bring to the Internet place, so they'll have to go up tomorrow or whenever we're next on. Sorry!)


We arrived in Rome four days ago. We expected to be living on the edge of Trastevere, an old funky neighborhood with winding medieval streets, ancient cheese shops, English-language bookstores, and masses of tourists. We find ourselves a bit further out than we thought we’d be, and on a broad, noisy avenue of mostly ugly, recent, 9- and 10-storey buildings. We have to take a tram up to Trastevere proper and our neighborhood doesn’t have the quaint, old quality we had hoped for.

However, there are several advantages: Most everyone in the neighborhood is a Roman, rather than a tourist or a student. And the prices are MUCH more affordable. While we’ve been startled by prices at the places that cater to tourists (13.50 Euros for two beers and an orange soda at an outdoor café about $20), we’ve been pleasantly surprised here in the ‘hood. Shopping at the local supermarket is an especially salutary experience: A massive head of very fresh lettuce for the equivalent of 75 cents; a large package of coffee for $2.25. (Tom says food is subsidized here; of course it is in the US, too – but only the crap that can be made from corn syrup: soda, Twinkies, and the like.)

We’ve had delicious cheeses, olives, and salamis from delis; fresh pasta from across the street; gelato to die for in our own freezer, left behind by the previous tenant (with the exception of chocolate with hot pepper). We’ve had two dinners out – a nouveau place our first night, with creative fish and pasta creations, and an excellent neighborhood pizza place last night, called Pepito’s. We keep heading out too early, though, taking the Romans at their word when the sign says that dinner begins at 7:30 pm. Instead we’re told to come back at 8 or 8:15. We’ll adjust, I’m sure, but in the meantime our American stomachs complain.

The biggest challenge so far is struggling with the language, followed closely by the intense heat. Ben and I have had long days of schlepping around the city on excursions, unable to find the right bus stop, overshooting our stop once we get on, and generally wearing ourselves out in the heat. We have seen some terrific sights, though. Our first day: The Church of St. Cecilia, built over the 2nd century home of this saint who was martyred for her beliefs. First she was locked in her caldarium (where they heated the water for the baths, presumably) to suffocate. Instead she sang for three days, thereby becoming the patron saint of music. When she didn’t die in all that time, they hauled her out and chopped her head almost off. Again, she wouldn’t die… and was left out on the street in agony where eventually she bled to death. A marvelous statue by Maderno (1618) shows her body as it apparently looked when it was disinterred in 1599, hack marks and all.

There is also a stunning 10th century mosaic above the apse; a 2nd century crypt that still shows Cecilia’s baths and the sarcophagi of later centuries; and a hard-to-find 13th century fresco by Cavallini in the singing porch above the nave. Our guide book said to ring the bell to the left of the church door. There was no sign, just a bell and an intercom. So I rang the bell and when I heard a woman’s voice, called back, “Fresco? Cavallini?” and was immediately buzzed in. There, just inside the door, was a little office from which emerged a tiny, ancient nun, who requested another 2.50 Euros each from us. When we admired a collection of hand-painted greeting cards, she announced proudly that she had painted them all and they only cost one Euro. There is no way to refuse a nun in a situation like that, especially when it reminds me so thoroughly of my English Auntie painting greeting cards to sell for 50P for the restoration of the roof of her village church. So we are the proud owners of a nun-painted card.

A few other tourists had joined us in the church proper and in the crypt but we were the only ones in the singing porch, admiring the technicolor angels. It was a peaceful way to begin our Roman sojourn, especially compared to our next day’s visit to Castel Sant’Angelo, the belly of the tourist beast. Phew!