After the Bloodshed... marta, laura & kat This week my apartment is almost at max capacity. We have me, of course, and my two cats. Then there's Kat, my friend from New York, and her friend Marta. Three girls was fun and then we added David. (Still fun, especially for David who finds himself alone with three single ladies!) Originally the plan was for Kat & Marta & I to go down to Napoli for Wednesday or Thursday night and tour Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius. Since I smashed my head open I decided I did not want to leave home afterall. So Kat and Marta decided to make Pompeii into a day trip on Thursday. Wednesday Marta & Kat did a little touristy stuff and a little shopping. They met up with Marta's friend Fabio at the Spanish Steps and I hear he is a babe, but I cannot testify to that myself as I was home nursing my wounds (and doing laundry!) Wednesday night I took the three of us to Trastevere where we had pizzas and pastas and then popped by the fancy champagne bar for a dessert top off. kat smokes Maybe I hit and broke my funny bone when I smashed my head, but there really wasn't that much funny to tell about our dinner. We did have a dog sitting behind us who fancied our meals and kept trying to join us. Of course as we all know Kats and dogs don't mix, so we had his owner kindly keep him on a tight leash. As for our Kat, she did something I'd never seen before. She started smoking! Italy brings out the strangest things in people. She went into buy smokes from a Tabac shop and I had to giggle when I hear her ask for "Gal-o-ees." I think she wanted Galoises.. which is what she got. Anyway. So here is evidence that Kat smokes when in Italy! After dinner we taxi'd ourselves home and slept. No pajama party poker! The girls aren't into it... bah! Thursday morning the girls got up super early to catch the train to Napoli. They were off by 8am and I celebrated for them by sleeping in rather late myself. Then I had more cleaning and laundry to do (running a hotel is a busy business!) and I had to fork over some 2000+euros to my landlady for rent til the end of November. Phew! But at least you all know that I'll be here til then. Paid in full! David arrived around 2:30. We hopped out for pizza down the street and caught up on some gossip. He was in Pisa doing some super smart geeky computer stuff at a conference. You might think we talked all about that but I really don't get into his IBM geek stuff. Plus we have more fun talking smack about everyone than dishing tech specs. After lunch I sent him off on his own personal shopping mission. Thus I returned home to finish laundry and pretend to do some book writing. That didn't happen though and instead I just sat around doing pretty much nothing. (I did stitch up the hole in the couch from Troy's mislaid cigarette though. Looks much better.) David is into some kind of slow cooking movement and so he brought with him a book that lists all kinds of Italian restaurants that specialise in slow cooking. He made a reservation for the 4 of us at a trattoria nearby, using his best impression of Italian (read: Spanish) and we settled into playing poker til the girls got back from Pompeii. The ladies got back around 9:30 which was just in time for our 9:45 reservation. Kat, being as clean as all kitties, demanded a shower first though, so we had to switch our dinner reservation til after 10. She showered and David continued to beat me at poker. (I almost made a comeback but he, like Elina, seems to make up new rules whenever I start to get ahead.. I'm becoming suspicious!) side splitting laughter, literally Dinner turned out to just be the 3 of us. Marta stayed home to rest after her Pompeii marathon day. I can't blame her. If I'd done a Pompeii day trip I'd also have wanted to stay home. But the 3 of us went to dinner and had a fine time. It took a while to find the place since it was on some tiny street off the map by Santa Maria Maggiore, but we sorted it out with the help of an Italian man and his pit bull. I had a yummy onion torte with cheese sauce. Kat has a zucchini torte (they call them flan but they aren't really flan-like) and she and David both agreed that that was the best thing we ate. Then David and I had Tortello which is a large ravioli pasta with spinach and ricotta and egg yolk, with tomato sauce on top. Interesting and different. David ended the night with some squid but he reported that it wasn't that great. Well, duh. Squid? Yech. The one thing I can report about my silly head injury is that it doesn't really hurt unless I make funny faces with my forehead or if I am laughing too hard. Of course when you combine David and Kat and me and a bottle of yummy wine, laughter is bound to ensue. This is when I discovered how much stitches hurt when they are being pulled apart by laughter. (See picture above.) head holding Of course David found the fact that making me laugh would pull at my head stitches to be too good to be true. His mission for the rest of dinner was to make me laugh myself silly. This is how I came into so much pain that from now on when I laugh I must hold my head together. That is what this picture shows. Me laughing and trying to hold my head together so the stitches don't pull. It's really quite evil what my friends do to me! After dinner we returned home to find Marta in almost exactly the same position as when we left her. She and Kat crawled into bed and David climbed into his new fancy Italian PJs. A few rounds of poker were played (I got trip aces so I actually regained some financial ground against the David shark) and then we were off to bed. Today Kat and David are visiting God in Vatican City. Marta is trying to sort out a painting exhibit to see. I am sitting here about to write another book chapter. Then tonight we'll go to dinner at Piazza Navona and celebrate Kat & Marta's last night in Rome. Yesterday turned out to be rather journal worthy. I didn't manage to write any book chapters but I did get off my lazy duff and go do laps again at Circus Maximus. Even though I have somehow managed to get a bruise on my big toe that makes walking completely painful, I perserved, crediting Linkin' Park with the angsty inspiration to keep going on. When I got back Marta had indeed disappeared off to see some exhibit or something. I had a little alone time and then David returned from Vatican city. He was exhausted and had let Kat off to do the Colosseo tour and Roman Forum while he joined me in the traditional Italian nap. Finally at 7 we all got motivated and the 4 of us went for an aperitif at La Barrique up the street. david at dinner Marta had another date so she was off for the evening and the three of us, Kat, David and myself, were left to fend for ourselves. I sort of forced my opinion on everyone and made them eat at the same restaurant in Piazza Navona that I ate at with Troy, solely because I've been craving their lasagna al pesto ever since I first had it. (Just lasagna, cheese and pesto, but it's such a great idea - particularly for those of us who are obsessed with pesto and who can't eat the meat versions.) The strange thing was that the waiter told us not to order it because it was bad, but then Kat (who was also having it) and I insisted and we got it anyway, with his tongue-in-cheek comment that it was actually good today afterall. (Since I wokeup after the fact with a nasty stomach ache at 4am, I am now blaming the bad lasagna. That'll teach me not to listen to my waiter.) Much conversation ensued and then we were off to Campo de Fiori to meet up with Dario and Antonio. While I am almost completely convinced at this point that Dario and Antonio only hang out with me in order to proliferate their fame on this journal, we still managed to have our usual good time. David indulged in the jagermiester-type drink that Dario prefers and Kat and I stuck to our tradition of gin-n-tonics. Antonio did the rum shot and pear juice chaser that seems to be a trend here. (I know - strange Italians!) The evil mime from dinner performed for us again and once more called us barbarians when we refused to tip him. Then the fun magician came by and performed, but I will admit that I was too engrossed in conversation to watch. kat's toes go skinny dipping The highlight of the evening turned out to be an adventurous Kat! Somehow I left her alone to chat with Antonio and the next thing I know she tells me she's going to go jump into a fountain (as is the tradition in so many Americans-in-Rome movies.) I am not sure if Antonio actually convinced her to do this or not.. but either way the boy gets major points for livening up not only the night but also the journal with his mystical powers over the normally tame Kat. Kat, of course, gets even more points for actually doing it! kat in the fountain Now keep in mind that while she was about to engage in this craziness some Australian or New Zealander chick sitting nearby started throwing warnings at her about the 1250Euro fine for jumping into fountains. When the people from down under are warning you that what you are about to do is too crazy, you know you've made the right decision. As you can see, Kat did indeed hop into the fountain. She tried to roll up her jeans but that really didn't prove effective at all as the fountain was deeper than she expected. It was also a little chilly out and so once she was in, she was even quicker to want to get out. Fortunately I was being a slow photographer and I made her sustain a few extra seconds while I tried to get that decent middle shot. At the end she hopped out and splashed everyone within her vicinity (read: me!) with lots of water. She likes to share her frigid experiences. After the fountain jumping Kat was too cold for anything else and thus we trekked home, leaving Antonio, Dario and Rosella for the night. kat drips dry This, of course, raises the bar for the journal. What will my future guests do for fun, I wonder? I tried to get David to say that he'd jump into a fountain and smoke a cigarette at the same time, but he says he'll just stick to finding us a good place for dinner instead. Tomorrow David and Marta are off (she is staying an extra night). Elina is going to Sorrento and Capri until Wednesday and so I'll have a few days to myself. Dario and I are scheduled to play the Italian lotterie this week so we could end up millionaires by Saturday. We're playing the numbers related to my head imjury. 5 for the number of stitches, 27 for the day of the month and 61 for the room number. I'll keep you posted. If I get rich, I'm buying a sailboat and going from port to port for the rest of my life. If Dario gets rich, he first said he'd buy an expensive Internet wife but then changed his mind and decided to invest in Viagra for himself at 50 instead. I can only say this: if we do strike it rich, I won't be animating that Viagra part no matter what! David's Blog (sent after his return to New York) david writes in his jammies DAY 1 I arrived by train from Pisa, avoiding the rail strike that had descended on some random subset of trains the day before and stranded some of my colleagues (aka fellow geeks) and made them miss their planes. Rome is definitely a big city: some guy tried to take me on a 20 euro taxi ride to Laura's place, a 5 euro ride away. After Laura fed me, she sent me off to go shopping. Having packed for a 9-day trip in 15 minutes, my clothing choices were somewhat haphazard. Besides, I wanted some more of those super-comfortable nice-looking jeans I got in Venice, and some more shoes from Fratelli Rosetti. But most of all, I needed something in which to participate in a multi-babe slumber party. I had promised jammies with duckies on them. A meandering peregrination on the Via del Corso yielded jeans and a nice dress shirt, and some inquiry in Anglo-Spantalian led me to a place specializing in "intimos" (underwear). No duckies -- I think Italian men take themselves rather more seriously in the bedroom -- but I thought I had found a rather nice looking pair in blue stripes. But after all that trouble, Marta tells me I look like a prison inmate. Dissed by a Russo-American-Italianate artist. So much for my Italian fashion sense. Back at Laura's, while awaiting the return of Kat and Marta from Pompeii, Laura and I played poker and I opened a can of whup-ass. If money is involved, I highly recommend playing poker with Laura. Laura thinks the concept behind poker is to play each hand to the end and to beat you fair and square with better cards. It was like taking candy from a baby. I reserved a table at a restaurant [editor's note: Trattoria Monti] from Osterie d'Italia, the restaurant guide of the Slow Food Society (http://www.slowfood.com), which despite its name is an Italian organization devoted to the cause of long, relaxed dinners of freshly and unhurriedly prepared food. We allowed an hour after Kat and Marta's train arrived (the restaurant itself was 10 minutes away), but if you think waiting around for one woman to get ready is a trial, wait until there are 3. We called and pushed the reservation back to 10:15, which is on the late side even for Romans. Marta bagged and the 3 of us finally got seated at 10:30, quickly (in slow fashion) tucking into some inspired apps and a fine bottle of wine. It was then that the laughing incident occurred. Now Laura likes to blame others for the fact that her wound is superating, but I ask you: if some drunk blond chick [editor's note: Laura should never be referred to as "some drunk blond chick." Fiften lashes to David.] started immitating a cat scratching in its litter box while making pissed-off cat sounds, and you had partaken of the wine yourself, would you be able to hold back? So I start laughing, and Kat starts laughing, and then Laura starts laughing and damning us for evil inconsiderate sadists. david at the colosseum DAY 2 This was my one day for touristy things -- I have a low tolerance. Kat and I went to the Vatican City and did the Vatican museum and Saint Peter's. Someone told me that if you spent one second on each artwork, it would take 12 years to view the Vatican's entire collection. I guess that's what 2 millenia of world domination will do for an art collection. Of course, most tourists could give a shit about anything but the Sistine Chapel, but for whatever perverse reason the Pope has decreed that you have to spend an hour meandering through some portion of the museum first. The result is that you get pushed along in a peristaltic wave of humanity and can barely stop to look at any of the other stuff. Why they don't just put the Sistine at the beginning and then have an immediate exit for cretins is beyond me. After that we went to Saint Peter's. Holy fucking shit. That is a big church. [editor's note to God: Smite him, not me.] david cat-napping (can't blame him. 3 single women tire any man...) Kat wanted to go up to the dome, but when I saw yet another line I begged off, and Kat graciously acceded. We strolled off to get a gelato, and then lunch in a sun-drenched piazza, and finally a taxi home. But Kat decided she wanted to go to the Colisseum -- the woman is a machine -- so I dropped her off and repaired to Laura's for a much needed nap. Upon waking we went to Laura's restaurant with the evil pesto lasagna, and then on to meet her Italian friends -- that Dario is quite a charmer. Tellingly, Rosella, the woman who I wound up speaking to all evening didn't even make it onto Laura's radar. [editor's note: Laura cannot help that she fancies cute Italian guys over cute Italian gals. ] Anyway, while Laura was flirting alternately with Dario and Antonio, I spent a very pleasant evening chatting with Rosella, Antonio's friend(?). Apparently they are all from Napoli, and among other things, they maintain that the Romans don't know shit about Mozarella. When these people want mozarella, they hop on a bike, drive 3 hours to Naples, buy some mozarella, and drive 3 hours back with the mozarella in a fanny pack. And we wonder why the Italians make better food. DAY 3 Kat departed at some ungodly hour, and being the gentleman that I am I slept right through it. I woke shortly before noon and Marta and I went off to a museum with an exhibit showing the evolution of Russian and Italian art over the centuries. I mostly went to humor Marta, but it actually turned out to be one of the most interesting exhibits I've seen. It really gave me a visceral sense of the explosion of creativity in the Italian Resaissance, while places like Russia hardly changed at all. Then Peter the Great single-handedly brought Russia into the modern age -- art, architecture, economy, war. By the late 19th century, Italy was declining while the signs of the Russian revolution could be discerned in the artworks. Thus endeth the lesson. Coming out of the exhibit we saw a bunch of military dudes ranged in front of the presidential palace singing the national anthem, with sundry Romans halted on the street singing along. Very rousing. Laura insisted on my seeing the Fontana di Trevi, so we stopped there on the way to my fancy Italian shoe stores. It was practically inundated with tourists, but I have to give Laura this one. It truly is spectacular. We sat and ate panini while watching the water and the people. Laura had also insisted on my seeing the Pantheon, but I blew it off in favor of shoes -- a bargain at 300 euros. I also almost succumbed to a Zegna jacket, but rationality prevailed. My final night in Rome I took the ladies to a restaurant listed in the aforementioned slow food guide. Laura said Trastavere was a hot neighborhood I had to see, so we reserved a table for 8:30, and strolled past the Colosseum, the Palatine hill, and Circus Maximus on the way over. I'll have to watch Spartacus again. "Do you like oysters?" david snorts his wine (another tradition?) Even better than the cultural highlights, though, was learning more about Italian culture from Marta. Two nuns crossed our path, and she explained that when Italian men see a nun they scratch their balls. Who knew? I guess it's their way of compensating for the fact that they don't play baseball. [editor's note: I am waiting for confirmation from authentic Italian men on that one. Remember that Marta is a Russian turned American turned Italian.. maybe all that culture shifting has her confused. Maybe she meant that whenever Italian men see balls they scratch a nun.. Either way, David loves any excuse to touch himself so we'll just play along and humor him...] We dined at "Il Boom", a hip joint named after a Vittorio de Sica movie from the 50's. But I was reassured by the sight of four decidedly un-hip Italian guys in their mid-50's, clearly there for some serious eating. Dinner took roughly 3 hours, pretty much a bare minimum for a slow food dinner. One of the great features of Italy is that you can get an excellent bottle of wine for about the price of a merely decent glass of wine in New York; we had two (bottles). Laura's cheese jones was satisfied by fried buffalo mozarella with a porcini mushroom sauce. I was sated by traditional Roman fare: spiedini of peccorino romano (aha -- that's why it's called romano!), pasta carbonara with zucchini, shredded beef with greens and tomatoes, chestnut mousse, and espresso. Perhaps it was all for the best that I had to return the next day. david & laura ponte garibaldi A taxi ride was planned for the return, but apparently Saturday night is their equivalent of a rainy afternoon rush hour in New York. So we hoofed it back the whole way, seeing hardly any cabs and all of those full. Instead of the promised poker, there ensued a wine-lubricated conversation about the nature of love, and why men are such dicks. It's a tag-team gender confrontation, and I'm on my own. "Why don't men just tell you what's on their mind?" they ask. Answer: because you'll spend the next three days bitching about it and making our lives hell on earth. Marta puts forward the theory that men are more deeply affected than women by fights. So I guess we're the sensitive ones after all. Eventually, Marta passes out and Laura and I have a pleasant last-night chat. I awake the next morning and ready myself, but Laura is no more virtuous than I. She remains in bed with her cats, and I stop in for a quick goodbye, and then I'm off to the airport, yacking all the way with the driver in my flawless Anglo-Spantalian. << back to where it all began... Content & Photos © 2004 Laura Laytham, laura@girlsaresmarter.com.