#20 What quarantine dreams are made off… (English)

A few days ago, I was interviewed by a Dutch newspaper about how it feels to not be able to go back home in Rome. While the journalist was asking me questions over the phone, I noticed that the ‘I can’t go home’ part had become completely irrelevant. Individual interests don’t matter any longer, now that we are jointly trying to deal with this biggest post-war crisis the best way possible. Just when the Italian government decided to close the country, I happened to be in the Netherlands for a few days. Was it a coincidence? Or was it meant to be like that? 

In the interview published in last Friday’s newspaper, I read that ‘I miss my life in the Italian capital’. The journalist is right. However, it’s not something negative

In any case, I’ve come to the realisation that I’m only thankful that it turned out this way (and so is my mother). In the interview published in last Friday’s newspaper, I read that ‘I miss my life in the Italian capital’. The journalist is right. However, it’s not something negative. No wallowing in self-pity about the fact that I can’t go back now. It’s a feeling of missing something out of gratitude. A loss that goes hand in hand with butterflies in my stomach when I think about the moment I will get on that plane again.  

This quarantine period has already taught me that I cherish my dreams very much, and that I’m going to pursue them even stronger when this whole situation will be behind us

I know I’m not just speaking for myself when I say that these surreal and sad corona times in which so much is temporarily taken away from us – from a fun night out with friends to visiting dear relatives – help me to understand even better what really matters to me in life. This quarantine period has already taught me that I cherish my dreams very much, and that I’m going to pursue them even stronger when this whole situation will be behind us. And while I feel the spring sun on my face in my parents’ garden in the Netherlands, I close my eyes and let my mind wonder off for a moment. To a Rome that’s buzzing with life under a radiant blue sky. 

“Ciao cara!” one of them says as I step inside, “un cappuccino?”

I wake up early by the sunlight coming in through the high windows of my Roman bedroom. It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning. I squint my eyes and see thousands of particles of dust glittering in the bright rays of sunlight. I hear the birds whistling outside, which, thanks to the Villa Pamphilj, the huge park next to my street, fly around our palazzo in large numbers. Every morning I take a cappuccino. Every other day I try a new bar in my neighbourhood, on all the other days I go to ‘my’ bar. Just like today. This coffee place is run by the son of the owner and his good friend, both about thirty years of age. At first sight, you’d expect them to work on a construction site, or in a car garage instead of a bar. But appearances can be deceiving, as they share a first place as the best baristas of our neighbourhood. Cappuccini so smooth and creamy that it must take a very refined and well-practiced technique and probably many attempts during plenty of years of experience. The exact reason why I come here every other day. “Ciao cara!” one of them says as I step inside, “un cappuccino?” Even before I can answer, the coffee machine starts hissing noisily. I flip through the newspaper, which is placed on the small table next to the bar like every day, and I cannot help laughing when I think back to that one time I actually sat down at that table. An elderly gentleman stepped inside and immediately, the two baristas exchanged a meaningful look. Then I heard a lot of grumbling in Roman dialect for which I made no effort to understand it as I was on the phone to a friend. When I finally looked up and noticed the wild and somewhat threatening arm gestures towards me, with two grinning baristas behind the bar, I realised that I was the reason of his annoyance. I had sat down on ‘his’ chair at ‘his’ table. How on earth did I dare to do so?! My cappuccino is just about ready when the wife, or girlfriend perhaps, of the owner’s son comes in pushing a pram. The two of them have a baby of only a few months old. As always, he enthusiastically storms towards them from behind the bar to lift his tiny girl out of the pram and to proudly give her her bottle of milk on the little bench outside.

My heart skips a beat when I think about her. She surely stays inside now, isn’t she?

I smile and wave at him, still holding his baby girl in his arms, as I continue my way, back up the hill. I pass by the supermarket and the tabaccheria next to it and see the old lady again, whose face always lights up in a big smile when she sees me. My heart skips a beat when I think about her. She surely stays inside now, isn’t she? The first time I met her was in the early days of December last year. After we had waited for fifteen minutes in the line in the supermarket –  ‘quickly’ picking up something from the supermarket in Italy is just not as quick as you might think – she said goodbye with ‘Merry Christmas’. Immediately she apologized for already having said a Christmas wish well before the Christmas tree was put up but, as she quickly added, she had better said it already in case we wouldn’t see each other again. She seemed genuinely worried about it, and I tell myself I really going to make the effort to speak a little longer to her, the next time I’ll see her.

Although every single bar I pass by looks even more inviting than the other, I decide to keep walking. After all, I’ve already had my shot of caffeine this morning and I have a goal in mind

I continue my way. From Monteverde Vecchio, the beautiful neighbourhood where I live, I walk to Trastevere, streets I know by hard. Over the Gianicolo hill – one of the seven hills on which Rome is built – where I’m once again amazed by the view. From here, you can see all of Rome, with the Altare della Patria on Piazza Venezia on the right side and the majestic dome of the St. Peter more to the left side. At night, this open-air space is crowded with couples and groups of friends who gratefully get their cold beer, bottle of wine and patatine, crisps, from the mobile drink stalls. Right now, there are mainly tourists who take dozens of selfies with this breath-taking panorama. Once I’ve walked all the way down, I suddenly find myself in the narrow streets of Trastevere. A beautiful Roman quarter with terracotta, yellow and pink coloured houses built in times long passed. The passage in the streets gets even tighter because of the numerous terraces – made up of two or three little tables with unstable chairs due to the uneven surface of cobblestones – that gratefully make use of the shadow between the buildings. Although every single bar I pass by looks even more inviting than the other, I decide to keep walking. After all, I’ve already had my shot of caffeine this morning and I have a goal in mind. While crossing the streets packed with small pasticcierie, macellerie and salumerie, I suddenly stumble upon a familiar building with big black letters. It’s the well-hidden, old but characteristic cinema of Trastevere with its dusty and sagging red chairs, where the screens are not much bigger than the average flat screen TV everyone has in their living room nowadays. I have to smile when I think back to that Sunday afternoon in February when we went to the six o’clock movie and there were literally only nonni around us. Cosily packed between the elderly who were curiously studying us, we brought down the average age in the room with about twenty years.

Just moments later, I cross Piazza Campo dei Fiori with its daily market and I can’t resist tasting some drops of truffle oil. Delicious!

Trastevere is separated from the old city center by the river Tevere that meanders through the eternal city, and I reach the other side by crossing the Ponte Sisto. On the wide pedestrian bridge at least three different street artist are performing and I enjoy the warm, dramatic sound of the cello. Just moments later, I cross Piazza Campo dei Fiori with its daily market and I can’t resist tasting some drops of truffle oil. Delicious! I continue wandering through the small streets, passing churches and fountains. I arrive at the Largo di Torre Argentina: a kind of open-air museum that is popularly known as the cat ruins. All ruins from the ancient Roman empire, which is about as big as a football field and lies several meters deep in the ground. Today’s inhabitants are just as stubborn and astute as the ancient Romans, as it is inhibited by dozens of cats nowadays. I try to count them, which is quite difficult as they always manage to hide themselves under the plenty columns. And while I think of the cats in Rome, I suddenly realise how crazy this corona situation must be for them now. Desolated streets and no hordes of tourists coming to pet them and to feed them prosciutto. Well actually, they might like this situation in which they are free to roam the streets, trying to catch little birds. They’re ruling the kingdom again. 

I walk along the side of Rome’s most impressive building and only when I have passed it completely and I find myself in the middle of the square, I turn around

From the home of my fluffy friends, it’s only a few minutes’ walk to my favourite spot in Rome. A place that manages to take my breath away every single time. It is not my final destination today, but I’m still going there, as I always do. Via Piazza Minerva – on the outside wall of the church you find a special stone indicating how extremely high the water level was during one of the worst floods in which many Romans lost their life – I approach Piazza della Rotonda. I walk along the side of Rome’s most impressive building and only when I have passed it completely and I find myself in the middle of the square, I turn around. I gasp. The Pantheon looks down on me with all its glory and grace. The atmosphere on this piazza is simply magical and the antica salumeria, which is right next to the majestic building, catches my eye. Despite the fact it attracts hundreds of tourists every day thanks to its A-location and characteristic appearance – right above the antique shop a beautiful fresco of the virgin Maria can be admired – the decades old shop still only serves food of the highest quality. I treat myself to a panino with prosciutto and mozzarella, and I sit down on the steps of the fountain to eat it in peace. I look up to the unique house on the other side of the piazza that attracts my attention once again because of its heavenly blue colour. It’s probably one of the only blue coloured – and therefore one of my favourite – houses in all of Rome. I lost count of the amount of times that I’ve been daydreaming about its former residents who have lived here over time, having the most glorious view of all from their bedroom.

“Ah, ma sei Milanese?” Are you from Milan? “Something like that!”, I answer cheerfully

I hurry into the narrow but crowded street packed with very touristic restaurants and I mentally prepare myself for the game all young waiters play to attract your attention. “Ciao miss, are you American? Russian?”. “Are you Nicole Kidman? Shakira?”. “Are you hungry, we have the best pasta for you. For you it’s for free!”.  When I snap a witty answer at them in Italian (when you say something so often, it will roll out of your mouth super smooth eventually) their eyes light up. “Ah, ma sei Milanese?” Are you from Milan? “Something like that!”, I answer cheerfully.

A little later I’m licking a giant gelato of my favourite flavour: anguria (watermelon). I start to get impatient and I speed up my pace

Once I have survived these hysterical perils, I find myself at the Piazza di Pietra. I can’t cross this little square without thinking about the beautiful scene I witnessed here in the summer of 2016. A man and a woman – both already in their fifties at least – had haphazardly parked their blue vintage Vespa in the middle of the square. The man, wearing a flat cap made of tweed and checkered trousers held up by braces, swung the lady around making her beautiful thick and curly hair to dance in the wind and her floral dress to reveal the olive skin of her legs. Laughing and still panting from their spontaneous dance, they caught their breath against the orange-coloured wall of the static building at one side of the square. Immediately after that, a long kiss followed, which could count on a loud round of applause from everyone who witnessed this beautiful and loving moment of the two lovebirds in the middle of the day. Today, however, it is quiet. No Hollywood movie-like love scenes, but also no long queue for the gelateria, and a little later I’m licking a giant gelato of my favourite flavour: anguria (watermelon). I start to get impatient and I speed up my pace. Hurrying through the busy Via del Corso, Rome’s main shopping street, I see the gigantic Altare della Patria at Piazza Venezia appearing in my sight. For a moment I hesitate whether I will go to my secret spot from where you have a beautiful view, by climbing the high stairs on the right side at the back of the building, but I decide to not go there. I don’t want to waste any more time now and turn left. Immediately, my final destination of today looms up on the horizon. Two thousand years of history that still proudly stands up tall, despite all earthquakes, floods and wars. Where at the Pantheon you can still feel the serenity and peace in the air, around the Colosseum you can still feel the adrenaline. Yet, the wide wall on the outskirts of Monti, the trendy neighbourhood next to the Colosseum, is one of the nicest places to sit down and have daydreams carry you away. When I finally arrive, I sit down, my legs dangling over the edge. I feel the warmth of the sun in my face and squeeze my eyes a little to look up at the birds flying under the hundreds of arches of the two-thousand-year-old arena. A pleasant breeze lightly touches my face and the loud city noises disappear. I close my eyes and I remind myself that I don’t have to go anywhere from here. I am exactly where I need to be.