But let’s start with dinner last night. After a first aborted attempt (one waitress for fifteen tables, a small menu that had nothing we wanted) we discovered a huge restaurant filled with locals in our hood. Name unknown. (We still only have one waitress – this time for about thirty tables, but she can move). We are sitting on the pavement, it is yet another beautiful evening. I have no idea what time it is, because the sun only sets at about 21h45, seriously messing with my drinking pattern. 

The menu, unlike the first little place, is extensive. I settle for tagliolini with clams, zuchini and baby tomatoes, while Victor goes for Baccalau. We are transported to a world that no master chef has ever discovered. It is so simple, pure, utterly flavourful. (Yes I know I said this about the peach, but trust me…). I decide that we will eat pasta again when we get home. Simple home-made pasta with simple sauces.  Our walk back is scented with the heady fragrance of Jasmine. Another fragrance that will stick in my senses forever – like the figs of Portugal and the rotten bait of my childhood.

Just after 08h00 this morning the builders start working next door. They are so close that we can literally hear them fart! (And do they fart!). We have a lazy start to the morning, until we head out to the MAXXi museum of modern art. On the outskirts of Rome. Far far away on the outskirts. Impressive architecture does not make up for the strange collection of non-art. There is an arcitectural model exhibition on interior and exterior architecture looking at the spaces we occupy. A sentence catches my attention: the interior of our homes are the setting in which our lives play itself out. It is the design that depicts how we live. It sets the scene. It directs us… How much say do we have in this? Are we aware of the impact of our environment on our psyche? Do we consciously choose/design to improve our quality of life? Or are we a product of the impact of our environmental influences? It intrigues me – considering the environments that so many Elders or vulnerable people live in. How can we improve this? How can we truly create human habitats that engages our psyche to enhance and support our wellbeing? Are there some universal factors that will improve this, or is it unique for every individual?

On our way back after visiting the art gallery we make our way towards the Gay Pride march. Second year in a row that we stumble across Gay Pride (last year was London). For two people not really interested in this, we are swept up this time in the energy of thousand and thousand of people marching through Rome. This is not a spectacle of flesh and muscle, but a rather moving portrayal of cause – Jewish and Moslem  people marching alongside Catholics. Families – parents with children. People with different abilities. For the first time in my life I feel that I can relate to this community. We walk past the Colloseum – an ancient relic of power – towards a new relic of power. In search of freedom for those who are different from the stereotypical “norm”. I am not part of it, and yet I am. I am my own person. I have never felt that I belong, and yet I know that we all need to belong. I see myself as different, and yet the same. 

Within the throngs (and thongs) of beautiful bodies, an Elder, dressed in black, shuffles along begging for money. The youthful crowds push her along. They do not (can not) see this. Not today. It does belong here. I say to Victor how I wish I could show them a picture of themselves in thirty or fourty years, when youth is gone and reality has struck. How the marginalised can marginalise. There is no one as blind as he who does not want to see… We embrace the other. And yet we cannot embrace the otherness of the others. We shy away from it. 

After a few Spritz (Aperol, prosecco and sparkling water) we stumble along with the crowds – a heaving mass of others.  Spritz is the most refreshing drink! Our airb&b is up on the hille above Trastevere, reached by climbing many, many stairs. The more beer or spritz, the more the stairs. BUT- at the top of the stairs is a wonderful restaurant, Ristorante Gianicolo Care Diem. I have veal with murshrooms and Victor has the pasta with beef. A feast. A perfect end to a long, hot day.

Can one fall in love with a city? Is it possible to get a headrush walking along a river in this city, seeing the sun set on ochre walls, the last rays through the green leaves of ancient trees, the river flooding towards the sea? Can one honestly be moved by the sun on the bridge, seagulls diving into the river? Or cockatiles screeching in flight? Of ancient cobble stones and ice cream shops, fountains gushing and scooters screeching? Ambulances howling and beggars begging? Rome is another one of thos sensual cities where a river runs through it. Divides and conquers and separates, yet brings life. I love Rome. I truly, madly, deeply love Rome.