I wish I was a poet. I would write an ode to Rome. What is it about this city? Perhaps its heart laid bare in the Circus Maximus? The ever deeper search for its origins, excavating deeper and deeper into history? The sense of walking on paths that date to 600BC is hard to explain, one feels humbled knowing that kings and conquerers have walked these very paths, chariots have ridden these very cobbled roads. A cruel yet spectaculart history.

The architecture in Rome is testimony to its glorious past. From the “toaster” (Victor Emmanuel monument) to the Vatican, one feels small and insignificant against such splendour. The detail on these buildings, busts of the greatest men on earth, chariots and horses, angels and gods sprouting crystal clear water in marble fountains. The Castel Sant’Angelo (where Tosca jumps her death), the Colloseum, the Pantheon – one of the oldest buildings on earth with the entire dome built out of concrete. Architectural wonder constructed to honour all gods. 

The city exudes history. But more than that it tells of the might of mankind – to build and to destroy. To pillage and to honour. It also exudes charm – beautiful, sophisticated people. Incredible food. Today we again tasted “carciofi alla giudia Roma” after first experiencing it twelve years ago in the Jewish quarter. A Roman Jewish traditional dish, artichoke slowly cooked in oil, then flashfried to create a crispy yet tasty artichoke that it eaten in its entirety. We had the pleasure of meeting up with friends just outside the Vatican, where thousands of people were congregated to see the Pope do a short Sunday mass. We saw the Pope. He is not my favourite person, and I have my serious reservations about his church. (With all due respect to my wonderful friends who are Catholic). However – the Vatican is an architectural wonder. Enough of that – back to food!

To start – we had two of the most wonderful things together! The carciofi and my all time other favourite – stuffed courgette flowers. The most delicate, tasty, subtle flower of a courgette stuffed with ricotta cheese, dipped in tempura batter and lightly fried. The world can stop. I am happy to get off right here and now – I have lived my life for having experienced this today. But wait wait wait – there was then the main course. Spaghetti Carbonara. Thick, al dente spaghetti with crispy pieces of speck (no better word for it – it is not bacon!), just covered in an egg sauce with parmigiano. (Again – three ingredients!). Simple, yet magnificent. Truly magnificent. Of course I had to try the Tiramisu. Served in a cocktail glass, beautiful mascarpone with a thin layer of boudoir, served with a single expresso poured over at the table. 

My apologies to my sensitive Italian friends – but I have to include the photograph of the vegetables. Cooked to death, beyond repair – if ever I see vegetables in a GERATEC kitchen like this, I would kill the cook. Anyway – just a little aside to a wonderful meal. WHY bother with vegetables in any case one would ask?

A tiramisu is enough to make up for any sins the chef might have committed.

The other thing about Europe that one can never miss, it the intergenerational lifestyle. Across the table from ours was the Italian family – all four generations of them! And yes, the Grand Mama was there – old and frail in her wheelchaird. Cheeks red, glass of wine or rouge – who cares? Integrated, together, connected. 

After the meal it is extremely hot – we decide to just take a walk into the Vatican and then head back home for a siesta.

In the cooler early evening we venture back down (three hundred and fifty eight million billion stairs I have you know) to the bustle of the Trastevere. Here Rome comes to life when the day gets a bit cooler. Musicians, dogs, bicycles, Vespas, people and tourists. Gently strolling through the streets, just being. No rush. Dogs explore under tables for morsels that fell to the ground before the pigeons can get to it. High heels on cobbles make for wobbly ankles, but fashion is tough in Rome. Men with leather skin as a result of years in the sun, smoking short cigars and drinking Spritz. 

Tomorrow we have to leave Rome. It is sad. Very sad.