Many apartment dwellers are plagued by unwanted (non-human) visitors. Roaches, rodents, the dreaded cockamouse- all terrifyingly ugly creatures whose main purpose seems to be popping out of impossibly tiny spaces at the most inopportune moments. Now, I've seen Roman rats in the street, fleeing into gutters and drainpipes, and I have not really enjoyed it, but at least I've always felt safe in the knowledge that I could go back to my clean house and not worry about it.
Now, however, I find that what I thought was a one-time event, a fluke, is in fact a recurrent plague in my beautiful home. Last year, a scorpion appeared in my bathroom. This unpleasant surprise was promptly crushed by the flip flop of death, wielded by my very brave friend and house guest (she had been invited, unlike the scorpion). I took to bleaching the entire bathroom once a week after that. And my bleach plan seemed to be working- I saw neither claw nor stinger for the rest of the year.
Unfortunately, it seems that something has gone terribly wrong. Either my absence has caused the scorpion community of Rome to return to its old haunts, or while I was away they developed a resistance to/love of bleach! Yes, indeed, this evening, a scorpion was once again seen on the hallowed tiles of my bathroom. Not as shocked as I was the first time this happened, I put on my wellies and grabbed the heaviest shoe in the house, and sallied forth into the shower to do battle with the tiny monster. It wasn't much of a battle; I am sure the scorpion didn't survive the first blow I dealt, but I made sure to hit it a few times, just to be sure. This one was much smaller than the one last year, so I washed it down the drain in the shower. And just for good measure, followed it down with some bleach.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Ain't Nothin' but a Cane...
Last night I decided to abandon my usual plans of eating a huge plate of pasta and falling asleep reading to go out with some friends. We went to Scholar's, one of my favorite places since my earliest days in Rome, where you can usually have a drink AND a conversation.
No such luck last night, however, because the owner had invited a band to play (very VERY loud) live music. Although Scholar's is an Irish bar, this particular band had no affiliation with the Emerald Isle. In fact, I am amazed that such a group even exists. As you may have guessed from the title of this post, the talent was nothing less than an Italian Elvis impersonator. Il Elvis, as I will call him from now on, spoke not a word of English, and between songs attempted to engage the predominantly American crowd by shouting rapid Italian into the microphone. His band were equally excitable; the drummer in particular kept breaking into random solos. Thus, we were treated to a very upbeat version of "Love Me Tender" with lyrics that I am fairly sure Il Elvis improvised.
All plans of conversation went out the window as we watched Il Elvis shake his hips across the tiny stage, dressed in full costume. It was white, had huge lapels, and was covered in rhinestones. He might have pulled it off, except it was a bit too large for poor Il Elvis, who was also a bit balder than il Re del Rock. There was a continuous slide show playing behind the band, showing pictures of the King, and pictures of Il Elvis at Graceland. Though the whole setup was ridiculous, I had to admire his dedication, and after a while, even I had to sing along...
No such luck last night, however, because the owner had invited a band to play (very VERY loud) live music. Although Scholar's is an Irish bar, this particular band had no affiliation with the Emerald Isle. In fact, I am amazed that such a group even exists. As you may have guessed from the title of this post, the talent was nothing less than an Italian Elvis impersonator. Il Elvis, as I will call him from now on, spoke not a word of English, and between songs attempted to engage the predominantly American crowd by shouting rapid Italian into the microphone. His band were equally excitable; the drummer in particular kept breaking into random solos. Thus, we were treated to a very upbeat version of "Love Me Tender" with lyrics that I am fairly sure Il Elvis improvised.
All plans of conversation went out the window as we watched Il Elvis shake his hips across the tiny stage, dressed in full costume. It was white, had huge lapels, and was covered in rhinestones. He might have pulled it off, except it was a bit too large for poor Il Elvis, who was also a bit balder than il Re del Rock. There was a continuous slide show playing behind the band, showing pictures of the King, and pictures of Il Elvis at Graceland. Though the whole setup was ridiculous, I had to admire his dedication, and after a while, even I had to sing along...
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
And OH, the people you'll meet...
Getting back to work has been a positive experience, overall. After 3 or more months of sitting and eating, I am back to walking and talking, which certainly sounds healthier. One of the things I have always loved about being a guide is meeting people, for better or worse. Sometimes, the clients think you are the funniest, smartest person they have ever met, sometimes they think a room full of maps is the Sistine Chapel (and this after 30 minutes of looking a pictures of the Sistine Chapel). Either way, I get a huge kick out of it.
I have been fortunate, since I've been back, to have excellent clients; no one has asked me if Jesus ever said mass in the Vatican, everyone has laughed at my nerdy jokes about Latin. As if this were not enough of a blessing, yesterday I was pulled aside TWICE in the Sistine Chapel by people who were not on my tour. This is actually a very good thing. The first person who came up was a priest, who not only complimented my tour, but subsequently asked me to be part of what I am going to call a secret society of tour guides. Without snobbishly dropping any names, one of the people in this group is someone I have actually SEEN on the History Channel. I was beyond excited by this prospect, and only hope I have the wherewithal to last through 'initiation' (read: an email exchange).
Nonetheless, I was approached immediately afterward by the only people in the Chapel who could have topped the feeling of elation the Secret Society of Guides (SSG? Maybe I should give it some Greek letters...): a family with a Roman last name to top (most) all Roman names. The paterfamilias simply walked up to me and said, "Hi, my name is Tiberius." It was all I could do not to respond in Latin, and ask if his mother was called Livia. If his wife had actually been called Julia, I am not sure what I would have done. In any case, I discovered after a few minutes that Tiberius was his surname, and that he was third generation American, the rest of his ancestors having been true Romans. At least in the modern sense. We spent a few minutes chatting, and I agreed to take the Tiberii on a tour of Ancient Rome, if for no other reason that to be able to put "worked for Tiberius and family in Ancient Rome" on my resume.
As if I didn't enjoy Roman history enough...
I have been fortunate, since I've been back, to have excellent clients; no one has asked me if Jesus ever said mass in the Vatican, everyone has laughed at my nerdy jokes about Latin. As if this were not enough of a blessing, yesterday I was pulled aside TWICE in the Sistine Chapel by people who were not on my tour. This is actually a very good thing. The first person who came up was a priest, who not only complimented my tour, but subsequently asked me to be part of what I am going to call a secret society of tour guides. Without snobbishly dropping any names, one of the people in this group is someone I have actually SEEN on the History Channel. I was beyond excited by this prospect, and only hope I have the wherewithal to last through 'initiation' (read: an email exchange).
Nonetheless, I was approached immediately afterward by the only people in the Chapel who could have topped the feeling of elation the Secret Society of Guides (SSG? Maybe I should give it some Greek letters...): a family with a Roman last name to top (most) all Roman names. The paterfamilias simply walked up to me and said, "Hi, my name is Tiberius." It was all I could do not to respond in Latin, and ask if his mother was called Livia. If his wife had actually been called Julia, I am not sure what I would have done. In any case, I discovered after a few minutes that Tiberius was his surname, and that he was third generation American, the rest of his ancestors having been true Romans. At least in the modern sense. We spent a few minutes chatting, and I agreed to take the Tiberii on a tour of Ancient Rome, if for no other reason that to be able to put "worked for Tiberius and family in Ancient Rome" on my resume.
As if I didn't enjoy Roman history enough...
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Abbiamo Tornato!
And... we're back!
After a 3.5 month hiatus, I am once again in Rome. As usual, nothing has changed, not even the things that look different. The restaurant on my corner, for instance, has completely renovated its facade, throwing over their stone walls and large fish tank for huge glass walls and copies of Caravaggio paintings. The visual difference is significant, but the same waiters stand outside the new doors, holding menus that definitely have been in use for as long as I have lived here.
Transitioning back is pretty easy, in part because I am once again moving into Casa Rolex, my Roma Homa since 2008. Riccardo, my landlord, is a rarity in the business, since he discounts my rent, speaks politely to my neck, and always returns my security deposit. He has outdone himself this time, though; since my arrival was late in the evening last night, after the shops were closed, he left me 'pizza e dolci' on the counter in my kitchen. Brilliant.
I am jumping right into work early tomorrow morning, which will be an extra adventure since today is St. Patrick's Day. It will be a quiet celebration (no green beer!), and with any luck, an early night!
After a 3.5 month hiatus, I am once again in Rome. As usual, nothing has changed, not even the things that look different. The restaurant on my corner, for instance, has completely renovated its facade, throwing over their stone walls and large fish tank for huge glass walls and copies of Caravaggio paintings. The visual difference is significant, but the same waiters stand outside the new doors, holding menus that definitely have been in use for as long as I have lived here.
Transitioning back is pretty easy, in part because I am once again moving into Casa Rolex, my Roma Homa since 2008. Riccardo, my landlord, is a rarity in the business, since he discounts my rent, speaks politely to my neck, and always returns my security deposit. He has outdone himself this time, though; since my arrival was late in the evening last night, after the shops were closed, he left me 'pizza e dolci' on the counter in my kitchen. Brilliant.
I am jumping right into work early tomorrow morning, which will be an extra adventure since today is St. Patrick's Day. It will be a quiet celebration (no green beer!), and with any luck, an early night!
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