My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day III

Scenes from an Italian/Roman Bistro

Monuments to Humanity and Museums of Human Beings.

So, yesterday did not turn out the way I had planned but it unfolded exactly as it should have.

I'm not sure what it was, exactly. I know I'm not used to having espresso in the morning. Or, that much dairy, for that matter.

My stomach just kept flipping and lurching and I was in no shape to go to the Coliseum or any sight-seeing spot and deal with all those crowds of tourists.

It's okay. Truth be told, I hate that stuff on a good day. I am not cut out to be a tourist. Full stop.

So, I pretty much hung out in the neighborhood, sitting on benches - not too far from restaurants and pizzerias with restrooms - watching people and their children or their dogs.

I saw some wonderful things - human beings being human beings (and, human doings). I got my bearings - geographically and biologically. I had some perfectly wonderful conversations with some pretty amazing people.

I spoke with a young couple who were walking to St. Paul Outside the Wall, an Episcopal Church not far from my “neighborhood”. I figured out that it's about a 10-minute walk from where I'm staying and it has some amazing mosaics that I understand are a brilliant inspiration to meditation. Indeed, that's one of the churches I plan to visit on Sunday. Maybe today I'll also walk to Santa Maria Maggiore, the oldest Marian church in Rome (4th century).

Anyway, this young couple said that they had both left The Roman Church out of utter disgust with, as the man said, "their exclusive nature". He told me his sister felt called to be a priest and had become a nun but was most unhappy and had left the convent "angry and bitter".

They both had "many gay friends, men and women" and were pretty pissed that they were excluded, too. "Almost all our wedding party is gay," they said.

“How can you build a church on the teachings of Jesus Christ and then hate people because they don’t do what you think they should do?” she asked, slack-jawed with astonishment and utter confusion.

They had found The Episcopal Church and, he said, “It was love at first sight. Just like us.” (They shot each other the most endearing look.)

They were absolutely fascinated to learn that I am an Episcopal priest. We must have talked for almost an hour, at the end of which, they asked for my name and a way to contact me.

On their way back from their visit with the priest at St. Paul's, they spotted me in the Pharmacy and told me that they had told the priest that they really, really, really wanted me to preside at their wedding.

I laughed b/c it sounded so ridiculous to me at that moment but when I looked at their faces, I realized that they were dead serious. They said the priest said it was fine and they would fly me there and give me lodging and food.

If I felt woozy from the espresso, you can imagine how that news flew through my body!

Well, anyway, I've got their name, address, and number and we'll see how all of that works out. Honest to Ethel, huh? My great Tuscan adventure just got even more adventurous.

There were other conversations and other lovely things that happened but I have no pictures of any great sights because clearly, this is just not that kind of journey. I think I saw some of the greatest monuments to a civilized society in Rome today.

Young people in love. Young children at play who wanted me to play football with them. Old couples holding hands. Young women walking arm in arm, having relaxed, casual conversations. People sharing a gelato in the warm Roman sun.

I didn't take pictures. That would have been rude. Or, at least, awkward. Besides, they will live forever in my heart, their images longer lasting and grander than that of the Colleseum or the Parthenon and more deeply spiritual and religious than Vatican City.

I did learn of a bus one can take for 35 Euro which tours (drives by) all of the "important sites". I may take that so I can, in fact, say that I was in Rome and saw all those things. But, I can also say that, when I was in Rome, I did what Romans do, and I can assure you that it's not just visiting museums and statues.

Around 8 PM, I felt ready to handle dinner. I went to Mabru Bistro, a five-star place down and across the street from my hotel. I had the Tagliatelle e Funghi Porcini e Finferli (Pasta and Mushrooms). OMG. OMG. OMG.

I chose that dish because first, I want to learn how to make tagliatelle pasta but also because it was stressed to me by several of the wait staff that the porcini are in season and "fresh, fresh, fresh, yes?" and "once they go out of season, there is no more until the next season."

I love the passionate urgency about the freshness of food.

I met the chef and he provided a "supplemento", gratis, the addition of a few Tartufo Nero in Aggiunta (Black Truffles).

It was, in a word, amazing.

He then insisted that I have dessert ("gratis, on me, You simply must taste this before you got to Tuscany!") which was Capezzolo del Dio al Pistacchio – (Pistachio Nipple of the God) which was a mound of frozen ricotta, filled with green pistachio "juice" and topped with a crushed pistachio "nipple".

I think I've died and gone to heaven.

I came here to learn how to cook but I'm learning that there are things I'm going to learn that surpass my understanding and imagination.

So off I go, then, into this new day. No cappuccino for this girl. Maybe not even eggs. Maybe just some buttered toast and some English Breakfast Tea.

Then, it’s a long, lovely day of walking and watching, listening and engaging in conversation, and soaking in centuries of history and eons of hopes for the future which are all contained in conversations with the people on the streets of Rome and in their shops and bistros.

Today, my prayer for Palestine and Israel comes from the statement from Justin Welby, The Archbishop of Canterbury. First let me say that I am quite pleased that the news has begun to include interviews and conversations with Palestinians who have also lost loved ones in the war.

Someone asked, "If Palestinians do not want Hamas to represent them, why don't you throw them off?" The man showed enormous restraint and said, "Have you been to Palestine in the past decade? More and more, we have become an Israeli open-air prison. How are we to throw off two oppressors: Hamas and Israel?"

CNN, the NY Times and RNS (Religious News Service) have also been running some balanced articles along with some really excellent Podcasts, one of which featured interviews, side by side with an Israeli and a Palestinian journalist.

It is clear: War is evil. Full stop. And so is oppression.

Here are the words from Archbishop Welby:

"But in the face of a ground offensive in Gaza, I plead that the sins of Hamas are not borne by the citizens of Gaza, who themselves have faced such suffering over many decades.

The price of evil cannot be paid by the innocent. Civilians cannot bear the costs of terrorists. International humanitarian law recognises that, for the sake of everyone’s humanity, some acts can never be permissible in the chaos of warfare. I pray that Israel does everything it can to limit the harm caused to innocent civilians.

Over two million civilians in Gaza, half of them children, are facing a catastrophe. A humanitarian corridor and convoy are needed as rapidly as possible, as set out in the Geneva Conventions. I pray particularly for the Anglican-run Ahli Arab Hospital and all those caring for the injured, who need medical supplies and generator fuel.

I join with the US Secretary of State and others in urging the Israeli government to exercise their right of defence with the wisdom that might break the cycles of violence under which generations have struggled. Amidst the chaos and confusion of war, and as much as is possible, I join the calls for Israel’s military response to be proportional and to discriminate between civilians and Hamas.

Pray for the people of Israel, Gaza and the West Bank. Pray for the future of the Holy Land. Pray for those who will weep, and fear, and die tonight.

Lord God, we pray, by your great mercy, defend your children from all perils and dangers of this night."

Amen.

Buongiorno! Make it a great day!

My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day II

 My Great Tuscan Adventure, Day II

Buongiorno! It's my first morning waking up in Rome. I slept like a foolish man, as I heard said in Ghana, which is to say very, deeply and soundly, without even getting up once to pee (and I always get up at least once to pee.)

Okay, that's probably TMI - Too Much Information - right out of the chute but, you know, I am discovering that this is The City of Too Much Information.

Italians have to explain EVERYTHING in great detail - and with their eyes and their faces as well as their hands - especially when they think they've done something that you think is wrong, but they KNOW isn't and they have to tell you why.

I've got an example with the door to my hotel room - it's not the key, and no, I haven't kept it near my cell phone, and look, even your night housekeeping staff can't get in without jimmying and jiggling so something obviously needs to be filed down or drilled or adjusted - but, instead, I want to tell you about breakfast this morning.

First, as you have already surmised, I love food. I love it enough to respect it and my body. But aging is neither a gentle nor kind process so I eat a little more strategically these days. I try to portion and more evenly distribute my fats, sugar, and carbs throughout the two or three meals I eat a day.

This was my breakfast: scrambled eggs and a lovely cappuccino. What decaf? Decaf? Who drinks decaf? Impossible! And 2% milk? What fresh hell is that? Do you think the gods drink decaf coffee with skim milk in heaven? Are you out of your mind?

When the lovely young lady came to bring me my cappuccino, she looked at my plate and frowned. "Did you need some toast?" She inquired. No, thank you I smiled, admiring her heart-shaped frothy handiwork on the cappuccino.

"No?" she responded, looking as if I had just admitted that I thought matricide was acceptable in certain circumstances. "Ah, then meat? Would senora like me to bring some meat?"

Let me explain here that "meat" in many European countries - as it apparently does here, as well - means "sausage" but is actually a hot dog; or bacon which is grossly under-cooked, sort of browned fat with thin strips of meat throughout and dripping and glistening with grease.

No, I said, smiling. Grazie.

For half a second she registered the same look of shocked surprise mixed with confusion she had when I had turned down the bread but quickly recovered with a cute, sweet Gina Lollobrigida pout.

"American, yes?" she said, probably picking up on my accent. "You eat bacon, eh?"

Of course, I said, to her instant smile, but no, not today.

She shook her head as if I had three heads and one was flopping, probably muttering to herself, "Go figure with these people!"

I had finished my eggs and was halfway through my cappuccino when I decided some fruit was definitely in order, so I put my napkin on my plate, left my phone and my sweater (it's presently 67 degrees and rainy), and got up to return to the buffet in the area next to my table.

When I returned - it was 3 maybe 4 minutes later - everything was gone. My empty dish. My lovely 1/2 cup of cappuccino, my sweater and . . . gasp and gulp! - my phone!!!

Italian pickpockets are one thing, I thought, but Jeeze Louise, my phone!!! Are you serious right now?

I flew out of the room and ran into my server. "My phone!" I said, sounding every bit like an emotional Italian. "My phone!" I said slowly and a bit louder than I intended but in that embarrassing way one speaks to another for whom English is not their Mother Tongue.

"Yes, yes . . ." she said, trying to calm me down with her hands and her face as well as her voice, "Reception. Reception ... ermm ... desk. I put. Reception desk. Phone and sweater."

But, I was not finished! I said. Again, loudly. I... I... and then I sighed loudly, threw up my hands like a proper Italian, and ran toward the Reception-ermm-desk, with the kind of out-of-proportion anger melting into relief that follows anxiety.

The manager, looking up at my face coming toward him, held up my phone and then looked down to return to his work. I surmised this must happen at least six times during breakfast. He had that look of bored distraction Italian/Mediterranean men have with women when they just don't want to engage. (Don't say you haven't seen it because you have. Just watch Di Niro sometime.)

When I returned to the breakfast room, the young woman was waiting for me, full of apologies. Good Lord, was she ever filled with apologies!

And that's when I got the Italian TMI. Full on. Hard press.

I have no real memory of all she said. Something about they have a lot of guests right now and they need to make sure everyone has a seat and that it is clean and that . . . . blah, blah, blah-ditty-blah-blah.

I had my phone. And, my sweater. I wanted my fruit. And, another cappuccino. I waited for a moment when she would catch her breath and I could stop her with, "Cappuccino? Yes? Per favore?"

She stopped right in the middle of her next explanation and snapped to attention. "Yes, of course, senora!" in that tone one uses when royalty has given a command to an underling servant, adding, "Right away. I fix especial for you. And, your fruit. I bring you a nice dish of fruit."

Which then made me feel bad. I slumped back into my seat, aware that the people in my little sitting area were looking at me. I looked up at them and they were smiling at me. Their faces said, "We tried but there was no stopping her." And, "Good for you!"

I have only been in Rome a full 24 hours. I'm afraid I may be coming to a stereotype but I'm trying to develop a coping mechanism to get me through the next few days before I'm off to Tuscany which, I could be wrong but I strongly suspect will be much different than here, in Rome. Well, okay. Different.

I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a country, to occupy a space you call 'home', which is so steeped with thousands of centuries of history and exquisite art and music and deeply admired culture and copied and coveted clothing that you feel simultaneously proud and personally insignificant.

I think it leads to two things, I think. One, that you feel you must constantly explain things to 'outsiders' because, how can we know or understand, really? Except to understand - especially as Americans - that we can not ever fully understand what it must be like to be Roman and Italian?

This leads to the posture of TMI which I experienced with the young Gina Lollobrigida in the Breakfast Room as well as the detached boredom which is easily confused with arrogance from the Robert Di Niro at the Reception Desk (I suspect it may be part of the job as a hotel manager but the attitude is Italian).

I have so much to learn about people. The more I learn, the more I know that I need to learn more. In other words, part of what I love about travel is that I learn just how limited I am and how much more I need to grow.

This is the part of my travels when I realize that I need to slow down. Take a breath. Intentionally skip a few beats. Know my place. Understand my identity and role here. I am a guest. I am a lifelong student, engaged in the ongoing study of the human enterprise and the appreciative inquiry of the various cultural and ethnic and racial and class experiences of being human.

Being here is not about me. If I'm going to more fully enjoy my time here, I've got to get out of my own way. As I learned in Thailand, I have to stop asking, "Why do they do that?" Instead, I need to start asking, "Hmm... why do I do what I do when they do that?"

This is about being curious about others, and learning from them so that I might be a better human being. It's about appreciating the rich history of being American so that I can appreciate the rich history of being Italian, upon which a great deal of being American is also all about.

And, to know that, in the end, Fr. Kourmranian, my Armenian priest mentor in Lowell, MA, was absolutely right, "God is God and people is people."

So, off I go, then to experience more of Rome. It's stopped raining but it's presently 72. Air quality is reportedly poor, so I need to make sure to adjust my walking pace to "saunter". I'm headed over to the Colosseum and will probably get in a good 5-8 mile walk, stopping, of course, for a light lunch around 2 or 3 PM, before everything shuts down around 4 PM. Except, of course, pizza (which is square).

I don't know if it's possible to be addicted to salad but, well, Hi, my name is Elizabeth . . . . .

Or, as I'm called here, Eee-leesss-a-bet. Lovely, init? I sound like somebody else. Someone young and sexy and . . . Oh, shut up! Let a girl have her moment of fantasy, will ya?

Oh, was that TMI?

Today's prayer for Israel and Palestine comes from the United Anglican Dioceses of Dublin and Glendalough, which operates the al–Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza.

I offer today's prayer especially mindful that Israel ordered the evacuation of more than a million civilians from the entire northern half of Gaza. Egypt has refused to accept Palestinian refugees, unofficially acknowledging that Israel would never allow them to return to their homeland and refusing to do their work for them. The UN said the order would lead to “devastating humanitarian consequences,” and Gazan officials have told Palestinians not to comply.

Oh, Lord, hear our prayer:

"God of light and salvation, our refuge and our strength, we pray for the people of Israel and Palestine amid the escalating violence taking place in these days. We pray for those killed and injured by rockets from Gaza in southern Israel. May your rod and staff comfort them. We pray for those who are grieving and fearful. We pray for protection over those who have been taken hostage in Gaza.

Oh God, we call on you this day to change hearts, bring an end to this current violence, and protect the people living in this land that is so precious and dear to your heart. Amen."

Buona giornata! Ciao!

My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day I

My Great Tuscan Adventure, Day I

Well, I arrived in Rome at around 9:00 AM, Roman time but it was actually 3 AM in my body. I figure I got about 2 hours of sleep. Which is about what I usually get on a plane but this was much more comfortable sleep. Had we had more time in the air, I would have slept longer. Of this, there is no doubt.

As it is, I got to my hotel - about 45 minutes from the airport - and. by the grace of God or Pinocchio or Geppeto or the Blue Fairy or whoever it is who's in charge of things today, the folks at the front desk had mercy on me and allowed me in my room at 11 AM vs. 2 PM.

I am a bit disappointed with my room. It's small. That's okay. I'm only going to be here until Sunday morning. Three nights is all and I'm going to be out all day most days. But it has all the essentials one would expect and need: a bed, hot water pot with instant coffee (Yuck) and tea, a toilet, with a bidet, of course, a lovely shower, and a small closet for hanging clothes.

The view? Well, let's say I'm not looking at the Wonders of Rome. Indeed, I'm looking at another building and an alleyway. Bunch of concrete and a tangle of wires and metal. Not pretty.

I confess: I immediately took a nap. I slept fitfully but I slept. I'm now hungry so in a bit I'm going to head out to find something to eat. This is Rome. That ought not to be a difficult excursion.

I am also going to call Ms. Conroy. She's having her second eye surgery this morning. I hate that I'm away for that but this trip was planned long before her second eye surgery so we just have to suck it up and do the best we can.

Our dear friend Anita is driving her to and from the surgicenter and will be walking and feeding the puppies (no bending or stooping for 3 days).

Our next-door neighbors John and Lisa are also going to be checking in on her and our across-the-canal neighbor Betsy is a retired nurse, so between them and all of our friends who will be checking in, I think we've got this covered.

I also left her with some soup in the freezer and one of her favorite meals of chicken, mashed potatoes and corn in the fridge so she won't starve.

I'll call her again tonight around 8 PM my time, 2 PM her time which is about when she should be home. We are absolutely loving WhatsApp. We can text and video chat and there is no cost. I'm sure that, after they get you hooked there will be some cost. Just like Netflix and Hulu with their "introductory rates" that suddenly soar. Well, we'll deal with that later.

So, a quick shower, fresh clothes, a bit of a walk for something to eat and that's about as much as this Happy but Weary Wanderer is going to be able to stand for the day.

Make it a great day, everyone. Walk into the day with a heart filled with gratitude and you'll be sure to end it with a heart filled with love and a mind filled with happiness.

My prayer for Israel and Palestine today comes from the mind and the heart of John Lenon:

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too

Imagine all the people
Livin' life in peace.

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will live as one.

Bom dia. Ciao!