Picture yourself as a popular performer during ancient Roman times: Celenus Dionys, Eltonicus John, or perhaps Mr. Buddy Hatticus, and your agent booked you at the Roman Coliseum after paying your dues in Ephesian dives and resort clubs in Casearia. Your dressing room would certainly include a private vomitorium (especially if you were Celenus Dionys) and you would need it after gouging on exotic delicacies such as Peacock, Thrush, and Sow’s Udders. However, when your adoring fans receded into the hills and in the silence of that great structure, you would reflect upon your career and how far you had come from your humble roots in Judea or Constantinople where your parents toiled and sacrificed to pay for lessons. Performing at the Coliseum would have been like playing the Royal Albert Hall after many years of gigging for the proletariat in the Pocono mountains and college circuits.
Touring the outposts and provinces of the Roman Empire, we saw for ourselves how literally, all roads led to Rome. In some instances, there were actual arrows pointing the way.
In this manner, we arrived into Rome after a whirlwind tour of the empire’s provinces, only instead of a golden chariot, we made our triumphant entrance in a Fiat with a taxi medallion. As we passed the Vittorio Emanuel Monument, brilliantly illuminated on a moonless night, it confirmed for me why Rome still is the “Great Beauty”.
We arrived at the venerable Hotel Flora which is situated on a prime piece of the swanky Via Veneto. It is now part of the Marriott empire, and offers free upgrades to its Titanium members. Just like the aforementioned celebrity, I too earned my points toiling in America’s outer provinces and paying my dues in Britain’s shires.
Susan and I had some unfinished business to attend to: replace a broken piece of jewelry, and hunt down a particular shampoo…unabashedly first world problems. Aside from that, our agenda was wide open — but NO MORE RUINS.
More than 10 years ago, on a business trip to Rome, I purchased a ring for Susan which had a stylish but delicate setting which broke several years after the purchase. Sure enough, the jeweler was still there and gave us full credit for the ring. With this credit, Susan selected something from the Carmela Soprano collection, chunky enough to leave a mark but elegant enough to be admired.
Dear reader, you must understand that I get my shampoo from the Dollar General. It’s all the same crap and theirs comes in containers large enough for refills. Notwithstanding this important fact, many years ago we stayed in a beautiful hotel in Taormina, Sicily and from that hotel we “borrowed” a small sample bottle of shampoo. It had a masculine and musky scent that I vowed I would spend a few extra bucks for if I ever found another. It was produced by the fragrance designer, Laura Tonatto, who coincidentally has a wonderful “essential fragrances” boutique near the Campo De Fiori in Rome.
After a delicious lunch of pizza, pasta, and ice- cold Fanta, we headed off to find Laura’s shop. The boutique was easy to find and can only be described as classy, chic, and charming – just like the millennial girl working the counter who spoke perfect English, despite never being to America or England. Turns out, Laura ships to the USA and I have included a link for anyone wishing to visit the online store. https://www.essenzialmentelaura.it/en
Like determined New Yorkers, we darted in and out of Rome’s bustling squares and flower-box alleys to accomplish our chores. With missions accomplished, we were now able to enjoy Rome’s beauty at a relaxed and unencumbered pace.
Since we’ve visited Rome a number of times (the first, in 2000, on our honeymoon), we had the luxury to bypass the frenetic tours and ditch the travel guides, and just sit by the Trevi Fountain, lick a gelato, and marvel at the street life.
For me, Rome has always been both form and function. The Romans seem to have an innate ability to absorb the mundane and ordinary and transform it back into something interesting and artistic…something to provoke one or all of the senses. So, an ancient roman sculpture too scruffy and ordinary for the galleries can be modified to be a public water fountain. Ordinary counter chairs can be fitted with dayglo vinyl seats made to look like bottle caps. An unviable, but magnificently gilded chapel, whose parishioners are few and few between, can be transformed into a serene sanctuary for tired tourists and reclusive residents.
Susan and I found such a chapel, but for its commanding profile on the Strada, you would quickly dismiss it as another old and tired venue in need of stucco and oxygen. Like a line from the song “California Dreaming”, we popped in and found ourselves alone amongst the gilt and marble. We prayed as Pachelbel’s Concerto in D major enveloped the temple in angelic mellifluence.
We had a tour guide in Jerusalem crack wise that B.C. now stands for “before covid” and that may be true for many cities trying to claw their way back from the pandemic. Despite being hit with a nasty version of the virus, Rome seems to have emerged just as vibrant and energetic as I can remember, proving it to truly be a great and eternal beauty.
In a small café with Susan, both sipping coffees, I was so grateful for finding my own great beauty as Dean Martin crooned in my head: Down each avenue or via, street or Strada, you can see them disappearing two by two.
On an evening in Roma.