Slowtrav.com review

Since I've been back and shared stories of Rome with friends and family I've also promised a link to Rome-is-Home, the wonderful apartment I rented for all of February. So here it is.

I've also had my review published on the Slowtrav site. You can read it here.

Thanks for sharing my holiday and especially to friends who posted me while I was away. It was always lovely to get some news of home and I really enjoyed reading the comments on my blog.

Next I plan to write about life and times here in Freo. So, if the moniker is still available, This-Life-in-Freo will be my next project.

Back to Rome

We leave Lecce after three slow and lazy days. A long train journey back to Rome, again travelling via Naples, sees us back at Rome Termini by early evening. We are staying at the Hotel Smeraldo for three nights before heading home. The Smeraldo is around the corner from my old apartment, and its lovely (and familiar) to be back wandering the Campo and enjoying more wine and music in the piazza.

What to do with our last few days? We agree we'll take our time and savour the end of our holiday. On our list is the Crypta Balbi museum, little-visited but fascinating; another subterannean vault beneath modern Rome. We are fortunate to find the museum open: its had remained firmly closed during my month in the Via dei Chiavari. Today, we find we are almost in time for an escorted tour through the excavations.

The Balbi museum has the best chronological guide to Roman life I've seen thus far. Once we've sorted out the room order, we travel back through post-war, pre-war, renaissance, medieval and ancient Roman lives and times. There are some fantastic aerial shots of the Largo Argentina taken over the last 80 years or so, and we can see the maze of buildings clustered where the main street, the Via Vittorio Emanuel now cuts through. Difficult to imagine Rome without this noisy, traffic-jammed thoroughfare (but Oh! wouldn't it have been great to be in Rome before the vespa). We descend down to Balbi crypt with our italian-speaking guide, and as we are only three - two of whom have little italian - we try and make out the gist of the story from catchphrases and pointing. We see the surviving wall of a renaissance palace built above the ancient structure, and we are fascinated by the series of water pipes and cisterns that once trapped or released the water supply.

Other good things we do during our stay: daily gelato at our favourite gelateria near the Pantheon which gives us a great excuse to revisit the dome. This has got to be Jim's favourite part of Rome; he spends time wandering the outside of the structure tracing the original line of the building. It gives me opportunity to cross to the tiny adjacent square to look at Bernini's elephant outside the church of Sopra della Minerva.

It's busier now as the tourist numbers begin to swell and we are also finding it warmer. The days are longer too, and we agree mid-March is probably the optimum time to be here in Rome. It's still quiet enough to access most places of interest, and the restaurants seem to have tables available. We eat again at the Pantheon by night; a magical experience. It's also rather surreal as Rome is in the grip of soccer fever, and our dinner coincides with the first 'serious' match of the season: Rome vs Arsenal. When Rome scores a goal, we can hear car horns sounding all over the city. Unfortunately all gets very quiet as our dinner progresses, and we guess that Arsenal have won the match.

A final visit to the Campo on our last day to look at the superb produce. Things I again covet: the purple artichokes and tiny wild strawberries. We have a last coffee in the sunshine at the cafe in Piazza Farnese before our noon departure. In 20 hours or so we'll be home.

Lecce

On Saturday our suitcases are lugged up to the waiting taxi and we drive down to Capri's Marina Grande in plenty of time for our 11.35am hydrofoil to Naples. Everything runs smoothly this time - the crossing is calm, the taxis are back in action and our train to Caserta is on time. At Caserta we change to the Eurostar train and we are taking this trip all the way to the terminus at Lecce.

Lecce is in the region of Puglia - right in the 'heel' of Italy. The journey is about 5 hours, and we pass through flat, fertile (and at times flooded) farmland. We spy the Barilla pasta factory at Incorata and wonder if the major producer for the Company - must look it up when we get home. We are always loyal to Barilla pasta!

Around 8pm we arrive at Lecce, having passed through the major ports of Brindisi and Bari. Our taxi takes us through crowds of Saturday-night strollers and we slowly inch, and toot, our way towards the hotel.

The Palazzo Rollo is glorious. We enter through a wide wooden portal and ascend marble steps to our room. We pass through mosaic-floored, oriental-carpeted magnificent rooms. Our room is completely charming with high arched ceiling, tall shuttered windows overlooking a central court, and sumptous draperies. It's truly lovely and our hostess has already set a breakfast table overlooking the courtyard.

Lecce feels not quite Italian. There are greek, Norman and arabic influences in the architecture and the predominantly local stone is sepia or sandy-toned. Iron balconies are supported by ornate sculpted pillasters and there are carved lintels above the doorways. Streets are wide and it's all very clean. We take a walk with the evening crowd; buskers are playing street music and there are night vendors selling jewelery and leather-work.

We read later that the region of Puglia is not heavily geared towards tourism, and there's a take-us-as-you-find-us attitude that's initially challenging. The next day we take a walk outside the historic centre and find a small market where there's a mixture of locally made and locally grown goods. I buy a huge salad bowl to lug home on my carry-on luggage. We also buy blood oranges (we're going to miss these oranges) and browse through some of the artisan shops near the centre.

We stop by the museum and explore the ancient Roman theatre. We climb the steps up to the top level and look down to the stage. The modern buildings have encroached on the ruins and we are hemmed in on all sides by baroque architecture. The sun is blazing overhead today, and its warm enough to shed our coats. We find an outdoor wine cafe close to our hotel and share some local food and wine in the sunshine. Today it feels truly as if we're on holiday and we sit happily enjoying a leisurely lunch. A highlight is the Leccese olive oil and vincotto. We mop up lots of this with bread. Jim is drinking a regional red wine and I'm on my second glass of prosecco.

Tomorrow we head back to Rome for a couple of days before flying out on Friday. Part of me is sorry to be leaving a country that has alternated between being extremely welcoming and accommodating, and somewhat challenging as we've travelled further south. I'm feeling excited at the prospect of being home and seeing our friends and beloved menagerie again, and spending some time in the warmth before the onset of autumn. We discuss the need for space and an identity; something that can be difficult to maintain after time in a crowded and alien place.

Villa San Michele

When Axel Munthe wrote The Story of San Michele in 1929 it was a best seller, running into countless editions. Born in Sweden, Munthe became a medical doctor in his early twenties and battled cholera epidemics in Paris and Naples; subsequently he established a successful practice in Rome, treating rich and poor clients alike and almost bullying his patients into recovery. He was melancholic, passionate about human and animal rights and conducted a discreet and long-running affair with the soon-to-be Queen of Sweden from his home in Anacapri. His story of the building of the villa San Michele, including the discovery of the head of Medusa from the seabed, and his dream (and subsequent location) of the ancient Sphinx that now looks out from the belvedere of his villa is captivating.

Nearly 20 years ago I visited the villa at Anacapri and it was such a memorable and emotive place for me. For years I had a watercolour of Villa San Michele above my workdesk and I still have it, although now its in our house in Fremantle. I've wanted to show Jim this place for years.

We take the winding path to San Michele passing shuttered villas behind iron gates. Most of them are in the white-painted, flat-roofed vernacular although we occasionally glimpse a maverick red or rose-pink villa. The Viale Axel Munthe curves around the villa and down to the original entrance, the 'Port of Difference' with countless steps down to the lower village of Capri.

The villa was completed by 1903. It stretches along the ridge of rock with fantastic views of the Gulf of Sorrento, and standing alongside the granite Sphinx we can see far down below to the main marina, where today's ferries dock. In an arc we can see the mainland of Naples, and the coast of Positano; we can also look east towards the ruins of Tiberius' Villa Jovis.

The loggia is a beautiful place and we wander through the rather austere rooms of the villa by way of the little enclosed courtyard. Far up above and behind the villa is Mount Barbarossa. By 1910 Munthe owned all of this land and his was the sole villa on this stretch of hillside. Now it's dotted with countless white villas, although the original terraced gardens of San Michele are still intact. There are some Australian melaleucas growing alongside daffodils and hyacinths. We are very reluctant to leave this place; such a haven and very, very beautiful.

Some consolution is the setting of our hotel, the Casa Caprile. The villa is in similar style to San Michele and was built for the crown princess Victoria of Sweden, under the supervision and advice of Axel Munthe. We circle the perimeter, looking for the original pillars topped with griffons as seen in a 1912 photograph at San Michele. With encroaching building, the approach to Casa Caprile has now changed to a side entrance. The main building is still largely unchanged however, and the interior has the same vaulted ceilings and turreted roof as originally shown.

We spend five days on the island and the weather is unvaried. It drizzles almost constantly. We have some odd dinner experiences, especially when we decide we need some real sustenance and fetch up at one of the local pizzerias that has stayed open outside the tourist season. The restaurant is stone cold, the TV is blaring and we share space with one other couple, who have wisely ordered the pizza. Our waitress has a mobile phone glued to her ear and it remains there for almost the entire evening. The wine is indescribably bad. We end up self-catering for most of our visit.

On our last full day on Anacapri we catch the local bus down into Capri and trek out to Villa Jovis, one of the 12 Roman villas built by the emperor Augustus. It's still raining and we see very few people on our way up to the ruins. When we arrive, we have the site to ourselves save for the caretaker and his three goats. The Villa Jovis has a lookout, called Tiberius' Leap, where hapless victims of the emperor were dispatched. Its a long way down to rocks below, and Tiberius supposedly had men stationed in boats to make sure any enemies who survived the fall were dealt with.

We wander the three levels of the vast complex that was built around the time of Christ. The structure still has the domed roof of the servant villas in place. At the highest level of the complex the church of Santa Maria del Soccorso has been built - a lonely place for worship. In the distance we can see the coast of Sorrento, and on the other side, the island of Ischia. It's an ideal location for visibility given that Augustus, and Tiberius, communicated with the mainland and ruled Rome by using a form of signalling involving night flares. Its easy to imagine the relative safety of ruling the roman empire from the island, compared to dangerous and insurgent Rome.

Anacapri

Our train from Pompei to Naples is delayed and we eventually arrive in Naples around 11am. Its absolutely chaotic in the train station and we are approached by several taxi drivers before we even leave the station. They prices they quote for a short trip to the ferry port are outrageous - double or even triple the legal fare. Unfortunately Naples is in the grip of a 24-hour taxi strike so we accept a 20 euro fare to the Baverello port. The drive is anxious to drop us out of range of the taxi rank in case of reprisals, and we only just catch the 12.45 hydrofoil to Capri.

It's a rough crossing and at least half the passengers are seasick. Also, its very hot in the cabin and we both feel a little green but don't succumb to the plastic bags being offered!

Capri looms large out of the choppy sea. I'm excited at the opportunity to visit Axel Munthe's villa at Anacapri - the highest, most picturesque and less-touristy village on Capri. We've booked 5 nights at the Casa Caprile in Anacapri, and our taxi driver takes us up the steep, narrow road to the township. At times our car seems to hang on the edge of cliff with inches between us and the precipitous drop. The road is so narrow that meeting any incoming traffic causes us all to breathe in as we scrape our way past.

Once safely at the piazza, we're prepared for the descent down to our accommodation. We've read that we need to negotiate some 80 steps to reach the hotel; fortunately the steps are shallow and wide. We bump our suitcases noisily down to the hotel gate. Our villa is slightly about the main building of the hotel and has its own terrace overlooking the sea. We have a sitting room and kitchen, plus bedroom and bathroom. Our terrace is very large, more like a small garden. Unfortunately the day is cloudy and the highest point of the island is obscured.

It's a luxury to unpack in the knowledge that we have 5 nights on the island. We take a walk up to the piazza and explore the maze of lanes that lead to the little church of San Michele and the tiny shops clustered around the other two piazzas. About half of the shops are closed for the winter, but our local cafe is open and displays a good range of panini and cakes, including the sweet, ricotta-filled cannoli. We become regulars at this cafe over the next few days and the owner is friendly and makes good, hot coffee.

Pompei

Our train from Rome termini is a relatively easy journey, apart from our luggage which seems to have got heavier. I try not to feel guilty about the extra coats and boots, and ceramics I bought in Rome.

Our Pompei hotel is very near the stazione. We can see the signpost from the entrance, and we wheel our luggage across the very busy intersection to access the hotel. It's a simple 3-star with very friendly and accommodating staff. There are tiled marble floors and its sparkingly clean but theres no lift. Jim again lugs the suitcases upstairs.

Our room is tiny after the space of our Rome apartment. We head out into the town of Pompei, which is neat and uniformly Victorian, having mostly been built in the last 150 years or so. We look in vain for a central piazza; we've got used to having our evening walk and glass of wine in the local square. We eventually decide on a cafe near the church and belltower and the service is fantastic. From our seat overlooking the church we are served a variety of bar snacks with our wine, including a warm ricotta tart. The service is old-fashioned, with bow-tied waiters and the bill is very low. We've got used to Rome prices!

The next day, we have breakfast in the hotel and walk the 10 minutes or so to the Pompei excavations entrance. Its an overcast day and there are very few people visiting the ruins. We decided on an audio guide to accompany us through, and this proves variable. We're bemused by the advertising that accompanies some of the commentary, including current local businesses such as sports stores and furniture restorers!

We are captivated by the villas of ancient Pompei, and the colour and life of the frescoes. I love the central atriums, the peristyles, that have again been planted with hedges, fruit trees and standard shrubs as they were long ago. We particularly admire the Villa of Venus, with the frescoes showing the goddess herself, accompanied by attendant cupids; and the cheeky, curly-tailed statue of the sprite in the House of the Faun. We walk kilometres to seek out the villas, shopfronts and public buildings of the ancient city of Pompei. It's raining softly but persistently and we have a hurried picnic lunch in one of the villas under the cover of the atrium.

It takes us 6 hours to explore Pompei, and we're footsore, damp and tired as we head back to our hotel. After a hot shower and change of clothes, we decide to eat close to hotel if possible. A quick right turn takes us to the Enoteca da Peppino and the food is absolutely marvellous. We have a warm antipasto of frittata, polpettine and grilled peppers. The white wine is a southern Greco di Tufo. We both have mains and I also have a blood orange tart. The bill is 36 euros - what fantastic value.

We walk home through smoky streets. Yesterday we attempted to find out what was creating the smoke but only got a reply of "umido" - either smog or wood fires. Even so, its noticeable and surprising. By the morning of our departure it's cleared but were still uncertain of its origin.

Farewell to Rome

Today we leave Rome and head south to Pompeii, followed by Anacapri and Lecce. Massimo and Biancamaria, my landlords have been in touch to say goodbye and check on last minute details. We joke about a future houseswap as they are both keen to see Australia and we wouldn't be averse to another month or two in Rome!

We have coffee and cornetti in the Piazza Farnese and watch the romans going about their normal Saturday morning - shopping at the forno for bread, meeting family and friends for a coffee in the square. We sit in the brilliant sunshine and soak up some sun. For the first time in a month I'm not wearing a coat and I sit comfortably in my cotton shirt. In front of us, the carabineri (police) are guarding the Palazzo Farnese - now an embassy - but take time out to smoke and talk with a local acquaintance. We watch as his goofy springer spaniel gallops over the square and returns back to slump down at his master's feet.

I'm reflecting on my month living in the Campo, and particularly the realisation that life is meant to be savoured and slow - I'm going to keep this philosophy in both my working and private life.

Appian Way

I'm about to leave Rome and my apartment after a month of living local. The last few days have been great - Jim's been here, we've had friends visit and the weather has continued stunning.

Jim and I spend Thursday visiting the catacombs along the Appian way after several false starts locating the Archeobus, the green open-topped bus that stops at various points throughout Rome and continues on to the catacombs. We head early to the Piazza Venezia, one of the stops on the route, to find the streets cordoned off and uniformed guards in attendance. We stay long enough to see French president Sarkozy lay a wreath at the tomb of the unknown soldier and watch the diversion of traffic (frenetic as usual) around the piazza. We decide to catch the Archeobus at the Colosseum and eventually, on Roman time, it does arrive.

Its green, peaceful and beautiful along the paths parallel to the Appian Way, and crazy with traffic on the road itself. Our Archeobus takes us past the ancient gate and we see the aquaducts stretching overhead and continuing away for miles. We stop at the Catacombs of San Callisto, a vast network of tombs on four levels. Our tour guide leads us down to the second level and we see the niches where bodies were interred, and also the family crypts - some bright with frescoes and murals - where entire families were buried. We also visit the Crypt of the Popes where early popes were interred and hear stories of popes taken during mass and murdered for preaching the christian faith. There are no remains in the crypts, and our guide explains the bones are now stored in a 'bone bank' on the site to prevent theft.

Above ground again: we see the wattles are blooming, and there are carpets on wildflowers on the grass. We spend a happy hour wandering along the paths and head back into the city on the green bus again, which takes us past the Baths of Caracalla and the Colosseum. It's a birds-eye view from the top of the bus and we applaud the skill and nerve of our driver, who is swinging this massive vehicle around hairpin bends and tight corners with good humour.

Tonight we meet Liz and Julie at the Pantheon and have dinner looking out over the beautiful square and of course the massive structure of the Pantheon itself. We enjoy good food and fantastic service from our sassy, south american waitress and share some great bottles of pinot grigio and valpolicella. The piazza looks golden in the evening light and we can see into the apartments surrounding the square; some with ornate chandeliers and gilded artworks.

We say our goodbyes - we're all heading off in different directions in a day or two - Julie to Venice, Liz back to work and Jim and I are heading down to Pompeii.

Friends for dinner

We've had fun a couple of days ago catching up with friends - Liz from UK and Julie from Sydney. The girls got into Rome on Wednesday after touring southern Italy and we met in the Campo for drinks and a catchup. After sharing some travel stories over a glass of wine, we trooped back to the apartment and had a great dinner of pasta, salad and more wine.

Jim and I had been to the Testaccio market earlier that day and bought fresh agnelotti, fennel, blood oranges and almond biscuits. The girls brought red and white wine; and with some fantastic pesto from our local salumeria, we dined (and drank) well.

St Peter's necropolis (Scavi)

One of my constant companions here in Rome has been Henry Morton's A Traveller in Rome, written in 1957 and still an engaging and relevant read about this great city. With his gentle humour and historical references, this book has sat on my bedside table for a month now and there’s seldom a day when I haven’t referred to it as my definitive guide.

Of fascination are Morton’s references to the necropolis under the Vatican. At the time of his writing the excavations were not open to public view and had only been laid bare some seven years previous. Various popes had been reluctant to disturb the remains of the apostle St Peter, and it was only in 1939, under Pope Pius XII, that a decision was made to excavate the Vatican hill. The excavations took ten years to complete; at times the work was delicate and picks and shovels could not be used – the excavators worked using their hands.

Morton's tour of the scavi was specially arranged, and his guide spent some time translating the inscriptions on the tombs. One of these, on the tomb of Flavius Agricola, gives some cheerful advice: 'Friends who read this, do my bidding. Mix the wine, drink deep, wreathed with flowers, and do not refuse pretty girls the sweets of love'.

The scavi (excavations) can now be viewed with written permission from the Vatican. Back in October, I emailed the Vatican seeking permission for Jim and I to visit. Within a couple of weeks I got a reply confirming our visit for 24th February.

On the appointed day and hour, we present ourselves to the Swiss Guard at the gate on the left colonnade and are admitted through to the official offices of the Vatican. We join a small group of 10 led by an English-speaking guide, and via the Excavation Office we descend some stairs and enter a narrow passage with a sealed door. Our guide slides this door open, and we climb through to the scavi.

It is very dry and warm 30 feet under St Peters. We stand at the end of a passage and look upon an ancient Roman street with crypts opening on both sides. As we begin to walk along the street, our guide tells us we were actually walking up the gentle slope of the Vatican hill, with our ultimate destination being the tomb of St Peter. The crypts we can see are frescoed in brilliant Pompeian reds, greens and blues and depict flowers, animals and fruits. We stop to look at a mosaic floor, showing subsidence over the 1800 years since it was laid. Above the crypts tablets in marble pay tribute to the dead, with invitation for the relatives and freedmen of the family to also inter remains in the family tombs. The paintings on the tombs are still fresh and vibrant.

Our guide tells us we are level with, and below, the left aisle of the basilica’s nave. The area of the exactions uncovered is about 200 feet long and contains 27 family tombs; tombs of wealthy middle-class Romans of the 1st and 2nd centuries AD. Further excavation is not possible without danger to the church above, particularly as the massive weight of Michelangos’s dome is supported by concrete footings some 15 feet wide.

As we continue forward, we hear how the Emperor Constantine built the early church of St Peter’s on the Vatican Hill purely to honour the bones of the Apostle below. We see the ancient altar built over the bones of St Peter and we cross in front, and then behind, the tomb seeing the columned structure that now holds the remains. To protect the bones from damage and theft, Constantine had erected a marble cube around the tomb and the bones are now housed in special airtight containers. Surprisingly, there are several of these containers holding some 70 or 80 bones of the Saint.

We finish our tour in a little chapel under the current basilica; through a hole in the roof we can see into the light of the current church above. Our guide leaves us at the frescoed ceiling of the first level below St Peters where some of the early, and latter-day popes are housed, and we pass the tomb of Pope John Paul II who died in 2005. Continuing up the stairs to the current basilica we spend some time admiring ‘modern’ St Peters before heading home along the Tiber.

Cooking Class

Early start today – I’m booked on a Context tour to cook some Roman and southern-italian food with docent Daniela del Balzo.

Our day starts at the Café Barberini on Via Mamorata in the Testaccio district and we meet up with Daniela outside. We’re a mixed bunch – a couple from Michigan, another couple from Boston, plus me adding Australia to the mix. Both american couples are here for a single week only and they’ve been sightseeing hard, with little time to sit in piazzas and while away an hour or two.

Our first stop is a pasta ‘Laboratory’ where all the pastas are made fresh daily. The front-of-house has the most wonderful looking filled pastas and crepes on display, including an artichoke and ricotta filled caramelle – so called for the sweet-shaped style of the pasta. We meet the owner and he takes us out into the factory area. A huge machine is combining a long sheet of pasta and some meat filling into tortellini. We take turns to climb up on to the machine and watch this transformation. A woman is filling crepes by hand and arranging them on a platter. The colour of both the pasta and the crepes is a strong yellow and Daniela explains this is solely due to the colour of the egg yolks.

Next we head off to the Testaccio market. After the Campo dei Fiori, this market seems less picturesque and more workaday, but the produce is far more varied – beautiful breads, fruit and vegetables, meats, cheeses, pots and pans; there is even a stall for pets. I think about buying a natty checked collar for Jasper but decide against it.

Daniela buys some artichokes for the pasta we’ll be making later; the stall owner selects and trims them, adds some lemon to prevent discolouring, and bags up the artichokes in record time. We buy thinly sliced veal for saltimbocca, plus pancetta and guanciale – similar to pancetta, but from the cheek of the pig. We also buy long, thin eggplants for a stuffed eggplant dish. I’ve never seen eggplants like these; we have to make do with the large and bulbous specimens at home. I vow to buy some Italian seeds and try to grow this variety.

We’ve now got all we need and we head up the hill to Daniela’s apartment on the Aventine Hill. Its a lovely, light filled and contemporary space with a state-of-the art kitchen. We all don aprons and sit around a long workbench to talk food and drink espresso. Daniela is concerned we might be hungry, so we sit with huge hunks of foccacia while we discuss today’s menu. We’ll start with an appetiser of bruschetta, served with tomatoes seasoned with marjoram, and then move on to pasta with artichokes and pancetta, then veal 2 ways – saltimbocca (sage and prosciutto) and invotini (stuffed with vegetables). For desert, Daniela has already made a tiramisu, explaining that the desert needs several hours to settle and therefore must be made ahead of time.

I’m interested in how artichokes are prepared for a pasta sauce, having never cooked them this way. It’s quite simple: the artichoke is halved and the choke removed, and its then sliced thinly and put into acidulated water to stop discoloration.

While we’re cooking, the family cat meanders in. He’s the largest cat I’ve ever seen, and this is explained by the hoard of scraps that are set aside for him. He obviously eats quite well in this household, and a varied diet he has, too, judging by today’s menu.

After some chopping of eggplants and rolling of saltimbocca, and lots of conversation and shared stories about Rome, we sit down to eat. We’re drinking Casale del Grigio wine from the Agro Pontino valley 30 kms south of Rome. We start with a Satrico, which is a blend of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Trebbiolo. Like all Italian wines, it tastes more of the fruit and less of the oak. This white is fantastic with our pasta, and we move on to a Merlot and then a Shiraz with the veal and eggplant dishes. I’m eating more than I’ve eaten all week, and there’s still desert. With the tiramisu, we have Daniela’s home-made limoncello – delicious but powerful.

At 3pm, we all stagger into our coats and gather up our food notes and recipes from today. It’s been great to spend a day in Daniela’s kitchen and to visit the Aventine district - a new part of Rome for me. Daniela is keen to talk more about our planned trip south (she is from Naples) and asks me to ring her before Jim and I set off to Puglia and Basilicata. I promise to do this, and head back along the Tiber, past Tiber Island to the apartment. I’m definitely inspired to try some more cooking in my last week – and I’ll be coming back to the Testaccio markets again before we leave Rome.

Palatine

Blue sunny skies again today; Spring must be close. I’m not going to be seduced by the warmth coming through my sitting room window; I know it’s still cold out there. So: coat, gloves, scarf, money, keys (and sunglasses) and I’m out the door.

As usual, the forno in my street is busy with early morning patrons, most of them tucking into slabs of piazza bianca. A smartly-dressed girl hurries past with a tray of coffee, each cup covered with aluminium foil to keep it hot. Needless to say, most of these are tiny espresso-sized cups. She’s got the most amazing high heels on, but she navigates the cobbles easily. Elisa, the leather-smith next door, is outside getting some sun. Her shop has the most incredible collection of handmade bags, purses, wallets and belts in all shades of colour, including bright yellows and oranges. I can never pass without a long look in the window; I’d buy one of everything if I could.

A 10-minute walk, today skirting past the Theatre of Marcellus, takes me up to Capitoline Hill and I buy my Roma Pass at the Campidoglio museum. This pass gives me 3 days of museum visiting and as it turns out, easy access to the Forum and Palatine. There are lots of student groups at the Forum entrance queueing for tickets. With my Roma Pass, I luckily go straight through the turnstile.

At 10.30am the Forum is busy, with some people sitting on the marble stones having a late breakfast and consulting their guidebooks. I head past the Temple of Romulus and look at the bronze doors, original since the temple was built in 307 AD. According to my guidebook the locking mechanism on the doors still functions after 17 centuries.

Up the path to the Palatine Hill. It’s green and other-worldly up here and the first spring flowers are coming through the long grass. I head up to the Horti Farnese; the gardens are laid out with straight box hedging over several acres, cultivated but not excessively severe. The view out over the belvedere is superb; the Forum stretches below and to the right, the Colosseum looms up. This hill was the place to be, if you were a Roman emperor (or had aspirations) during the 1st century AD.

I look for the Emperor Augustus’ house, and the House of Livia, named after his second and much-loved wife. Supposedly he lived quite simply in his house on the Palatine, in complete contrast to Domitian, who built the massive Domus Flavia and Domus Augustana. You can still look down into his huge stadium – supposedly used for races and games. In early spring this area is grassed over but I can imagine it dry and dusty in the summer months.

It’s very peaceful up here on the Palatine and there are a thousand spots to stop and admire the view down over the Forum, or out towards St Peter’s dome. I spend a couple of hours happily wandering about, and then make my way back down, through the Forum and past the arch of Septimus to the exit on the Capitoline Hill.

Back at the Campo. Today marks the 408th anniversary of the death of Giordano Bruno. There is a fair crowd in the square, including the usual dogs and kids, and wreaths and mementos surround the statue. There are lots of speeches and ceremony including the municipal police band. I lean up against a sheepdog and scratch his ears and head and he leans back, enjoying the attention.

Baths of Diocletian

Another glorious day in Rome. After a morning coffee and perusal of my travel bibles I head off on a mission – the Baths of Diocletian. These baths were built in AD 298 by the Emperor as public baths for the people – up to 3,000 at any one time – and included facilities for the serious and not-so-serious minded athlete; gymnasiums and sporting facilities, saunas and hot and cold baths (and masseuses).

A sub-mission today is to find the gelatteria San Crispino, shrine to artisan-quality gelato. I’ve been advised to try the ginger and honey combination by Stella at SlowTrav.com. This will be my first gelato experience for the trip and I’ve got high hopes.

San Crispino is a few streets back from the Trevi fountain and today the Trevi is heaving with people including street vendors; current must-have is a revolving bubble-blowing contraption. The singing stones are also in evidence, so there’s rather a carnival-like atmosphere around the fountain. I’ve read that the superstition of coin throwing nets the Italian charities around US$1,250 daily, but that once it was believed that merely drinking the water ensured a safe return to Rome.

My gelato is fantastic, very smooth and creamy and there’s evidence of the fame of this place – the walls are plastered with reviews from the New York Times and Gourmet magazine. My gelato-seller wishes me a happy Valentines Day for yesterday but doesn’t give me any extra ice cream for my 3 euros, worse luck.

Up to the Quirinal hill, past many palazzi lining the busy Via XX Settembre. The baths can be seen rising up behind the church of Sant’Maria degli Angeli and in fact the ruins have been incorporated into the nave. The church is full of light and massive rose granite pillars support the enormous frescoed ceiling; today the smell of incense is still heavy – morning mass is not long finished.

Through the sacristy there is a little courtyard and fountain, and rearing up behind this space are the walls of the baths. To access the baths it’s necessary to go back through the church and approach them from further along the Via Volturno.

There is a beautiful formal garden preceding the entrance to the Aulax, the original atrium of Diocletian’s baths. The aulax is enormous, with walls rising to perhaps the height of a 3 storey building, and the chamber itself is hundreds of feet long. Over the years it had been converted into an area for storing grain, but today it is again part of the Rome museum and contains three excavated tombs, removed intact from various places around the Tiber during building works. One of these, dating to 2nd Century AD, was unearthed in 1951 and has frescoed walls and niches for funerary urns – it is a bright and cheerful place to spend the afterlife.
I go through the museum, particularly taken by a triangle of seated terracotta figures – three women of importance, judging by their jewels and elaborate hair. The figures are almost life-size and they make a startling group, sitting as they do in eternity.

My last visit within the museum is to the courtyard designed by Michelangelo, and it is the largest cloister I’ve seen, with vaulted ceilings and corridors lined with statuary and sarcophagi. I’m amazed at how small the space is inside these sarcophagi until I remember the average height of the early roman was around 5 feet.

I'm feeling travel-weary now and the sun is low in the sky as I head back along the Via Cavour. Everyone is out for their evening stroll and the Forum is closed to traffic - its a pleasure to walk through the crowd. Today I decide to skirt past the Capitoline Hill rather than climb it. I'm looking forward to a glass of wine and my warm apartment.

Rome when it Sparkles

Rome is experiencing sunny blue skies at the moment – this is our third day of clear weather. These photos were taken yesterday from the top of the Capitoline Hill; in the first, and looking towards the west, you can see the dome of the church of San Andrea delle Valle (one of my near neighbours) and further on, the dome of St Peter’s.

From the opposite side of the Capitoline Hill there is a spectacular view over the Forum (second photo). In the foreground is the arch of Septimiums Severus (AD 203) and the straight road running at an angle in the right of the picture is the Via Sacra, once used for triumphal processions through the Forum.

So, two very different views from the same (and loveliest) of Rome's seven hills. The Capitoline is about a 10 minute walk from my apartment and has become a favourite part of the city.

Slow Food

Having always been a greedy person, spending time in Rome has given me access to some fantastic food experiences.

I’ve already written about the Roscioli Forno on my street. Up until now, I’ve bought Croccante, which is a very crispy flatbread, or Pizza Bianca (olive oil and salt). My latest discovery is the crusty woodfired, oatmeal-coloured pane forno. You can buy it by the kilo (heaven forbid) or in any smaller amount, and the fierce, chopper-wielding woman in the bakery will cut your portion, wrap it, weigh it and give you a receipt for the till in seconds.

Further up on the corner of the Campo is a Salumeria (delicatessen) run by 4 or 5 elderly stalwarts, with Madame again behind the till. It’s a treasure house of prosciutto, pesto, olives, artichokes, smoked swordfish, buffalo mozzarella and parmignano. No-one is ever in a hurry, and on any normal working day in my ‘normal’ life I wouldn’t have the patience to wait the 10 minutes or so it takes for the signore to measure out my desired portion, slowly package it up and move on to my next item.

I haven’t mentioned the Campo butcher, the seafood seller, or even the fruit and vegetable vendors yet, and in fact I haven’t attempted to cook any fish or shellfish – mainly due to my ignorance of the types on offer.

Because of the proximity, and because I have time on holiday, daily shopping is a real pleasure, particularly as I can buy just as much as I need. I can also take my time over it, stopping for a coffee at the Bar Farnese and reading the paper before moving on to finish my shopping.

So my days are evolving into a slow pattern of buying provisions in the morning, dropping these back at the apartment and visiting a museum or gallery in the afternoon. It’s a perfect combination, and I generally head home around dusk to have a glass of wine and think about dinner. This way of slow living is exactly how I envisaged it months ago, back in Australia.

Colosseum

There’s a tendency to cosy on up indoors when it’s chilly outside, and especially when it’s raining. We have to remind ourselves today that we’re in Rome and we need to get out and about.

Shirley, my visitor is looking for some boots that are comfortable enough to handle the cobblestones. We try a few in the vicinity – there are 5 shoe stores in the Via Guibbonari alone – and have some success. Quick boot change back at the apartment and we head down past the Fountain of the Turtles and the Theatre of Marcellus, over the Capitoline Hill and on to the Colosseum.

It’s such an impressive sight as it looms up, a stadium once capable of seating 55,000 spectators and providing access to the many different levels of social stratum; plebs and women at the uppermost level, and senators centre stage of the action. The massive arches are now mostly stripped of their travertine marble and showing the bare tufa stone of the original construction. The many holes and pits in the stone show the marks of the pulleys used to level the massive blocks into place.

Outside the Colosseum latter-day gladiators and centurions are touting for business. We wonder to each other what it must be like to don the breastplate and helmet before heading off to work each day. Presently, there’s not much custom to be had as the crowd hurries on through the cold to the relative warmth of the ticket office.

Inside, we wait by the third arch as instructed for our English-speaking guide. She collects us, her only two patrons, and we turn and face the outer wall and listen while she explains how the Emperor Vespasian held a hundred days of festivities when the Colosseum was officially opened in 80 AD. She tells us to look for the ancient roman numerals on the outside walls, depicting the correct entrance gate for the token-holder. She also tells us about the gladiators, and how they trained hard in either state or private fight schools to learn how to use every weapon from the sword to the lasso.

On the upper level we stand at the best vantage point and look down at the exposed underground tunnels where the animals were kept, ready to be levered up to the stage via a number of trapdoors. This is what grabs at the heart and it distresses me to hear the scale of the carnage. Hard to equate this bloodlust with today’s Roman, whose dog walks companionably by his side and accompanies him everywhere, even out to dinner.

Down below us we now watch a sea of umbrellas swirling about as tourists from all over the world wander the shell of this massive structure. It’s amazingly cold, and we’re jiggling about to keep warm. After about an hour it begins to hail, and icy sleet gathers on the stone balustrades. Our guide finishes the tour and we make for the blessedly heated bookshop to thaw out.

Campidoglio, and I miss the Dalai Lama

Today has been glorious – blue skies and sunny. Temperature 16 degrees, which means a coat but no scarf, and no gloves. I dust off my sunglasses for the first time in 10 days.

Off to the Campo to buy the paper, and then I stop at Roscioli’s for some advice. I’ve got my first visitor due tomorrow and I want to celebrate her arrival with some Prosecco. I get into a great wine conversation with one of the Roscioli sons and clink out with a few bottles. I’m also very tempted to buy some amazing green pesto, and some prosciutto – everything looks good in here.

Quick stop back at the apartment, taking the stairs as usual (I’m living a few flights up and surely this climb balances out all those morning cornettos); today I’m determined to find the Fountain of the Turtles. According to my map it’s very close to my apartment and I’ve tried several times to locate it. I double check my directions, commit the Via dei Falegnami to memory and head off.

Four youths in bronze each ride dolphins, and above their heads four turtles edge their way into a giant bowl. It’s a delight; set in a tiny piazza there’s still room to lean against the surrounding stone and admire the water splashing from the upper bowl to the lower fountain. The water is absolutely clear and it feels freezing.

If I head straight on, I should reach the Capitoline Hill, the smallest of Rome’s seven hills and the seat of the Italian government. It’s an easy walk from the turtle fountain and a gentle climb up to Campidoglio, Michelangelo’s piazza. Today it’s teeming with schoolkids, sightseers and a heavy number of policemen. There’s a giant screen set up in the square, cameramen galore and lots of flag-waving. Everyone seems to be waiting for something, and I ask a policewoman what’s happening. She tells me the Dalai Lama is visiting Rome, and is due to arrive soon.

The policemen are having a ball keeping the crowds back from the barricades, but we all push forward and crane our necks at the arrival of each official vehicle. After about half an hour I head down to the Forum, hoping I might catch the Dalai’s arrival on the way back. Unfortunately he still hasn’t arrived, although more and more dignitaries are piling into the cordoned off area. I'm hoping I might catch the event on tonight's Italian news.

Papal address and Ditrambo

Eating out in Rome is generally good, though I’ve found that typical Roman fare such as spaghetti carbonara and saltimbocca tends to appear on most menus. Absolutely nothing wrong with this, but seeking out more innovative food requires research, or serendipity.

On Sunday I had an idea I’d like to go to St Peter’s Square in time for the 12 noon papal blessing of the crowd. Jim and I had managed this purely by chance a few years ago and I’ve never forgotten the atmosphere; the expectant and excited crowd and the surge of clapping and cheering as the pope appears at the Vatican window.

I manage to get to the square about 5 minutes before noon, and right on schedule a standard is draped over the uppermost storey window and the pope appears. It’s a sunny but chilly day and there’s a fair crowd in attendance; teenagers, dads with kids on their shoulders, old couples rugged up against the cold. The pope’s address booms out over the square and into the surrounding streets and lasts perhaps 15 minutes or so. He speaks in a clear and slow voice and I make out some words amongst the blur of italian. Afterwards the crowd streams back down the Via di Conciliazione. Sunday is family day, and I imagine most are going to join their families for lunch.

I walk back along the Tiber and cross at the Ponte Sisto, which is pretty close to my apartment. I’ve got so comfortable living in the Campo area that I head back without thinking much about it. The de’ Fiori square is very lively at midday, with musicians busking outside the cafes and restaurants. I get a sunny table, the UK Guardian weekend edition and a glass of wine and sit enjoying the warmth. There is a standout young violinist who plays a couple of sets before moving on to the next venue a few paces down the square.

After a while I get hungry and wander off into a tiny square next to the Campo and find Ditrambo. Inside the restaurant is cosy, with rough plaster walls and beamed ceilings. The place is bustling and almost full, but I get a table near the door. The service is friendly and knowledgeable. I have a truly sublime meal; grilled polenta with baccala, and a homemade ravioli with shellfish in white wine.

Another glass of vino for me; I’m loving it. So much, in fact, that I’ve booked it again for this coming Wednesday when I have my first visitor.

Theatre of Marcellus

One of the best things about renting an apartment is the freedom to pad about from bedroom to kitchen to make early coffee. This morning I brew an enormous pot and take it back to bed. With the shutters open, I can look out over the rooftops and hear the street noises from below. I’m surrounded by churches and their bell towers peal out the quarter-hour in ascending notes on the scale. The bell-ringers are obviously not in sync as there’s a 2-3 minute delay between sides.

My guidebooks are spread out on the bed and I’m dithering between visiting Trastevere, the Campodoglio or the Theatre of Marcellus. All are roughly south, or south-east of my base in the Campo.

Eventually I decide on the Theatre first, then Trastevere.

A left turn onto the Via di Guibbonari and my first stop is straight along; 600 metres at most. Down below street level, the Theatre stands solidly in a grassy field and is ancient; nearly a century older than the Colosseum. Caesar began it, and the Emperor Augustus completed his work, dedicating it to his nephew Marcellus. It was eventually modified into a palace and you can see the family quarters, complete with windows, above the old travertine arches.

I’m very close to the Tiber. The river is yellowish-grey and is running fast. Weirdly, the trees along the edge are festooned with plastic bags. I can only assume the river runs higher and the flotsam gets caught in the branches.

A footbridge takes me over to Tiber Island, a crescent-shaped bit of land where the river widens. I can see Trastevere ahead and it looks shuttered and closed for the siesta. Its now raining in a fine, horizontal drenching way and I decide to head back by the Ponte Sisto bridge. Think I'll save Trastevere for another day. And anyway, this afternoon I'll be in the kitchen.

San Clemente

Over the Christmas break I got stuck in a whodunnit reading groove and read about a dozen Ngaio Marsh mysteries. One of my favourites - When in Rome - is indeed set in Rome, and centres on two murders in a church called San Tomasso. What is intriguing about this mythical building is that there is a 12th century church at street level, and underneath that is a 4th century church and underneath that is a 1st century Mithraic temple. Marsh writes about this with such intensity and clarity that I began to wonder if San Tomasso was a pseudonym. And it is, the church being San Clemente.

It’s a hike from the Campo area, and I head up past the Forum and the Colosseum, looking for the church on the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano. I get a bit distracted by the Forum and Colosseum and detour around the sites, taking a lot of photographs. I also get distracted by the Vespa of my dreams, a yellow PX200 – a bit battered but still beautiful. Anyway, off to San Clemente.

The 12th century church at street level is a lovely space. Of particular and stunning beauty are the mosaics in the apse; stylised fruit, flowers and animals and they ­­­glow in the soft light. There is a cloistered courtyard with a simple fountain in the middle.

There are very few people about, but most of us elect to pay our 5 euro and head down into the lower churches. Unfortunately no photography allowed, and the light is so dim that taking a surreptitious photo or two is going to be noticed.

The 4th century church has some faded but still beautiful frescoes. The space is divided into 3 long ‘rooms’ and there are fragments of marble mosaic floors and marble statuary. At the end of one of the rooms you can hear the roar of the subterranean stream. The air smells of wet earth and is slightly damp.

Down to the mithraic level. The air is now very damp and it’s chilly. We’re sixty feet below the current ground level and the light is possibly even dimmer. A smallish room, perhaps 10 by 15 feet square, houses the altar of Mithras. There’s a relief of the god himself, cloak flying in the wind, wrestling with the sacrificial bull. It feels very, very pagan below the Christian layers of the upper church. Incredible to be standing looking into a Roman house, layers beneath modern Rome.

Ragu

I’ve got the urge to cook after a few days of eating out. My preference is a slow-cooked ragu to have with pasta, and when I talked with Jim yesterday I asked him to dig out my Marcella Hazan recipe from her Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. Wonder of wonders, its online here. I omit the nutmeg and add some minced fresh rosemary to mine when browning the meat (can never resist fiddling with recipes) – just a few fronds.

So I visited the Campo de Fiori market first thing this morning to buy all my ingredients. It seems like a lazy Saturday afternoon task, and rain is forecast for tomorrow.

My kitchen is well equipped with heavy-based pans and all the necessary chopping boards, knives etc. It’s a great space to cook in, with natural light coming from high windows and another tall window over the stove. Got grape hyacinths blooming at the moment so a lovely view while intermittently stirring the ragu.

Pantheon

I do love the Pantheon. Here it sits, nearly 2000 years old in a busy piazza with its enormous inscription Marcus Agrippa built this – a proud boast. In its huge dome there is a central hole open to the sky and on a sunny day the light streams through this hole and lights up the frecoes and artwork inside. Today, it’s raining softly and the centre floor is roped off with a puddle an inch deep.

Inside there are some beautiful works and my favourite is the Annunciation by Melozzo da Fiorli. I love the scene depicted by the annunciation of the Virgin Mary, including the white lily that Mary holds in her hand. We know this lily as the Madonna Lily, and it is a pure, fragrant white flower that lights up any room with its creamy fragrance.

My guide book tells me that no matter what street I take in the area of the Pantheon I’ll eventually end up in this square itself. The streets wind about crazily, and it’s very easy to change direction and find yourself quite some distance from the piazza. Right now I’m looking for a café called the Tazza d’Oro, or Cup of Gold, which reputedly has the best coffee in Rome. Eventually I find it; a rather an ordinary looking place from the outside but indoors it is lovely, with a marble bench and industrial-sized coffee machine. As with all cafes, except the small local affairs, Madame behind the till takes your order and gives you a docket to take to the bar.

90 euro cents gets me a good cup of coffee and the barista is very quick. I can’t discern whether the coffee is of especial quality – hard to get a bad coffee anywhere in Rome. Mostly my requests for coffee get me an espresso but today I ask for it americano style, closer to a long black.

Last Sunday when I arrived at the apartment Biancamaria insisted I try the Café San Eustachio for a gran caffe so that’s my next coffee-shrine visit. In the meantime, I like the slightly scruffy but welcoming café at the end of my street. By my third morning the barista has made my 2/3 long black, very strong, to perfection.

Being happy

At­­­ about 5pm every day I start wondering where I’ll have dinner. Maybe it’s all the walking but I’m feeling my first pangs of hunger by then. Last night, I deliberated between the Sant’Anna (v. close, but mostly pasta and seafood), La Carbonara (hadn’t booked, and it always looks busy) or Roscioli’s (end of Street, great wine by the glass). Roscioli’s won.

I’ve got the hang of spingere (push) and tirare (pull) now, having had a few slapstick-like moments in Italian shop doorways. On tirare-ing my way into Roscioli’s, I wait for my man at the till to finish his conversation and show me to my table.

Its 7pm and there are a sprinkling of people about, all enjoying wine and ‘small plates’ – cured meats, cheeses and the like. Instantly I am allotted my three handsome and theatrical waiters and peruse the wine and food list. It’s very tempting to have a glass of the Nobile di Montepulciano but at 10 euro a glass it’s like drinking liquid gold, so I settle for a glass of Prosecco. Yum yum. With it, I have a plate of smoked swordfish, tuna and salmon.

All very pleasant sitting here planning tomorrow’s excursions. Am feeling very much like a local. Unfortunately, my attempt to ask for another glass of prosecco gets me the bill instead, so I leave after a nice dawdle over food and wine.

A left turn from my wine bar takes me towards the Campo, and it’s lively at night, families and tourists strolling about, people sitting under outdoor heaters at the bars and restaurants around the square. There’s even a busker, doing a complicated mime routine and the usual sprinkling of dogs and kids.

Heading homewards, I meet one of my neighbours on the stairs up to the third floor, and we wish each other buona sera.

I’m full-to-the brim happy.

Borghese

Before I left on my trip I booked a ticket for the Borghese Gallery online. This was a bit tricky as I wasn’t sure which day and time would be best. Anyway, today was the day and allotted time 11am to 1pm. So I headed out at about 10am, thinking this would be plenty of time. It wasn’t.

After yesterday’s chilly visit to Navona, I thought I’d do a quick revisit. More people about today, particularly art students sketching the Fountain of the Four Rivers. Imagine what it must be like, sitting on one of the marble benches for some time; five minutes and the cold was seeping through my coat and jeans to my bones.

Anyway, off to the Borghese Park. I headed up the Via del Corso to the Piazza del Popolo and started to climb up to the park. Hundreds of steps, all this walking has got to be slimming.

The park is starkly beautiful in the winter; incredibly green and damp, mossy trunks and bare branches. Around every corner there are vistas to stop and admire, and there’s absolute silence – hardly a soul around. Eventually after a few false turns I found the Borghese, now 45 minutes late. Which meant a too-short visit to the ground floor (sculpture; Bernini’s) and the first floor (pictures; Caravaggios). Nonetheless, a small and exquisite gallery and a highlight.

Later, same day: Via dei Chiavari

Returning with dinner from Rosciolis, I’m asked if I have the time, in Italian. Fortunately I don’t wear a watch so was able to reply ‘Non so’. I have arrived!

Monday, Feb 2nd: Campo de' Fiori

A few steps up on my street is the Roscioli Forno – one of the best bakeries and food specialty stores in Rome. The Rosciolis are *the* Rome foodie family, with other family members running the restaurant a few paces up on the Via dei Giubbonari. Bianca has told me to try their take-out for those evenings when cooking for myself is just too much trouble.

Despite its very appealing display I head off to the Campo itself. The time is 9am and the stall holders are busy, busy – washing salad leaves at the fountain tap, arranging produce or gathering to gesticulate wildly and discuss events of the day. The Darth-Vader like statue of Giordano Bruno looms over it all. I know Bruno was burned at the stake for heresy, including his ridiculous contention that the earth wasn’t flat but that’s the extent of my knowledge.

I’m very hungry, having had no dinner or breakfast. I stop at a café on the edge of the Campo and try out my ‘un café e una pasta’ line on the waitress behind the bar, who speaks excellent English. She humours me, anyway, and I sit inside and have a scarily strong double espresso and a crema-filled cornetto and try to read the International Herald Tribune in the half light. In the time it takes me about two dozen locals come in, order at the bar, drink their coffee and leave. My bill is 2.5 euro, which is a bargain.

In season at the market are blood oranges, artichokes, fennel, zucchini blossoms and radicchio. There a few mobile butcher and delicatessen vans, selling cheeses, cured meats and preserves. Some stalls sell only olive oil and balsalmic and there is a very colourful spices stall including all grades of pepperoncino. I stagger home with laden bags and a bottle of red wine under my arm. Fortunately I’m very close to the market.

Despite being in the middle of the city, there is a close neighbourhood feel to the Campo area. There are lots of dogs unleashed, and they lay on the cobbles while their owners make purchases. I’m particularly taken with a golden retriever pup who’s obviously quite at home lounging by the fountain tap. He tries drinking from the tap a few times and is shooed away but I wonder who’ll give in first.

In the afternoon, I take a right turn from my front door and cross the Corso Vittorio Emanuel II at the traffic lights along with a huge crowd of exchange students; they’re all carrying travel guides and cameras. I think they must be heading to the Pantheon as we part company on the other side. The traffic is completely indifferent to whether the pedestrian walk light is on, so there’s safety in moving with the scrum.

I get that pure pleasure surge at first sight of the Piazza Navona and actually it is very beautiful in the cold crisp air, with sightseers rugged up in coats, hats and scarves. There are stalls set up in the middle of the Navona selling watercolour and charcoal sketches of Rome, and some black African street vendors with the latest gimmick – singing stones that make a sort of screeching sound as you toss them in the air.

It’s really cold in the Piazza. I’ve got my wool scarf wrapped around my neck and chin and my collar is buttoned and turned up. The wind is icy, too cold for any lingering and I survive about 10 minutes on the marble bench by the Nile side of the sculpture before heading home. Mental note – buy very warm coat tomorrow.

Sunday Feb 1st, again: Dubai-Rome

This is an enormous plane. I’m in row 20 and I can’t see the back seats. I have the entire row to myself so I’ve stretched out over 3 seats, with my back to the window. Its bliss. The flight attendants continuously check to make sure we all have enough refreshments, pillows and blankets.

I’m reading Vita Sackville-West’s ‘Passenger to Teheran’ about her journey out to join Harold Nicolson in Isfahan. It’s highly evocative and I can follow the route she took in 1926 (over several weeks and via the bandit-infested mountains by car) on the inflight tracker. As we take off from Dubai I can see the incredible skyline of this city, with the most fantastic shapes of the skyscrapers; but soon we are crossing over the desert, on and on.

Only 6 hours for this journey. Eventually we reach the heel of Italy and I can see snow on the Apennines. I wonder how cold we’ll be when we head south to Basilicata and Puglia? About ten minutes out of Rome our Captain pipes up to announce our descent, in case we hadn’t noticed our ears popping. We land 5 mins early and I’m through passport control and at the baggage claim in record time. Gino, the driver arranged by my landlords, is holding an enormous placard with my surname on it. He hefts all my bags and we have a fast journey into Rome through deserted streets. Its siesta time. Current temperature is 17 degrees and I’m sweltering in my wool layers.

Amazing how cars can squeeze into these tiny maze-like lanes. Gino negotiates the Via dei Chiavari with inches each side of his very shiny Mercedes car. Massimo and Bianca arrive about the same time as we do, and they are instantly hospitable; Massimo races ahead to open up the apartment and Bianca and I take the tiny lift to the 3rd floor. This lift is so tiny I’m holding my travel bag over my head.

The apartment is lovely; enormous windows in the sitting room and bedroom with views of terracotta tiled roofs, roof gardens and sky. It’s a dream turned reality, and I’m so glad to be here. M & B give me a tour, show me how everything works and then tell me where to have the best coffee, where see the Caravaggios, directions to their favourite shops and galleries. I’m writing this all down in a shorthand I know I’ll be unable to decipher later on. We all troop downstairs to look at the gas and electricity meters and the wooden postbox for my apartment, Apartment 7. I wave them off in the little piazza opposite my front door and am alone for the first time in 24 hours.

Sunday, Feb 1st Perth-Dubai

I’m sitting in the Emirates Terminal 3 at the Costa Café with the world’s largest coffee (cost 23 dirham; have absolutely no idea of the exchange rate so could also be the world’s most expensive). Am actually feeling quite exhausted as this terminal is so big and I’ve been walking for at least 20 minutes to find my connecting departure lounge. Its 6am in the morning and every duty free shop, coffee shop and restaurant is teeming with people. I’d like to see outside as I could be on a space station for all I know. I’ve got a window seat flying out so more of a view then, hopefully.

I go up to the top floor of Terminal 3 where there is a sort of day-hotel lobby/Qantas Club that is open to all – marble everywhere, comfy cushions and power points to plug in your laptop and keep in touch. There are 2 free networks to connect to. I sit next to an English guy who comes back with a heaped plate of food and a grin from ear to ear.

I managed 3 hours sleep or thereabouts on the 11 hour Perth-Dubai leg thanks to sleeping tablet. Absolutely hassle-free travel and good service (all female flight attendant crew, not making any point here, but surprising). Via the in-flight entertainment system Emirates has this neat option of viewing the forward or underneath plane cameras so you can watch the landing approach. I try this for a while but the horizon veers so much I feel a bit wobbly.

It’s sinking in that I’m actually going to Rome, and all the work hassles that have dominated my life for the last year are slipping away. I’ve got great expectations that this trip will help restore some balance, and I realise that I’m extremely lucky to be supported by my nearest and dearest in this.

Che tempo fa?

Only 2 days to go before I leave for Rome. Massimo and Biancamaria, who own the Rome apartment I'll be renting for all of February have emailed to say - its very, very cold (and unfortunately, very, very wet).

I've got every faith that Spring is just around the corner.