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.
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.
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