Let there be music

The Italian music video channel has hit an all-time low: I just saw some sort of a Pink song twice within the span of an hour, and some sort of black and white music video in which the only piece of color is a lady model about 5 times. I had sort of high hopes for this channel, since I can’t seem to fall asleep, and I would counting on something keeping me entertained until I can. And God. I’ve seen more Tiziano Ferro music videos than I can handle.

The past couple of days I’ve managed to meet a couple of unusual people. That’s nothing unusual, since I do that all the time, even though I haven’t yet tattooed “PLEASE TALK TO ME! I AM DESPERATE FOR CONVERSATION!” onto my forehead. I shall now tell you about them. They are actually not too strange, but I have been talking to no one, so they are stranger than no one.

Anna the Shirtless Wonder

Villa Farnesina (don’t worry…I hadn’t heard of it before, either) is located very near me, and the day before yesterday I decided to pay it a little visit, just to see where I would have put the toilet paper dispenser and my shoe rack had I lived during the Renaissance. There was hardly anyone else there. As I was sitting in the Loggia of Cupid and Psyche, thinking about how I would have had an oval dining room table instead of a circular or square one, a lady with a one-sided-braided-ponytail-but-kind-of-bun plopped down next to me.

“What’s it say in your guidebook about this room?” asked she.

Ever willing to inform the clueless masses about the mysteries of art and its history, I obligingly gave her a mini session about the trompe l’oeil landscape, the “indoors/outdoors” theme present throughout the entire villa, how the artist mixed together his paints, and at exactly what time of the day he applied the paints to the walls in order to achieve that light yet dark feeling.

“You know, it’s just so hot in here, and no one is around, I think I’m just going to take off my shirt and lay down on the ground,” said she.

And that’s just what she did.

I couldn’t really blame her. I had done exactly that in the comfort and privacy of my own hotel room earlier in the day, so who was I to judge? And we WERE alone, and I DID want to do that more than anything, and when is my next chance going to come around to lie on the ground of an Italian villa? Oh well.

The Shoeless Stranger

That evening I decided to take a stroll on the other side of the river, and ended up in front of St. Peter’s Basilica, wandering through the oval-shaped piazza in front of it. I know it is oval shaped because I have learned this in 3 different art history classes, and what is a piazza if it is not oval shaped?

As I was taking a picture from an odd angle, as I am wont to do, a middle aged man walked up to me.

“Do you speak English?” asked he in a very thick Italian accent.

“Yes I do,” said I.

“If you take your shoes off and walk here, the stones are very soft,” informed he.

“Oh! Why thank you!” exclaimed I.

Then he stood there expectantly. He looked at me like he was doing his good deed for the day, and that I HAD to take off my shoes for the good of humanity. So what was I going to do? I looked around to see if this was not some sort of elaborate ruse to get me to take off my shoes so he and 25 accomplices could swoop down on me to steal my sandals, then pin me to the ground to batter me with hundreds of other deceived tourists’ stolen shoes while bellowing “WE WILL TEACH YOU TO WALK BAREFOOT ON HALLOWED GROUND, YOU LEECHES! YOU THINK YOU CAN WALK ALL OVER OUR COUNTRY ASKING FOR PIZZA AND SAYING ‘CIAO!’ REFORM! REFORM! REFORM! VIVA ITALIA!”

However, everything seemed to be a-ok, so I slipped off my shoes and walked around a little bit with my new friend. After a few minutes, I thanked him for a nice stroll, assured him the ground was indeed soft, the pope himself could only dream of having such soft stones for his bed, and feeling mightily like Cinderella minus Prince Charming, the pumpkin, and the entourage of mice, I put my shoes back on, exited St. Peter’s, and ran smack dab into...

Isabel Groff, Another University of Chicago Student in Rome

I’ve never talked to her before in my life. But I recognized her, and she recognized me. I knew she recognized me because she gave me that “I know I know you from somewhere smile, but I’m not going to say anything if you’re not going to say something first.” So I did.

“Do I know you?” asked I.

And with that smooth opening started my first night out, with me going to some sort of a fancy hotel for some fancy expensive drinks, woefully out of place because I was wearing my “No One Knows Me in This Country, And I’m Not Going Out Tonight, I Might As Well Wear Whatever the Hell I Want To” walking around tourist outfit with Isabel, her sister and boyfriend, and Paolo, who happens to go to Brown and knows one of the girls from my high school, then to the apartment Paolo is staying in, which is full of odds and ends, and out to a bar near my monastery.

Small world.

PS: I don't know what to do about pictures. Shall I post some of the pictures I put on here so people will be forced to look at them, put them on flickr where no one will want to see them, or just not even bother?