Rome, part 2

The afternoon languishes in a puddle of heat. We’ve all stripped down to our underwear and lay sprawled across the couch, the sofa bed, the upstairs beds with as little movement as possible. By 6:00, Dan and I are impatient to explore more, and the boys need feeding. We debate: Do we keep it simple and find mediocre pasta on the street level below or do we venture across the river to the Trastevere neighbourhood and find Tonnarello, a restaurant that Dan’s sister recommended? Tonnarello calls to us with its multisyllabic cuisine: Tris di Bruschette and Rigatoni al Pesto con Pinoli e Pachino, plus so many choices the boys will enjoy: polpette (meatballs), pinsa (hand-pressed pizza), cacio e pepe spaghetti. For dessert, there’s tiramisu and panna cotta and salame di cioccolato and fresh strawberries with ice cream. We’ve seen Rome; now we’ll taste it.

The restaurant doesn’t take reservations, but the website advises that arriving before the 7:00 dinner rush hour will ensure that the wait is brief. We have plenty of time…we think.

Once on the street, we’re annoyed by our lack of knowledge of the buses. We don’t know anything about the metro system – or if there even is one. A taxi won’t fit the five of us, and we can’t find any that are empty, anyway. The heat quickly shortens our fuses. Time is ticking. We’re close to giving up when not only does a taxi materialize, but it contains a spare seat behind the back seat. Even Rome’s taxis have hidden treasures. 

The Trastevere neighbourhood’s name comes from the Latin trans Tiberium – beyond the Tiber. Before crossing the river, the taxi first carries us along the base of Piazza Venezia. History, art, and beauty are around every corner in Rome. Look left, and you’ll miss something to your right. Look up, and you’ll miss something below your feet. Cars whiz around and across the piazza as drivers make up their own traffic rules. The congested road forces us to pause, giving a moment of stillness to take in our surroundings. Whereas the Trevi fountain’s pool of clear water separated us from Oceanus earlier in the day, here the open expanse of Piazza Venezia separates us from the colossal marble structure of the neoclassical Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, tiered like a giant wedding cake of the gods. On top of the portico at either end, a bronze chariot pulled by four horses carries the goddess Victoria toward us. The chariots look like they might launch off at any moment and take flight above our heads, ready to escape the city – as so many Romans will later in the summer.

The taxi takes us over the river and deposits us a few blocks away from the restaurant. We’re not only beyond the river, but beyond the crush of central Rome. Trastevere is yellow, green, and quiet. We walk through cobbled roads overlooked by butter yellow buildings. Climbing plants frame doorways and clamber up walls. We turn onto another road with the tables and chairs of restaurants lining both sides. Trastevere isn’t as quiet as it first seemed.

Tonnarello stands on the corner. It’s now 7:35. Dan approaches the host. He indicates at least a 20-minute wait and a long queue of other potential diners lined up along the opposite building. 

“What should we do?” Dan asks.

My heart sinks as my head makes the better decision for our family of five. We turn our backs on Tonnarello and cross the road to a restaurant with plenty of open tables – a good sign for hungry children, but not for their hopeful parents who had looked forward to a spectacular meal. We eat mediocre pizza, salad, and pasta, giving up our tiramisu and panna cotta dreams to find gelato elsewhere.

One of Rome’s oldest churches, the Basilica di Santa Maria is on our way. The main entrance is a short walk around the block. We decide that gelato can wait a few minutes.

As we walk along a nondescript side wall, a wooden door yawns open from within. Rome is revealing her treasures to us once more. We duck through the doorway and stop in awe. The ceiling glows. Above us stretches a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of shapes inlaid with blues, greens, and pinks. Gold blooms and spirals toward the central image of Domenichino’s Assumption of the Virgin Mary. Under our feet, a geometric stonework mosaic swirls toward the altar. A dozen people stand in pairs and trios, holding hushed conversations. No one has a backpack hoisted on shoulders or an iPhone in hand. They’re older and dressed in clothes that have come out of a wardrobe instead of a suitcase.

“I think we’ve gate-crashed the end of a service,” I whisper to Dan. None of the members of the congregation appear perturbed by our presence, but the group seems to be dispersing as chairs are being tidied and an older gentleman walks toward one of the exits with keys jangling in his hand.

We walk a hasty lap of the nave before making our way back toward the side entrance. Tonight, we’ll finish exploring Trastevere. Tomorrow, we’ll rise early to get ahead of the heat and the crowds. Gelato awaits, as do more of Rome’s secrets.