Tamponi, Tiberina, Trastevere, and Torture

Restaurant of my nickname

“Tamponi” are Covid tests

New ruins

Circus Maximus

Lucy, this one’s for you

Floor of Santa Maria in Cosmedin

Santa Maria in Cosmedin

Sarcophagi

’Merigo

Isola Tiburina

Tevere River

Locks of love

Poetry and Streets of Trastevere

Santa Maria in Trastevere

Basilica of the torture illustrations

Torture depictions follow—

Rated R

I take a pic of this on via Merulana each visit to Rome

Preparing for street demonstrators

Tiny but important Basilica della Prassede

Our hotel staircases are sparkling and smell so good!

Our last day of “vacation” in Rome was a busy one! Luckily, we were blessed with a warm, sunny day; I even got a little color between my mask and sunglasses.

First things first: hit the pharmacy for a Tampone, or, Covid test. Just as in New York, there are pop up tents everywhere, making it super easy. Also as in New York, Rome has a great place for a caffe or a snack if you want to wait a few minutes for printed results. Surprise, surprise—we are negative.

Joe suggested we go through the Quirinale. He’s looking for a building of which a friend posted a photo. We know the building, meaning that we’ve seen it, but where? We never did figure it out, but it was fun trying.

Our favorite hotel guy gave us a recommendation for a restaurant on Isola Tiberina, called Sora Lella, which has “particulare” Roman food, and I wanted to go there for lunch. After Quirinale, we walked there, toward the Tevere (Tiber) river, cutting through some new-to-us ruins. We’ve never had the luxury of time to explore Foro Augusto and Tempia della Pace, which are stunning, and uncrowded, compared to the Roman Forum and Colosseum. On such a lovely day, the trinket vendors were out, approaching you as if you’re their new best friend. “I only have a short time here, I don’t want to spend it talking to you,” is the placard I want to translate and wear through the area. But I exercise restraint on occasion. They’ve got to make a living too.

Since the Bocca della Verita is en route to the river, I told Joe I wanted to snap a picture of my “cut off” hand to post for his cousin, Lucy, as she had recently mentioned something about it from her last visit to Rome. That took us through the pretty Santa Maria in Cosmedin (the route to get to it), which feels like the poor stepchild of this iconic Lion’s-mouth tourist attraction. I wanted to go inside. With timbered ceilings and step-on sarcophagi, the church is a tiny little jewel box.

At the Circus Maximus, which is largely a really big oval of grass with a tamped sand path around it, kids were kicking a soccer ball, families were walking with arms linked, small groups here and there were clustered to say hello and plan their Saturday. Crossing Amerigo Vespucci Park, we got to the river and glimpsed at the island from the lungotevere, the path following the Tiber. Over the Ponte Garibaldi, down the steps, and we got to the island— Sora Lella has a true Roman menu, and is cute as can be—and packed. No available tables. Ok; let’s wander the Trastevere neighborhood, which is on the other side of the Tevere. The piazzas and outdoor tables were packed (with a lot of British accents)!

On my things to see list, thanks to my friend Nicola de Veredicis, was the Basilica di Santo Stefano Rotondo, Hungary’s National church in Rome. It’s, as its name implies, a round church, but what’s more unusual about it are the gruesome depictions of torture all around on the basilica’s walls. These portray 34 scenes of martyrdom, including such events as being buried alive, raked and poured over with lye, setting people on fire, etc, etc. Various emperors named how each torture would be executed. Joe said, “But the victims look so happy.” I guess that’s why they’re martyrs.

We were near the neighborhood of San Giovanni in Laterano, where I have a favorite church (the “lasagne” church—San Clemente), but we were a bit worn out after looking at all those scenes at Santo Stefano. Via Merulana is a direct route back up, and one we’ve traversed many times. There’s a Mary tabernacle I’ve photographed a lot. Some pour soul (who I respectfully wouldn’t photograph) is usually parked under it, asking for money, but not today.

A bit past Panella, a panetteria I like, we saw police officers parking their vans and putting up shields. More joined them on motorcycles. All of them put on helmets after stepping away from their vehicles. There was a lot of noise down a perpendicular street, where more police vehicles and blockades were set up. “Let’s go check it out,” this one says.

People carried flags representing various countries; some of the (few; not a huge crowd) people marching didn’t necessarily look native to Rome or Italy. Their signage said Roma non si sgombera, and La Città non è in vendita. Rome, don’t evacuate, and the city is not for sale. I thought this was an immigration issue, because in Italy, there are immigration issues… but, as we ducked into a bar for a caffe, we asked about the protest. “Anti vax,” the baristo said, barely controlling an eye roll. “Anti!” the other baristo said, laughing and throwing his arms up. I don’t know about the mentality of these marchers—they all had terrible footwear. I wondered if it had something to do with Pope Francis’s recent directive to Catholics—do your part to control this virus. But to be in front of him, they’d have to go to an entirely different state to protest—Vatican City is technically its own city-state, independent from Italy.

Closer to our hotel, Joe asked if I’d been in Santa Prassede. It’s one of the oldest churches in Rome. There was a church there in the spot in the 5th century, but this one was commissioned by Pope Hadrian I in 780, to house relics of two sister saints, Prassede and Pudentiana, daughters of St. Pudens, who was St. Peter’s first Christian convert in Rome. It’s built on top of the 4th century baths, the Terme di Novato. And this all ties nicely back to Santo Stefano’s torture scenes, as these sisters may have been illustrated in them. They were murdered for providing Christian burial for early martyrs, in defiance of Roman law. How can you not be in awe of bad ass, defiant, rule-breaking women?

We were not having much luck with restaurant wishes being met on our last day in Rome, as we headed to the Sburra neighborhood to eat at Sciue Sciue. It too was booked. We ended up at Trattoria di Tettarello again, because we knew it’d be good. Andrea, our waiter from the other night, waved hello from the back. We had to wait about a half hour for a table, so walked down via Urbana for cocktails. At Zia Rosetta, a hole in the wall place, we noticed “rosette”—some mini, some big. There are sweet and savory varieties, but coming full circle to my friend Nicola, there was one named ‘Nicola di Bari’ filled with octopus, potatoes, and broccolini. Perfect for someone who’s a bit salty, a bit down to earth, and a little bit sweet. We chatted with the bartender, and we’re sorry we just found this place today. It would’ve been a great spot to stop in for a merenda this week.

Against all better judgment, I decided to overindulge in Roman food and wine on our last night in Rome. First courses—rigatoni all’Amatriciana for me, fettuccine with porcini for Joe. All boxes checked with those two…. buonissime. Next course: trippa (tripe) in sugo for me (knocked my socks off), and saltimbocca (literally,“jump in your mouth,” named for its piquant flavor combo of veal-prosciutto-sage) for Joe. Wine flowing throughout dinner, and I vaguely recall a plate of profiteroles. And Joe must’ve had an amaro. Didn’t he?

We obviously made it back, because I live to tell the tale, but since the day started with my life in (well, amongst) ruins, why not end it that way?