All Roads Lead to Rome (and hopefully back again!)

Sunday, June 17, 2007

I stood leaning against the adobe wall of the terrace looking out over the azure blue of the Tyrrhenian sea; a glass of wine in my hand, the chatter of five intelligent, kind, open-minded, attractive men behind me (the kind of men women lament they can’t find), and thanked again my lucky stars to be born in the age of the internet and to have discovered couchsurfing. Four days ago I had no idea I would even be in Rome. Now I had new friends in Rome I couldn’t wait to meet again one day. What did it take to make this happen? An idea, a $15 bus ticket, an open mind, and couchsurfing.

Thursday morning it struck me in Ascoli that for reasons unknown I simply did not want to start this trip in Croatia. I had been dragging my feet about buying the ferry ticket. At first, I knew it was a simple need to decompress and breathe again. To put away the ‘work and worry’ world and pick up again the backpack and the open, easy spirit that comes with it. But I had decompressed, and even bought a new back pack with an upgrade in the easy spirit accessory, and still I had not left. Sure I was working all day, getting computer work done, taking care of the items at the bottom of the to do list that you never think you will get to, but I wasn’t leaving and it was time to go.

So Thursday morning, I walked into the Accademia Italiana office in San Benedetto where my guardian angel Antonella lets me work, turned on the computer, and spent about twenty minutes searching through airfares to eastern Europe from Milan and Rome. An airline I hadn’t heard of came up on one of the searches – Wizzair. Hmmm… On the front page of the site, there it was, Rome to Sofia, Bulgaria – 30 euro. The ferry to Croatia was going to cost me 70. Not having a clue exactly where Sofia was, I checked out a map. It was well located to go up into Romania over to the Black Sea or west to Belgrade. I ran a quick couchsurf; there were plenty of couches. I bought the ticket. I could take the bus to Rome Sunday, couchsurf one night, then head out for the flight Monday morning.   

The first email was to Flavio. He is one of CS’s most active members, a global ambassador, well-connected in the community, and devoted to both the principled management of CS and the spirit of community and cultural exchange that is embodied in the CS philosophy. We know each other dozens of times over through other friends and have emailed for better than a year now, but we had never actually met. He couldn’t host, but suggested a friend and we made plans for Sunday afternoon to go to the beach. I got the unfortunate news that his friend couldn’t host me late Friday. I generally won’t send out requests two days in advance, but decided to send just two and if neither was available I’d crash at the airport.

Within two hours I had not one but two places to sleep. I wrote Giuseppe that I had already accepted Francesco’s invitation. He kindly suggested that we have lunch since he lived just five minutes from where the bus would drop me. In the serendipitous world that is couchsurfing, this worked perfectly since I would arrive at 12:30 but Francesco wouldn’t be able to meet me at his place until 3pm.

Thirty minutes after I got off the bus, I was sitting at the dining table, looking over the balcony at walls built almost 2,000 years ago as pasta cooked on the stove, drinking a wonderful Spumanti selected by a not only suave Italian but a sommelier to boot! Lunch was simple, quick, and to die for. I will never understand what makes the food so much better in this country. We chatted over spumanti, wine, and a wonderful berry liquor from Sardinia (or was it Sicily?) until it was time for him to take me back to the station. It was an unexpected kiss in the light of day, my head spinning slightly from the afternoon’s array of alcoholic delights, but it is terribly difficult to resist a kiss from a handsome Italian who just cooked you lunch, and why would you anyway?

I spent the bus ride to the other side of town watching the gypsy thieves communicate with the barest of gestures as they selected their next victim. I felt something awry from the man seated near the back of the bus when I boarded, and consciously chose the one seat at the back of the bus, behind the back door partition, that would make it impossible to access my bags from any direction. I then spent the 30 minute ride fascinated by the way they came on and off the bus, signaling their leader with the slightest raise of eyebrows or other gestures. They decided on two Italian tourists with backpacks and cameras but a priest on the bus saw the girls and warned them before the borseggiatori (pickpockets) could even make a move. All three got off at the next stop. There would be no work while he was on the bus.

It was quite the hike in the hot summer day from the bus to Francesco’s house. I would have been happy to see the devil himself open the door to a cool dark place where I could set my pack down. I don’t think Francesco even came into focus until I had splashed my face, drank a glass of water, and got my breathing back to normal. When the world came back into alignment I saw before me an incredibly handsome man with vivacious eyes, a bright smile, and a peaceful calm energy. Within moments our conversation went beyond ‘pasta small talk’ and to subjects of meaning. I had the strongest sensation that we had known each other for years and were catching up after not having seen each other for awhile. We lingered over our coffee, talking, laughing, emphasizing a point with a touch or intense intonation. I could have talked like that for days, but the hour and a half late I was to his house had now become three hours late to our rendezvous with Flavio.

Francesco insisted I take a moment to freshen up and take a shower. Showers are always delightful after long journeys, but this one was uniquely and particularly intoxicating, especially after my first trek with true trekker’s backpack. We finally made it out the door and were headed to Ostia Antiqua, a small port town just fifteen miles outside of Rome. I had run us so late that we skipped the beach and headed to meet Flavio at another CSer’s house. It took a little while for Flavio to warm up to me but by the end of the evening I think he decided I was okay after all. I can’t help but adore anyone who feels as strongly about CS as he does.

Within moments Denis had joined us. He is a wire-terrier of a man, boundless energy, and a tight body with light, bright eyes and a mischievous smile. He led us into the house and up to the rooftop terrace where his ‘bedroom’ was - a single free-standing room in the middle of the open terrace that looked out over the sea. The ‘shower’ was outside – one of those beachside type showers. Flavio and Denis were in mid-conversation when Denis stripped down to a little red Speedo and began to shower. We’re not talking a rinse-off here ladies. We are talking a full soap suds scrub down. It would have made one hot movie scene if there were a camera crew there to film it! 

There I was, the sea to my left, the sun setting over Rome to my right, and an Italian scrubbing himself down behind me as he chatted to one of the handsomest, nicest guys I’ve ever met and a man I admire and respect. Alright, does life get better? Hmm.. actually it does and did. I honestly tried not to watch but I finally couldn’t resist the urge to snap a photo – solely for the promotion of couchsurfing of course….

Denis had thankfully put some clothes on, allowing me to concentrate again and my face to return to a normal skin tone when new friends Fabrizio and Andrea arrived. Introductions were made as wine was poured and we sat around the table sharing stories of travels and CS experiences. Fabrizio, quiet and solid with inquisitive eyes, was new to the couchsurfing concept and admittedly amazed at the stories we had to tell. Andrea, tall and lean, the Italian version of the computer-smart type, had done some hospitality club but not CS.

As the sun set, hunger took over and we rallied to head out for pizza. I must admit I didn’t really understand why here on the outskirts of Rome where there must be more pizzerias per capita than anywhere in the world, we drove twenty five minutes and then stood almost an hour in the parking lot waiting for a table at this crowded little hole in the wall next to the Indian Fast Food place.

The first bite of pizza was all it took to understand. I would have happily waited three hours for that pizza, actually I think I’ve waited a whole lifetime for that pizza. Words simply cannot do it justice. It was an orgiastic, orgasmic tasting experience.

Nonno, as Denis called him, was great. He was il padrone, the owner - one of those hard-on-the-outside, teddy-bear-soft-on-the-inside sorts who you think is going to bite your head off right before he hugs you tight. I loved him instantly. The six of us laughed and talked the night away. By the end of the evening, there was not one part of my body that wasn’t fully satiated from the day’s experience. And THEN…. Nonno brought two huge, beautiful, amazing, sinful, decadent, died-and-gone-to-heaven dessert pizzas! Chocolate, whip cream, berries, and thick berry sauce all slipping and sliding atop a sweet thin crepe-like crust. I was making love to that pizza right there in front of all those guys. They knew it. I knew it. I could have cared less. I ate three pieces. Heaven is real. It is there at Gianluca Procaccini Pizza!

 

Nonno asked me how I liked it – I told him the only thing that could make the experience better was eating it while you were making love. He didn’t understand exactly what I said, but he knew exactly what I meant.

I had to wait while someone found the wheelbarrow to get me to the car. The guys were still laughing at my ecstatic delight over dessert. Nonno gave me a big hug, laughing too and declaring I was the first American he had ever hugged.

Ladies and gents if you are ever in Rome, hell if you are ever in Italy, you must find your way to this pizzeria.  It is Via delle Azzorree #344 in Ostia. Rent a car, hitchhike, sell your soul, do whatever you have to do, but get there. It will undoubtedly be one of the memories that flashes before your eyes when the heavens come a’callin’.

I gloried in my distended belly for the ride back to Denis' house. We all chatted for awhile before parting ways. By now Flavio had accepted me into the circle and gave me a warm, genuine hug goodbye. I was happy to finally be able to call him a friend and look forward to the day we can talk more about CS and life. It was well after 1am when Francesco started the car to head home.

Francesco and I talked the forty minute drive about the night and our new friends and  shared some of our stories from life. I was amazed again at the ease and familiarity between us – the sense of being old friends reunited rather than new ones just meeting. The few times such connections happen, I can’t help but wonder if we have met in another time and place, another life, another world.

A sound night’s sleep, morning coffee, Francesco’s personally drawn map in hand, and a simp le, sweet kiss goodbye and it was time for me to head out again.  If all roads do lead to Rome, I hope one leads me back to enjoy the company of the friends I made (and have some more of that damn PIZZA!). 

PS There are pics of the pizza delight in the Roma photo album to the right...  Warning, you will salivate.

Comments

[Carrie Stewart]

hi, sherry!! carrie here!! i was just wondering how your travels are going. i'm going to be moving to new york soon. i will send you an email later about it. anyway, just thinking of you and hoping all is well. much love your way from arkansas!!

[Tiina]

I'm glad you finally met Flavio (he makes the best tiramisu in the world!). And whenever I finally manage to drag my ass to Rome, I will definitely taste some of that pizza. The address has been noted :)

[Lars Rye Jeppesen]

Nice photos - enjoy Rome - very envious I am :)