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When in Rome, go to the supermarket
Jun. 12th, 2010 04:25 pmIt was something of a wearying flight to Rome. Not sure why it should have tired me out so much more than travelling to Nice -- it's only about 25 minutes more flying time. Perhaps it was the stress of heading off into "the unknown". Then again, take-off was delayed for nearly half an hour because the fact that it was Summer and a Saturday clearly caught Gatwick unawares.
When I arrived at Rome airport, (significantly bigger than Nice) it took a while to find the nice taxi driver. The car was a Lancia, automatic, rather swish. Fare was E45 and I gave him E55 'cos I thought E50 might be just a bit mingy. And, hell, I still have dregs of Monte Carlo valuations in my head.
I'm in a residential part of Rome, probably about two or three miles from the centre. It wasn't uncomfortably hot when I arrived, but I had a nap and when I woke up the sun was out. The a/c was not on in the (rather tiny, to be blunt -- renting in Rome is expensive!) apartment, and when I turned it on, it soon decided to drip water. Not a lot, but enough to be annoying. Bleeaagh.
The distance from the centre necessitated buying a bus pass. The lady from whom I am renting the flat quickly disabused me of the optimism mistakenly instilled in me by everyone in England. I told her that it was my first time in Italy and that I had zilch Italian. She said that it was very brave of me, particularly since so many Italians didn't speak English.
Oh.
This made the already somewhat scary process of buying a bus pass closer to terrifying. But, well, it had to be done. So I adopted a new plan. I wrote the sentence down. The problem I have is not that the words are wrong, but that I don't say them right.
So, I gritted my teeth, walked into a Tabac shop, smacked straight in with "mi dispiace, no parlo Italiano", and then attempted to speak the words as I showed the written version to the lady. Success! A weekly bus pass for E16 and four stamps successfully obtained!
The Meta mini-mart on the main road gives a clear indication that internationalism has not yet reached ordinary Italian cuisine. A whole row of dried pasta, half a row of rice, various bottled sauces to go with pasta and rice -- oh, and a couple of makes of pizza in the cold compartment. I managed to find a frozen lasagne and a calamari in tomato stew, to be used in case of evening emergencies when I really don't feel up to going out.
There's a delicatessen and a cafe very near by, although I suspect that they won't have any English-speakers there.
I'm going to gamble my new-found confidence and actually USE the bus pass that I so bravely bought (I fear that I haven't sufficiently expressed the terror that things like this instill in me -- despite my rational side telling me that the person behind the counter won't give a toss.)
It's still hot out there, but the dripping air-conditioner is at least doing its job in here. Tonight I hope to find Trinity College, an ex-pat bar in the middle of Rome, where I intend to watch England V USA in a rare moment of patriotic fervour.
( pictures )
When I arrived at Rome airport, (significantly bigger than Nice) it took a while to find the nice taxi driver. The car was a Lancia, automatic, rather swish. Fare was E45 and I gave him E55 'cos I thought E50 might be just a bit mingy. And, hell, I still have dregs of Monte Carlo valuations in my head.
I'm in a residential part of Rome, probably about two or three miles from the centre. It wasn't uncomfortably hot when I arrived, but I had a nap and when I woke up the sun was out. The a/c was not on in the (rather tiny, to be blunt -- renting in Rome is expensive!) apartment, and when I turned it on, it soon decided to drip water. Not a lot, but enough to be annoying. Bleeaagh.
The distance from the centre necessitated buying a bus pass. The lady from whom I am renting the flat quickly disabused me of the optimism mistakenly instilled in me by everyone in England. I told her that it was my first time in Italy and that I had zilch Italian. She said that it was very brave of me, particularly since so many Italians didn't speak English.
Oh.
This made the already somewhat scary process of buying a bus pass closer to terrifying. But, well, it had to be done. So I adopted a new plan. I wrote the sentence down. The problem I have is not that the words are wrong, but that I don't say them right.
So, I gritted my teeth, walked into a Tabac shop, smacked straight in with "mi dispiace, no parlo Italiano", and then attempted to speak the words as I showed the written version to the lady. Success! A weekly bus pass for E16 and four stamps successfully obtained!
The Meta mini-mart on the main road gives a clear indication that internationalism has not yet reached ordinary Italian cuisine. A whole row of dried pasta, half a row of rice, various bottled sauces to go with pasta and rice -- oh, and a couple of makes of pizza in the cold compartment. I managed to find a frozen lasagne and a calamari in tomato stew, to be used in case of evening emergencies when I really don't feel up to going out.
There's a delicatessen and a cafe very near by, although I suspect that they won't have any English-speakers there.
I'm going to gamble my new-found confidence and actually USE the bus pass that I so bravely bought (I fear that I haven't sufficiently expressed the terror that things like this instill in me -- despite my rational side telling me that the person behind the counter won't give a toss.)
It's still hot out there, but the dripping air-conditioner is at least doing its job in here. Tonight I hope to find Trinity College, an ex-pat bar in the middle of Rome, where I intend to watch England V USA in a rare moment of patriotic fervour.
( pictures )
