Calma

There is the historical Trastevere neighborhood with its narrow meandering streets and it’s plethora of trendy bars and boutiques. In one tucked away corner lies a tiny, dusty, cluttered shop full of soon to be repaired old instruments, a family of rescued stray kitties, and a retired man with small silver spectacles. There is the university neighborhood of San Lorenzo, home to La Sapienza, and filled with the buzz and energy of youth. One can frequently catch a stray scent of weed, while walking through these impudent streets. There is the excessively wealthy Parioli neighborhood with its immaculate historical homes and impenetrable gates. Chic dogs weave and chase through the upscale cars lining these streets. 

There is the heavily graffitied Pigneto neighborhood with its culture clash of gentrifying, young, up-and-coming Romans and its constant influx of desperate immigrants. There is the grandiose Piazza Venezia with its wide busy round-about and its massive national monument. 

There is Villa Borghese, the sprawling English style garden portrayed in Respighi’s symphonic poem, “Pines of Rome.”  There is Campo de Fiori, home to a picturesque daily food and flower market and and well known magnet for tourists. There is the southside Testaccio neighborhood, home to a large 19th century slaughterhouse turned museum of contemporary art. There is the stately Vatican, epicenter of the Catholic church and home to my beloved dear Saint Peter. 

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There is a quiet road. There is no historical significance that I am aware of, only an empty curvy road surrounded by trees and connecting the city center to the northwest commuter neighborhoods of Balduina and Torrevecchia. The road dips gently into a subtle valley, just deep enough to trim a more than a few degrees off of a stifling summer day. 

After an evening well spent in drinks and dinner with friends or wandering the crowded banks of the Tiber, it takes only about 3 short minutes for a scooter to traverse this mini highway from end to end, but in that short time, cool air kisses overheated skin, humidity laden trees perfume the night, and stars shine brighter overhead while clouds chase across the face of a super moon. 

One reaches out a hand to touch these chilly dark hours, One exhales, then inhales deeply, purposefully as hair whips and curls in the wind. Occasionally, one attempts to freeze time, only succeeding in stealing precious moments. But as the road begins to climb, one leaves the brisk quiet behind and looks to the way ahead.