Some excerpts from the last few days of my dad’s Rome Journal (they came back on 5/24):
Our destination was Frascati, a hill town about 30 miles outside Rome. This is a ritzy area where the wealthy have gone to escape the summer heat for hundreds of years, a Hamptons with hills and without the sea. We arrived around 3, and the first order of business was lunch. We headed for a place Marisa knew, and despite the hour they agreed to serve us. A fine meal with the best pasta we had on the trip. After a walk about and gelato to top things off, we went further into the hills to Villa Mondragone, a vast expanse of a place, where there was an arts and crafts fair involving some of Marisa’s friends. The villa was constructed as a wedding present for a 13 year old Montragone I think in the 17th century. Unfortunately, he died at the age of 16. We purchased a few small items, including a sketch of our Ponte Sisto, but mainly just enjoyed the setting, the atmosphere. and the company of our hosts.
At 11, we hopped the tram to the Colosseum. We needed a few more schlock souvenirs to take home, and what better place to look? I had a particular mission. Previously, I had gotten several cheap but colorful models, about 5 inches high, of centurions for my tennis buddies and for me. Quite a few days ago I spotted centurion driving a chariot figure which appealed to me but did not get it, figuring that they were everywhere. But not so. I was still on the lookout. At the Colosseum, I found something close to what I wanted and entered into good natured negotiations with the vendor who first asked for 20 euros but who came down to 12.
We began packing in earnest first thing this morning and by midmorning were pretty much done. Now we were ready for a final walk about. As I recall, we went once more to the area of Hilary’s jewelry shops to no avail. As we were walking back toward the river, we realized that we had not gone down the steps and walked along it a good number of feet down from street level. We did that, then decided it might be a good idea to take a boat ride. Public transit is supposed to have regularly scheduled boats running through the day. With this in mind, we went to the nearest dock, which was not far away. No luck. Nothing seemed to be running. Ee-tah-lee. So it was back to Cisterna.On the way, we passed a small church just off Viale di Trastevere and decided to peek inside. It is Ste. Agata. Near the front of the church on the left side there is a statute called Maria Santissima del Carmine. Check out this website . As the pictures show, it is at the center of a July festival. But this afternoon it was in its place and bathed in light in sharp contrast with the darkened church interior. In the statutes proximity, a group of ten or so elderly people, mostly women, were immersed in a quiet but firm chant and response of devotion and prayer. Most moving as we watched and listened enjoying a quite period of reflection.A while back, we concluded that the goings on across the street were simply those of a restaurant. A few days back, we were on our way out late one afternoon, and some of the staff were outside. We stopped for confirmation. Before we knew it, we had been propelled inside and given a short seminar on Ristorante La Cisterna after accepting a glass of asti. So it had been clear since then that we would have our last night’s meal there.And we did. Wow. Hilary went over after we got back to make the reservation while I did another errand. When I returned, there she was sitting at an outside table with her new best friend, Bernardo, the head waiter. All necessary arrangements were made.Before I arrived, Hilary met the owner of our place, Lucia Plateroti, who also appears to own the building where the restaurant is located. She was extremely pleasant and appreciated our satisfaction with what she referred to as her "home."At dinner we were treated like royalty, both outside, where we started, and inside after the rains came. All I remember about the food is that it was excellent. I do recall, however, the great wine and the several glasses of champaign that were gifts to us, the serenading and the genuine warmth of all the people we encountered. In short, we were the longtime neighbors and close friends who were being entertained. And yes, this was a genuine service included establishment. Frosting on the cake. Check it out.
The evening wound down well after midnight and Gasspare drove us home in his BMW. On the way, he went to the top of the Avantine Hill for us to experience something he had been shown many years ago by an early love on his first visit to Rome as a young man–he is from the South. It was to a door leading into a cloister of some sort. In that door was a tiny peephole. It was a clear night around 2 a.m., and looking through peephole, there in the center of your view was the illuminated dome of St. Peter’s. Spectacular, and a most fitting exclamation point to a wonderful evening.
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