Four Years of Dolce Vita
Sample Chapters
Chapters
Chapter 01. All Roads Lead to Rome
It was on a beautiful evening in mid-May, just before dusk, that our Alitalia
flight from Jeddah touched down at Fiumicino Airport in Rome. Not many of
the formalities were noticed in passport control, and passengers swiftly
passed through the gate to the exit. On the way out, there was nothing
unusual other than waiting for the luggage to arrive late. Being a first-time
visitor to Italy, I felt that the air was full of anxiety and excitement. I was aptly
dressed in an American-made chequered blazer. At the exit, my curiosity drew
my attention to a couple of men arguing with vigorous hand gestures, which
made me somewhat nervous at first, but I later saw them sharing cigarettes
and exchanging friendly talk as if they were eternal friends.
After changing some dollars to lira at the Bureau de Exchange, I found my
way to a bus stop outside the exit lobby. With a bit of struggle, I managed to
find the right coach, which showed a sign reading ‘Statione Termini’. Another
passenger explained that Termini was the main railway station in Rome. I
don’t quite remember how much I paid in lira for the coach ride, but I think
it was equivalent to a dollar or two in 1979. The coach arrived at the terminal
station at approximately 8.00 p.m. after cruising for fifty minutes. The man
seated next to me on the coach was an Italian in his fifties, and we had a brief
chat. Massimo was an expatriate engineer who had travelled from Jeddah and
spoke English. He told me that he visited home every other month, just with
hand luggage. He helped me understand how chaotic Italian cities were and
how to protect myself from petty criminals. After arriving in Rome, with his
help, I was able to find a budget bed and breakfast, which the Italians called
a pensione.
The main train station in Rome was congested with travellers and strollers.
Massimo was kind enough to show me in the vicinity, and with a great degree
of patience, he helped me find a pensione. We negotiated a very good rate for
a week, which came to approximately two US dollars per night. Massimo bade
me goodbye after I checked in but exchanged his contact details while saying,
‘Feel free to contact me if you ever needed anything.’ My room was neither
posh nor cosy, but my bed was clean and comfortable for a few nights. The
location seemed safe and convenient enough to get around the city centre.
Over the course of a few days, I was able to scan the surrounding
environment. I met a few backpackers at the hotel who were amusing and
interested in getting to know me. They were mainly young and enthusiastic
tourists visiting Rome on a shoestring budget. However, only a few were long
staying economic migrants. Chatting with them gave me positive feelings
towards the city. Most of these migrants did not have a valid visa, and they
overstayed and survived for months, and some for years, while pursuing low
paid menial jobs that an Italian would not consider doing.
My knowledge of Italian or Roman history, as well as places of interest, was
less than average but seemed much better than that of most of the visitors I
met in Rome. Obviously, young tourists from North America and the
Continent or Britain showed that they had a good grasp of the Roman history
and heritage. In a few days, by mingling with these visitors at the pensione,
my interest in Roman as well as Italian history and heritage grew. I became
fond of Italian culture, although it seemed to vary from region to region.
Almost three days had already passed since my Roman sojourn, and I thought
it was time to begin searching for a suitable American or British university or
college. The idea of pursuing higher studies that had been ingrained in my
brain for a long time prompted me to undertake my current European
journey. Not being able to pursue my university education because of a
number of unavoidable causes, and with my long-cherished ambition to go
abroad for education, I was determined to pursue my undergraduate studies
in America or Europe. Of course, the dream was to reach America, the land
of opportunity. I must have spent hours researching US universities, and I
even had a few offers in the early 1970s to study in the US.
Lack of funding for studies abroad remains the main problem for many
aspiring youths from developing countries. The time I spent in Saudi Arabia
as an expatriate, where I collected a small savings over two years, provided
funds to pursue this dream. In this regard, I also carried pages of the
International Herald Tribune with detailed information on the US and British
institutions in Europe, including Rome. Therefore, I decided to conduct
groundwork to identify a suitable degree-granting institution in Rome.
The next day, in the morning, before searching for or contacting a few colleges,
I thought of getting a quick bite. Although I was familiar with some popular
Italian dishes because of my exposure to dining at the continental dining hall
in an Aramco residence camp in Dhahran, it was not my idea to indulge in
fine food during a fact-finding tour. Street foods, such as pizza and lasagne,
were ubiquitous and relatively inexpensive. You might call them ‘Italian fast
food’, although Italians seemed rather allergic to the term ‘fast food’. Minutes
later, with a slice of pizza in my hand, along with a can of cola to help digest
the food, I sat on the bed to browse the pages of the Herald Tribune. John
Cabot College and American College of Rome stood out, as they both offered
accredited degree courses in business and economics. Since the afternoon
had just started and we had a few good summer hours left before Roman
working hours ended, I embarked on a city tour looking for John Cabot
College, which I remember was located near the Piazza della Repubblica. I did
call them, and I made an appointment to see the admission tutor.
As I arrived at the college, I noticed that it was a bit hectic at the lobby, just
like a street market. It seemed that the students flocked to the help desk at
the end of the class. I managed my way to the reception desk and met with
the admission tutor, who was expecting my visit. The meeting was brief and
took only thirty minutes to complete. As a mature student with a high level of
motivation, I did not have any problems getting admission to the degree
course with advanced standing because of my prior education and experience.
However, the financing options remained a key issue. When I asked him
whether I would qualify for any bursary or financial aid, his reply was ‘I am
not sure.’ The admission tutor said that he wouldn’t count on it and that the
dean of studies had the final word. When I asked whether I could see him, the
answer was ‘After two weeks.’ I didn’t bother to make an appointment, as my
plan was to leave for Paris in a few days.
As I stepped out, it was six in the evening, but the sunset seemed another two
and a half hours away. Although I was disappointed by not being able to see
someone in the upper hierarchy of John Cabot, I didn’t lose my confidence. I
decided to stroll around the piazza. I sat on a bench in the garden and looked
over a map. Surprisingly, I found the American College of Rome close to where
I was. I did have an appointment to see the dean of the college in the morning
at ten, and to make it easier, I decided to walk and identify the site location.
It was Via Piemonte, number twenty-six. Having sighted the century-old
neoclassical Romanesque building with a massive wooden door that allowed
even cars to pass through the forecourt, I took a turn and returned to the
hotel. It was almost eight thirty, but the sun still showered us with formidable
light and heat.
Back in my pensione after thirty minutes of leisurely walking, I went straight
to the shower room. During my shower, I contemplated my scheduled meeting
with the dean of American College. As I came out of the shower, the landlord
of the pensione was generous enough to offer a cup of espresso that I could
not refuse. She was keen to know whether I would be interested in eating out
at her cousin’s trattoria, a small family-run restaurant. Her English was
better than my Italian, which I picked up during my three-day sojourn in
Rome. Another guest at the hotel, Mark, overheard our conversation and
asked me whether he could join if I decided to dine. Mark was a visitor from
a small town near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Having graduated with a major
in Roman and Greek history, he wanted to spend time exploring Rome.
I thought, for a change, it would be an experience to try out this eatery, which
was located a few blocks away on the same street. Before I called Mark to join
me, I wanted to prepare for the interview with the dean the following morning;
I knew I needed to have all my supporting documents ready to convince the
dean that I was serious, and some sort of financial support would be essential
to pursue my studies if I were given a chance to join the college. After a while,
we left the hotel for dinner around 8.00 p.m., just before sunset, and on the
way, we started to chat. Mark was a bit curious to find out about me, and he
wanted to know what I was doing in Rome. I didn’t want to delve much, but I
briefly said that I was on my way to Paris and I should leave Rome soon. He
was on a monthlong trip to Europe and said that he wanted to go to Greece
and Turkey to learn more about ancient Greek history as well.
The trattoria looked like a small, lively eatery with local diners who knew each
other very well. It only had a handful of tables and was almost full, with a few
remaining seats. There was no menu on site but a slate on the wall showing
what we were to be served. We had to sit and eat whatever the chef served us,
and the meal would come with a pasta dish as the primo, a meat or fish dish
as the second dish, and a side dish or salad as the third dish. Of course, it
should be accompanied by a glass of house wine along with a basket of bread
served on the table.
We were first served a plate of fettucine al-vongole, a type of flat spaghetti in
tomato-based sauce with clams simmered in olive oil. The pasta had been
cooked to the right texture—as an Italian would call it, al-dente—and the
sauce was delicious with a garlic and fresh basil flavour. The next plate was
a slice of chicken breast braised in butter and porcini mushrooms with cream
sauce and a slightly peppery flavour. This was accompanied by a bowl of chef
salad. Overall, this was a beautiful experience and delicious meal for a
pittance. It was about half past ten in the night when we returned to the hotel,
and Mark seemed a bit tipsy with a few glasses of wine. Hoping to get up early
in the morning, I went to bed straight away.
Chapter 02. An Offer of a Lifetime
In the morning, after an espresso doppio at the cafe next door to wake me up
and a warm shower afterwards to freshen me up, I was ready to meet the dean of the American College. I was in Via Piemonte before ten, on time for the
meeting, and I was led to the reception desk on the fourth floor. A young
woman at the reception desk introduced herself as Susan and said that the
dean was waiting for me, and she took me up another floor at the mezzanine.
The dean shook my hand and said, ‘Meet Michael Milanese, the dean of the
college.’ I introduced myself to the dean as Zain Baba with confidence. I was
rather surprised to see the welcoming reception I received as we sat on the
sofa opposite his desk. I was given a brief introduction, and he showed me
around the college as if I were a newly appointed staff member. I had not
realized that I was speaking to the dean himself the other day when I called
to make an appointment. From our brief conversation on the phone, I was
able to explain my ambitions, skills, and background in detail. This must have
made Michael see me from a different perspective rather than just a student
seeking admission to a course. In fact, he had other motives that I later came
to realize.
Michael briefed me about the three different degree courses on offer at the
college and recommended me the BS in Economics and Liberal Studies based
on my background. With my advanced standing, he thought I should be able
to complete the degree in five semesters, including a summer school. It
sounded all well so far, but when I asked about the tuition fees, which came
to fifteen hundred dollars a semester, he said, ‘Yeah, we can talk about it in
a minute.’ Michael was a very tactful person, and as an American of Italian
descent, he was not far from being an Italian in his nature and approach to
people. I liked him, and I thought that there was chemistry between us.
When addressing the issues of my finances and tuition fees, the dean showed
interest in appointing me as college staff to supervise student services. This
included attending to the welfare of some exchange students from the USA. I
was honest and sincere about my situation and finances, and I stressed that
I would need bursary and financial assistance to pursue my studies. Michael
pointed out that I would be entitled to a reasonable remuneration by working
twenty to twenty-five hours a week and that my tuition fees would be waived.
As this was a small institution with roughly 100 to 150 students in total, my
workload would not be difficult. However, he could not confirm the offer until
early September. I did accept the offer and exchanged my contact details in
France, as my friend expected me to arrive in Paris the next week.
After we finished our meeting, as I came down the stairs, I was able to meet
and chat with a group of exchange students from San Antonio, Texas. They
were typical Americans with southern accents, exchanging their recent
experience of visiting Vatican City, which has been an autonomous entity in
Italy since 1929. The highlight of their visit was the Sistine Chapel and the
ceiling painting of frescoes by Michelangelo. This was painted between 1508
and 1512, during the High Renaissance. These frescos, known as ‘first
judgement frescos’, depict God’s creation of Eve, the first woman. The Texan
students were chatty, but they had to bid goodbye, as they were required to
get back to college for a brief summary discussion and prepare to visit the
Roman Forum and the Colosseum in the afternoon.
Now the time was almost one o’clock, and down the street next to the college,
I was able to see a cafe for a quick panini. Although it was my third day in
Rome that I was not able to visit any places of interest, my meeting with
exchange students triggered an intense desire to visit some of these places.
Therefore, I decided to visit Vatican City before returning to the hotel. I
received help in locating the correct tram stop from the bar attendant at the
cafe. Fortunately, it was not far from the cafe I visited. A brief look at my diary
reminded me that I had dinner appointments with Massimo to seven thirty in
the evening. This meant that I had to return to the hotel by six so that I could
wash and get ready. The tram service in Rome was better than expected, but
it moved at a snail’s pace. I arrived at a destination where the tram was
terminated at 2.30 p.m. Within a couple of minutes of walking, I could see the
massive wall and gate that led to the vast compound surrounded by
Corinthian columns in which the legendary St Peter’s Basilica stood.
The first thing I did when I entered the piazza was to buy a few picture
postcards and post them to greet my parents and friends. When chatting with
long-staying guests on the pensione, I was told that the Italian postal service
was one of the world’s worst. ‘A postcard takes a year to deliver,’ one guy
sarcastically said. I was told to go to the Vatican and post my mail. The
Vatican, as an independent entity with its own jurisdiction, was founded as a
city-state in February 1929 after the signing of the Lateran Pacts between
Italy and the Holy See.
The late spring temperature was less intense, but the piazza and basilica were
packed with tourists even in May. I managed to clear my way to the basilica
and got a glimpse of the frescoes on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. It was not my
intention to visit the Vatican Museum or spend another hour, as I had to
return to the pensione because of the dinner appointment. I decided to take
the tram back to the city, as it passed through the Termini station, and my
pensione was not even a five-minute walk from the station.
My third night in Rome was approaching fast, and it was six in the evening
when I arrived at the pensione. As expected from an engineer, I was ready to
join Massimo at seven, who was punctual. I was pleased to see him again,
and we greeted each other with a hug. He brought cherries from his garden
tree, which I left aside to eat. Massimo brought his Fiat Cinquecento, which
had a reputation as a city car because of its size and manoeuvrability.
We left the hotel just before 8.00 p.m. As we passed through the city, he
showed me a few places of interest to the visitors. While crossing the Tiber
River, he said that we were heading towards an old part of the city called
Trastevere, where the restaurant was located, not far from the old Jewish
ghetto on the other side of the river. Trastevere remained an old working-class
neighbourhood with medieval houses, streets paved with cobblestones, and
narrow alleyways. The name ‘Trastevere’ means ‘beyond the Tiber’ in Latin,
and it has remained a colourful and lively part of the city since Roman times.
Locals and tourists flocked to Trastevere to enjoy authentic Roman meals.
Fortunately, Massimo found a place on the street to park his car.
We went to an osteria, and I cannot remember the name, but I was told that
this establishment had been in business since the 1930s. I was able to see
pictures of a few distinguished personalities who had patronized the
restaurant in the past. As we entered the main lobby, we received a warm
welcome and a drink as an aperitivo when seated at the bar. The restaurant
had a cosy atmosphere, with mild jazz music playing in the background. In
less than ten minutes, we were shown by the waiter to take a seat at a table
that was meant for two guests. He brought us the menu and left saying ‘Vengo
subito,’ meaning ‘I will come soon [to take orders].’
Massimo and I browsed the menu and identified the items we wanted to order.
Of course, it was in Italian, and Massimo explained to me in detail about the
items in the menu, and as expected, I had to pick one starter under ‘antipasti’,
a pasta dish as primo, and a main dish as secondo. If necessary, I could pick
a side dish as a contorno. In the end, we both chose one of the popular Roman
antipasti, Carciofi al’ Giudia, for our starter, and I picked Polpette di Baccala
for my main dish, while Massimo took a popular Roman dish called
Saltimbocca Ala Romana. We ordered some of the salads. Massimo also
ordered a bottle of white wine, Orvieto, to go with the meal. It is a classic white
wine that is produced on the outskirts of Rome.
Our starter, Carciofi al’ Giudia, was a traditional Roman artichoke dish
derived from Jewish culinary tradition, as was the name ‘Giudia’, meaning
‘Juda-Jewish’. This special starter consisted of stuffed artichoke petals with
freshly chopped parsley and garlic, along with stems cooked in olive oil in
covered pots. It was served cold and exuded a tongue-twitching, liquorice
flavour on the first bite. It was indeed delicious, and I loved it. A sip of white
wine seemed to be an ideal partner for every artichoke bite. Massimo told me
that it was one of his favourite antipasti.
My primary dish was fish cutlets of cod in a tomato sauce, served with roasted
potatoes and roasted chicory with a dash of crushed garlic and red pepper in
virgin olive oil. The stuffing consisted of olives, pine nuts, breadcrumbs, and
deliciously flavoured seasoning. Saltimbocca, ordered by Massimo, is a
popular Roman dish. It consists of pan-fried veal that is flattened and
wrapped with prosciutto and a sage leaf, cooked in lemon juice and Marsala
wine. When in Rome, we were supposed to do as Romans did, which meant
taking it easy, and there was no need to rush. The entire dinner took more
than two hours, and both customers were satisfied and happy. However,
dinner was not complete without a dessert or espresso. We decided to take a
portion of tiramisu along with a cup of coffee. Massimo wanted it to be a café
corretto—in other words, corrected coffee, with a dash of grappa and Italian
brandy. Indeed, it was wonderful to be a guest and enjoy such a nice dining
experience while on a shoestring budget.
Chapter 13. A Home in Rome
Back at the college the following Monday, things were less hectic. Michael had
arranged a couple of study tours, including one of the Sistine Chapel at St.
Paul’s for the exchange students, but I was not keen to join. Susan reminded
me about placing an announcement in the American Daily News, the English
daily of Rome. I found out where the office of the publisher was located and
managed to draft a twenty-word announcement, as the maximum word count
allowed was less than twenty-five. By midweek I had placed the
announcement, which read, ‘An American College student is seeking
accommodation in exchange for some flexible hours of household chores.’ The
college telephone number was provided as a contact number, along with
Susan’s name. I wanted the announcement to continue for four weeks, as
permitted by the publisher, and it was free of charge. I was not very optimistic
but said to myself that only time would tell whether I would get any calls.
In the meantime, a week had passed, and Michael was preparing for the next
tour with the exchange students. It was to Pompeii, and it would be a one-day
trip without an overnight stay. This meant leaving Rome by a minibus early
in the morning, which would take nearly two hours to reach and return by
late evening. I had already promised I would join them, and it had been
planned for the next Saturday. Michael told me that this tour was to be
repeated with overnight stays the following semester with regular students as
part of the module called ‘Western Civilization through Arts and Monuments’
for the junior-year students.
On Saturday morning, we left Rome early, at seven-thirty, and arrived in
Naples before nine-thirty. The exchange students seemed very excited and
enthusiastic, and our tour of Pompeii started at ten after a quick break to
relieve the bladder. It was a wonderful morning in October with sunlight
shimmering over the ruins. We were warned to prepare for long hours of
walking with suitable boots or trainer shoes, as well as to carry a bottle of
water and some form of packet lunch in our backpacks. Michael had to
purchase the ticket for fourteen of us, and once ready, we were in full gear to
start the tour.
Our first stop was the Pompeii Amphitheatre, which was used for gladiator
fights and other festivities and performances. Michael took 10 minutes to
explain the history and significance of the Amphitheatre and commented that
it was not any different from other Roman amphitheatres. On this occasion,
he also briefed the students about the chronology of events in Pompeii over
the last 2000 years, from the time of volcanic eruption to excavation. Pompeii
perished from the ashes of the erupting Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD., on the
24th of August. This was one of the most catastrophic events in history and
had a devastating impact on Pompeii, which was buried under volcanic ash
and pumice. The Vesuvius eruption was a two-day event with a massive cloud
of ash, pumice, and toxic gas thrown into the sky on the first day, and fast
moving pyroclastic flows consisting of highly destructive clouds of ash, rock
fragments, and gas on the second day. According to scientists, the speed of
the flows could have reached up to seventy miles per hour with a temperature
of over five-hundred degrees Celsius that engulfed the entire city, burying it
under several metres of volcanic material.
After the mini-lecture at the amphitheatre site, we moved to see the Forum of
Pompeii, which was the city’s main square. It consisted of the remains of the
basilica, the courthouse where legal proceedings were held, and the Temple
of Jupiter. Michael noted that the temple was dedicated to the Roman god of
the sky and thunder. After exploring the forum with site-specific descriptions
by Michael, the group split up to take a quick break. There were cafes and
food stalls around for anyone who wanted coffee or snacks. Some opted to
enjoy the food they had carried in their backpacks. We had decided on a place
to meet after the break which was relatively easy to find. In any case, I had to
keep an eye on the movements of the guest students. We all had red flags
attached to our backpacks to easily identify each other.
After half an hour, we met in front of the famous Casa del Fauno, the House
of Faun, which was one of the largest and most impressive houses in Pompeii.
It was named after a bronze statue of a dancing faun found in the house,
which could be seen in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples.
According to historians, the House of Faun was built in the second century
BC during the Samnite period and is considered the most luxurious
aristocratic palace in the Roman Republic to be preserved from the Hellenistic
period. Although the eruption of Vesuvius was a devastating event, its ash,
which fell in layers, helped preserve valuable artworks, including mosaics.
Michael pointed out that after a period of excavations, most of the valuable
artefacts were moved to the museum in Naples. The group also visited the
Pompeii baths, which were used for public bathing. Baths were an important
part of Roman society and were used not only for relaxation and hygiene but
also for socializing.
As the last item in the itinerary of the Pompeii tour, we visited the Pompeii
gardens, which were once used for private residence. This was full of the
remains of several villas and gardens, without exception of the Villa of the
Mysteries, which contained well-preserved frescoes depicting ancient Roman
rituals. Wrapping up the tour by sunset offered us enough time to look at
Naples and enjoy a delicious pizza in Naples, which is considered the
birthplace of pizza. At the coach, while chatting with the driver, Michael
quickly pointed out the cultural traits of Naples and its inhabitants and the
beauty of the city itself. Naples Bay provided a beautiful landscape,
particularly at night, and picking a good and authentic pizzeria overlooking
the bay remained Michael’s aim.
The driver suggested that we check one of the traditional longstanding
pizzerias called Pizzeria Lombardi a Santa Chiara. Within half an hour, we
were on a hilltop overlooking the Bay of Naples. The coach meandered through
the narrow roads and arrived at Lombardi, and it was an authentic place to
enjoy pizza in Naples. All pizzas were made al-forno in a traditional stone oven,
using fresh ingredients. The air was full of flavour emitted from fresh
tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, basil, oregano, and virgin olive oil, which made
all of us crave a slice of pizza.
The menu at Lombardi was simple, as all of the pizzas had a standard crust
base with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese, which is a traditional
margherita pizza. Customers could order their preferred toppings, including
seafood, such as clams, prawns, and anchovies; meats, such as salami,
prosciutto, and pepperoni; and fresh vegetables, such as onions and
mushrooms. A fresh egg cracked in the centre was another addition if anyone
preferred. Fortunately, everything at Lombardi was fresh except for the cured
meats, olives, and marinated vegetables. I ordered a Pizza alla Pescatore, or
seafood pizza, consisting of fresh anchovies, prawns, and calamari with
marinara sauce. I also wanted to add fresh mushrooms and sliced onion.
Everyone tried their favourites, and some shared between two or three, which
gave them the opportunity to taste more than one pizza.
We were extremely happy and a big thumbs-up for the driver’s choice of
restaurant. Because we had to pay for the meal, we all chipped in for the
driver. At eight in the evening, we were set to leave Naples so that we could
arrive in Rome at ten at night. On the way back, some of us dozed after a busy
and tiring day. As we arrived in Rome, I had to pick up a cab to go home, as I
also felt a bit tired and sleepy.
On Sunday, I wanted to visit Susan, but unfortunately, I had to attend to my
household chores. The next morning, business as usual at the college
continued. Midweek, Barbara asked me whether I could volunteer to help her
do some wall painting in one of the spare rooms, which I could not refuse. The
spare room was to be used as a classroom, and the college ordered desks and
chairs. In fact, a couple of Iranian students had been offered financial
hardship funds in exchange for some hours of work. I acted as a supervisor
to help them paint and perform decoration-related chores. We started this
paint job on Friday afternoon and finished it on Saturday, and the classroom
was ready for use on the forthcoming Monday.
Michael was preparing for a weekend trip to Florence with the exchange
students. In the first week of November, they had just a couple of weeks left
before returning to the USA. Again, this would be just a sightseeing tour
rather than a study tour. Michael pointed out that an extensive study tour
would take place the next semester in line with the scheduled course module.
He said my attendance on the trip would be helpful but not required. They
planned to go to Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance, on Friday, and
return on Sunday morning. They would have the entire Saturday to visit the
key attractions and to hear briefly about the birth of the Renaissance in the
late 1400s. Michael pointed out that it would be a Florence-only trip and not
Tuscany at large, and that he could easily manage by himself.
In mid-November, on a Wednesday, I received a call from an American lady
regarding my newspaper announcement. First I thought that it was another
call like the one I had received the previous week when a woman called me to
say she was prepared to offer me some hourly paid household chores but no
accommodation. But to my surprise, this call was different. She lived alone
and had a spare room, but I needed to take care of her dog. I thought about
it for a while and said I would be prepared to take up the offer after meeting
her at her house. So I made an appointment to see her on Saturday, after four
o’clock. When I said this to Susan, she was pleased and wished me good luck.
She went on to make fun of me by saying that being single, the woman could
be looking for a companion. I took it very lightly and said, ‘You will find out
next Monday.’ After a while, we saw a few new Iranian students who walked
towards us to say they were planning to invite a few people for an Iranian
dinner. There were about ten to twelve Iranian students at the college in total,
including a colonel who had fled Iran with his daughter just before the
revolution. Susan had met all of them before but didn’t know them except a
few. Susan thought that it was not a bad idea to join them, and she and I
agreed to join them on Friday.
In the evening, still in college, we decided to do a marketing coursework
assignment which we had to hand in the day before the class started. The
college library was kept open until 7.00 p.m., and we went downstairs, where
the library was located. Susan’s landlady, who was the librarian, agreed to
stay with us until eight. We managed to do some good work and collected
useful materials to help us start writing. Since the assignment was about a
promotion campaign, Susan seemed excited, but I had to show her how to
plan and come up with an advertisement campaign for a newly introduced car
by the German giant Daimler-Benz. My project was different—something
about a new breakfast cereal to be introduced in Italy by an American
company. We left home soon after 8.00 p.m., but I was determined to finish
writing the project before going to bed.
In the marketing class the next day, El-Sabry was not happy, as not all
students submitted their assignments. As a mid-semester assessment, we
also had to make a five-to-ten-minute presentation in the class. Out of the
fourteen students, only eight managed to present their projects, and Susan
and I were among them. In fact, Susan and I attained the best marks, while
Flavio received a borderline pass. Daniel did not submit his and seemed cross
with me, as I hadn’t helped him write. But I promised to help him to do so the
next week for his late submission. After class, Daniel and Flavio wanted to go
for a movie and then dinner. But I declined, and they all went to see the movie.
I reminded Susan about the Iranian dinner on Friday night, and we agreed to
see each other at the college in the late evening.
I got to the college on Friday rather late after midafternoon, when Michael and
the Texan students had already left for Florence. I joined Susan at the
reception desk and spent a couple of hours chatting and speaking to the
students or answering phone calls. Susan, being an Iranian herself, likely
knew what sort of food to expect at Hossain’s house that night. She brought
some Iranian sweets along. As we had to take a bus ride lasting at least thirty
minutes, we decided to leave the college by 7.00 p.m. Of course, we had to
walk for a few minutes to catch a bus.
At Hossain’s, we were the first guests to arrive, but in less than thirty minutes,
the house was full of people, roughly fifteen in total. There were no special
foods except a few. But we found a variety of dips and finger-foods which we
could put our hands in and try out. There were tantalizing flavours to tease
tongues. Saffron-flavoured rice pilaf cooked with juniper berries and sliced
almonds, and topped with a layer of burned sliced potatoes, attracted my
attention. It was laid out as if it were a cake; the guests would use a spatula
to break off and serve a portion. I sprinkled ruby-red pomegranate seeds over
rice. There were several mezes on the table, including yogurt, cucumber-onion
dips, and roast aubergine dips. Lightly spiced oven-roasted lamb and chicken
wings were also placed on the buffet table, along with freshly prepared and
cut crudités. There were no complaints whatsoever except that it was stuffy
and full of smoke. I was an occasional smoker in the seventies, but this was
too much, and from time to time, I had to step out to get some fresh air.
Another problem was that everyone chatted in Farsi, the Iranian language.
Susan probably felt my discomfort and suggested that we take off just after
ten. Again without a car, we had to return to the town by bus. Luckily, we
didn’t have to wait long for a bus, and we were back home by 11.00 p.m.
I was unusually early to get up for a Saturday; perhaps I was thinking about
my meeting with the American lady in the late afternoon. I had already
searched and found the road on the map, and I knew how to get there by
walking, as it was not far from the pensione. I didn’t tell Laura that I was
looking for a place to move out, but she knew it was not sustainable for me to
stay in the pensione for a long time. She also knew that I spent most of my
time at the college, and she hardly saw me during the day. In any case, she
was nice to me.
In the late afternoon, around half past three, I left the room so that I had
enough time to walk what I thought would be a couple of kilometres. Later, I
realized that it was a matter of fifteen minutes of walking to get there, but I
did not want to knock on the door before four o’clock. So I spent some time
checking out the neighbourhood and arrived at the doorstep on the second
floor of the apartment just after four. When I rang the bell, a lady in her fifties
opened the door to invite me in while shouting at the dog behind her to lie
down. I introduced myself as Zain Baba, and she said, ‘I am Lucille.’ Finally,
I saw the lady, whom I was eager to meet. At first sight, I thought there was
some chemistry between us, and the welcome I received proved this to be so.
Lucille pointed out that she had been renting a three-bed apartment for the
last four years. She was a single woman living with an Alsatian dog called
Peakeo and Olga, a housekeeper who was on and off. Olga frequently stayed
out with her cousin.
Lucille wondered where I was from, and when I told her I was from Sri Lanka,
she responded by saying ‘Oh, Ceylon, I used to know your former prime
minister, John.’ She was referring to Sir John Kotelawala, who was the third
prime minister of Ceylon after gaining independence from Britain in 1948.
Lucille had become acquainted him while in London and, in fact, had stayed
in his house in London as a guest. This was great news and was the end of
the story, and as a Ceylonese person, I didn’t need any more references. We
had a long chat over a cup of tea, though she still preferred coffee. Lucille was
a Jewish American lady and had been living here in Rome for over fifteen
years. As I understood it, she worked as an estate agent of some sort for
diplomats and executives of multinational and multilateral organizations.
Although Lucille worked from home over the phone, she had to go around the
city to show houses or inspect them before listing them in her book. Thus,
she was looking for someone to take her dog out for a walk at least twice a
day, which I was prepared to do, although it seemed a bit of a challenge for
me because of Peakeo’s sheer size. But, as he seemed to be a well-behaved
dog, I didn’t expect any problems in controlling him.
Lucille showed me around the house and briefed me about the house rules,
but she didn’t treat me as a housekeeper. Since Olga was often in and out of
the house, I was expected to help her with household chores, which I didn’t
mind. I did tell Lucille, however, that I wished to move in December first,
which was ten days away. This would give me ample time to speak to Laura
and leave the pensione amicably. In the meantime, I also stressed that as a
student and college staff member, I needed some flexibility. Apart from some
special assignments, such as helping Michael with excursions and study
tours, my working hours at the college were limited to three half-days. This
meant that most days in a week, I would be free to walk the dogs in the evening
or night, and almost every day in the morning before leaving home. Lucille
noted that in my absence, either she or Olga could walk Peakeo.
In the end, I thought that was the best arrangement I could expect in the
pursuit of my dolce vita. Housing was free, and I had a job that paid my
expenses as well as a good lifestyle, which I wouldn’t have ever expected when
I first stepped on Italian soil the previous summer. I was grateful to Susan for
suggesting that I place an advertisement in the newspaper, so I thought I
would go and visit her on Sunday with chocolates to express my gratitude. I
made a call to her host’s landline phone to see if she would be home on
Sunday, as she might have planned to be out with Sayed. However, luckily,
Sayed had not come to visit her this weekend, and she seemed pleased to see
me the next day.
Chapter 17. Summer of 1980: A Close Encounter
In July, we were already in summer. The college was technically closed for
regular teaching, and the premises looked rather empty and calm. Susan said
she would be in Rome for a couple weeks in July, and she was expected to
come to the college during the first two weeks. This would make my life slightly
less boring. Students would still visit the college for various reasons, including
checking their results. New students would also visit the college for enquiries
about their courses and admissions. On the first Friday of the month, Barbara
and I went to the airport to pick up visiting adult learners from the US. This
time, we picked up the guests and took them to the house that we had leased,
where I was also expected to live for two months. Barbara had arranged a
servant to do the housekeeping on a daily basis. Two of the four rooms were
allocated to two couples, one to single women, and the remaining one for me.
There were three bedrooms on the second floor and one bedroom on the
ground floor. George and Sally chose the first room, while Dan and Pat took
the second room. Cathy and Debora, both single young ladies, occupied the
third room. My room was on the ground floor.
Michael had drawn up a study plan for the visiting students from Texas, with
just three lectures or seminars every week for five weeks. As usual, he planned
to deliver short courses in the history of art, Greek versus Roman
architecture, the Renaissance Era, and Italian culinary tradition. The first
three were delivered by Michael himself, and the last by an Italian culinary
expert. These lectures were complemented by a brief visit to Pompeii and
Florence, as well as site visits in Rome. The culinary expert, Alberto, arranged
to take them to a handful of restaurants in Rome serving food from different
regions and to show them how to prepare the dishes, but practical sessions
were not planned. I wanted to join them whenever convenient and available
to do so.
Among the visiting students from Texas, Cathy, a junior-year student, wanted
to continue a semester in Rome after her summer classes. Also a recent
divorcee, she wanted to spend a semester abroad. She would most likely
spend a semester with us at the college. The two couples and Debora appeared
to be in their forties or fifties and were interested in the arts, history, and
culture. I was expected to help them settle in Rome with some introduction to
the city, as I had done previously. Although I had my own room in a leased
house, I would not move there until late June. I had already done a bit of
introduction, including introducing them to Mario, our usual hangout. On the
next weekend, Michael arranged to take the visiting students to Florence so
that they could be exposed to renaissance art and architecture.
The next week, early on Monday, I left home to accompany the Texan students
to the college, as they would have needed some guidance on commuting by
bus and getting to the college. Michael and Barbara were already at the
premises, and we had a sort of an orientation session over a light breakfast.
As adult learners, they were curious about what they were supposed to do
and learn. We gave them the study plan and site visit plan, as well as the
itinerary of excursions. In the afternoon, Michael had a couple of hours of
seminar introducing the subjects of Greek and Roman arts and architecture.
I was manning the reception desk until Susan appeared at midday. Luckily,
for lunch she had brought some pizza slices and rice balls—or supplies or
arancini, as the Romans and Sicilians called them, respectively.
Susan and I had the opportunity to catch up with each other and to discuss
her holiday plan for summer as well. She had planned to stay in Rome until
the end of June and later spent time with her boyfriend as well as her mum
and younger sister, who had arranged to visit during July. As Michael wanted
her to return in August to help with student enquiries before the fall semester
started, Susan was to be back in the college during August. The college was
normally shut for two weeks during the last week of July and the first week
of August. However, I had no plans for any holiday except spending one week
with Sandy on her return from France in late July. Discussing the get-together
party that she had proposed earlier, she wanted to host this at her house with
Sally after her mum and sister arrived in mid-July. Susan said that Flavio
and Daniel, as well David, had planned to go abroad for a short holiday in
early August. Normally it is extremely difficult to see anyone spending time in
Rome at this time. Even shopkeepers, excluding hospitality service providers,
shut and take their annual entitlement in either July or August. The entire
city is deserted in the summer.
In the evening, I took the visiting students for a walk along Via Veneto and
then to the Spanish Steps, and Susan joined us. We spent an hour sightseeing
and walking to Villa Borghese Park. None of them wanted to spend time or
money eating out, so I decided to take them home. Susan split us early on as
we reached the Spanish Steps. It was dinnertime when I went home, and
Peakeo was already wagging his tail, telling me it was time to take him out. I
wasn’t fussy about dinner, so Olga prepared a cream of mushroom soup with
chicken, which I had after a long, hot shower.
As Susan and I were kind of locked in at the college until the end of June, we
normally made sure that one of us would come to the college in the morning
before ten. By midday, we would join together to plan our lunch or other
activities for the day. A few students, in fact, showed up to see their grades,
and potential students came to ask about admission and courses. Meanwhile,
Michael and I worked together to prepare for the fall semester. Barbara
wanted to carry out some maintenance work while the college was empty in
early July. Furnishing classrooms with new carpets was one item of this work,
and they had already started the groundwork, such as pulling out the existing
carpets and taking measurements. This was another area I was supposed to
supervise while my job was progressing.
In late June, I moved out of Lucille’s and occupied my room at the leased
house with visiting students from Texas. It was sad to leave Peakeo behind,
but I assured Lucille that I would be back when the summer was over. Luckily,
my new house had all the pots and pans for cooking, as well as cutlery for
serving. That meant I could cook my meals and invite some friends for dinner.
However, our Texan friends were not interested in cooking their meals;
instead, they dined out whenever they were free to do so. Most of the time,
they went to Mario, and I occasionally joined them. But I loved cooking, and
so did Susan, and we joined a couple of times to cook before she left on a brief
holiday. In July, I was by myself most of the time but visited the college until
the last week of the month, when we got a two-week break. In the third week,
Susan came to the college with her mum and sister. They came from England
during a brief one-week break, and Susan invited me for her summer get
together on the following Saturday, only a couple of days away. I was told to
bring homemade dishes to another potluck-type dinner party.
On Saturday morning, I did some errands and started cooking my dish, which
was an aubergine-based Ceylonese dish cooked with plantains or green
bananas. Since plantains were not available in the market, I had to substitute
potatoes. I named it curry moussaka. The dish consisted of deep-fried
aubergine and potato cubes cooked with sliced onions, garlic, and tomato, to
be oven-baked with mashed potatoes spread on the top. I thought that it
would definitely make a difference as a potluck dish. In the evening at seven,
I arrived at Susan’s, and I was surprised to see that everyone there was
already sipping on their wine glasses. Of course, we had a few Iranian
students, all of whom had brought some food, though not necessarily
anything Iranian or Persian. However, Susan, with her mother’s help, had
prepared a special Persian dish called fesenjān, which was a sweet-and-sour
chicken stew. This dish was ideally served over rice, as in Iran, and seemed
common in northern Iraq. It is traditionally cooked with ground walnut and
pomegranate sauce. We also had lamb curry and some home-baked pastries.
Flavio and his sister had brought apple pie. There were a lot of antipasti to be
eaten, including deli items, such as Russian salad.
There was a cordial and convivial atmosphere. Everyone had a wonderful time
chatting and sipping wine, which was served in plentiful amounts. Almost all
those present brought a bottle of wine with them. As expected, Sally invited a
few American friends who were chatty and festive. Sara, who appeared as if
she were in her early thirties, was attractive and looked gorgeous in her
summer skirt. We had a long conversation on almost everything from politics
to religion—which I hated when I came to face an evangelical Christian. Daniel
seemed a bit flirty with her at first but didn’t like when she seemed dogmatic.
But by the end of the party, she became tipsy, and Sally had to rescue her.
When the party came to an end after midnight, the food table appeared to be
empty, and everyone seemed appreciative of the opportunity to participate in
such a wonderful party with delicious food. Of course, Susan and Sally
deserved credit. I thanked them before leaving with Daniel, who willingly gave
me a ride home at one thirty in the morning.
The summer heat in July was intense, and Rome seemed to be empty, except
for the tourists. On Friday during the last week of July, I picked up Sandy,
who was returning from her European tour. She had travelled via the same
night train that I took the previous year when I returned from Paris. As
expected, Sandy stayed with me and shared a room. Initially, she felt a bit shy
to be staying with me while there were other students from her college in the
same house. Sandy thought she was lucky, as she didn’t know the people and
had not met them before at TLC in Texas, and she wanted to keep a distance
from them as much as possible. Most of these students from the US South
were devout Christians, and Sandy thought she looked as though she could
be the daughter of either of the visiting couples. This meant limiting the
number of interactions and avoiding potential opportunities to meet them
face-to-face while in the house. Sandy was to stay only a week in Rome, and
luckily, the visitors would be out most of the time on study tours in Rome and
outside excursions with Michael. Sandy was scheduled to fly home the next
Saturday, a week from the following day.
My first night with sandy was exciting, but I was very much a well-disciplined
man who could be romantic in behaviour. I knew how to tame my desires and
deal with a tender young girl who had just turned twenty-one. Describing her
casino visit some time back, Sandy regretted that she had not been able to
gamble, as she had not yet been twenty-one years old. But now she seemed
mature for her age at twenty-two. I was told that back home, she had several
suitors seeking dates. As she was a conservative Southern Baptist, I was not
surprised to hear that she was still a virgin, even though she claimed to have
had a boyfriend. I had already made up my mind not to take advantage of her,
although she was willing to share her intimate space with me during her brief
sojourn to Rome. I opted to take it easy, as the Americans say.
In the evening, we had dinner at a local restaurant where they served
trattoria-style food at an affordable price. After a simple fettucine with ragu
sauce, we served a plate of pollo con pepperoni, which was a chicken dish
cooked in tomato sauce with green peppers sautéed in olive oil, herbs, and
garlic. As we walked home, we were holding hands while I listened to her
talking about the recent European tour. It was a leisurely walk, as it was still
daylight. We were cautious of not being intimate when approaching the house,
as we may have been spotted by our Texan visitors. At home, we both relaxed
at the sofa with a good cup of coffee, which Sandy liked with cream but
preferred black. I was behaving as if we were good friends and showed no
signs of any ulterior motives other than an in-depth discussion on Parisian
attractions and museums which I was already familiar with. As dusk fell,
Sandy wanted to go for a shower before heading to bed.
As she walked in after the shower with a decent but rather revealing
nightgown, I thought she would not hesitate to share the bed with me. In fact,
I felt she would have expected this when she decided to stay with me.
However, despite the temptation, I showed her bed and lay down on the sofa.
In a way, there seemed to be a sense of relief in her mind. I didn’t even make
any effort to kiss her but simply said goodnight. Surprisingly, she approached
me and gave me a goodnight kiss. Since we weren’t going to do anything
serious tomorrow other than visiting the shopping district, we planned to get
up late. After her long nighttime train journey, Sandy wanted to rest a bit
longer than usual. In the end, I thought I did a very good job by doing what I
did without looking for any adventure during the first night.
The next morning, we got up at half past ten, both feeling as if we had had a
very restful sleep. Luckily, the rest of the occupants in the house had left on
a study tour with Michael. After coffee and cornetto, we started to make
breakfast. I made an omelette with grated cheese and mushrooms, onions,
and tomatoes which I had bought from the market. I ran to a nearby boutique
which had fresh bread, while Sandy helped me prepare the breakfast table. It
was quite a fulfilling breakfast, which we both enjoyed. During breakfast, we
were still chatting about Sandy’s European tours. Although France and Paris
were not-to-be-missed items on the agenda, Sandy also visited London,
Amsterdam, and Munich. Her journal was full of notes and remarks which
she intended to show her mum when she returned home. She had really
enjoyed her trip, and luckily, she seemed to have enjoyed the company of her
friend from Texas during the trip. For middle-class Americans, visiting Europe
on a cultural tour or sending their children to study in Europe was considered
something to be proud of and remained a status symbol.
In the late afternoon, we leisurely walked to the Spanish Steps, where one
could find a number of shops and boutiques to browse along many alleyways
and streets. Via Condotti was also located in this district. We also spent time
chatting on the stairs of the Spanish Steps, along with the rest of the tourist
gazers. We also licking at some tasty gelato, which Sandy loved. Sandy and I
walked around quite a lot, popping in and popping out of fashion boutiques.
We could not miss a visit to the most famous street for wealthy shoppers, Via
Condotti, where one would find all the popular designer clothes. Armani,
Versace, and even non-Italian brands, such as Christian Dior and Yves St
Laurent—we could easily find them here. Sandy picked up a few things as
gifts and bought some sexy white lingerie for herself on sale. As one would
expect, the prices were touristic and inflated here, and unlike in the market
or elsewhere in the city, bargaining for discounts was not the norm in this
district.
By the time we had finished shopping, it was almost eight in the evening.
However, with bulky shopping bags in hand, it was not convenient for us to
have dinner at a dine-in restaurant. We decided to get takeaway pizzas and
eat at home. At a nearby pizza stall, I ordered a large seafood pizza, and we
took a short walk, as we were told that it would take at least half an hour to
be ready. The streets were still busy with a bustling crowd, and some shops
were still open. We entered a shopping gallery to do some window shopping
in a safe environment. Sandy complained that her legs were tired and required
massaging tonight. I thought she was hinting at something, but I kept my
mouth shut, and after a while, we turned back to pick up the takeaway pizza.
We arrived home just before 9.00 p.m. and saw that the rest of the crowd was
also back. One of the couples was busy preparing dinner, but we managed to
slip away after saying good evening. We needed a wash before the pizza
dinner. After a quick wash, we indulged in our seafood pizza with a glass of
soave.
Halfway through our dinner, we heard someone knocking at the door. It was
George from upstairs, who had been in the kitchen when we arrived. He
needed assistance with one of the kitchen appliances. He saw us with pizza
in our hands and asked me to finish eating and take a look at the oven, which
would not turn on. I left the room then and there and showed him how to turn
on the oven. In my room, we leisurely continued our meal. The pizza was
excellent, with many prawns and clams, as well as anchovies to tease the
tongue; and with a chilled glass of soave, it was indeed superb. While eating,
we also drew up a plan for the following day. Sandy wanted to go to the beach
for a couple days, so we thought we could go to Ostia, which could be reached
by underground train. Ostia was the old port city of Rome, only forty minutes
away from the Termini station. As Sandy packed the beach bag, she wanted
to know whether I had some sun cream, which I said we could buy from a
seaside boutique in Ostia. I told her that we wanted to leave before the
mercury rose, meaning before ten. Thus, we decided to go to bed at 11.00
p.m.
As we changed our outfits to prepare ourselves for bed, she asked me to turn
the light off for a while so that she could put on her new lingerie that she had
bought a few hours prior. When I turned the light off and then turned it on
after a while, I sighed in awe and said, ‘You look beautiful and sexy.’ She
looked sensuous, sexy, and gorgeous. She was, indeed, seductive. With a
height of five feet four inches and a rather slender body, her sex appeal
couldn’t be denied. Her stiff and slightly protruding bosom and rounded
buttocks were visible through the silky layers of the lingerie. It was quite
inviting, but I tried to resist with a deep breath. But to my surprise, she
wanted me to massage her legs, and she laid herself face down in the bed.
I couldn’t control my manly desires and approached her to offer my services.
Meanwhile, my testosterone was waking me up, but I needed to keep calm,
and with a gentle touch and a stroke, I slid my palms over her legs and
buttocks. As she turned around, I saw that she was aroused, and she jumped
forward to kiss me. As we stripped off and threw our clothes, we could feel the
sensation of bodily heat, and we were like beastly animals exploring each
other’s flesh with exploding passion. When I asked whether she was still a
virgin, she said, ‘Sort of.’ I realized that she was fully ready to explore a whole
new world, and our pleasure-filled encounter lasted almost an hour. What a
wonderful experience. Minutes later, half lying over my body while sipping on
a glass of San Pellegrino, she said, ‘That was the most enjoyable experience
in my life, and it will be the most memorable too.’
After a tireless but enjoyable night, we woke up rather late but managed to
leave home by nine in the morning to catch the train to Ostia. Luckily, this
was a nice day with a tolerable temperature. In fact, this was the first time
that I went to the beach for sunbathing in Italy. Sunbathing might be the last
thing that someone like me, with tan skin, would consider doing. But I
couldn’t refuse to go with Sandy. When we reached Ostia, we first got some
sun cream for Sandy and then headed to an isolated corner on the beach. The
sun’s rays were not intense, and there was a pleasant breeze while we sat on
the beach, lying over the towel we had carried out. I helped Sandy rub the
sun cream gently on her body, and as she sunbathed, I went to the water to
keep myself cool.
Most of the time, I remained reading a book in the shelter under the parasol
which we had hired at the beach shop. We didn’t wish to spend the whole
afternoon at the beach and thus decided to leave at half past two in the
afternoon when the sun started to show its power. On the way back, we got
off at the next station and explored some of the Roman ruins left in Ostia
Antica. It was already six in the evening when we finally reached home, and
we enjoyed a scoop of gelato in town after getting off the train.
At home, we took it easy, as we were planning to dine out the next day in
Trastevere. I wanted to cook pasta for dinner with cremini mushrooms which
I had bought a few days before. Cremini mushrooms are often referred to as
brown or Italian mushrooms. The mature version of the common button
mushroom looks slightly larger, but smaller than the older brother, the
portobello mushroom. Italian people use cremini mushrooms in soups, pasta,
and several other types of dishes. I wanted to cook a simple pasta dish by
tossing cooked fettucine in heated olive oil with garlic and herbs sautéed with
sliced cremini mushrooms. A dash of hot pepper and grated Parmesan
sprinkled over the dish would enhance the flavour. As we were hungry, I went
to prepare the pasta, and Sandy watched while I cooked. Soon, we got ready
for dinner. It was a delicious but simple dinner with a glass of Frascati.
Soon after eating dinner, Sandy took a shower while I ended up having a cup
of coffee. With my body sticky from the seawater and hot sun, I was also
prompted to shower before heading to bed. As we were both ready to head to
bed, I knew that it was going to be another enjoyable but long night. I didn’t
need to exaggerate the fact that I was rather mesmerized by Sandy’s curvy
body and voluptuous bosoms. When I turned off my light, Sandy approached
and started to kiss me passionately while still standing. As I slowly stripped
off her lingerie while trying to get rid of my pyjamas, I caressed her rear gently.
While the foreplay continued passionately for some time, she became aroused
as I touched her breasts and kissed her nipples. In no time, we both were in
the bed, and one can only imagine the burst of excitement and joy of making
love on that hot and steamy night.
After a restful night of sleep, we both woke up before eight while sunlight
sneaking through the curtain made us more energetic. Sandy wanted to go to
the beach again, and we opted to get some Italian breakfast on the way to the
station. We quickly had a cup of coffee while preparing to leave after the
morning rituals were over. This time, we managed to get to Ostia before ten,
and we had plenty of time to soak ourselves in the sun until half past two in
the afternoon. Since we had planned to dine out in the evening in Trastevere,
we wanted to get back four or five in the early evening. I was planning to take
Sandy to a traditional Jewish restaurant in the ghetto, near Trastevere. As we
didn’t have any reservations, we wanted to leave home as early as possible.
After a quick shower, Sandy and I were ready and headed to the bus stop. We
managed to get to Trastevere by half past seven. Even at eight in the evening
in midsummer, it seemed a bit early to dine in for an average Italian. Thus,
we decided to reach the restaurant and reserve a table so that we could get
there by nine for dinner. But to our surprise, there were a few tables already
occupied, and we didn’t want to risk losing the chance to eat at this
restaurant. We decided to stay in and start with an aperitivo, a pre-meal
drink, with some bites. Sandy ordered some red vermouth, and I wanted
Cinzano. We were served the drinks along with pastrami-wrapped
breadsticks. It took a while for us to consume the aperitivo, as the waiter
continued to serve some traditional antipasti, including the Jewish-style
chicken liver pâté. In Rome, we would be served a plate of pasta before the
main dish, but we opted out and ordered a main dish of the classic Ashkenazi
beef brisket, which was rather subtle and sweet and sour. Cooking low and
slow to break down the brisket resulted in tender meat. Although potatoes
and vegetables were traditionally served during Jewish holidays, it was not
unusual to see these dishes served throughout the year in restaurants in the
ghetto.
The delicious and flavourful brisket was easily consumable and the melted in
the mouth. The brisket was served on a bed of vegetables and mashed
potatoes made with olive oil, garlic, and rosemary. We were also served Jewish
bread and kosher wine to go along with the brisket. It was indeed a wonderful
meal, and I was happy that Sandy liked it. When we finished the meal, Sandy
wanted some desserts and chose chocolate matzo, a layered cake, and halva
made from sesame seed paste. It was already 10.30 p.m. when we got up to
leave. On the way back, we walked for a while and then took a bus. It was
really a long and tiring day, and we went to bed early after arriving at home.
The next day, when we woke up in the late morning, we realized that it was
Friday and Sandy was scheduled to fly back to Texas on Saturday night.
Therefore, we started to pack Sandy’s luggage after a cornetto and coffee. I
knew it was going to be a difficult job, given the amount of shopping she had
done and the goods she had collected. It took a while, but we managed to pack
all of her items in one suitcase. The other luggage she had left with me before
she went on the European tour needed to be cleansed and arranged in an
orderly manner. By separating out the goods that Sandy could stuff in her
hand luggage, we managed to pack everything into two suitcases. The time
was already 2.30 p.m. when we thought of preparing something for lunch. It
didn’t have to be an elaborate lunch; a simple pasta dish would do. For dinner,
we could go out and have some pizza from the nearby takeaway.
In the late afternoon, we sat on the couch and relaxed with a glass of iced
coffee. We just chatted about the good times we’d had in Rome and, for her,
the entire European experience. She became a bit emotional and moved closer
to me as we continued to chat. We were still in our night attire, which allowed
us to be comfortable during the steamy, hot summer. With a close hug, we
suddenly started exploring each other’s bodies in a tender manner. I was
conscious about the open window which needed to be shut, but Sandy
shouted, ‘Who cares?’ I don’t need to exaggerate, but we were simply
immersed in a different world. We took advantage of every minute, and it was
indeed a memorable experience.
Later in the evening, we dressed up after a shower and went for a stroll. We
were not keen on dining out but decided to take a long walk to the city. It was
a nice and cool evening after the hot and humid day. Villa Giulia was not far
from where we were, and we passed through the park. We held each other’s
hands while chatting about the unexpected nature of the events we would
encounter. Sandy used to say that her life had changed since she came to
Rome, which she meant in every sense. She was slightly anxious about facing
a boring life when returning home. Who would know the final outcome. I
cautioned that it all could end up as if it were just a dream. I should have said
that the same applied to me.
As for me, it was a kind of dolce vita which I wouldn’t have expected when I
stepped on Italian soil a year before. But, unlike Sandy, I was destined to live
in Rome for at least a few years, and the change in me was real and did not
seem to return. We had a wonderful conversation not only about life in general
but also about the hedonistic philosophy and approach to life that we tended
to adopt during the post–dolce vita era. Some would even argue that it was
the beginning of the breakdown of traditional and conservative approaches to
life, as well as our family values in general, that we cherished.
On Saturday night, I accompanied Sandy to the airport and bade her farewell.
This was rather difficult for both of us. We both promised each other to meet
sometime in the future, but neither of us had ambitious plans. I could see
tears coming down from her eyes as she became emotional, but it was c’est la
vie, as the French say. She couldn’t take her eyes off me as she entered the
departure gate, and finally Sandy was gone from my sight. Back in my room,
I felt lonely and sad, but I reassured myself that I would be all right in a few
days.