Amici, let me tell you about our neighborhood, nostro vicinato.
It is part of a lively historical quarter of the city known as Campo dei Fiori, wedged between the bustle of the Via Corso Emanuelle and the Tiber, a small Italian village that has been an important gathering place for romani and foreigners for more than 2000 years. Piazza Cairoli is a fan-shaped square at the end of a bustling, pedestrian street of hip shops and caffes that leads to the Campo dei Fiori square. It is named for an Italian soldier of Risorgimento, Benedetto Cairoli, who fought for a unified Italy under Garibaldi. Benedetto was a war hero from a well-respected family, who, due to his popularity, went on to become a politician. As is often the case, his ignorance and incompetence in foreign affairs and administration effectively impeded development of the country. (Sounds eerily familiar.) He was defeated and disappeared from public life in 1896.
To the right of the piazza sits a little graveled park, encircled with trees, with a fountain whose basin is reported to have come from the roman forum. Kiosks of giornale and stalls of prints, books, and flowers satellite around the edges, while small cars hug the perimeter in the desperate attempt to find parking in the dense urban area. Older Italian men perch on the benches and wile away the morning hours, pigeons flocking around their feet and the base of the statue of Federico-Seismit Doda, a 19th century defender of the Roman Republic, who seems to have fared slightly better in history than poor Benedetto.
To the left the piazza, sits the church of San Carlo ai Catinari, devoted to St. Carlo Borromeo, bishop of Milan and funded by the Milanese community in Rome in 1638. Ai Catinairi refers to the makers of dishes and basins who inhabited this square from early times, and indeed the surrounding streets still go by the names of the craftsmen who practiced their trade in the middle ages; via dei Leutari, lutemakers, via dei Chevari, keymakers, via dei Balestrai, crossbows, via dei Chiodari, nails. St. Carlo was a very pious individual, reported by his biographers to be "the model of pastors and reformers of ecclesitical discipline in these degenerate ages." Referring, of course, to the Protestant Reformation. He is the patron saint of bishops, cathechists, those with ulcers, colic, and intestinal disorders, and incongruously, starch makers. The rest of the piazza is filled with your requisite three caffe, a farmicia, and tabacci.
A step outside our door and to the right, sits Cafe Bernasconi, a family-run bar and patiscceria, with a reputation for fabulous coffee, and the best sfogliatelle, a puff-pastry filled with ricotta cream, in the city. Unfortunately, it is in riposa for the August holidays. We are highly anticipating its reopening in the beginning of September. In the interim, we take ourselves across the square to the tabacci, or around the corner to Bar Rosanna, a bit more upscale, but without the appeal and grit of the local characters that frequent the tabacci.
Marco Roscioli started the forno on the next street over thirty years ago, specializing in fresh bread, cornetti, and a piece of heaven calledpizza bianca, a delicious bread pizza drizzled with virgin olive oil. They cut it by the slice and wrapped in wax paper, so you can carry it with you to eat on the way. The next generation of the Roscioli family has opened a sleek wine store two doors from our apartment, offering copius selections of cheese, salumi, cured meats, and fresh prepared foods that you can take away, or if you wish,lunch and dinner are available in the brick-walled room in the back. Jeff is in heaven.
I read somewhere that Italians can live their entire life in 10 square meters, and I can believe it to be true. Everything thing you might need, from the daily mercato, to the alimentari, to the wine store, bakery and forno, post, dry cleaner, bar, and even the internet cafe, is next door or around the corner. Despite the lure of the city and all there is to be discovered, we have spent our first days exploring our own neighborhood. It is a luxury to feel we have the time to experience it.
Saluti tanti,
Janie and Jeff
It is part of a lively historical quarter of the city known as Campo dei Fiori, wedged between the bustle of the Via Corso Emanuelle and the Tiber, a small Italian village that has been an important gathering place for romani and foreigners for more than 2000 years. Piazza Cairoli is a fan-shaped square at the end of a bustling, pedestrian street of hip shops and caffes that leads to the Campo dei Fiori square. It is named for an Italian soldier of Risorgimento, Benedetto Cairoli, who fought for a unified Italy under Garibaldi. Benedetto was a war hero from a well-respected family, who, due to his popularity, went on to become a politician. As is often the case, his ignorance and incompetence in foreign affairs and administration effectively impeded development of the country. (Sounds eerily familiar.) He was defeated and disappeared from public life in 1896.
To the right of the piazza sits a little graveled park, encircled with trees, with a fountain whose basin is reported to have come from the roman forum. Kiosks of giornale and stalls of prints, books, and flowers satellite around the edges, while small cars hug the perimeter in the desperate attempt to find parking in the dense urban area. Older Italian men perch on the benches and wile away the morning hours, pigeons flocking around their feet and the base of the statue of Federico-Seismit Doda, a 19th century defender of the Roman Republic, who seems to have fared slightly better in history than poor Benedetto.
To the left the piazza, sits the church of San Carlo ai Catinari, devoted to St. Carlo Borromeo, bishop of Milan and funded by the Milanese community in Rome in 1638. Ai Catinairi refers to the makers of dishes and basins who inhabited this square from early times, and indeed the surrounding streets still go by the names of the craftsmen who practiced their trade in the middle ages; via dei Leutari, lutemakers, via dei Chevari, keymakers, via dei Balestrai, crossbows, via dei Chiodari, nails. St. Carlo was a very pious individual, reported by his biographers to be "the model of pastors and reformers of ecclesitical discipline in these degenerate ages." Referring, of course, to the Protestant Reformation. He is the patron saint of bishops, cathechists, those with ulcers, colic, and intestinal disorders, and incongruously, starch makers. The rest of the piazza is filled with your requisite three caffe, a farmicia, and tabacci.
A step outside our door and to the right, sits Cafe Bernasconi, a family-run bar and patiscceria, with a reputation for fabulous coffee, and the best sfogliatelle, a puff-pastry filled with ricotta cream, in the city. Unfortunately, it is in riposa for the August holidays. We are highly anticipating its reopening in the beginning of September. In the interim, we take ourselves across the square to the tabacci, or around the corner to Bar Rosanna, a bit more upscale, but without the appeal and grit of the local characters that frequent the tabacci.
Marco Roscioli started the forno on the next street over thirty years ago, specializing in fresh bread, cornetti, and a piece of heaven calledpizza bianca, a delicious bread pizza drizzled with virgin olive oil. They cut it by the slice and wrapped in wax paper, so you can carry it with you to eat on the way. The next generation of the Roscioli family has opened a sleek wine store two doors from our apartment, offering copius selections of cheese, salumi, cured meats, and fresh prepared foods that you can take away, or if you wish,lunch and dinner are available in the brick-walled room in the back. Jeff is in heaven.
I read somewhere that Italians can live their entire life in 10 square meters, and I can believe it to be true. Everything thing you might need, from the daily mercato, to the alimentari, to the wine store, bakery and forno, post, dry cleaner, bar, and even the internet cafe, is next door or around the corner. Despite the lure of the city and all there is to be discovered, we have spent our first days exploring our own neighborhood. It is a luxury to feel we have the time to experience it.
Saluti tanti,
Janie and Jeff
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