Domenica

If you are going to spend any time living in Italy, you must find a way to deal with Domenica, or Sunday. Every other day of the week, the city bustles with frenetic energy, traffic, people and commerce. On Sunday, the pace of Italian life is different. On Sundays, you must do something very counter-intuitive to Italian culture; plan.

Chances are, your local bar will be chiuso on Sunday. This in itself is very disconcerting, as your morning caffe is a very big part of the start to the day. You have chosen your local bar, or it has chosen you, because it is close, comfortable, and friendly. Once you make this unspoken decision, you are as loyal to your bar as any Roma football fan is to their soccer team, and the owners and patrons become part of your family, your neighborhood, and the fabric of your everyday routine. At your local bar, you are greeted with a handshake and a smile, accompanied by a cheery buon giorno, and your espresso or cappuccino, "the regular, per favore," being set up and waiting for you when you walk through the door. On Sundays, one must go out in the neighborhood and seek an open cafe, where the coffee and cornetti may be as good, but the experience is not the same.

Almost all businesses close on Sundays. The mercato in the Campo dei Fiori, full of fruit and vegetable vendors, shoppers and children six days of the week, is broken down and quiet on Sunday. Shops on the perimeter of the square, and up and down the streets, are shuttered and closed, their graffiti covered doors pulled down. Even the foreign immigrants that sell the fake Gucci and Prada purses, Ray Bans, and Rolex watches, are not to be seen. Everyone that has needed groceries for the next two days, for produce comes in Tuesdays fresh, has already planned ahead. If you have run out of milk, water, or toilet paper, you will have to walk into the next neighborhood and hope to find an open supermercato. Precisely at noon, thousands of bells begin to ring throughout the city, signaling the close of the churches after morning masses. Even God takes a break on Sundays in Italy.

Only public transportation may be used on Domenica, not automobiles or motorbikes, and even so, the buses run infrequently and cabs are difficult to find. This is actually a wonderful thing, as Rome is a city of human dimensions and made for a leisurely pace. People walk through all parts of town, and the quiet allows you to hear again the voices of people talking on the other side of the street. One of our favorite walks is to the Borghese gardens, where entire families, young and old, often with their dogs, stroll through the green, leafy avenues for hours. Some ride bicicleties, some even jog, although this is a rarer site, often looked on with bemused expressions by the Romans. Sitting on benches, steps, or any other seat at the small snack kiosks for hours, watching everyone go by, reading two or three newspapers at a time, and eating icecream in incredible quantities is a favorite pastime on Sundays.

Some may also go to museums, or movies, or cemeteries, but something every Roman does on Sunday is go to lunch. Pranzo is the main meal of the day on Sundays, and if you don't have an invitation to Nonna's, you learn early to be strategic and reserve to get a table at one of the smaller number of restaurants that are open. The Italians already know which restaurants are open, and quite possibly have a standing reservation, because they have probably been going there for generations. By one o'clock, every trattoria and ristorante in the city begins to fill with large groups of well-dressed families in their sunday best, where they settle and spend the next three or four hours talking, sharing stories, eating, and drinking wine. The young children fall asleep at the table and across laps and shoulders, as the adults leisurely finish their espresso and digestivos.

Finally, Domenica in Italy is about family. If you don't have family or friends to invite you over or share a meal, you find yourself wandering back to a quiet afternoon at your home or hotel to pursue solitary activities, waiting for the small bit of nightlife to begin after the sun goes down. On Sunday, tourists float about in a disoriented fashion, drawn to the squares and gelato stands, small islands marooned by inactivity. One Sunday, our neighbors in the next building are having a small get together, and we can hear their laughter and conversation floating through our open windows in the early evening hours. Neither Jeff or I talk about it, but we both find ourselves drawn to the back door, where we steal glimpses of their activities and good times, and find ourselves missing our own friends and family on this Domenica. Sundays can also be lonely for two Americans living in Rome.