Autumn Calling

September is a time for new starts, and I always feel this rule applies more here in Italy than elsewhere because during the summer things wind down to a crawl. Here in Rome it can take up until mid-September for the city to creak to its feet, shake off the last of that summer dust kicked up by motorinos cruising along dry roads and get things up and running again.

In its annual state of sweaty lethargy was how I found Rome when I came back from England a month ago. Then I started a new job and things got very hectic. I've therefore only just noticed that life, in the meantime, has rediscovered its old rhythms. The traffic along my road is constant instead of trickling, small shops on side streets have reopened their shutters with a vengance, and there's the definite, delicious hint of a chill in the air early in the morning.

Raising my head above the parapet for the first time after three tiring weeks in my new job (more about that another time) I realise that while I have been spending my weekends in a daze of exhaustion I have been missing out on the lasts of the summer. Last visit to the lake or beach, last good peaches, last really, really cold beer, last chance to wear that cute red sundress. And worse still, it's last-chance saloon at the gelaterias, who are going down to weekend-only opening.

But that's ok, because autumn in Italy brings other joys. When you leave the house it means the sun warming your cockles instead of frying your brains. Autumn means the grape harvest and all its associated pleasures. It means being able to stay inside reading a book without feeling guilty that you should be doing something becasue it's such a beautiful evening. On the other hand it means strolls in the park, visiting museums, going on trips, and all those things you haven't been able to do during daytime hours for 3 months because the sun would have melted the soles of your shoes. It means starting to eat yummy soups again, and afterwards maybe allowing yourself the odd pudding or two, because, after all, that flesh'll be covered up soon.

How are you settling into autumn where you are?

Diet disaster

I have been trying to shed those post-christmas extra pounds ever since well, christmas, and failing miserably. The problem is my new line of work. It frequently takes me out onto the streeets and leads me nose-first into the enticing perfumed bounds of delicious treats. Whether they are sweet, savoury, creamy, crunchy, fruity, warm, hot or cold I have absolutely NO willpower when it comes to Italian snacking treats.

The first danger hurdle comes a little before lunchtime when I walk past a pizzeria al taglio (this is bound to happen as they are on practically every street) and smell the bready, cheesy yeasty smells wafting out. I decide that I definitely can't wait that whole half hour that's left before lunch, run in before my conscience tells me not to and order a slice of pizza bianca, a heavenly-when-still-warm concotion of pizza base, oil and salt. Here's a photo, though it can't do it justice:

I'm doing fine and my stomach is pleasantly full mid-afternoon when walking between lessons when I smell that warm sugar and cream smell that can only mean one thing...a pasticceria. And, if I'm feeling weak (most of the time), in I hop to order my fav mid-afternoon sugary treat, an occhio di bue ("eye of an ox"). The best ones are so overloaded with icing sugar that you spill it all down your front and then notice only 10 minutes after leaving, when you will frantically try to brush it off whilst feeling your mouth watering all over again with the memory of the delicious pastry. Here's another pic:

Finally, the day is almost over and my poor stomach thinks it's going to get a rest. Oh no! No you don't! Not if we're going to pass through Piazza Sempione on the way home and have to wait for the bus. Because why would we want to wait for the bus in the cold, at night, with the drunks and misfits, o stomach, when we could take refuge in the bright-lighted, coffee-scented night bar and get a fresh cornetto con nutella and cappuccino. Words cannot describe the genius of the cornetto so I won't try. I only want to say that I regret all the wasted years of my life eating boring po-faced savoury croissants never knowing there were these amazing butter and sugar concotions filled with heart-attack inducing creams and custards:

This is the ultimate Roman way to end your night if you've had a late one. If you're feeling particulalry weak of conscience you could even orchestrate a reprise just a few hours later at breakfast time.

Just make sure you start the diet on Monday...or even this year.

My favourite occhio di bue in Rome is from "I Dolcissimi". Piazza Ragusa, 6. Re di Roma area.

My local cornetto notte joint (and a very good one it is too) is "L'angolo russo". Corso Sempione, 13. Montesacro.

Hairdresser Heaven

Can I just confess something? I HATE going to the hairdresser. Really, I hate it. I hate the stupid chatter and the "relaxing" head massage (don't know about you but I never feel relaxed when a stranger is rubbing my scalp whilst my head is being forced back unceremoniuosly into a sink), and most of all I hate having to look at myself in the mirror for up to (and sometimes over) an hour and having to face up to the fact that I have an undeniably round face. Honestly, there is absolutely NO hint of cheekbone. (But I prefer not to dwell on it if not in hairdresser's chair if it's all the same to you).

So imagine my profound depression as people from all corners of my life began to comment on my hair...I hadn't been to the hairdresser's for almost a year and it was getting quite noticable. I have no regular hairdresser here in Rome which makes it worse- if there were a pushy receptionist making me my next appointment as I sloped out after a cut then it'd be out of my hands. But I'd found my experiences here so far uniformly terrible I hadn't made repeat appointments.

Until now! I was taking a walk in the Vittorio Emmanuele area trying to avoid looking at my hair in shop windows when I walked past a Chinese hairdresser and a rare bout of motivation inspired me to open the door.

"Er, hello, do you have an appointment for today?" I asked.

"No appointment. Appointment now. Go to shampoo!" Barked a chinese man at me.

Right! Decision taken out of my hands! I go to shampoo.

"Go to him" directs shampoo boy after brief shampoo.

Go to cool-looking guy with asymmetric-type cut that you see in gel adverts and leather jacket.

"Cut?" he asks

"Yes" I reply

"Layers?" he asks

"Okay!" I reply

And that is the end of our conversation. I sit in blissful silence for a half hour and trust him to give me a good cut (he has asymmetrical 'do so must know what he is doing, reasoned).

He gives me a good cut! And as if the experience couldn't get any better I was charged only 12 Euro!

I may still have a round face, but if I could make an appointment for next time I would!


You too can get a stress-free haircut from an achingly cool Chinese boy at: Via Carlo Alberto 39B. Vittorio Emanuele area.