City Mouse, Country Mouse

"Buon giorno!" I yelled up to your guest gypsy writer Emily and our Camino friend Juliano, after Hannes and I finessed his Campervan into our reserved parking space in front of our bohemian Trastevere apartment. Hannes, to my amazement, had remained calm driving into the one city Rick Steve's pleads you to "please not drive in" literally for fear of your life. As motorcyclist cut us off and lane demarcations disappeared entirely, I thought he would lose his cool, but he remained smiling and resolute to get us safely to our new urban dwelling where we immediately opened a bottle of Montalcino wine and ate almond macaroons to our hearts content.

What I will say of Rome is this: it is the best and worst of Italy. With every footstep there is an opportunity to marvel - at the history, the architecture, the quirks, the people, the food, the energy, the mysterious lanes dripping with wisteria, the art and craftsmanship that has played muse to many a writer like myself. But then, there's the dirt, the crowds... no, throngs of tourists, the impossibly long lines to see anything, the tired feet from traversing the ancient broken cobblestone, the noise, the swarming pigeons, the lack of public bathrooms. Having been a city mouse most of my life, I can find the beauty of both sides of the Trevi Fountain coin. You must accept one to fully appreciate and enjoy the other. As the wise Rick Steves (I swear I'm not working for him) says about Italy, you must chalk it all up to a "cultural experience." My San Franciscan roommate and I thrived in this environment, savoring a sunny rest on the Spanish steps, digging through racks of vintage Italian labels, deciphering the underground as if it were a life-sized game of Candyland (Sorry might be a more fitting game actually), and snacking our way through every Roman neighborhood... pistachio cannolli, cappuccinos with cream flourishes, egg-y Easter fruit cake, hazelnut gelato, crispy potato focaccia bread.

My husband, however, is more of a country mouse. Big cities interest him, but perhaps for not more than a day. He had trouble adjusting to it all, and try as I might, I couldn't convince him that the Borghese Gardens were as inspiring as the great outdoors. Our night of live swanky Italian music, as Emily described in her post, perked him up, which led me to ask Hannes why of all that we'd seen in the ancient city of Rome did that lift his spirit, to which he answered thoughtfully, "I like cities at night. It's more... magical." In some ways I agree. Like the noir films my mom eats up, under the cloak of night the scars of a city hide from view. Much of the tourists go to bed, the dirt blends in with the darkness, the moonlight draws out the angles of the Pantheon's granite Corinthian columns, the faint drone of an accordion woos, rather than irks you. There's a romance in the air, a sense of mystery and tenderness. My husband, folks, is a romantic. A man with a lyrical soul and wistful spirit. A lover of nature and make-up free beauty and kissing on a bridge under the big pizza pie of a Roman moon. His heart perhaps is too pure for the exciting fusion of creativity, craziness and crassness that is Rome. And this is one of the many things I love about him... and us.

I too felt the pangs of temporarily leaving behind our Campervan gypsy life. As I laid in bed listening to Romans howl at the moon, I thought of the owls singing us to sleep in our Umbrian campground. Was I becoming a country mouse myself? I think part of me always has been. The part that walked across England in gaiters, the part that trekked into the solitary heart of Maui's Haleakala volcano, the part that swatted mosquitoes for a penny a piece as my parents and I canoed through Canada, the part that loved sitting on her Nashville porch watching fireflies light up the tall evening grass, the part that met Hannes in hiking boots in the Spanish Meseta, the part that dreamed out loud over espresso of owning a small seaside B&B with Emily and Hannes far from the rush of traffic and city life.

So while my husband and I might be mice might from different lands, there's no one I'd rather hold hands with, whether under the shade of the mighty Colosseum or that of a lone oak on the Tuscan countryside.


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 Some Roman delights...

Hannes captures the essence of the city.

My favorite Italian masterpiece.

Film book finds at a cozy Trastevere bookshop.

Juliano, Emily and Hannes - the essence of Italian cool.

The Pantheon by daylight. Hannes is right; could use a wash.

Candied fruits at the market. Tip: Avoid the mandarins. Enjoy the kiwi.

Espresso stop with a side of daydreaming.

What a mall ceiling should look like.

Wisteria lane.

Cosmo's moon/My husband's Rome.

City mouse and country mouse together at last.