Ah my faithful reader, Cheesy has not forgotten about you. But as she was drifting on through Europe, real life was catching up to her. The thrill of embarking on a four-month voyage was subsiding to more practical challenges of every-day life in Europe. And in general, daily challenges are far less interesting to write about than epic voyages. Cheesy was not epic – Cheesy was cheesy.
Rome, on the other hand, was epic. Everything was huge, gray, and ancient. But Cheesy couldn't help but feel that all the myths and monuments were a façade hiding the true character of the city. Rome was somehow more elusive than all the other towns Cheesy had visited. After ten days, Cheesy still hadn't discovered any particular neighbourhood particularly well. She had spent an evening in San Lorenzo, the student ghetto near the train station, where she played board games in a bar with other couchsurfers. She had spent two evenings in Trastevere, which is a bit like the Plateau in that you either go there because you're cool or because you want to look cool. For example, in one Trastevere bar Cheesy had had a shot called a "69" composed of chocolate, absinthe, cream, and peppercorns. But Cheesy still hadn't found a vibe that unified her memories of Rome, so she decided she'd just have to go back again one day to figure out Rome for once and for all.
The Roman people were certainly nicer than the Fiorentini or the Torinesi. They smiled more and wore more colourful clothes. They talked less about politics and more about history. They hadn't caught on to the north Italian trend of wearing glasses the size of goggles. They looked at you in your eyes when you spoke, and actually seemed to be listening.
Despite the countless monuments and tourists, Rome paradoxically gave Cheesy the impression of being empty. Maybe it was because the buildings were so big, they dwarfed everything around them. Rome was full of wide piazzas, wide roads, and wide parks. Cheesy couldn't really tell where everyone lived. When she asked, the Romans answered the "Periferia," the neighbourhoods forming a concentric circle around the center of Rome. Indeed, Cheesy's host was in the western periphery in an area called Casalotti. It took Cheesy an hour to get to the center of Rome from Casalotti using public transportation. (Rome only had two metro lines, although it was at least twice as big as Montreal. One guy claimed that the metro only covers 30% of the city).
Life in Rome was a mixed bag. On the down side, having an education wouldn't guarantee a job. The jobs that were available were mostly short-term or menial. Rent was nearly as high as Paris. Salaries weren't great. The bread was lousy. On the plus side, having four or five weeks of vacation per year was normal. Food prices were reasonable. The winters weren't cold. It was easy enough to make friends. A bus ticket only cost one euro. So did a cappuccino. And it was Rome!
On the train to Bologna Cheesy was already feeling nostalgic. She felt sure she would return to Rome one day. And next time she wouldn't be sick at home for five days – she would live amongst the Romans and discover all the secret corners she knew she'd missed. But she knew she'd have to plan it better. The Romans were bombarded by couchsurfers. A couchsurfer listed as a host in Rome received an average of 9 or 10 requests every day during the down season. During the summer it was basically impossible to find a host. And Cheesy was not, by any means, going back to the hostel she'd stayed in her first night.
Nonetheless Cheesy was looking forward to Bologna. She had been told it was a great student town and the capital of left-wing politics in Italy (however weak it may be). She had also learned that spaghetti Bolognese was an American invention that did not actually exist in Italy (neither did fettuccini alfredo). Her host was a young pastry chef new to couchsurfing. So let the good times and the pastry dough roll!
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