Today marks exactly one year since we arrived in Rome – our first Rome-versary! The statement feels completely surreal to write; just as it did to say when we were moving here in the first place, and just as it will feel one day to say we lived in Rome for a couple years.
In any case, one way or another, a year of Italian moments, milestones and magic has come and gone, mostly, in our case, paced by the daily, weekly and monthly developments of Aleksander. He has now spent over two-thirds of his life in Rome (lucky kid!). Having arrived as a bald, mostly immobile five month old, we have witnessed him learn to crawl, cruise on the furniture, walk, dance, babble, gesture, point, play on his own, and as of about a month ago, begin his independent socialization journey in daycare. After a year in Rome, he is finally becoming, in his own right, a ‘toddler in the world,’ or maybe even more accurately, a ‘toddler of the world.’
Dalia and I have further discovered the joys, responsibilities and challenges of parenting; the changing nature of being a married couple with a child; and, of course, continued our own individual evolutions, professionally, personally, emotionally, psychologically, and even physically. All with the backdrop of the Colosseum about a 45 minute walk away.
A few years ago, after my younger brother spent some time in Italy, he concluded that it was obvious that Italians had always had strong religious faith because you couldn’t but believe that God exists in a place so beautiful. My brother, not particularly prone to romantic pronouncements, was not far off the mark. The sheer aesthetic impact of Rome and Italy much of the time is, as a baseline, almost overwhelming (from someone who is prone to romantic indulgences!).
Even though a good portion of our first year was lived under some form of covid restriction, we could barely have been in a better place for domestic travel. Venice, Florence, Sicily, Sardegna, all less than an hour’s flight from Rome. Some lesser known beauties: Orvieto, Tivoli, Santa Marinella, an easy day trip away by train. And Rome itself, always eager to reveal more layers to the curious visitor. A town where you will never run out of piazzas, fountains, patios, ruins, restaurants, aperitivos and cobblestone alleyways to maintain your intrigue.
I can’t say that there are not some very particular quirks under the hood of the Italian life that are not immediately apparent to the Tuscan-tomato-eyed tourist. No restaurants open between 3pm and about 8?! Try that on for size with a Canadian post-work belly at 5pm and an infant-oriented dining schedule that rarely sees later than 630pm. How many carbonara and cacio pepe restaurants does the world really need? Rome’s answer: three on every block. What about risotto or seafood or a hamburger (that comes with a bun?). But no no no, for these you must leave Rome! Nevermind kimchi or curry or fish & chips that do not even exist in the collective culinary imagination of the Roman faithful. As a Canadian, I can’t lay claim to any specific national cuisine of note, but I’ve found that I’m often irritated that I can’t find a good version of any international dish that I can dream up, at any time of day or night. Quite possibly a Toronto hangover in that regard.
Food related idiosyncrasy notwithstanding, spending this past year living and working amongst Italians has illuminated so many wonderful cultural characteristics and forced me to reconsider many of my previous assessments and experiences with Italian-Canadians, in some kind of reverse lost-in-translation lens.
My mom who visited for more than a month over Christmas, spending lots of normal everyday time in our little residential area, said: ‘the people here are just so polite, they’re so elegant, do you see them walking into Church holding hands?’ A bit of a throwback for sure but also apt. Italians, still traditional, are most-often the height of civility and decency. Sure they love to argue, but it’s mostly theatrical, just to keep everyone engaged in the conversation. Grandmas dote on their pierced and tattooed grandkids on Sundays as though never forgetting who they were before all that. Families abound in the parks on weekends, relaxed, chatting, laughing. Always hello and thank you entering and leaving the cafe (bar), whether it’s a daily spot or a once in a lifetime visit. One of my all-time favourite things is Italians wishing eachother: buon lavoro! Essentially, have a good work day. To the coffee clerk, security guard, bank teller, sandwich maker, gas station attendant. It almost makes me emotional. Talk about raising up someone’s dignity, sharing an honest encouragement, and acknowledging that we’re all in this boat of life together, from the top deck down to the boiler room. All with a sincere, non-cynical two word phrase.
We may be a bit smitten, and are definitely a lot grateful. As I often respond when people ask the deceptively simple: How’s Rome? If you can’t be happy in a place like this, then I’m not sure exactly where you go from here.
As we start to approach our final year, our second summer, there is much to look forward to – travel, discovery, growth, work, adventure. We hope to welcome more visitors this year and tick even more hilltop Tuscan towns off our Italian bucket list. Dalia hopes to start working again soon, I’m strategizing to re-insert some more hobbies into my day-to-day, and hopefully Aleksander thrives in his Italian-English-French nursery. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year already but we move forward, graciously collecting masterpiece Italian memories, and looking towards all the beauty that awaits.
Dad In The World 