Saturday 1st October
October in Rome dawns in the midst of an unseasonable European heatwave, and after a messy (and loud) breakfast of bread, cheese and croissants (I know, I know) I squash into the back seat of Alberto’s car with a twin on each side and we set off for the beach at Ostia.
Yes. I am being paid to go to the beach.
B&B have decorated the back of their father’s car with stickers. There is a Barbie on each window, as well as a large assortment of flowers, and Beatrice observes me for a moment before making sure I have seen her window artwork. ‘Barbie,’ she says, pointing out the sticker. ‘Barbie!’ she says again, with increasing excitement, pointing at me.
Benedetta meanwhile is playing with a massive stuffed raccoon. I turn my attention to her and enquire as to the raccoon’s name. She looks at me like I am crazy, and then shouts ‘RACCOON!’ Fair enough. Beatrice has also brought an animal for the drive. ‘Bea,’ I ask her, ‘what’s your dog called?’ Her expression matches that of her sister. ‘Dog!’ she yells.
I think something has been lost in translation here.
I spend the rest of the drive ostensibly pointing out various things to see if they know the English vocab. Mainly, they do. Benedetta falls asleep, simultaneously burbling along to the song that is playing on the radio, and I discover that Beatrice is aware of stars, sky, trees, and cars, but not of signposts, cafes or post offices.
At Ostia Alberto drops us off and goes to park, and we pick up B&B’s toys from a locked chalet (this is such a good idea!) and position ourselves on sunbeds by the sea. Because it’s October the beach isn’t too crowded, and it isn’t too hot either. B&B immediately run into the sea, where Benedetta starts jumping around and flipping over under the water, and Beatrice begins to make a collection of shells, which quickly becomes a selection of rocks. My attempts to acquaint myself with the freezing water teach them a new English word – ‘splash’.
Later, Alberto arrives with the pizza for lunch. So much pizza. I have literally never seen so much pizza in my life –not even at Pizza Hut buffet. Veg pizza, margarita, extra cheese. Crispy bread. Five slices of each wrapped in chip shop paper. Two bundles of paper. FORTY pieces of pizza between FIVE people, two of whom are very small people. It is traditionally Roman, crispy and delish. But still. When I only let myself have three pieces my lack of eating is questioned.
After lunch Beatrice drags me off to the storage room, where she locks herself inside (cue moment of panic) before emerging with a giant inflatable aeroplane. In the sea she climbs aboard to pilot her aeroplane, whilst Benedetta hangs off the front. ‘Run!’ they demand. ‘RUN!’ I spend a few minutes dragging them around in the water, thinking of the pizza and how much of this running-in-water it would take to burn it off. Possibly a lot. Possibly any attempt to burn of the pizza/ icecream will be futile.
When they eventually get bored of ‘flying’ and get out to play in the sand instead, I decide that I deserve a break. Settle down on the sunbed to read Lolita, which has sat on my Lancaster bookshelf for nearly six months and was recently recommended to me by Mr Matthew Hilton (cheers mate!). It really is very beautifully written –on the same level as The God of Small Things in its language I think. Remain in this position for a good amount of time, until Benedetta appears and decides that it will be amusing to hide underneath my sunbed whilst laughing uncontrollably and pretending that he isn’t there. It is pretty amusing, and a game of peek a boo entertains her sufficiently for a while. After a while Beatrice appears, drags me onto the sand and practices doing headstands with my back as her support. Like you do.
And then, of course, it’s icecream time again. This time I go for two scoops –as if multiple slices of pizza hadn’t filled me up enough. Chocolate orange vs. apple and cinnamon. It’s as good as it sounds, but as we sit on a wall to eat it Lidia points out that, because they are used to Fassi’s, this gelato ‘tastes like medicine’. Well. Clearly there is an education in icecream that I haven’t been in Italy long enough to understand. Benedetta manages to get melted gelato all over her legs, which is an achievement. Then she draws faces in it.
Bea is tired and nearly falls asleep on my shoulder as I carry her back to the car. They both drop off as soon as they hit their seats, and as we drive back peace ensues and Alberto asks me about my degree. It transpires that he and Lidia have read all of Ian McEwan, but that Lidia found Atonement slow. They have also read the God of Small Things, and apparently Lidia is big on her drama after studying English theatre whilst at university. Lots to talk about! They also visited Delhi together 10 years ago, and want me to show them my photographs.
Tomorrow we are going ‘lunch at a restaurant on the beach and then to a party in a park’. Sounds like a fun Sunday, so I shall get my sleep in preparation for it.
Muchos love,
xxx
Friday 30th September
After two hours of living in Rome, I am asked by a woman speaking in very fast Italian if I know where the nearest metro station is.
My Italian skills at this present moment extend as far as ‘Saluti, gelato, grazie’, which may prove useful but is unlikely to help in this kind of situation. This is why, I realise as we stand in momentarily perplexed lost-in-translation silence at the side of the road, language teachers at school always insisted on drumming into us the boring bits of vocab. Left, straight on, cross the road, next to the church, etc. I fear my meagre B in GCSE French is not going to be of much use now I’ve hit the continent and found myself faced with a highly stressed out Italian woman who is lugging a huge suitcase and looks highly likely to have missed her train.
But wait! Actually, I do know where the nearest metro is! It’s on the other side of the square we are stood next to. I’ve just walked past it, in fact! I might not have understood the first part of her sentence, but ‘Vittorio Emmanuel’ is most definitely the nearest station to where we are stood right now, between irregularly parked cars, with vespers whizzing past us and Chinese language signs all over the walls.
Feeling mildly proud of myself, I point her in the right direction.
It is at this second that she realises I am in fact not Italian. I am in fact British. And therefore wrong.
She surveys me with a look of resignation, before shaking her head and deciding that enough is enough. ‘No,’ she says, firmly but I fear without due reason. ‘No, no.’
But it’s just behind the trees! I tell her. With pointing. A lot of pointing. I feel that pointing is the only way I can get my point across, point being that the metro is less than three minutes walk away, currently obscured by trees. It really is! I know, I live here now –I’ve lived here for two hours!
She shakes her head again in resignation, turns around, lugs her suitcase back onto the pavement and walks away in completely the wrong direction.
***
When I get back to my room I am surprised to hear someone singing operatically outside my window. Wonder for a few seconds whether I am imagining this –things like this don’t really happen, do they? It’s too much of a stereotype, surely? But no, it is definitely happening, I’m not going mad. The opera singer, I reckon, is just behind an open window in the building opposite my window. My ignorance of this kind of music is undeniable, but it sounds quite impressive. I hope it will be a regular occurrence!
I then fall asleep, and am woken up only when Lidia knocks on my door as she said she would at 6.45pm. No more delays; we are off up to the family apartment. Thus the reasons I am in Rome are about to manifest themselves. Loudly.
***
Meeting the kids I’m here to look after (twin 5 year olds Beatrice and Benedetta) for the first time, in July, was a pleasant experience. They quietly accompanied their mother Lidia as she took me on a whistle stop half hour tour of the local area, daubed gelato all over their faces in the park, and pulled faces at each other when they thought no one was looking. Afterwards, Lidia informed me that they had ‘started to include me in their games’ –whatever that means.
The second time they meet me they drag me into their bedroom, where Beatrice turns off the light switch and plunges us into darkness, and Benedetta begins to repeatedly flash a torch into my eyes. Odd, slightly unnerving, mildly torturous, but ok. Maybe Italian children are taught different ways to greet guests, compared to English children. They then physically attack me in what appears to be a very violent hug. It doesn’t take me long to realise that Beatrice is BITING my back, whilst Benedetta is headbutting me in the stomach.
(Later, their father Alberto will tell me that this is a certain sign of affection, that ‘they beat you up because they love you’, and that Beatrice in particular is a ‘little hooligan’.)
At the moment though, I am perplexed. Is this how they greet all their au pairs? Rosa clearly did not mention this hazing ritual in her email. What should I DO?
Luckily they extract themselves a second later and we go for dinner, which consists of buttery chicken and the biggest bowl of communal salad I have ever seen. Afterwards, B&B put on their pyjamas and we all troop off for icecream at Fassi’s.
Fassi’s, I have been reliably informed, offers the best gelato in the whole city. B&B are clearly used to coming here, and they delightedly run around in circles shrieking whilst I select a pistachio cone from the 30 odd flavours that are available.
(How magic must it be to be 5 years old, living in Rome and going out to an icecream parlour in your pyjamas every night? Alberto tells me that even in winter they go at least twice a week. It is at this point that I decide to screw my waistline, because there are simply too many gelato flavours in this city to resist.)
I am not disappointed with the pistachio. Good recommendation Miss Rosa Sharp!
Lidia tells me afterwards that they are planning on spending the following day at the beach. Would I like to come? This question evidently only has one answer. I go back to my room, negotiate the most powerful shower in the world, and then fall asleep almost straight away. Successful first day!
xxx
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