EGGS, BOOKS AND THE VIA DEI PETTINARI

Rome is full of spots like the above that make you think, Hey, let’s fix this place up and I can live there!

Other differences from home: I went to make scrambled eggs the other morning and a cunning chicken feather was attached to the shell!

I lucked out vis-a-vis the place where I actually am staying: The Pettinari Home in Campo de’ Fiori.

It’s on the third floor, on the courtyard side of a building that dates from the 1600’s except with wifi, an espresso machine, a hot shower, and even a tiny washing machine that is just right for traveling.

Last night I was in bed or so I thought for the night when I was overcome by a sudden urge for ice cream. I threw on a pair of jeans and a wrap, dashed down to the street, walked a few yards to the local gelato joint, purchased a pineapple sorbet (3 euros), and strolled across the Ponte Sisto to the next bridge north and back around watching the moonlight on the Tiber!

a partial view from my window
there’s a market steps from my door with cheese, meats, juice, cream, dried pasta, produce and
fresh bred
this used to be the oven

3 Replies to “EGGS, BOOKS AND THE VIA DEI PETTINARI”

  1. Heather, from your description I feel like I'm there with you. A bit of heaven with my cereal this morning. Now, may I see a picture of that tiny washing machine?

    1. I'ts an Aquamatic 3.5 kg, pix online and I'll try to remember to take a photo of this one.
      Thx, Suzanne!

  2. This is exactly what I needed to read, Heather! In desperate need of solitude – of silence! – but finding boredom within the walls of my apartment I wonder where I might find this rejuvenating solitude. I've tried hiding behind baggy clothing, going to coffee shops I haven't a history of frequenting, and visiting my library, but everywhere I turn are the friendly faces of MidWesterners, quick to engage in conversation! I say reading this is just what I needed because you, here, provided me with a solution to my needs! I'll mosey my way to Canada where I will be surrounded by French-speaking, Michigander-haters, where there will be no expectation for me to engage in conversation or anyone friendly enough to approach me! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Chi miigwetch!

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