Last Supper

Last supper

I spent the last day in Roma hunting for shoes, trinkets and tourista chotzkies and walking in the glorious day. I buy 8 elegant curtain panels without knowing why except that I like them, they are on sale and cheaper than I can get in the states... until I factor in the cost of the taxi to schlep them back to the hotel and the larger suitcase I have to buy. I justify getting another pair of boots since I can't find this quality or style back home and unless the dollar strengthens, probably won't be returning to Italy for awhile or until these boots go out of style and the fashion patrol demands a mandatory trip. My friend Cristina meets me at the Pantheon and together we chat non-stop breathing only to inhale espresso or ciocolatti caldo.

At 7 p.m., the stores close and the sun has long set on my Roma shopping frenzy. It is night time, and the streets have the normal cluster of Japanese and German tourists following a tour guide holding up an umbrella or a sign for their troupe to follow. Heading back to the hotel to consider my last real tasty dinner for a few days, I pass Trevi Fountain where legend says that a coin tossed into its waters ensures your return. I flip an American quarter as far as I can hoping the U.S. dollar makes a return.

There is a wonderful little trattoria around the corner called Andrea's. After eating there two nights they consider you a friend and bring you little tokens – amaro, limoncello, tiny tastes. Tonight they seat me next to another who is eating solo, a handsome man named Valentino who laughs when he hears me say “last supper” and thinks I want to see the painting. We laugh, drink and talk about Italy and his ex girlfriends. He pours my wine, tells the waiter to pack a lunch for me, buys dinner and insists that I return to ski the alps with him. “You call your boss and tell him you can't return for another week and I'll show you the real Roma,” he tempts me with dessert. Unfortunately, the internet cafe was closed and since I was leaving in several hours for the airport I couldn't write the bosses to ask for another week to spend traipsing through Roma with a man named Valentino. However, he walks me home safely and I regretfully return to the room for the arduous packing task ahead.

The taxi cruises past most of the major attractions in Roma on the way to the airport. I think about all the wonderful friends I have made, places I've seen and undiscovered treasures yet to explore. I focus ahead to Crested Butte, anxious to see my buddies, my cat Mr. Gizmo and return to Buttian life refreshened with a a more expansive outlook... ready to ski, play and write... it could take awhile to get into work mode. Ciao, Italia! Brava!