Got a call at 5:35AM from the front desk that Frank and I needed to have a meeting with the hotel manager upon his arrival at 7AM. We have a guest problem. Fan-freaking-tastic.
I called Frank to ask if he knew what was going on, because I hadn't received any calls in the night about a problem. He said we'd find out soon enough.
So... imagine you've spent a buttload of money to take your wife on the vacation of her dreams and her sister and her husband are along with you. What do you do the very first night of said dream trip? Get in an argument about politics and war with an Australian in the hotel bar. But wait... when your brother in law tries to get you to walk away from the escalating encounter, you clock him in the face. And he proceeds to clock you right back, and soon you two are rolling on the floor in the bar of a 5-star hotel in Rome.
Idiots
This is what Frank and I were presented with. Hotel security had pulled them apart, as did the off-duty Carabinieri (Italian State Police) officer who was drinking in the bar with his friends.
After the debriefing, the manager shook his head and threw up his hands and stated he didn't know what they were going to decide to do about the situation. I'm just glad the punch-up was between the brothers-in-law and not the other hotel guest, but stupid stupid stupid all around. The manager said he would have a decision by later in the day of the "gentlemen" were going to be allowed to stay in the hotel for the remaining two nights but they definitely were not welcome in the bar any longer. He said he would call for us later with his decision.
On the way to the restaurant for breakfast Frank told me it was highly unlikely they would be thrown out, but the manager needed to appear in charge of the incident and save face. I get it - I would have thrown them out, no reservation. I have been kicked out of a hotel before - and I didn't even do anything to cause it. (Quick aside, I was at a convention twenty years ago with my Rocky Horror troupe and two brilliant friends of mine decided to scale down the balconies to the pool, and decided to hide in my room when security caught wind. So there I am with my roommate, not knowing why we're getting the boot and these idiot friends of mine weren't kicked out. Just those of us who unknowingly and unwittingly harbored the "fugitives" because they crawled into though our open balcony door. Asshats.)
Getting to breakfast, we didn't mention the fallout of the night before to the entire group, but there were four people who did not look happy to be in the room when we announced that we were delayed by the hotel manager wanting to discuss room arrangements with us. Two annoyed looking women and two guys looking a little rough. Quick breakfast talk and off to the ancient sites. Hey maybe these guys need to just battle it out gladiator style...
There were some folks who just have to sidle up and try to get the dish on the situation, but etiquette precludes me from divulging anything. If these yahoos and the wives want to bust out with the embarrassing tale, they can go for it. My lips are sealed. If they do end up getting kicked out of the hotel and have to get other accommodations for a couple of nights, it will definitely be noticed by the other clients.
We got back to the hotel after lunch. I had received a text message from Marco that he and Mamma checked in and she was across the hall from me. I knocked on her door after my office hour and received the smothering of kisses and hugs from her.
"Che meraviglia. Quanto meraviglioso. Questo è così bella. Grazie Kricka!" How wonderful. How marvelous. This is so beautiful. Thank you Kricka! I told her it was her son that got her the beautiful room, it was Frank that invited them to come. Make sure you have some kisses for Frank!
In the mean time, we can make the afternoon Mass at St. Peter's if we left right then. You have to go through metal detectors to get into the Basilica now as an added safety measure, so you can't just waltz up to the doors any longer. We grabbed a cab out front of the hotel and sped off to Vatican City. I was going to St. Peter's for the 2nd time that day, 3rd time that week, and 4th time in a fortnight. My grandfather would be so proud. Too bad I'm not Catholic, huh?
Watching Mamma take it all in was a beautiful thing. She has only been to St. Peter's once before in her life and hadn't been to Mass when she was there. She gripped my hand with her left and her son's with her right the entire time. We walked around for quite a while - she would have stayed all night if she could have, I believe. She prayed in all the side chapels for long periods. She wiped away tears in front of the Pieta, just like I was doing. Marco looked at me quizzically and when we were outside he asked me why I was upset. I told him I always cry at the Pieta, it's so symbolic of losing someone you love. He agreed. But he was definitely more happy at seeing his mother transformed for the moment. She was talking nonstop and very excited about everything she was seeing around her. Mamma in the big city.
Frank called and asked for us to meet him at a favorite restaurant of his in the Jewish Quarter of Rome. He figured correctly that we would want to eat early - Mamma is going to poop out early I hope. This is a lot today for a woman in her early 80s - the farthest she's traveled in decades plus sensory overload of being in "The Church." We had reservations at 7, so we had just over an hour to be there. No sense in going back to the hotel. We opted to take the cab to the Quarter and look around nearby at Teatro di Marcello. Maybe we'd see Sophia Loren, who lives in a luxury condo built around the ruins. Sophia apparently didn't receive my psychic communique because she didn't step out on the street to greet us. Damn her.
Met up with Frank at Da Giggetto, and he got about 14 cheek kisses from Mamma. Frank told me the manager agreed to let the pugilistic brothers-in-law stay, but again, no going to the bar.
So while Venice had the first Jewish ghetto, Rome has always had the largest Jewish population on the Italian peninsula. It is also the oldest settlement, and those living there today have the distinction of being a community that is not made up of Spanish Sephardic Jews or postwar Russian immigrants, like so much of Israel today is - these people trace their roots back to Jews who came from Palestine before Christ, while the Roman Empire was in full effect.
(edited to add: I meant to include Ashkenazi Jews from Europe as well...)
The first Jews in Rome came directly from the homeland in 160 BC, traveling as ambassadors of Judah Maccabee to ask for protection from the Romans against the Syrian King Antiochus who had been giving the Jews in Palestine a hard time. (When have they NOT had a hard time?)
This small group of Jews settled and created the first community in Rome. In 70 AD the Roman Emperor Titus destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem. He brought many Jews to Rome as slaves, as well as the Menorah stolen from the Temple. The "free" Jews living in Rome paid a ransom to liberate their brothers, but not before their enslaved brethren helped build the Colosseum.
There are still about 12,000 Jews in Rome, but they aren't confined within 4 gates anymore, the Quarter set up in 1555 by Pope Paul IV. Prior to WWII there were over 50,000 living in the city.
For over 200 years the confined area of the Quarter made managing on meager and limited ingredients a must in every household. There was a fish market in the center of confined area, so a lot of the dishes are based around fish and methods used in preserving them to last as long as possible. And the food is fantastic - lots of yummy things fried in oils.
We had a variety of dishes to share: deep-fried artichokes, deep-fried zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta cheese and a hint of anchovy, dried cod with vegetables and pine nuts baked into a fish stew, zucchini marinated in herbed vinegar, homemade pasta stuffed with porcini mushrooms and tossed with chickpeas and roasted red peppers. Oh my, my stomach was so full.
Got back to the hotel and settled in to Mamma's room for a bit before going to bed. As it happened, "Schindler's List" was showing on the tv. They had never seen it before. Mamma had her hand to her mouth the whole time, gaping. We watched it for the first hour and the commercial break came on. In Venetian dialect, which I don't really understand fully, Mamma asked Marco to tell me about what Lorenzo did during WWII.
Lorenzo was Marco's father and I knew him for the last four years of his life before he passed away at Christmas in 2008. He was a very sweet man who liked me to sit with him and watch the evening gameshows. We were a good team at the gameshows. "Brava, Kricka!" he would say to me when I answered questions on the Italian "Millionario" show. And of course we laughed and hooted at the cheesy scantily dressed dancing girl bits they put on at every opportunity on Italian tv. Because they can.
When Marco's father was 20 and (forced) in the military under Mussolini, he was sent with others from his army regiment in the Northeast of Italy to be stationed at Auschwitz-Birkenau. They weren't guarding the camps, that was for the Germans to do. They made the Italians clean up. He brought bodies out of the showers, dug pits for them to be placed in, or brought them to the incinerators, picked them off the ground when they shot them straight off the arriving trains. For 3 years.
I had no idea. I just cannot imagine the horrors that man saw.
His father had said when the Soviets liberated the deathcamp; all the Italians were afraid they too would now be shot because of their part in the atrocities. They were placed in an American-run POW camp shortly but they were treated very well and he held no grudges toward the soldiers. They were very kind to them all actually. They ate better in the POW camp than when they were all hooked up with the Germans when the camp was going at full speed.
We didn't finish the film. I went back to my room, called my family to tell them I love them and then had awful dreams about the early life of Lorenzo Marson.
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