Big Noses in Paradise

Believe me: paradise, in Rome, is everywhere; but one has to have sharp eyes  or a guardian angel to find it in the midst of a crowd, all in one in the touristic spots where that paradise, which once was life and breath of that place too, is lost forever being a treasure for many, too many. Paradise has a narrow door, secluded, shy, a little door that leads to the silver river of pure life… Yes, one needs to have sharp eyes and ears and a keen mind to find the way out of the maze of the world, with all its noise and invitations, in the infinity of another hidden world, that promises the pleasures of the spiritual garden that is inside us and smiles at the one outside… So, I tell you, if you happen in Rome, do not follow (or not only…) the usual paths of the flock, but open your heart, your mind and soul to a different Rome, one made of paradise…

Paradise in Rome is where I’ll lead you today. Come with me to seek the joys of harmony in the hidden heart of Rome. And, as if in a magic spell, here we are in Villa Aldobrandini, a garden, pure green above the busy, grey, desertic Via Nazionale. In the grace of the shadows, under the trees that breathe together in eternity, stop and think why the Roman families (in this case the Aldobrandini) chose to live surrounded by nature and with a chatting fountain pouring its silver waters in the times to come… Water, the water of life: this is what the emperors gave to the Romans with their many baths, and the Popes with the great fountains (like the Trevi one) that are here and there and everywhere in the Eternal City. Ok, enough of Paradise now. I am walking back home and all of a sudden a group of tourists stop me to ask if they can drink the water of the little fountains that bloom in the City. “Of course”, I answered and did they laugh when I told them that we Roman call the little fountains “Nasoni” which means big noses... 

 

English Cinderella

Vivian had "signorinas" too. Hers came from the United States of America; mine from Ireland, England and from Australia. That is the reason why our english, being good for both, was ever so different. I thought that she miaowed hers, in a roller coaster sort of way that sounded, to me, unfamiliar; mine had and has, even if cooked under the sun of the Anthipodes, all in one, the grace of the old world, a flavour of european home, the touch of the past, in the line of the Daffodils of Wordsworth. It is as if, crossing the wide, dangerous Ocean, the language of Shakespeare, which was not that of William the Conqueror, had melted in the waves of the high waters and flowed to an ever so different rythm, a sort of mellow merrygoround, good for another shore, a paradise regained...
I had Ann, who came from Limerick; Vivian had Saranda, who was american, but indian all the same in her purple hair and black, wizzing eyes. Ann, blond and freckled, helped me in the search of Fairyland. Saranda could draw like an angel. I still remember her Snow White waking up surrounded by the lovely looking dwarves. Like Vivian and I - Saranda said - Snow White had to cross the woods and toil for her living and, finally, become a queen. In her words, my reverie, broken down, in an instant by the twins, my brothers and my mother, calling me to set the table for dinner.  Me, an english Cinderella...