Life without the Internet

A week without the Internet

Along with not paying his electric bill and placing us in the dark for three and a half days, our dotty landlord also forgot to pay his Internet service bill which was much harder to get turned back on, so we spent a solid week disconnected from the bane of this modern life, the Hydra of non-stop media. It was like a time machine back to 1991 or so. Quiet time in a slowed down screen-free world.

I’m still pondering whether it was a gift or a hardship.  Heck, a week ago I wouldn’t have even used a word like pondering,

So, what did I get for my Internet-free week’s vacation?  Let’s make some lists, I like lists.

Without:

No American Media.  Thank Gawd.  The quieting of my brain without the relentless river of media noise flowing like a roaring level 4 rapids through a rocky canyon was palpable. No word of the utterances of Bluto (Trump and his latest insulting to the world ego bursts on Twitter), no politics and the painful depression of watching the US slip and slide into the last days of Nero and Caligula insanity combined. For all I know at this juncture, armed bands of red baseball cap wearing, slow moving senior citizens may be patrolling the malls of Ohio and Indiana and Georgia enforcing rightwing Christian law. I don’t know and largely don’t care. I’ve spent some time reading what appears to be a Communista giornale I picked up off a table at the Bar Gianicolo and as far as my rudimentary Italiano takes me, the outrage over corrupt Italian politicians who are pocketing trash collection reform taxes to spend on mistresses seems kind of quaint by comparison.

No Twitter.  See above. ^^ Not getting the opposite raging arm of the left wing media is a blessing as well. Twitter is sort of a flaccid sea of anger and narcissism and raging into the void at the dying of the light.  I’m sure it comforts some people that they may not be going quietly and that they are actually doing something concrete by loudly and forcefully yelling into a darkened closet, but to me it’s just that. It’s like people with no legs looking at earthporn photos of misty mountain trails. An exercise in futility designed to make one somehow feel better by proxy. My life is enriched by having this mental dust storm swirling away someplace out of sight and out of mind.

Google.  Now this is actually a bit of a hardship for a traveler in a foreign city. The lack of maps, GPS and an ability to search for things like, say, a TIM store to pay the gawdamned Internet bill or a pastecceria to buy a loaf of bread and cheese, or a fresh porchetta panino while out wandering is a bit of pain in the butt. Fortunately, this is week 7 in Rome and we’ve walked miles and miles daily in nearly every quarter of the city and my not completely diminished by time memory has a pretty good map of Rome and particularly the Trastevere outlined internally already, so the TIM store was found and the bill got paid, albeit just like American ISP’s we’re on the old 24-48 hours per ripristinare nuovamente il servicio.

The other Lack of Google hardship is not being able to look up back story for a couple of history nerds like us.

Example1:  Yesterday we wandered down into a part of the Trastevere we’d not yet explored; the Southeast neighborhood by the lower bend in the river Tiber. We found our way to the Chiesa di Santa Cecilia – the martyred patron saint of music and musicians. A lovely, quiet yet stunning church built around the mid-1400’s on the ruins on the ruins of a church built in 482 on top of the house where Cecilia was tortured and murdered by the then current Roman dictator. There is a crypt where there exists for viewing, an amazingly and creepily lifelike sculpture of Cecilia as she was found in her death throes after the torture.

History nerds want to know more. Who was she and what did she do to attract the attention of the religious conservatives to the degree that they had he tortured to death? What were her so-called crimes?  Though I have to say, getting the chop by the Romans was apparently pretty easy in those days. A list of Saints and their grisly deaths is pretty scary reading and makes me fear human nature rising in all its ugliness again. Santo Pietro being crucified upside down is a huge price to pay for the privilege of having a Basilica named after him, or San Lorenzo, the patron saint of cooking and chefs being grilled alive in a huge skillet, well it just makes one fear the rise of similar Roman prefects going on in America these days and keep me hoping for an even longer internet news blackout and perhaps the collapse of global aviation so I won’t be able to return to the States in February.

We did sit for a lovely while in Cecilia’s church listening to a Nun who looked like she’d been cloistered in the church for a century play an ancient pipe organ and 4 other nuns singing up by the altar -  it IS the church of the patron of music so it was very fitting and truly a one of a kind experience I won’t soon forget.

Example 2:  After the Church we wandered more and found a tiny bar/café tucked around a corner and had a lunch consisting of a wild boar ragu and plate of cacio e pepe that I think was the best I’ve found in Rome. Just the right amount of black pepper for my taste and just loaded with cheese. Delicious beyond words. To be honest, this standard issue Roman culinary specialty has not until today knocked my socks off. It always seemed a bit bland. No more, now I completely get it. Rich and creamy with the bite of black pepper, just like the city itself.

The café was aptly named for our predicament. The 404, name not found Café. 

After the fortifying lunch and a doppio espresso, we continued our saunter* and a super narrow lane, ivy-draped, straight out of Trastevere central casting for romantic street locations beaconed and we intentionally just drifted without destination and found ourselves on a street named, Via dei Salumi (yes, Salami street).  There was also a wall plaque to a poet and musician who lived there until 1976, when he ceased to live anywhere.  Again, the history adjutant professor I always wanted to be wanted the backstory on both and to read some of the poems written for and on Salami street.

*I wonder if the Italians have a romantic word to match, sauntered -  the walk of saints

ooh, ooh, they do:  Bighellonare!

With:

Quiet and focus. Not once when writing this did I get distracted by the tingling, itchy need to check on FB or Instagram for likes and comments, or find myself swirling down a rabbit hole Googling <the tortures of the saints> or <history of salami>.  I’d pretty much forgotten how to just sit and think and write for a few hours, locked inside my own head.  ‘Hey mind, nice to see you, let’s do this again some time.” It seems I’d forgotten (albeit not fatally) how to focus and think.  Internet, you are an evil being. I believe I’ll have to pencil in some Internet “vacations” on a regular basis going forward. This also makes me think what I would like my retirement (should it ever come) to be like. No internet and days filled with sauntering, writing, food and music. With luck I can perhaps make the final 15-20 years of my life feel like it goes on for 40 or 50.

Which reminds me. The only thing that would have made this week a time of perfection was the presence of my guitar. Had to choose guitar or dogs for logistics reasons for this trip and the dogs won. Bless ‘em both.

This morning the sun beams down like a shower of gold after the rains and wind cleaned and brushed the sky, and the streets of Monte Verde are alive with Nonni doing last minute shopping and loading up at the Pescherria for Christmas eve dinner.  We’ve got Gnocchi in ragu and torte di limone ready for a Christmas dinner of our own, though tonight we have a table booked at a tiny out of the way osteria for a traditional x-mas eve dinner.

Buon Natale