Rome to Brindisi

 I woke up and checked the train schedules to see when I could next go to Brindisi, the town on the heel of the Italian book with a ferry to Greece. The next departure was a little after one which gave me time to squeeze in a site before leaving. Everything feels easier now. Rome was weighing on me and I feel lighter knowing that I am leaving this place. The devil take it. It’s not for me.

I booked my train ticket and packed myself in a crush loaded bus to the city center. The city is doing roadwork that has blocked access to both tram depots. Since they are unable to run any trams right now they’ve replaced the service with busses but on the same frequency. Yikes. Every bus I’ve gotten on has been packed to the gills with people. The only upside is that these routes are fareless, not that you’d be able to pay anyway with how many people are crammed in.

Today’s stop was the Jewish museum. The best was to do this city might be to see the history that nobody cares to see here. I tend to avoid these, the stories are depressing and repetitive. I’ve heard a lot of them. The Jews of Rome have a different story. They were brought in from Jerusalem as slaves by the Romans. As a rite, they are older than the Sephardis and Ashkenazi. The ritual and art feels more like Mizrahi blended with a little Catholicism. Lots of pomp and circumstance. The Roman Jews were put in a ghetto and deprived of their rights by The Pope during the renaissance. Ironic. They were not given equal rights or freed from the walls of the Ghetto until the late 1800s when Italy was Unified. To celebrate, the Ghetto was demolished and a synagogue that bears a startling resemblance to a church was built. To quote my grandfather, “How tall should you build your synagogue? Shorter than the closest church.” The Great Synagogue of Rome bows its head two meters under this limit. The nazis came to Rome relatively late which gave the community time to prepare. They were ransacked and many of their people were murdered. However, enough of their relics were hidden away that their history emerged largely intact. The people were similarly lucky to only face the brunt of the nazi at the end of the war when they were starting to have bigger issues.

In the Synagogue that day our tour was cut short by a couple renewing their vows. The ceremony moved me to tears. I was standing in the wings of the sanctuary and an old man on the bimah caught my eye. The weight of all the tragedy he had witnessed over his life hit me. As the tears rolled down my face I could only think of my own grandparents, most of whom are gone from this world, and all they had lived through. The story of my people is rich, beautiful, and tragic.

I’ve described this enough already

I had a train to catch and needed lunch. My last experience in Rome was absurd, if typical. Lunch was a combo meal at the Roma Termini McDonald’s. Swap the fries for salad with a vinaigrette. Add a Peroni for an extra euro. They even give you those long thin breadsticks you see in Italian restaurants everywhere here. To round off the silliness of it all, my table in the basement food court was next to a century old Roman wall, framed in glass and lit up to look magic… While I ate a burger next to it… this city is weird.

On the train from Rome to Bari, I struck up a conversation with the person across from me. Sometimes what a stranger leaves out can tell you more than what they actually say. She dodged talking about where she lived and why she was in Europe, but she was more than happy to chat about her travels. After a bit more time she opened up. She was born in East Germany and after a lifetime of travels had begun the process of making her Permenant home in Israel. For one reason or another, she simply felt at home there. She had lived in the country since just after lockdown and fell in love with the people she met and the community she had for herself there. She was returning to Europe to start the process of becoming a citizen, this begins with converting to Judaism. She had interesting stories to share regarding the lessons she’d gotten from my culture. The most interesting part to me was which Nusach she had decided to align with. For her the Ashkenazi service felt most at home to her. Most Jews don’t get the luxury of choice in the matter. The whole conversation was in hushed tones whenever she talked about her home. She was absolutely terrified of someone on the train finding out that she was Jewish or living in Israel. I am not sure that my being at ease made her relax at all.

I changed trains in Bari for Brindisi and the rest of my ride was uneventful. The most interesting thing that happened was that I took a short nap. This nap ended when a group of teens on the platform smacked the window I was resting my head on and started yelling at me. I know precious little Italian but I do remember what it means to stroke your chin at someone with the back of your hand. Useful vocab. 

Angelo greeted me at the bed and breakfast. This was my first actually B&B experience. I’ve had the bed but never the breakfast. A decent enough room and a bag drop sent me off for dinner. The German woman on the train used to live in the area and recommended a pizza place to me. After a little cajoling online from a French friend, I ordered the “onion symphony” pizza. Onion cream, Fiordilatte cheese, Caramelized onion, Crispy onion, Onion mayonnaise, Black olive powder, Smoked Black Angus outside of cooking, Burrata. Decadent. Maybe too decadent. I finished most of it and drifted off into the arms of Morpheus.