I’m back in Roma, which is strange in so many ways, the weirdest and most wonderful being that I know now that my Italian has improved infinitely since I was here last. They understand me! And dining alone is less boring when you can understand what the ragazzi at the next table are complaining about.

I landed finally at my little bed and breakfast in the Jewish Ghetto , and after a nice chat with Simone (”my inglese is horribile!”) killed some of the jet lag with a nap and long shower, then first real order of business: coffee. Pronto.

At the bar I met clearly retired and bored Enzo, who was terribly excited by the fact that I was not only traveling da sola but could also chat (sort of with him) and his handsome young barista friend. No one seems to understand why on earth I’d learn Italian, but they love it. Good start.

On to food: a late-evening snack of some thin pizza from Forno di Campo de’Fiori, hacked from a counter-wide slab, folded, and delivered into my grateful hands in about 4 seconds and 2 euros.

Restored, I wandered over to the Forum for a short evening visit (in the waning light, devoid of people, it looks like a stage set – completely unreal), realizing along the way that I was thinking in Italian. Short phrases, but still.

For dinner I headed near Piazza Farnese, landing at Da Sergio, on a quiet back street, with an outside table. Success: some solid cacio e pepe (why are Italian basics always so much better than anything I can do at home?), beef with rucola, un quarto di vino rosso, and an espresso – cheap, easy, and all I needed to get on with a late-evening stroll along the river. And now I collapse.