Ease On Down The Road

Legend has it that the tortoise wins the race. I hope so. I’m off to a pretty slow start in 2025.

One of the unexpected benefits of a life lived Italian is an extra week of holiday vacation, a respite I now claim as if it were my birthright. While most Americans allow themselves one day to recover from New Year’s Eve before trying to get a jump on the new year, Italians treat the days between New Year’s Day and Epiphany, which happens on January 6, like a long overture to the opera. No matter how late you arrive, there’s plenty of time to find your seat and settle in before the show actually begins.

There’s a softness to ending the holiday season this way that illustrates the difference between life in Italy and life in America, or at least in most American cities. Where American society seems to have more sharp edges to it every day, Italy offers an existence with some of the rough spots smoothed over—by time, tradition and a more realistic set of expectations, based on several thousand years of life experience.

Of course, there’s a holiday bustle here, but mostly to get to a lunch or a dinner with family and friends. I’m sure there were people busily compiling lists of New Year’s Resolutions to make them richer, thinner, and more likely to win the world. But only after they played some cards with friends at the bar, took a passeggiata through the countryside and finished eating the last of the left-over lentils and sausages (if that sounds a lot like pork and beans, it is…but better).

There’s no rush. Nothing’s happening until January 7th anyway.

We spent New Year’s Eve with friends and their family in the just snowy enough mountain village of Taccarelli, where the traditions include some small fireworks on the terrace, a table packed with enough appetizers to last until midnight, and a TV broadcast of Capodanno events across various Italian cities, featuring performers either frighteningly geriatric or embarrassingly juvenile.

And of course, the aforementioned lentils made an appearance as well. In a tradition that has roots in ancient Rome, Italians believe that eating lentils on New Year’s Eve will bring financial prosperity in the upcoming year. Judging by historical results, it’s probably wiser to take money tips from the Swiss. But I’d rather eat with the Italians.

After New Years, we enjoyed our bonus week in Le Marche where life was indeed as soft as a pillow and about that quiet. I think we saw more animals on the street— dogs, deer, wild boar, cats, geese, chickens, sheep— than we did cars. Even the weather was gentle: sunny but not so warm as to incite a “the planet is melting” panic attack.

So by the time we returned to Rome on January 7th, I had no excuses. I was rested, refreshed, and ready to get to work. I thought I’d start by catching up on current events. Bad move.

While the sun was shining amiably on Rome just outside my window, it seemed like harsh, cruel winds were churning everywhere else, bringing deep freezes, raging fires, and fury on all sides. Whatever optimism I tried to conjure up about the future seemed about as credible as betting on lentils and sausages. After a few minutes on my news feed, I decided to back my way into the future instead.

Rather than bravely racing through the gates of 2025, I headed to the Villa Farnesina and strode softly into the 16th century. Located just off the river Tiber in Trastevere, a little off the Via della Penitenza (Street of Penitence— which felt appropriate after three weeks of holiday indulgence), the Villa was one of the city’s most opulent, luxurious palazzos when it was built in 1575. You can catch a glimpse of its grand gardens and the intricate friezes decorating its facade hiding behind the high walls that shield it from the narrow, graffitied street. But to step through the gates is to enter a classically-proportioned, crowd-free oasis of calm.

Like any real Roman, Villa Farnesina wears its nobility casually. The once sumptuosissima palazzo is now a little rough around the edges— parts of the garden are seasonably scruffy and several rooms inside, including the famous Hall of Perspectives, are in various stages of restoration.

Nevertheless, it’s clear immediately why the villa remains a must-see for art lovers. The frescoes in the imposing entry hall, depicting with playful virtuosity the travails and romantic triumph of the mortal Psyche and her divine love Eros, were painted in the early 1500’s by the master Raphael and his team. Standing alone in the silence of the loggia is like finding a private hallway to the Renaissance.

But what had drawn me to the Farnesina this day was a different passageway, now on display for the first time. A little more than a year ago, electrician Davide Renzoni was doing routine work at the palazzo the when he uncovered a trapdoor. Opening it (because really, who wouldn’t?), he was surprised to see that it led to a previously unknown room— entirely covered with almost perfectly preserved frescoes.

“I went to get a lamp and when I turned it on, everything appeared. It was a marvel” Renzoni told French news outlet France 24.

Art historians now believe that this was the bedroom of the Villa’s original owner, Agostino Chigi, which was probably sealed off when the State took control of the villa in 1929. The frescoes date back to the 17th century. While the room itself has not yet been opened to visitors, some of the paintings have been photographed and are now displayed on the ground floor.

On my way home, I kept thinking about Davide Renzoni, dutifully going about his electrical work and then suddenly discovering an azzurro sky full of cherubs frolicking above him. I suppose one never knows when a door will open unexpectedly and joy will come flooding in.

Maybe that’s the benefit of living life a little more Italian, of easing rather than running down the road. A slow trot leaves open the possibility of finding Beauty in unexpected places. Tortoise may not win the race. But he might see more along the way.