Here, then, are some snapshots of Rome, captured without a camera.

COLLECTING TRASH

My apartment had everything you could need. Bed, kitchen, bathroom. I noticed there was no place to drop my garbage. "Where," I asked, "do I put my trash?" Apparently in this section of Rome, everyone puts their garbage in little dumpsters set up in the streets. Green rectangular containers for trash. Blue round containers for recycling. New York -- which has pretty much eliminated its recyling program -- could learn something from this home of the ancients.

THE CELL PHONE INCIDENT

One of my greatest delights when I lived in Rome in 2001 was my little red cel phone. My telefonino. I used it for three months, brought it back home with me, even loaned it to a friend travelling to Italy. I had it with me when I returned.

My second day there, while walking through the Piazza Navona, I pulled it out of my purse. It slipped out of my fingers and I watched it hit the pavement. Oh dear, I thought, I hope it doesn't break on those cobblestones. At that very moment, I saw it slide down the sloped curbside and fall right into a storm sewer. Bing bing bing. Like the coyote in the Road Runner cartoon, waaa-hoo-hooo-hoooo.

THE LANGUAGE

I studied Italian during my visit, at a wonderful little school near the Campo dei Fiori. Three hours a day, five days a week. I pretty much speak the language exclusively while I am there. I love to hear it -- it is almost musical. Oddly, I found myself thinking -- these Romans speak Italian so well. Especially the children!

I speak it pretty well. Abbastanza. My challenge is in hearing and understanding it. I can follow what folks are saying. Then, I'll notice that they're no longer talking, but just looking at me. That's when I realize they have just asked me a question. I blank. "Dove vai," they will ask. "Where are you going?" I'll answer: "Domani." "Tomorrow." At a bar, I ask for peanuts. And wonder if I just requested an order for crickets.

THE FOOD

Pizza bianca. Caffè. Spaghetti alla gricia. Tramezzino. Baccala. Gelato. Ciambellini. Tarallini di Putignano. Granita di caffè con panna. Fiori di zucca. Carciofo romana. Fettucini cacio e pepe. Supplì. Acqua minerale con gas. O senza. Un quartino di vino rosso. Un bicchiere di vino rosso. Un litro di vino rosso. So much food. So little time.

ROMANTIC MOMENT

So, one night, I'm walking through the Piazza Navona heading to one of my favorite cafes for un bicchiere di vino rosso (see above). I was wearing my favorite coat, made out of a navajo blanket by an artist in New York City. It is a coat of many colors. Quite remarkable. I hear a man behind me, speaking Italian, of course. I pick up enough snippets to figure out he is speaking to me about my coat. We start a conversation. He was quite interesting, somewhat poetic, attractive enough, somewhere in his late 50's -- maybe older. Sixth generation Trasteverian. He kidded with me that he would be my personal language coach for the evening. We strolled through the piazzas, he introduced me to a cafe -- Sant' Eustachio (that's ooo-STOCK-ee-yo, not pistachio) -- molto famoso. So, I'm thinking, "mmmm, a little Roman romance, perhaps?" I admit I didn't understand everything he was saying. But, as we were crossing the bridge over the Tiber, I picked up a couple of startling words. Coltello. Uccidano. Knife. They kill. For all I know, he was telling me an Italian fable. But, I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

So much for my moment of Romanza di Roma.