Anniversary Walk

Anniversary Walk

John Lally

A heavy rain pelted the worn, ancient cobblestone piazza outside of the Hotel Nazionale in the center of Rome. We watched from the lobby as an elderly British couple climbed into a taxi to be whisked away to an unknown destination. My wife Laura and I were next in line as the hotel concierge called for a taxi. We had dinner reservations at Imàgo. It was September 23, 2015, and we were celebrating our 37th wedding anniversary.

I wore a new sport coat for the occasion, and Laura glowed in her shimmering silver blouse and new black slacks. We’d been planning the Rome trip for over a year, and we were intent on making it one to remember. Four months prior, I’d googled “Best Restaurants in Rome, Italy.” The top-rated restaurant was entirely booked for the date we wanted. I contacted Imàgo (the runner up), a Michelin-starred restaurant in the Hotel Hassler, and secured a reservation for two. We were ecstatic. Though not “foodies” we were determined to have a five-star experience for our anniversary celebration.

As time passed in the hotel lobby, the concierge apologized for her unsuccessful attempts at hailing a taxi for us. The heavy rain had created an unusual demand for taxis. Our chance of getting one in time for our reservation was looking bleaker by the minute. The only other option was borrowing an umbrella from the hotel and walking the mile to our dinner destination, but the rain was coming down nearly sideways from the strong gusts of wind, so that seemed a last resort.

Precious time was passing. We were determined not to let Mother Nature defeat us. I grabbed the complimentary umbrella and stepped out into the cold, wet Piazza di Monte Citorio. In other conditions, we might have noticed the enchanting reflection of Rome’s glittering lights along our path. Not tonight. The walk was tenuous and challenging. Time-weathered stones beneath our feet were as slippery as ice. We tried to sidestep cold puddles, but they were everywhere since the city’s drainage system couldn’t keep up with the rain. My new loafers and Laura’s open-toed shoes were no match for the storm’s fury. Our feet were soon waterlogged as we slogged down the Via del Corso. Even the umbrella proved nearly useless. We were soaked from the waist down.

“Are we having fun yet?” asked Laura, only half-jokingly.

I was in no mood to reply. Instead I focused on gingerly putting one foot in front of the other. I was having doubts about the evening. Even if we eventually made it to the Hotel Hassler, would we be too cold and drenched to enjoy our meal?

We were turning a corner at the Via dei Condotti as I happened upon a gift from the Roman Gods. Across the street was an off-duty taxi with the taxista (driver) nearby having a smoke. I appealed to his compassion, or maybe it was his pity, for two rain-drenched out-of-towners on a mission to celebrate their anniversary. The taxista agreed to take us to our destination.

Within minutes we arrived in front of the Hotel Hassler, which was perched high above the Spanish Steps. We’d sat on those time-worn steps just the day before, enjoying a cool gelato as we’d watched tourists taking selfies. We’d reveled in the shared wonder and beauty of Rome. The sun was warm and bright as we’d savored our icy delights.

Tonight was a totally different experience.

The hotel doorman, in his white top hat and tails, escorted us through the lobby and to the elevator to Imàgo on the top floor. I wondered what he thought of the two scraggly looking Americans leaving wet footsteps across the carpet of the opulent hotel lobby. My wife and I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor.

As the elevator doors opened, thoughts of our unfortunate journey quickly faded away. As we stepped into the restaurant, we were transported into a world of elegance. A maître d’ greeted us, leading us past a reception desk and bar on the way to our table. The starched linen tablecloth was adorned with crystal and sparkled with silver cutlery. As we sat down, Laura and I looked up. We were awed by the ceiling, which was dotted by hundreds of tiny random lights, suggesting a view of the starry night sky.

“We are not in Kansas anymore,” I said to Laura while we took in the ambiance of the room.

“Far from it. This is beautiful,” she added.

I reflected aloud that maybe we were in above our heads, dining in such a world-class restaurant.

“We’ve worked hard to make this possible and certainly deserve to treat ourselves,” Laura assured.

The staff graciously made no reference to our weathered appearance, and soon that was a thing of the past. Our damp feet quickly warmed in the radiance of the room, and we relaxed into our soft cushioned seats.

Our window table overlooked the center of Rome, illuminated romantically as if arranged just for our anniversary. Large picture windows along three walls of the restaurant provided a panoramic view of the city. Even though raindrops dotted the glass panes, we could clearly see the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican and the spires of the Trinità dei Monti Church in the distance. The dimly lit interior served to enhance the exterior view.

The maître d’ brought over a poggiapiedi, a low white padded ottoman, and placed it next to Laura’s chair.

“For your purse, Signora.”

We knew we were in for something special. As if with military precision, another staff member brought us a small plate with seven assorted hors d’oeuvres, colorful and artfully plated. We slowly enjoyed each morsel, though having no idea what we were eating. Normally a finicky and unimaginative eater, I ate everything offered. On this exquisite evening, I was determined to step out of my comfort zone.

The restaurant appeared to be full, but despite the clanging of silverware and Babelian experience of multilingual conversations around us, we felt in our own world with private attendants anticipating our every need. The sommelier, dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo, recommended that we try a special Italian wine for our occasion. He brought us a bottle of Schioppettino di Cialla, a dry wine from the Province of Venice in northeastern Italy. The cool “pop” of the cork was just a tease for the delights to come.

We savored the wine, as we did each of the next five enticingly prepared and delicious courses. We were served additional appetizers, a pasta course, then the entrees. I had a wonderfully prepared filet mignon drizzled with a balsamic sauce while Laura feasted on a roasted turbot with white prawns. All the while, outside on the window ledge that framed our splendid view of Rome, a huge white seagull marched unfazed by the continuing rainstorm. He remained on the ledge throughout our entire evening, staring at us, as if hoping we’d let him in to share our culinary feast.

Il culmine (the culmination) of our feast was our shared dessert, topped with a single small candle for the occasion. For our anniversary celebration, the chef had specially prepared a small chocolate cake with a sculpted confectionary heart perched on top. Though we were full, we enjoyed every succulent morsel, slowly consumed in the dimmed light of this exquisite room, atop this magnificent city. We were in no hurry for this enchanting evening to end, so we decided to have a digestif. I enjoyed a wonderful golden cognac in a handsome brandy snifter while Laura relished a nice Earl Grey tea served in a polished silver teapot that reflected the images of two seasoned lovers luxuriating in the intoxicating ambiance.

The inevitable time had come. A small leather folder, brought to us on a silver platter, held evidence of the cost of our evening. We tried not to react to the numbers on the check. After all, these were euros not dollars, and wouldn’t have to be reconciled until we returned home to Connecticut and the real world.

In all, our evening’s saga had mirrored our marriage experience. In 1978 we’d started out energetic and enthusiastic with much promise and optimism, confident about the future. Over the next 37 years, we’d run into disappointments and challenging obstacles, but through perseverance and some luck, we’d weathered many storms and shown commitment to our partnership to now revel in the fruits of our achievement. From how we’d made it from the Hotel Nazionale that evening in the rain to our dinner at Imàgo, we’d relived our love story in a few short hours.

| Author bio |

John Lally is a retired Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner. As part of the next chapter of his life, he's joined a writing workshop where he honed this personal essay. He's also been published in The Good Men Project and The Hartford Courant, and is Executive Director of Today I Matter, Inc., a non-profit organization dedicated to reducing the shame and stigma of mental illness through education, advocacy, and support. In service of this mission, he has been a featured public speaker at addiction awareness events around Connecticut and appeared multiple times on television news programs. He blogs at Addiction: From the Front Lines at www.blog.todayimatter.org.