The next day Paul arrived. It was surreal to see him walking over the lawn towards us: photo-shopped into the scene, magically transplanted from London. We jumped into his car and drove to a lakeside restaurant L’acquarella, to meet Piero. Walking in, we felt like famous people. All the waiters knew Paul and Piero like old friends, and guided us to a table set up especially for us under some trees at the water’s edge. We were served a starter of fritti misti straightaway, and then the most delicious fish in the world which had been presented to us just minutes before: silver-scaled, eyes gleaming.
The time we spent with Piero and Paul was very special because of their generosity in letting us slip into their strong and sweet friendship. They shared their own Italy with us: showing us their favourite places; things to do; their habits and special rituals; letting us in on their in-jokes and introducing us to their friends.
L’acquarella is their favourite restaurant and the way they always open their time together whenever Paul is over from London. It was supremely peaceful. The water of the lake gently rippling around the posts of a wooden jetty and our faces smiling at each other under the dappled sunlight coming through the trees. We were all able to catch up over lunch, which finished with an espresso and spoonfuls of walnut and chestnut ice cream served in half walnut and chestnut shells.
After lunch we drove back home and relaxed by the pool. Dani and I sitting on lounge chairs in the shade watching her father and his best friend happily play games as if they were 13 year old boys again.
In the evening we drove to Rome, following the route that Constantine took to take Rome. We had Aperols at a streetside kiosk just next to Ponte Milvio. The Kiosk was another of Piero’s favourite places and as we drank we revelled in the atmosphere there: the people of all different ages, sets and backgrounds who had gathered together in that place and were chatting, relaxed, in the warm summer evening.
Conversation flowed smoothly from the silly to the serious and back again, and it was a huge privilege to be sat with these two men who had already lived through so much more than us already, but were also curious in what we had to say. Men who in this moment were able to be simultaneously like fathers and friends to us.
We ate at a delicious restaurant also near the bridge, and continued many discussions we had started outside. At one point we found ourselves speculating about a table of four people seated near to us. Two young men, both in blue shirts, undone. Quite handsome. Across from them set two slightly older women, not from Rome. The men we laughing and engaging the women in spirited conversation, but there seemed something slightly awkward about the whole situation. As if everyone didn’t yet know each other very well. It wasn’t immediately, but later, that we suddenly realised how funny it was that our mismatched table was there turning in our chairs and gossiping about them.
After dinner we were joined by some of Piero’s old friends, Roberto, Dario and Stefano. Roberto had been his friend since high school and all of them knew Paul well from his frequent trips here. Again, Dani and I felt privileged to be allowed into this secret boys’ space, as if we had been lowered a rope to climb into the treehouse for the first time. There was something wonderful about standing about near the Tiber watching these old friends hang out and make jokes as if no time had passed since they were kids. After a late night ice-cream on the street we got in the car and drove home.
The next day we spent at the Lake Martignano lying under trees and reading. Swimming in the warm water, or floating on our backs on surface of the water, waveless and still. We ate lunch there: another delicious meal accompanied by cool beers.
After lunch we decided to head to Calcuta, another of the boys’ favourite places, to have tea. Calcuta is a fortified town that stands on a the end of a promontory that rises out of a deep canyon. We walked upwards through the winding streets and had an iced tea at a little place that felt like a crow’s nest on ship. I was surprised it didn’t sway in the wind as we sat surrounded on almost all sides by a sea of indistinguishable leafy green and a canyon you couldn’t see the bottom of.
On our way home, we walked through a square where a show was being performed for the townsfolk. The whole population had turned out to watch, it seemed. The first row just a lot of tiny squirming children sitting in their underwear. It felt ageless; as though this was a scene that had been happening here, without much change, since the Middle Ages.
At dinner we were joined again by Roberto and treated to a feast on Lake Bracciano at a restaurant with a chef who was having a lot of fun devising delicious things for the menu. There were not many other people there apart from us, and some strange tinny dancehall was playing too quietly in the background, but it didn’t matter at all because the food was spectacular and so too was the company, and all of us were happy to have coincided in this place at this time. We sat by the lake a little bit after dinner, joined by a majestic and lonesome swan who stayed with us a while, being fed crackers, before silently floating out on the black water for the night.