Stumble Stones: Rome's smallest monuments

Rome is full of huge reminders of the city's ancient past; statues, ruins and buildings all jump out at you, begging to be noticed and admired. But even the quietest streets have stories to tell.

I walk the same route to and from work every day, but it took me two weeks to notice two golden squares among the cobbles of one street. It was raining, so I was keeping my head down, and then I saw them - sort of glinting against a background of grey. So I stopped to look, wondering if they were part of an art installation, or gave information about the building they were placed outside.

The stones are a memorial. They each sum up a life in very few words, haiku-like in their simplicity. 'Here lived Lionello Alatri' reads one; the other is for his wife Evelina. Three dates follow; the date they were born, the date they were deported (to Auschwitz), the date they were murdered.

I found out later that the stones form just a tiny part of a project spanning eight countries, with over 40,000 stones and 84 in Rome. Each commemorates a Holocaust victim, with a simple inscription on the gold-plated stone outside the person's former home.

The artist behind it, Cologne-born Gunter Demning, wanted to give back a name to the victims who had been reduced to a number, returning them symbolically to the home and neighbourhood that was snatched from them. 

They are called Stumbling Stones, Stolpersteine in German, because the idea is that you literally stumble over the slightly raised cobbles, and are forced to remember. Demning says that stooping down to read the details is a kind of bow of respect to the victims.

Today the apartment block where the Alatri's lived is an office building. It's in one of Rome's priciest districts, full of businessmen in suits who seem to be in too much of a rush to notice two golden cobblestones.

I found a website with information about Rome's Holocaust victims, where I found out Lionello had dedicated much of his life working for Jewish institutions, and helped many Jewish refugees who fled to Rome from countries under Nazi control. He also owned a textiles business, but was forced to resign once Italy's racial laws came into force. Shortly afterwards, he and Evelina were taken from their home and deported to Auschwitz. After the week-long journey, they were judged unfit to work on arrival, and were both gassed to death.

It also contains a copy of the last letter Lionello wrote, which was thrown out of the train window and later found by a railway worker. Most of it is very matter-of-fact, and even optimistic. It opens with the words 'We are leaving for Germany' and goes on to explain how much the landlord was to be paid each month for light and gas bills, and various other financial affairs to be put in order.

He tells the reader 'I ask whoever finds this letter, for the sake of humanity, please do these things. Keep courage, like we are.' The letter ends with a sudden burst of emotion: 'I am dismayed.'

Lionello Alatri

The 10 best words in the Italian language

Studying languages at university left me utterly unprepared for real life in Italy, mainly because we focus more on the literature side of things than actually speaking words. I arrived armed with several ways of saying 'alas' in fourteenth century Tuscan, and, for inexplicable reasons, a lot of tree related vocab, but unable to decipher the average Italian menu - hardly the best tools for making friends.

On the plus side, perhaps out of pity for the fact that my chat in Italian was comparable to that of a medieval and socially challenged tree-hugger, most of the Italians I've met have been all too eager to help me learn their language.

Mostly this has involved laughing at my accent (no change there, then) and helping me craft the perfect insults and hand gestures necessary to confront the drivers who try to run me over each day, but I've also learnt lots of new words. Some are more useful than others, some are just really quite funny, and I'm 99% sure none of them were used by Dante. These are my ten favourites so far.

"vestirsi a cipolla" 
= to wear several layers of clothing
This literally means "to dress oneself like an onion", and I first heard it from my host mum in a discussion about English weather. She innocently enquired 'But don't you have to dress like an onion during English winter?', which, frankly, baffled me. At first I thought she'd got us confused with the French (who all go around on bicycles in stripy tops and onion garlands, so I've heard) but eventually it transpired that she was talking about jumpers and winter coats rather than vegetables. Makes sense when you think about it, sort of, and it's a cute little phrase.

"che figo/fico!"
= how cool!
This is used all the time. It literally means 'what a fig!' but in Italian can describe anything from a snazzy scooter to the British monarchy to your outfit. But it is a compliment - you just have to be careful the final 'o' doesn't come out as an 'a', or you're saying something entirely different...

"gattara"
= crazy cat lady
I've seen a fair few candidates for this description whilst out and about in Rome, so it's not surprising they have their own word for it. The Italians already find it hilarious that I'm called Cat (Catherine is a bit much for them as it tends to morph into 'Cazzzzzerina'), so I'm doing everything I can to stop this becoming my new nickname.

"beccare qualcuno"
= to hit on someone
'Beccare' means to peck, so this seems particularly appropriate having witnessed the insistence of certain Italian menfolk.

"avere una faccia tosta"
= to be tough/determined
I've heard this used a lot in the context of young people in Italy at the moment, who are faced with soaring unemployment rates in the wake of the economic crisis. It literally means 'to have a tough face' and sort of makes it sound like the Italians are planning to deal with the problems in their economy by way of a staring contest or something.

"sbrodolone" 
= someone who is a messy eater
I love how Italian manages to convey certain ideas in a single word, usually one which is lots of fun to say. This one comes from the verb 'sbrodolare' meaning to spill or dirty, so together with the suffix 'one' it translates as 'a big spiller'. Brilliant.

"stare fuori come un balcone"
= to be out of it like a balcony
This can mean 'out of your mind' (like the more commonly used 'fuori di testa') but in Rome seems to be used mostly to mean 'drunk'. It reminds me a bit of Michael McIntyre's 'gazeboed' sketch, and I hope to introduce it to the English language.

"limonare" 
= to make out with someone
Granted, 'lemoning' sounds a lot nicer than most English slang for kissing - the abolition of the word 'snog' is long overdue - but that doesn't make it any more normal. An alternative verb I've heard used is 'pomiciare', which literally means 'to polish with a pumice stone' and really doesn't inspire much confidence in Italian kissing techniques.

"precipitevolissimevolmente"
= as fast as you can
One of my favourite things about Italian is the endings which modify word meanings - for example, 'accia' meaning 'bad', so a 'parolaccia' is a swear word and 'linguaccia' is sticking your tongue out, and 'issimo' meaning very'. It sums up the Italian tendency to go a little overboard; nothing's ever 'fine' or 'OK' here, it's always 'benissimo!' or 'bellissimo!' which can be tricky for a Brit to come to terms with, trained as we are to reign in all emotions and apologise at any given opportunity. Apparently this is also the longest word in modern Italian - try saying that precipitevolissimevolmente.

And finally...

"Boh!"
It roughly means 'I don't know', but must be delivered along with your finest dumbfounded expression, palms upward, eyes wide and generally looking as though the person you're conversing with has just asked you to explain string theory. It's so much fun to say, and if you perfect this, you are basically a fully fledged Italian.

Going to the beach in November

Last weekend, my first in Rome, I took a train to Sperlonga beach, determined to make the most out of the last drops of summer. We arrived to find the beach totally empty, with just miles of sandy coast (plus loads of stray cats, and an ice cream vendor who looked at us with mild confusion when we went to buy gelato) for company.

 Although it was still just about what you could call 'beach weather' at the start of November, for Italians it was already way too cold, and by this time they had all retreated back inland. There seems to be a very narrow range of acceptable temperatures for the average Italian, whereby anything below 20 degrees is cause for hibernation, but the August heat sends them rushing to the coast for the sea breezes.

Sperlonga is the beach getaway of choice for most Romans - back in the day, even Emperor Tiberius had a villa there. During the summer months it is crammed with rows of sun beds and umbrellas, which seems to be the norm for Italian beaches; all the popular resorts are absolutely packed over summer during the mass exodus of Italians to the coast.

Different hotels or private beach clubs divide up the beach between them, fililing their patch with rows of deckchairs and sunloungers, and you'd be hard pressed to find a secluded spot. But when we went it was almost deserted, and it was beautiful.

The village itself doesn't seem nearly as commercialised or spoilt as Rimini, remaining on the low key end of the spectrum. A walk up the steep and winding path to the village, which sits on top of a hill, offers a vantage point over the port, various stretches of beach, and miles of ocean.

Unusually for Italy there were brightly coloured flowers everywhere, draped over people's walls and terraces. It looked a bit like the setting of Mamma Mia, and you half expected Meryl Streep to pop out from around a corner and burst into song - but it was silent.

The houses are whitewashed, and take on a subdued orangey glow as the sun sinks lower. We watched the sunset over the water before finally getting the train back to Termini - it only took about an hour and a half, but couldn't have seemed further away.

Rome, sweet home: Moving in!

Flat hunting in Rome is not for the fainthearted. At first I was surprised by the sheer number of apartments available, especially given my criteria of a three-month period, and a location in the centre of Rome, but many of these were quickly eliminated as it became clear they each had their own special 'quirks' (read: reasons not to live there ever ever). But today I finally moved in to my new home for the next three months, much like a real grown up.

In Bologna, I cheated a bit on the house finding front, and my host family came to the rescue - never underestimate the importance of having some locals on your side if you plan on getting anything done in Italy. For the first month I stayed in their converted attic, then for the second they offered me my very own independent flat. Although this was a bit retro in some ways - the water heater was a blue gas flame beneath the tank, which made terrifying gurgling sounds any time I dared turn it on - it was lovely, really big and in a nice area just outside Bologna's city walls.

I loved the whole moving in thing. Even cleaning the bathroom was pretty exciting (I suspect the novelty of this particular task may wear off soon though), as was doing my first food (or more specifically, cereal, tea and biscuits) shop. The neighbours were great, by which I mean someone on the ground floor had an Aristocats welcome mat, and the lady who lived opposite was very kind when I had a near-breakdown on my doorstep because I couldn't unlock the door. I may have been using the wrong key.

The downside of the smooth start to my year abroad accommodation-wise was that it made the Rome situation all the more terrifying, especially as Italians seem to be utter Internetphobes and everything has to be done over the phone, rather than in nice easy Word Reference-able emails. Being forced to check vital details and negotiate on the spot in another language is a true sink-or-swim situation...but I'd like to think I managed to swim, or at least tread water in a panicky, uncontrolled manner, splashing water around unnecessarily and looking like a lunatic but ultimately staying afloat. The flathunt involved charging round the different neighbourhoods of Rome, checking out dubious decor, pretending to understand various contracts and definitely-not-legit suggested payment arrangements, and having awkward conversations with potential future flatmates. Many of these were unfortunately yet more creepster men in their thirties, keen to tell me how much they'd love to live with an English girl.

Naturally, in the end I chose the first apartment I'd got in touch with. It's in a nice, studenty area and really close to the other two girls who are here from Oxford, as well as being opposite a metro station. The flat is shared with four Italian students, which is basically the holy grail in terms of language learning (assuming I summon up the courage to get off my laptop and interact with them once in a while, of course).

My view is uninspiring - it's of a wall - but now Daylight Savings have hit (in typically unorganised Italian fashion which completely messed up my flat-viewing schedule that day, I might add), I'll be out of the house most of the time it's light anyway. My room here is also the smallest out of the approximately sixty three thousand that I saw, but the tiny-ness isn't really a problem since I only have 23kg of possessions to my name here. The problem was that most of the others I found were just rooms to rent in someone's flat. Some were absolutely gorgeous and in amazing buildings, and one had a pet parrot and a roof terrace overlooking the Colosseum which I did fall a tiny bit in love with. None of the landladies were happy with any visitors at all though, and I didn't really seeing the point in paying a lot more for a bigger room if I can't invite people round to show it off. This room feels like it's properly mine - my very own bit of Rome.

One of the best bits about my new home is the front door to the building, which is very old and grand, and fancily decorated. In Italian, the word palazzo (palace) is used to describe apartment blocks, and it feels quite apt every time I walk through the two-storeys-high door to come home. Overall, what with finding somewhere to live, and starting my new job tomorrow, I'm feeling quite the adult. We'll see how long that lasts.