In Good Company in Rome

I didn't run the Spanish Steps this morning, but I did run around the walls of the Vatican thinking that I could mark off one of the seven hills as 'done', only to later find out that it is the eighth hill.

I have recruited company for the remainder of my stay in the eternal city: my mother has flown down from a frosty Scotland to explore the markets and make faces at restaurant menus with me. As a long time dairy and gluten allergy sufferer, we make an interesting dining-out team. And as a self professed fan of my blog (having embraced the world of blogging with a remarkable insouciance), she has been extremely eager to make her cameo appearance here; persistently inquiring after when she will be 'blogged about' and giving helpful input, all day long, as to what should be included in the day's account.

So the following has nothing to do with either Ironman training or plant-based diets, but has everything to do with what happens when a dietaryily-handicapped mother-daughter pair set loose on Rome. Mum, please do let me know if there are any errors or omissions.

In advance of my company's arrival, I relocated from my hotel near Porta Pia to a self-catering apartment on a quiet street just outside the Vatican walls. The idea was that, if necessary, we could retreat to cook our own meals (I had visions of sitting down in a pizzeria and ordering like this: "Hi. I'll have the four seasons with no cheese and no meat, please, and my mother here will have the ham and pineapple with no crust"). It has actually worked out that, with the exception of breakfast (we start our day with a slice of gluten-free bread spread with fig jam from a local market and black tea which we make in a billy-can, for want of a kettle), there has been no need to rough it with our own food prep facilities. When not eating our way around markets (I focus on the nut stalls for protein, Mum focuses on anything that has polenta as an alternative to flour, and we both focus on the olives) we have been dining in the buffet-style eateries that can be found in just about any neighbourhood. These are the places where the working Romans go for lunch everyday, and so would I if I lived here: the food is homemade, inexpensive, and there are no surprises. It's like picture-menu food: there's no need to use your imagination when ordering. There are also staff on hand to pepper with questions about any dishes that are ambiguous in appearance ('but what are the tomatoes stuffed with?', 'but what is the artichoke battered in?').

Yesterday's lunchtime find was a particular gem. In a lane somewhere north of the Spanish steps, we walked past an art gallery-cum-restaurant. I didn't even stop to look at the menu, sure that it was not going to be in our loosely-defined budget range. But my less-presumptive mother did, proving that it doesn't pay to make assumptions. The restaurant, which was 'proudly vegetarian since 1979', had an entire menu section entitled Vegano. Let me repeat: a vegetarian art gallery restaurant, in Rome, with a section of the menu devoted to vegan food. When we pushed the heavy door open, I was expecting to enter an establishment where the 'alternative' lifestyle Romans (who I have yet to spot) were dining, but instead we found a crowd of well-heeled twenty-somethings, middle-aged well-to-doers and business luncheons in full force. Much more Gucci than tie-die. While the art wasn't quite to our liking (and you can view it on their website), the food was unbelievably good, and the total cost of our meal for two was less than a gallery visit.

Besides eating, shopping but not buying, talking over coffees in various piazzas when the sun is out and, ducking into churches when the heavens have opened, we've done our share of walking. By the end of yesterday, it appeared that I had pushed the limits of the generational gap on this front. Mum's legs were done, and the first signs of blisters were threatening to bring an abrupt end to all bipedal mobility. Since we're the same shoe size, we came up with the solution of fitting her in my running shoes (for those who care about these things, I wear the Mizuno Wave Creation). Having not been in a pair of runners since the early 80's, and then they were strictly gardening footwear, her first few steps on the ultra-responsive midsole were a little unsteady. She looked like she might tip forward which each springy step. But her stride quickly adjusted, and we headed up to the Vatican with at least a 20% increase in our ambling speed. She positively sprung around the marble basilica floor of St Peter's, exclaiming 'zoom zoom!' whenever moving from standing to a walking motion.

There are some things for which genetics offers no explanation.