Lido d'Ostia is at the end of one of the Roman city transport lines, which has the funny name of ATAC. Good thing they're not English-speaking or whenever people rode the bus they would be afraid of terrorists. My friend R the Roman gave some good advice about getting off at Stella Polare (North Star) and turning right to access the free beach. The beach is very well-organized, with areas fenced off for paying beach-goers whose fee gets them a beach umbrella or a lounge chair with a sunshade, and areas for the rest of the freeloading bumpkins.
Going to the beach should be Week 1 of a meditation seminar. From what I know of meditation (and that is very little) I believe one is supposed to empty one's mind. I have tried to do this in yoga, in between thinking "you want me to put my elbow WHERE?" and it is quite difficult. But at the beach - it must be the combination of the water and waves providing the right level of ambient recognizable noise...together with a bunch of interesting individuals, couples, and families to watch...together with what my friend LL calls the ball of death in the sky...together with a vast array of Things You Don't Need But Find Fun to Buy At the Beach. Like a tattoo!
Yes, I now have a temporary tattoo. There were all these men walking around doing what seems like the hardest job in the world, selling people various items they don't need or want because who wants to go home from the beach carrying MORE than they came with? There were vendors of sparkly cheap trinkets, woven bracelets, jewelry made from poor dead African snakes and animals with bones, swimsuits (not as crazy as you would think, because I saw at least 3 people swimming in their brassieres), coconut pieces, and tattoos. I did buy some coconut, and also a tattoo.
The man selling the tattoo was from Bangladesh, as of 2 months ago, which seems like just about the biggest culture shock one could suffer. To come from a place where women walk around fully clothed and even wear sunglasses to avoid meeting men's eyes (thanks Becky from Grand Rapids, MI!) to a country where you spend all day painting on half-naked people...crouching in positions shown below.
Step 1: First you select a tattoo from Tattoo Guy's Trapper Keeper. This is how he advertises - walking around turning the plastic pages in the binder hoping that the rose with thorns or peace symbol will catch someone's eye.
Step 2: Tattoo Guy traces it with a skin-clinging ink pen on a little sheet of waxy paper.
Step 3: You show where you want the tattoo and Tattoo Guy rolls over it with what looks like deodorant but must be some other technologically advanced product.
Step 4: Tattoo Guy transfers his tracing to your skin.
Step 5: Tattoo Guy draws in the tracing with gooey black stuff they must get from BP.
I have to admit that I got uncomfortable in my tattoo-consumer position (10-15min?) - and not because I was watching this disturbing couple molest each other a few towels away (that's an in-person story, too icky to blog about). Physically uncomfortable because of holding my body so still. And then of course felt immediately guilty because I'm on vacation and this guy has to contort himself and ruin his knees on an all-daily basis.
After my tattoo I took a walk down the beach. Even though it is not possible to access the pay beach from the sidewalk, one is free to stroll down the shore. I noticed lots of families and - something rare at US beaches - older people. As in, people north of 70 or 80 years old. They were often playing with grandchildren. It felt all snuggly and family-oriented.
Then I came home and proceeded to turn bright red. Don't know what I was thinking except thankfully I didn't arrive until after 2pm so missed the worst of it. I for one was in "the sun won't hurt me, I have a tattoo" mode and also didn't like the idea of putting sunscreen over the film of sea salt from my pre-tattoo swim. Very, very silly for a pale Vampire-wanna-be like Chiara. Today I will spend indoors or covered up, like Bangladeshi women.
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