Friends, Romans,countrymen lend me your Moncler

I’ve long since considered Romans to be the sensationally over-accessorized Barbie Dolls in the toy box where the English would be Steiff teddy bears, perennially redecorating Dolls Houses. The average Roman owns an exhaustive range of designer accessories, enough to make the ground floor of an Harvey Nichols department store feel inadequate. Winter sunglasses, summer sunglasses, swimming goggles, skiing sunglasses and goggles, sometimes I wonder if their passion for seasonal sports exists only to facilitate  their obsession with modelling the latest quality accessories, prime example: The Roman skier.

Every February, as soon as they have digested their last "Frappe"(Roman "Pancake Day" food),  Romans strap their skis onto their little silvery cars and hurtle up the motorway to invade the Alps and the Dolomites, in much the same way their mighty ancestors invaded Northern Europe centuries ago. Faultlessly accessorized and exorbitantly decked out in Moncler  (unoffical suppliers of the Roman ski uniform) they are ready to face their greatest enemy since Boadicea: snowboarders.  They regard them with as much contempt as Jaguar drivers felt for gold Ford Capri drivers in the 70s.  Roman skiers, as far as they are concerned, own the mountains and snowboarders are cheapening their territory, way more than Ryanair could ever cheapen air travel and that takes some doing.

As an aspiring New Roman, I realise I’ll never be fully respected until I can ski and accessorize properly (should I be wearing slippers and sunglasses typing this?)  so last weekend I set off for Roccaraso, in Abruzzo. It’s a relaxing ski resort which has been unexpectedly conquered by wealthy Neapolitans. By car, it takes less than three hours from Rome, subtract 30 mins if a Roman is driving you there, or an hour if his ancestors are Neapolitan. Within twenty minutes of my arrival in the resort, two local brothers (think Newhart) kitted me out, under the supervison of their wise old aunt who invented a price and introduced me to another brother who promised to teach me all I needed to know. True to his word, three days later I could perform a respectable snow-plough, although I'm confused about why the position internationally referred to as "slice of pizza" is called "fish fin" in Italy, equally "french fries" is called "unite your skis"  And I thought Italians were into their food.

 Back in the Eternal city, I feel more Roman than Caesar himself until the Romans catch sight of my burnt face. Once again, I’m exposed as an imposter and lectured about the difference between Piz Buin lotion for the beach and for the mountains, goggles for skiing and sunglasses for Winter walks in Trastevere. Come on Romans! Are you telling me  Marc Antony was wearing his funeral-oration sunglasses for his “Lend me your ears” speech, because  his fling-with-an-Egyptian-queen goggles wouldn't have been appropriate? Of course he was.

  

A note for visitors to Rome who fancy going skiing: My hotel recommendation is the Hotel Suisse in Roccaraso. Perfect for a “settimana bianca” (white week.skiing holiday), it’ s a friendly, cosy family hotel which keeps its Christmas lights and outside Christmas trees in place well into March. The food is average, but the overall value is good and the staff can’t do enough for you, even denying themselves a good snigger when you look like a partially deflated hot-air balloon in your ski suit. Tripadvisor has only one review because this place is a secret. The review is in Italian but trust me, a good time was had by all.
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Escape like Princess Hepburn did with Peck

My first accommodation recommendation is a hidden gem, run by the family of a friend of mine, who inherited their rooftop apartment, from an ancestor who was a well-respected artist of his time. It's called "The Episcopo Lipinsky Bed and Breakfast." I know what you are thinking; not a very Roman name, sounds like an ex-president's church-going lover but bear with me.

Recently I watched Roman Holiday again and for the first time I recognised the rooftops outside Gregory Peck's escalator sized apartment where Audrey Hepburn sleeps in his pjs and quotes Shelley. Much of the film was shot in a tiny, hidden backstreet called Via Margutta in central Rome. Gregory's neighbours back in the 50's would have included Federico Fellini and the aforementioned artist's family. This tastefully refurbished B&B shares the same views and street as Gregory's place.

From street level, all a passerby sees is a ceramic wall-mounted Madonnina ( little statue of the Madonna), half- hidden under creepers, next to a large racing green wooden door, which seems to be the entrance to the period apartment building but in fact leads you into a secluded, lush courtyard garden full of palms, creepers and a number of blissed out cats. The apartments are behind the garden, backing onto the Borghese Gardens, Rome's largest central park. The location feels like a secret garden in a capital city centre and the views over Piazza del Popolo are a favourite with George Clooney, a regular guest at nearby Hotel di Russie.

So check it out on TripAdvisor. Reviews all fair in my opinion, even the American guest's negative review. It seemed almost apologetic for not appreciating the beauty and pedigree of the place. For sure, more luxury could be purchased elsewhere on the same budget but magic is priceless if you are a romantic such as myself, isn't it? A B&B in Rome means you can live like an aspiring Roman; you may see the bins by the entrance, wonder if the Hercule Poirot epoque lift will make it to the top floor, but you'll also feel the atmosphere of a genuine Roman Holiday gone by. Book well in advance as there are only two main suites and I can't keep my mouth shut about this place forever. Metro: Spagna
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