Roman Holiday

Every town has a grouch. Even the smallest town in Italy. The grump stands apart, waving his arms while everyone else bustles around finishing chores before the holiday.

He complains, though no one pays a bit of attention. Not the woman in the window rolling pastry. Not the man in the tree, sawing a branch that’s about to crack. Not the others hoisting crates out of carts, delivering wine (or maybe grappa) just in time for the celebration. Certainly not the kids clustered by the barrel where eels swim round and round, promising a succulent dish for Christmas Eve supper.

With no arrows or directions, I almost missed the little button that brought this miniature village--one of an exhibit of creches, or presepi--to life. One push, and the entire tableau sprang into action: Wheels spun, fires crackled, the workman sawed and the eels whirled. And the grouchy man scolded, eyes wide, arms pumping, testifying to a simple human truth: Even at holiday time, some people are never satisfied.

We, on the other hand, were thrilled. Last December, looking for a break from the usual frenzied run-up to Christmas, a college friend, Vicki Holdren, and I left our families behind for a weeklong trip to Italy. Our to-do list included equal parts gift-buying and sightseeing. Rome gave us that and much more: a look at centuries of holiday tradition.

In Italy the Christmas season doesn’t start until Dec. 8, with the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a day honoring the Christ child’s mother, when presepi, or nativity scenes, are unveiled from behind curtains.

They appear not just in churches but in stores, train stations, town squares and private homes, each striving to be the most special: the biggest, the smallest, the most intricate, the most realistic.

When he was a child, my friend Marco Fogliani, who grew up in a town north of Rome, thought of little else after Dec. 8, spending nearly every waking moment planning the family masterpiece, complete with waterfall and grotto.

Italy is, after all, the place where the nativity scene was created. In 1223, St. Francis of Assisi celebrated Mass in Greccio, a village about 60 miles east of Rome, by torchlight alongside a manger filled with hay, echoing the scene in Bethlehem.

In its simplicity, the idea caught on, evolving into the creches of today. Nativity scenes are the heart of the holiday traditions in this predominantly Roman Catholic country.

Not that they are always religious. Reflecting centuries of friction between church and state, the city of Rome has been known to feature anticlerical details in its elaborate displays.

Nor are they always limited to December. A monumental 18th century depiction of a Naples street scene can be found year-round in a church beside the main entrance to the Roman Forum.

At the Basilica of Sts. Cosma and Damiano is a creche of incredible richness, featuring hundreds of miniatures. From the chestnut vendor to the blind person, the soldier, the piper and a woman hanging clothes, all were lifted from everyday life in the 1700s--a period considered the high point of nativity scene craftsmanship--by Neapolitan masters. (Naples is considered the center of Italian creche artistry.)

But my favorite creche was the one with the grouchy man. Strolling in the Piazza del Popolo, the pedestrian-only square that is one of Rome’s most popular and lively, we spied a huge banner that promised “100 Presepi.” For about $2.75, who could resist?

The annual exhibit was set up in rooms behind the Santa Maria del Popolo church. Midway down the second aisle, after seeing 20 or so sincere little efforts in clay and straw, I wondered whether the childlike displays were intended for a local audience of loving mothers and doting grandmas.

But I persevered and was rewarded. Treasures lay in the rooms beyond: antique marionettes; superbly detailed facial expressions on priceless 18th century figures from Genoa; figurines on loan from museums across Italy, including the Three Kings dressed in sumptuous costumes of brocade and velvet, from a Naples museum. And finally, “Presepi in Movimento,” with the cranky man and those rascally kids.

But our fascination with the presepio came later in our trip.

On our first afternoon in the city, we started on foot from our hotel, Santa Anna on the Borgo Pio. In a 16th century building, the 20-room hotel has modern marble bathrooms, and our room, though decorated with an eccentric sense of color, was spacious and clean.

Said to be the site of one of the Emperor Nero’s revels, the Borgo Pio is a narrow street just east of the wall surrounding Vatican City. On previous trips I had crossed it dozens of times on the way to the Ottaviano-San Pietro Metro stop, had eaten at its pizzerias and had fallen in love with a certain tiny greengrocer’s. Matrons come to shop here for their produce, and nailed to the outside were seven or eight baskets heaped daily with garlic, oranges, bananas, potatoes and bunches of leafy greens, beautiful splashes of color against softly faded ochre walls. The Borgo Pio made a good base for our wanderings across the city.

Vicki and I had circled across the Tiber River, east past the ancient Pantheon and southeast all the way to the Piazza Venezia, when our legs buckled. Trudging to a Metro stop in the dark, we thought we might just call it a night when, looking up, we discovered a wall filled with concert posters. “Musica d’Avvento”--Advent music--was scheduled for that evening, and seeing the words “ingresso libero” (free entry), we knew we had to seize the moment.

We were revived by the lovely a cappella concert in a former church. Its walls were lined with oils of heroic angels and encrusted in splendid gold Rococo ornamentation, a perfect holiday setting for the 26 magical voices who performed works by Renaissance master Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina.

We arrived at the Colosseum at 9 the next morning, and we were busy sightseeing all day, not even stopping for lunch. At 6 p.m. we found ourselves again outside the Pantheon facing a row of trattorie. Restaurateurs beckoned us in fluent English.

“Hungry? Come inside,” one said.

Restaurant Rule No. 1: Never eat at a place with a barker. As famished (and cranky) as we were, we kept looking. A few blocks away we discovered Osteria dell’Ingegno, where the food and wine are so good that the proprietor can afford to be indifferent to those passing outside his door. At 8 p.m. we were the second party to be seated, but within 30 minutes every table was filled, and newcomers were being turned away.

Of course, the season put shopping high on our agenda. Drawn by the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, good-natured crowds and little Christmas trees twinkling on every corner, we went to the Via Condotti, one of Rome’s premier shopping districts, by the Spanish Steps.

At Sermoneta Gloves on Piazza di Spagna, Vicki crossed several names off her gift list. I flirted with various gloves in shades of tan and brown but finally chose a buttery soft leather pair, in black with a fuzzy warm lining, for $23.

Though many of the shops near the Spanish Steps aren’t open in the evening, restaurant reservations brought us back to the area one night, leading to an encounter with another of Rome’s Christmas traditions: zampognari and pifferari, shepherd pipers who traditionally descend from mountain villages around Rome to play outside the city’s churches. We almost rushed past the two pipers without noticing them but were lured back by their distinctive dress: thick white hose with crisscrossed leather leggings, trousers buckled just below the knee and bulky black capes.

Their instruments (similar to bagpipes) created a haunting sound as the duo played adaptations of old hill tunes. In centuries past, it is said, they walked the hundred or so miles to the city, stopping along the way to play their music in exchange for food and lodging.

Southwest of the Spanish Steps is the Piazza Navona, which is home to another seasonal tradition. Cheerful vendors from outlying regions start setting up as early as Dec. 1 for the annual fair of La Befana, a Christmas shopping market named in honor of the kindly witch who brings holiday gifts to Italian children on Jan. 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

We stumbled upon the market one balmy night under a shiny crescent moon. Wandering among the colorful stalls that flanked Bernini’s magnificent Fountain of the Four Rivers, we passed beautiful handmade items, from laces to chessboards.

But it was the miniatures that lured us back several times. Each vendor displayed an infinite variety of tiny, intricately detailed figures ready to inspire a dollhouse if not a presepio.

The aroma of roasting chestnuts filled the air as men hunched over small stoves. Italy’s traditional Christmas sweets include panettone (a large yeast cake dotted with candied fruit), torrone (nougat) and panforte (gingerbread).

Giggling children walked away from candy caravans with big red lollipops, cotton candy, marzipan and pieces of chocolate-dipped fruit.

We lingered at one booth where an older woman was busy organizing rows of figurines. She spoke no English, and I hesitated to ask about prices. But her face broke into a radiant smile as we admired a figurine of a cobbler hammering a last nail.

Willingly, patiently, she wrote prices on a paper bag, directing her teenage son to continue straightening the miniature housewives cutting melons, the tiny stoves, the men at their workbenches, and the camels, donkeys and baby Jesuses, priced according to size and detail.

An irresistible hen warming a nest of impossibly small eggs made the first (and, at $1.50, the cheapest) of several souvenirs.

At other booths we picked through an assortment of Christmas tree ornaments, including many versions of La Befana herself. An Italian folk character much like Santa Claus, La Befana is a kindly old crone, or fairy queen.

According to legend, the Three Wise Men stopped during their journey to ask her for food and shelter, and she was too busy to help. Now, to atone for her error, on the feast of the Epiphany she travels the world on a broom bringing gifts to good children and a bag of ashes to those who misbehave. With typical Italian hospitality, La Befana welcomes even her competitors: We spied Babbo Natale (Father Christmas) making the rounds of the market, posing for pictures with squirming toddlers.

We had come for shopping, Michelangelo and the Galleria Borghese. But we left with a taste for ancient holiday traditions kept alive by friendly, good-humored people.

Though the Italians didn’t invent the Christmas season, they may have perfected it.

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Guidebook: Creche Course in Rome

Getting there: Alitalia, Swissair, Lufthansa, US Airways and Continental have connecting service from LAX. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $712.

Telephones: To reach the numbers below from the U.S., dial 011 (the international access code), 39 (the code for Italy), 06 (city code for Rome) and the local number.

Where to stay: On this trip we discovered the Hotel Santa Anna, 133 Borgo Pio; 68-80-1602, fax 68-30-8717, www.travel.it/roma/santanna. In a 16th century building. The bathrooms are modernized, and its 20 rooms are a bargain. Rates: about $115-$171 double.

Another option on the same block is Hotel della Conciliazione, 163-164-165 Borgo Pio, 68-75-400, fax 68-80-1164. Doubles from $120.

On previous trips, I stayed at the Columbus Hotel, in a former monastery a couple of hundred yards from St. Peter’s Basilica, 33 Via della Conciliazione, 68-65-435, fax 68-64-874,

www.italy-rome-hotel.com/rome-hotels/columbus. Doubles $219.

Where to eat: Osteria dell’Ingegno, 45 Piazza di Pietra; 678-0662. This stylish little place fills up as soon as the doors open. We both ordered orecchiette, which my friend raved about. Most pasta dishes run about $9-$12.

Hostaria da Nerone, 96 Via delle Terme di Tito; tel./fax 481-7952. Close to the Colosseum. Most pasta dishes around $6, entrees around $20. I recommend a local specialty, rigatoni con la pajata (with calf intestines), which was excellent (about $6).

Domiziana, 88 Piazza Navona; 687-9647. Wonderful pizza margherita and a beer for $7.

Nino, 11 Via Borgognona; 678-6752. Two courses (seafood) with bread, coffee and dessert, $47 for two. Reservations are needed.

Ristorante Asinocotto, 48 Via dei Vascellari; tel./fax 589-8985, www.giulianobrenna.com. Although Asinocotto may look like the traditional Trastevere trattoria, chef Giuliano Brenna deserves every bit of the acclaim he’s received in the past several years. Dinner for two about $75 without wine. Make reservations before you leave home--it’s that popular.

For more information: Italian Government Tourist Board, 12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 550, Los Angeles, CA 90025; (310) 820-1898, fax (310) 820-6357, www.italiantourism.com and www.enit.it.

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Carole Christie is a freelance writer living in St. Louis.