Last Day in Italy: Part 4

Even though I didn't think it was possible to feel more tired than I had when I went to bed, I now realized it was not only possible, but it was a matter of fact:  I felt like complete trash.  

But there was no choice in the matter.  I HAD to get up and I had better get moving.  There were two shuttle buses I could possibly catch, one at 7:00 and one at 7:15.  I figured if I shot for the 7am one, I'd make the 7:15.  Sure enough, as I said my good-byes and headed out the hostel doors, it was 7:05.  

I asked the taxi drivers where the shuttle bus was and they were kind enough to point me in the right direction.  As I approached the bus though, I noticed that the sign said "Ciampino" and not "Fiumicino" where I needed to go.  So I asked the driver, and he points me in the opposite direction (from where I had just come) and told me there were two buses, and I needed the other one.  It's now about 7:12 and I'm a little worried I might miss it, but it's only about a hundred yards away.  

So I hurry my biscuits back toward the other bus and as I do, I pass the cabbies again.  They look at me confused and I say: Wrong airport.  This stimulates lots of words, of which I only get - two buses, same place.  They're saying I have to take the train.  Hmm.  Well the other driver seems to know what he was talking about, so I'm going to at least walk down there and find out.  

When I get there, the driver confirms that he's going to Fiumicino (yay!), but then quickly follows that up with, "I'm taking a private group."  So I can't get on?? Nope.  Not even if I pay??  I'll pay!!  Nope.  Auuuughhhhh!  Turns out the cabbies were right; I am going to have to take the train.  

So I double back (again) for the train and head over to track 24 where I know the airport express train is (one benefit of "living" near the Metro is you learn your way around).  The train is still there and scheduled to leave in about 2 minutes - yikes!  I've got to hurry!

I see a little booth with a man in it and ask him if I can buy a ticket at the electronic machine (I know the ticket is 11 EU and since I only have 8 on me, I'm hoping to just put it on a card).  No he says, you can only buy it from me or at a ticket booth.  Gar!  Okay, okay.  Then I remember I have some change the pocket of my bag - perhaps I have enough to make up the difference and I can just buy it right now.  So I reach my hand in and...empty.  Crap!  That's right, I was robbed.  Forgot about that.  

I frantically search my brain for the nearest cash machine (because the booth doesn't take cards) and I'm in a desperate hurry; this train is leaving any minute.  I run to the bank a few feet away, but it's not open yet.  Augh!!    As I turn around, the train doors shut.  It's too late; I'm not getting on.  

At this point, I'm so tired, and so frustrated, and convinced I'm going to miss my flight home I just begin to soooob.  A man nearby is coming to unlock the door to the bank and thinks this is why I'm crying (which I am...but not really) and explains to me that it's now open; everything is okay.  But it's not okay - though I don't bother to explain to him.  

I go in to use the cash machine, but (as I had learned on a previous attempt) this machine won't do foreign transactions.  So I glumly head over to the other side of the stupid station where I know there is a cash machine that will work for me and get 20 EU cash, the smallest amount I can get out.  Then I pathetically walk back to the man in the ticket booth and purchase my ticket.  In a voice thick with tears, I ask him when the next train is.  7:52 - in 30 minutes.  

My flight is at 10am and with a half hour travel time from the station to the airport I'll be getting there with only an hour and a half before my flight.   That's cutting it REAL close for an international flight.  What am I going to do if I miss my flight?  I have no way to contact my family to tell them I won't be on it, plus, since it's an award travel ticket - how do I even change it if I need to?  

I can feel another wave of hysteria coming on, so I head to the closest café in the station so I can find a corner to crawl into and mentally collapse.  But it's commuter time and the place is packed.  I decide to get a cappuccino (perhaps the caffeine will clear up my thoughts a bit) and sit down.  It's probably good that I gave myself a task to focus on, but in the end, the coffee made me feel physically even more terrible (I wasn't in the greatest shape from the night before).  I now felt even more dizzy and like I had a terrible coffee buzz.  Augh, I hope I don't ralph on the train; that would just top this nightmare off.  

The thirty minutes pass quickly and I soon make my way out to wait for the train.  Since my coat was stolen, I only have a thin zip-up to keep me warm in the early morning chill.  As my teeth chatter, I try not to think about the fact that I got robbed and concentrate on not throwing up and just continuing to move forward to the next task.  I need to get from here to the train.  From the train to the airport...

The train ride is uneventful and (thankfully) even though I've never been to this airport before, I locate my terminal and find the United check-in desk with no problem.  Since I'm flying first class (thank you Dad!) I get to skip the line and head straight for the desk.  I'm worried I'm not in time for my flight, not to mention that I'm 99% sure my bag is over the 50 lb limit.  I'm convinced she's going to deliver either of these pieces of bad news to me at any minute, but the ticket agent just continues at her regular pace, and appears to be checking me in.  

Suddenly though, she begins speaking in rapid Italian to the agent next to her.  For some reason, this alarms me and prompts me to say, "Is there a problem?"  As I wait for the answer, my whole body is tense.  I am tired to the point of sheer weariness, I don't know how many more hurdles I can jump in my state of exhaustion; I'm legitimately afraid that I'll dissolve into unending tears if there is a problem.  

The agent looks up and smiles and says, "Oh no, I was just answering the other agent's question about something else.  Here is your boarding pass.  Head around the desk to security and then a shuttle will take you to gate C."  

I expel the breath I'd been holding and simultaneously say, "Oh."  I explain that I'd had a rough morning and I was worried I was also going to miss my flight.  She doesn't reply, but just smiles at me.  I pick up my bags and decide that lingering longer only gives her more of an opportunity to tell me my bag is over the limit, so I get out of there.  As I approach the security line, I check out my ticket: departure time is 10:30.  Huh, how do you like that?  I guess I hadn't seen the most updated itinerary the last time I checked.  It slowly dawned on me...you're going to make it.  

I spent 14 of the next 19 hours in the air and despite my exhaustion - I didn't sleep.  I knew if I could stay awake until I got home, I would be able to take the fast-track to avoiding jet lag.  Fortunately, flying first class is a great way to do that.  I had hours of movie and TV entertainment on demand at my finger tips.  I know I've said this before, but if you're going to travel internationally, first class is really the only way to go.  I highly recommend it.  

Last Day in Italy: Part 3

After the aforementioned time, we headed to a nearby club. Unlike American clubs a) there was no cover charge and b) there was smoking inside. It was, however, packed inside. We made our way to the edge of the room and I set down my coat and bag at a nearby table and then we danced it up. I quickly noticed that most of the waiters and bar tender from the restaurant were there, so I said hello, but tried to stick with Romeo. Despite the club being packed, people didn't seem to stick to just one spot - or one person. Everyone was switching partners and moving all across the room. I think I danced with some of the waiters...? But it was so dark (and they all look alike...) so it was kind of hard to tell.

And let me just say that in clubs in Italy (or at least in this one) people are...I guess I'll say, friendly. There were a lot of roaming hands and I have no idea who any of them belonged to. I felt like I spent half my time evading "hands." But that's the difference between an American hands-off culture and an Italian grab-life-by-the-horns attitude (if you know what I mean).

Soon though Romeo says to me, "Where is your bag?" I'm busy really dancin' it up to Rihanna at that particular moment, so I look at him like, "Duh, it's right there - remember?" But he pulls me over to right next to the bench and says, "I don't see it - where is it?" Uh oh. We look for it, but I already know that it's not there. Okay Lord, please take care of me...

As we continue to look and not find it, I tell myself, "Okay. It's okay. No matter what, they're just things. You can always get new things. You have copies of your passport, you should still be able to get home. It's going to be okay..."

Romeo is asking me what was in the bag and the only response I can think to give (in this very loud and crowded atmosphere) is, "Everything." As I'm standing there trying to think what to do next, I see someone pass my bag to someone else and then that person sets it down on the floor. It does not even occur to me to see who these people are or to go after them in pursuit of what is most likely not in the bag, I am just so relieved to see my bag.

I sit down with it and take stock: my passport is still there as well as my credit cards (for which I'm so relieved, I hardly even care about what else is not there); but as expected my camera, ipod, cash, sunglasses, coat, and scarf are all gone. Bummer.

Romeo takes me outside and we go over the contents. He is extremely apologetic and feels so bad, but I reassure him that it's okay. "It's just stuff. I have my passport, I can get home; it's okay." But he has a feeling he might know who has my stuff (classic) so I write down where I'm staying for him and while he goes off in pursuit, he hands me off to one of the waiters from his restaurant to get me a cab to go home.

The waiter walks me to a cab and gives me a twenty to get home. When I arrive, I have 8 EU left to get me through tomorrow. My shuttle bus is only 6 EU so that leaves me 2 EU for breakfast, which is basically perfect.

As I head upstairs to the hostel, it occurs to me that I might be able to make a claim on my travel insurance for the stuff that was stolen. Is this pretty much exactly the reason I bought it? But, based on when Matthew had his phone stolen in Florence, I'll have to report it to the police in order to file my claim. Augh - that means I have to do it tonight. Booo.

When I reach the hostel reception, I get directions from the night duty guy (who was the Pakistani guy who tends to be a chatty Cathy) to the Police Station. He tells me it's not far...but that it's really not that safe right this time of night (it's about 4am by now). I understand what he's telling me, but I also don't really see any choice in the matter. I need to be at the train station by about 7am tomorrow to make my flight and there is no way I'm going to be able to tow all my stuff to the police station and back in the morning (we all now how I'm NOT a morning person), so even though I'm dead on my feet, it's now or never. Besides, I figure pretty much everything of value is stolen, and Italy doesn't really have an violent crime, just theft. What could happen?

So I head back out to the other side of the train station (which is closed, btw, so I have to walk around the bugger) and find the police with relatively little trouble. They let me in and I fill out my paperwork (which is two identical, one-sided dittos) and after I hand it in, the guy on duty stamps them, signs them, and hands one back to me. That's it? Don't I get a claim number or something? Turns out they don't speak English and without my ipod dictionary to help me translate this sentence, I have no way to communicate what I'm trying to say. Nevermind. At 5:00 in the morning, this will have to do.

I make my way back to the hostel with no problems, report to the reception dude, and ask him to make sure I'm up by 6:30. I CANNOT oversleep today and after the night I've had, no amount of paranoia is going to wake me up in about an hour. He kindly agrees and I finally, finally head off to my room.

Unfortunately I am now sharing my room with some dude. So I do my best to quietly get ready for bed/pack up the few belongings I still had out. By the time I crawl into bed (quite literally) it's 5:30. I am the personification of exhausted, but it's my first real opportunity to intellectualize the events of the last few hours and I'm in a state of minor shock. Someone stole from me. They stole my things. Why did they chose my bag - there were several there? Could they tell mine was not Italian? Did they know it was mine in particular?

Round and round I went in my head. But just like earlier today, I had to remind myself that I can't change what has happened, I can only deal with it and move on, so I tried to let it go. I concentrated on what I was thankful for instead. I'm thankful I have my passport. I'm thankful I downloaded all my pictures onto my laptop only two days before (I was only missing one picture: Me and Romeo). I'm thankful this didn't happen earlier in the trip - at this point I can definitely survive without all the things I've lost. I'm thankful I'm going home. I'm thankful I'm safe. I'm thankful I got to be in Italy for two months...

Before I knew it, there was a soft tap at my door: it was already 6:30. Had I even slept? Or had I maintained that state between sleep and wakefulness the whole time. I had no idea if I'd drifted off, but it didn't really matter: I now had to get up.

Last Day in Italy: Part 2

So, after I spiffed myself all up and whipped up a better mood, I actually felt pretty great.  I was going to have gnocchi for dinner, I was going to hang out with my cute waiter, I'd had 8 great weeks in Italy...who wouldn't want to be me?

I made my way back to the bus station (a wee bit humbly) and bought two tickets: one for the way to dinner and one for the ride home.  No way was I risking a ride without a ticket again (despite the extreme unlikeliness of running into the "bus police" again in the same night).  I put my ipod in my ears to keep my mind focused on the fun night ahead of me and NOT on my earlier humiliation.  

Plus, to be honest, I was a little nervous about meeting Romeo again.  What if he thought I was stupid?  What if he laughed at me when he saw that I had really come back?  What if he saw that I was dressed up and thought I was trying too hard or expecting something he wasn't? What if he didn't really want to go out with me, he just thought I was coming back for dinner?  Eke!  

I don't know why, but I was on the verge of freaking out a little bit.  I'm not really sure what that was about (I mean, after tonight, I'm probably never going to see this guy again - or at least, I don't have to if I don't want to), so what's the big deal?  So I took a deep breath, concentrated on exuding confidence, and let Rihanna work her magic in my ears.  

It was nearly 10pm and I was starving, but the Rolling Stones (Dr. Dre remix) of Miss You was in my ears, so I slowly walked to the beat toward my destination, letting my confidence build as I went.  Ultimately, it doesn't matter what this boy thinks of me; I'm excited to eat what I know will be a good dinner; and hopefully, I'll have a good time tonight.  I can handle that.  Besides, it's like Mick Jagger says, "Boys* will come and go; they're just like street cars and I been standin' here too long."  As part of this Italian adventure, this boy is merely a street car - what am I so worried about?? 

As the song finished, I approached the restaurant doors.  Romeo was outside (on a smoke break - his one downfall, I'm afraid).  I gave him a European kiss on each cheek as a hello and went in to sit down.  Yeah, this was going to be no problem.  

I took my time enjoying my gnocchi and wine (which this time was not little potato dumplings, but little turned pasta shells: interesting).  Romeo wasn't off until 1am anyway (assuming we were going out; he hadn't said anything, so neither did I), so I had some time to kill.  When I finished my food, I ordered more wine and just sat enjoying the ambiance.  

At around midnight, a guy named Lucca (a regular I had met the night before) came in, so I moved to the bar to chat it up with him while I waited for 1:00 to roll around.  We had some good conversation (he spoke excellent English) and before I knew it, Romeo was telling me he just had a few more things to do before we could go: 15 minutes.  Oh!  Excellent!  I am leaving with you - sweet! 

*Mick says girls, but you get the idea.

Last Day in Italy: Part 1

I woke up the next morning and thought: Wow, this is my last 24 hours in Italy; I can hardly believe it.  Have I really spent 55 days here already?  It's all been just a minute....

But I don't have time to dwell on that, time is tickin' away!!  

So I got up with a spring in my step and a readiness to make the most of my last day in Rome.  The biggest item on my agenda was to finish my shopping.  Honestly, I had been brainstorming my gift ideas for the fam, but I'd largely been procrastinating the actual purchasing of said gifts.  Thus, today I had a date with Via Corso and Via Nazionale: the two biggest and best shopping streets in Rome.  

After a quick stop for a standing cappuccino and a doughnut to go (creme filled, of course) I started my way down Via Nazionale, the closer of the two streets.  I began my stint with a lot of window shopping, but quickly reminded myself: This is no time to be iffy about decisions.  Despite being intimidated by shopping in general, let alone in a foreign country where the women are skinny and beautiful, I've got to step up to the plate and, well, get 'er done.  

Thus I had my first Italian fitting room experience.  As I'm sure you well know, at home, a person simply picks out their items off the rack, requests a room, and then tries on the clothes and makes their purchase decisions at his/her own leisure.  Why wouldn't it be the same here?  Well, I don't have an answer to that question, but I'm here to tell you: it's not the same. 

For some reason (and I have NO insight as to why), the merchants baby-sit you through the whole shopping process.  As soon as they notice you are interested in a specific item, they're glued to your hip.  Do you want to try it on? If yes, they take it from you (because of course, you can't be trusted to hold it yourself) and put it in a dressing room.  Do you want to try on anything else?  Again, if yes, they guide you to the possible options and then take them from you as soon as you give the affirmative that you are interested.  Once you've collected all the items you want, they not only escort you to the dressing room, but they help you try things on.  No, I'm not kidding.  Fortunately for me, what I was trying on was not to, um, intimate, but they seriously wad up the sleeves and hold them there for you to stick your arms through.  I felt like I was about 6 years old, when my mom used to help me get dressed for school.  It was weird.  

Then of course they scrutinize you in the item and I felt compulsed each time to ask if I looked okay (like I needed to get permission to think I looked good in the item and could then buy it.)  Honestly, it was a bit stressful and intimidating, but I really didn't have the time to dwell on it, so instead of internalizing and processing the whole thing, I just moved on right passed it and purchased my items anyway.   

After a few hours, I was ready to break for lunch, however since I knew the dreaded "dead zone" was coming up, I pushed through.  Every moment those shops were open, I needed to be shopping.  There was literally, no tomorrow.  

Eventually though, the shops began to close and I was so tired I could hardly think.  I hopped on the Metro and made my way back to my room to evaluate how I'd done so far.  After a little rest (and some creative cramming in my suitcase) I took a deep breath and headed back out there.  Just a few items left, and then I was good to go.  

At this point I mostly knew what I was looking for and just returning to find the previously spotted items.  In the mind's eye, this task is easily and quickly accomplished: no problemo!  But in real life....yeah, it takes a while. So after another two and a half hours, whether I liked it or not, the shops were all closing for the day: I was done shopping.  I had done pretty well and gotten almost everything on my list, so I felt pretty good.  But mostly, I was brain-dead and tired.  I just wanted to get back to my room.  I figured a shower and a little rest would do me right before I headed out for my final dinner (and date-ish?) in Rome.

I was near a bus stop, so I got on the first bus that went by that listed the Termini station as a stop.  It briefly occurred to me that I had forgotten to buy a bus ticket, but I was so tired and just wanted to get home....I promised myself I would make up for it on my way to dinner and buy an extra ticket so I wouldn't technically be stealing the ride.  

Unfortunately one stop later, the bus ticket security dudes got on the bus and asked me for my ticket.  Uh oh.  This, is NOT good.  He firstly asked me in Italian and I indicated that I didn't understand what he wanted.  Unfortunately he switched to English no problem.  I made a show of looking through my enormous bag for my ticket (and all my pockets in my coat and purse...) but he did not tire of waiting.  I told him I couldn't find it and he promptly issued me a ticket.  I attempted to talk him out of it, but he wasn't having one teeny, tiny bit of it.  He said there was a 50 EU fine and I needed to pay immediately.  At this point, I began to get distressed in earnest.  Well, I don't have 50 EU, I said.  (After all the shopping, I only have 40 left in my wallet.)  It's no problem, he says, I give you this and you go to the post office and pay double.  Double?!? But...but...butbutbut!!

I get off the bus at the Termini station with a heavy step and a long face.  How could this have happened?  Why didn't I buy a ticket?  What was I thinking?  I am usually SO GOOD at following the rules, and now I've been caught and penalized for abusing the system.  I felt so ashamed of myself.  I found that I kept rationalizing what had happened and replaying the scene with the bus authority, but this time I vocalize my excuse, or I explain the disgrace away, or I find a way out of it.  

But after several moments of this, I had only made it about 20 feet away from the bus stop and I snapped myself back to reality.  The fact of the matter was, no matter the reason or the circumstances, I had broken the rules and there was a price to pay.  And I was going to pay it.  After all, that was what I believed, wasn't it?  That there were consequences for my actions and I was responsible to them?  Yes, there is certainly room for grace, but I had received plenty of it thus far on my trip and this simply wasn't one of those times.  If I demand grace for my inequities, as though it were my right, aren't I kind of missing the point of grace?  So I decided it was only fair that I pay the ticket and that was that.  

I made it back to my room feeling slightly better about this resolution, but I still had to lie down and allow myself some time to deal with my feelings on the subject.  Despite accepting the circumstances, I still felt pretty crappy about it.  But after a little bit of processing time, I decided that I wasn't going to let something like this ruin my last night in Italy.  Besides, I had a fun dinner and going out with my waiter to look forward to.  And I didn't particularly want to show up with a long face and sour mood.  So I plugged in my ipod to the speakers, pumped some good tunes, put on a cute outfit, and freshened up my make-up.  If that doesn't make a girl feel better, well, then, I don't know what will.  

(Don't worry, there is much more to come - but I figured it was better to post it in pieces.  So stay tuned!!)

To Napoli or Not Napoli...

...that was my question. After a semi-late night of free wine with my new friends from the English Inn Pub, I was pretty tired. (Plus, I had figurd at the onset of my trip if I could make it through 56 days in Italy without getting crapped on by a pigeon or pickpocketed, I'd consider that a success. So with over 50 days under my belt...I kind of didn't want to jinx it.) But in either case I was going to have to check out of the hostel and make my way to the train station.

Unfortunately, this proved to be a bigger task than I might have originally anticipated because I now had 5 bottles of wine to cram in my already very full bag (not to mention the limoncello!). Hmmm. After some significant rearranging, I managed to squeak it all in...although now I could hardly lift the dang bag. Something told me I wasn't under the airline 50lb weight limit. But for now, it was all in one bag; I'd deal the weight-limit issue when I got there...

In the mean time, I tightened up my money belt, loaded & locked my bags, and began towing my now boulder of a bag toward the station. I figured I would see how I felt when I got there and decide if I was going to store my bags and do the three-hour-RS tour, or just head straight through.

Once I boarded the train, I was quick to set up camp with my bags crowded protectively around me (theivery is more prevalent on this commuter train from Sorrento to Napoli) and then immediately whipped out David Copperfield. I think I've mentioned that I've been reading it, but lately I've had the strangest sensation that I've read it before. It's the most unusual thing! Normally, this does not happen to me. To my mom: yes, all the time. But to me?? Nooo! But I'm over 100 pages into this 700 page book and I still can't decide if it's new to me or not. (Although now - in real time - I think I've decisively concluded that if I have read it before, I didn't finish it.)

In any case, the 75 minutes to Napoli went by in a snap! and when we pulled into the station, I tried to act like I knew where I was going and what I was doing and to walk with a certain confidence. I don't know if this particularly had any effect or not, but I did notice there were quite a few more people begging at the station than at Rome's Termini station. This was my first red flag.

From the commuter train I headed upstairs to the "real" trains and based on the number of people approaching me for money - I just wasn't comfortable. I wanted to get out of here (and with my wallet contents in tact) more than I wanted to "taste and see" the real Napoli. It was just going to have to wait until I had either a) a travel companion or b) a local to guide me through the chaos. Rick said to listen to my gut in terms of my own safety and I wasn't feelin' it.

So I made a bee-line for Fast-Ticket automated machines (the quickest and easiest way to get a ticket), but unfortunately, this involves getting money out; and this attracts attention. The first person to approach me was a haggard looking old woman. She murmered to me in Italian, but I told her I didn't understand and just kept doing my thing (a little bit quicker...) in the hopes she'd get the picture and go away (which seemed to kind of work).

As I was finishing my transaction (and thus tucking my funds away) a man came up to me. I tried the same routine on him (only this time it included walking away as I was finished), but he didn't seem to like that none to much. In fact, as I quickened my pace, he too quickened his pace! So I ducked into a café in the terminal and thankfully there was a policeman/security guard in there, so I stood right next to him. My next course of action was going to start making a big deal with lots of pointing and explaining, but fortunately it didn't come to that. When creepy guy saw the "cop" he gave me a kind of dirty look and kept on walking. Needless to say, I stayed in that cafe, close to the security dude until I could board my train. I'm happy to report, all possible catastrophies were avoided (whew!)

I passed my ride to Roma with David Copperfield and upon arrival found that I was not only relieved to finally be in Rome (it's about a 4 hour excursion from Sorrento), but that I was actually kind of giddy about it. I knew my way around, I knew how to use the transit, and compared to Napoli, it seemed like the safest place on earth when I got off the train.

Upon reflection on my way back to the hostel, I decided that even though Sorrento really appealled to me, and I thought I'd really enjoy the downtime there...something about it was off. Either I was in a funk, or it strucky me as funky, or I don't know what. But I did know that it felt really, really good to be back in Rome and I actually wished I had come a day earlier. But I wasn't going to dwell on that little fact; I was just going to enjoy my last 36 hours.

After checking into the hostel (only 18 EU this time!) I had the energy, so I completely rearranged all of the contents of my bags so that the weight was (hopefully) more evenly distributed. Then I made a plan for the rest of my stay: tonight I would have dinner and do the last RS stroll and tomorrow I would really, truly spend the day shopping and finish off my gift list.

So where did I head for dinner? None other than my favorite hole-in-the-wall father/son duo pasta joint near the Pantheon (where the Dad kept cupping my face and I thought the son would ask me out). Excellent decision. Not only did I get another good meal, but this time Romeo was much more flirty (and I was much less of a goobery-idiot). I didn't get my meal for free, but I went home giddy with an invite to go out with Romeo after his shift tomorrow night. Sounds like the perfect way to end not only Roma, but Italia, eh?

Dinner at Mickki’s

I figured I could probably stomach a simple pasta, so I headed to a small, international-student joint that Rick said was cheap and a good value near the Pantheon. I arrive and a surly looking, what we would call in the States “construction worker,” Italian seats me at my table for one. I ask him (in Italian) what the pasta of the day is. Without saying a word, he leaves the table and walks outside. Hmm, that was interesting…is my Italian really that bad??

A moment later, a much younger, better-looking waiter reports to me and I repeat my question (in English because now I’m self-conscious). He starts listing several options and I’m still a little too tired/weak to listen to this kind of a list so I cut him off and say, “Why don’t you just bring me your favorite, okay?” He accepts this answer and I tune out to Italian TV while I wait for my food.

A short while later, the construction-worker comes back with my food in hand. He sets it down in front of me and as I say grazie he takes both his hands and cups my face, looking at my tenderly, fatherly, and then leaves without a word. I could cry the gesture is so sweet. I frickin’ love it here.

I happily eat my food (which is a fat spaghetti-type noodle in a Bolognese sauce) and enjoy the easy ambiance. Predictably the cute waiter stops by to make sure the selection is va bene. I assure him I’m quite happy with it and he brings me a glass of the house wine made from strawberries (my perk for mentioning Rick Steves).

In the mean time, construction-worker dad waiter either gently touches my cheek or acknowledgingly squeezes my shoulder as he walks by. He must like me. One of these times I tell him I’m ready for my bill. He is clearly unhappy with this input, why I go? “My son, Romeo, (Ro-MAY-o) asked about you…” he says. Somehow I doubt this, but before I can explain or inquire further, he shouts to the bar for my bill.

But instead of my bill, cute waiter (presumably Romeo) shows up with a dessert (maybe he does like me…). Never one to turn down food, I thank him and eat it in it’s entirety. So construction-worker dad thinks he can keep me here with more food, eh? Well, heh, he’s right. But I am so stuffed at this point, if he doesn’t stop sending food my way, he’s going to find out exactly why I was inclined to go in the first place.

This time though, I wait it out for quite some time before I ask for the bill again. In the mean time, the ambiance has taken on more of a club feel. The lights have gotten dimmer, it’s suddenly full to the brim, and the music has gotten louder. I take a look around and indeed, Rick was right: everyone here is in an International School program. I decide that at 27, I’m too old for this place and beckon cute waiter to my table with my eyes.

It’s so loud that he leans down close to me to hear what I have to say. He leans so close, in fact, that I can feel myself nearly blushing at his proximity to my face and as I say, “Il conto, per favore” my voice unintentionally comes out low and kind of husky (how does it not when someone is that stinkin’ close to you!?). He moves to respond back (what I’m sure at this point can only be either a protest at my leaving so soon or an invitation to meet up later) and says, “Seven euro.” Oh. Heh heh. Sure thing! (Oh I am such an idiot…)

As I’m digging for my cash, he comes back with yet another glass of the house strawberry wine. Interesting…wasn’t expecting that. I take my time drinking it, rationalizing that if he wants to come and talk to me, he has certainly created the opportunity. But when I finally finish it, I haven’t seen hide or hare of him and when I take a gander around the room, he’s chatting with some club-bound student at the bar. Oh well, it’s probably for the best. There’s at least a 50% chance I’d throw up on him anyway.

Three Days in One Blog

I know you’re shocked at what appears to be my brevity, but you’ll soon understand why.

I awoke in the middle of the night and immediately thought, “Uh oh, this isn’t good.” I never wake up at night and when I do, bad things usually follow. Despite all the extra blankets I had piled on me, my skin was crawling with that particular tinglyness that comes with being sick. I tried to ignore it and continue sleeping, but it the morning, it wasn’t any better.

In fact, it was worse. My head was foggy and I felt unable to form clear thoughts. But the cleaning lady was going to come in, so I had to get up. With anvils for arms and legs, I managed to pull myself out of bed and “get ready.”

I popped into a café on my street for some tea, but even that didn’t warm me up. I felt like all kinds of non-specific awful. My head hurt, but I didn’t have a headache, my stomach was bothering me, but I wasn’t nauseous, I was cold, but didn’t have chills…augh.

When I got back to my bed, I realized just how much energy it had taken me to be “out and about.” I was completely drained. I spent the rest of the day in fitful sleep, with delusional waking moments. At around 7, since I was feeling NO better and didn’t know what else to do, I decided to go try and throw up. If you know anything about me, then you know how much I abhor throwing up. I had a constant pain I my stomach, but didn’t really feel queasy per se. Nevertheless, I didn’t have any other ideas – and I was getting desperate.

But alas, it was a no-go. I fell back on my bed and passed out for another 3 hours. The next time I woke up I thought, “Enough of this crap. I’m gonna go throw up and I’m gonna feel better, dangit!” So I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste in faith that I would barf and headed back down the hall.

(Warning: we’re about to get personal.) This time I had success. And I mean real success. My stomach was wringing itself out like sopping wet laundry. I nearly cried I felt so much better after I was done. In fact I was a little giddy. But that was also about the time my head started pounding like I was having a lobotomy, so I just brushed my teeth (twice) and drunkenly walked back to my bed. One advil and 12 hours later, I woke up feeling MUCH better.

The next day I was pretty weak and a little weary about my stomach so I laid very low and looked after a few practical details (arrangements for Sorrento, calling the Assisi hostel back about my sweater, etc.) I was bummed that I had foregone my third day of free-ness with the Roma Pass, but not much to be done about it. Sick happens.

I do want to tell you about my dinner though (not because I threw it up or anything, it’s just a good story – see next post).

The next day I wrote and mailed my postcards (which I traveled all the way back to Vatican City to do and was going to finally take my pictures of St. Peter’s…but realized I had left my camera at the hostel – d’oh!), did a load of laundry, and boarded the train for Sorrento. It’s 4 hour travel time from Rome to Sorrento, so that was pretty much the whole day.

Roma Pass – Part 5: St. Peter’s Basilica

Okay, so you caught me: St. Peter’s is not part of the Roma Pass deal. By definition it cannot be, since Vatican City is technically its own country. But it was still free (they don’t charge entrance because it’s a church, which is understandable, yet unbelievable because this is where the Pietá, among so much other art, is housed) and it makes a nice final part to the little series I’ve got going on here, so you’ll just have to forgive me the literary liberty.

After Borghese I took the metro (for free!) to the stop closest to St. Peter’s, which left me with an easy 10-minute walk. I decided to rest my feet a bit and grab a bite to eat along the way and ducked into a café just as it began to sprinkle. Moments later it poured, complete with thunder and lightening. I guess I really will be taking a little break…

But like all the other rain I have experienced so far in Italy, it didn’t last for too long and by the time I was done eating (and lingering) it had let up to less than a sprinkle and I was ready to tackle St. Peter’s.

I don’t know if you know this, but St. Peter’s is HUGE. I mean, I had stood outside before and I knew the courtyard was quite generous, but the church itself was beyond what one can conjure upon first imagining. I think the most appropriate word for it is extravagant. It’s astronomical in proportion and everything about it is extravagant. As a whole, it’s quite overwhelming.

Again I rented the audio guide and obediently went where it directed me to go. It was slightly long-winded, but narrated by a voice that seemed to genuinely invested in the content (which was mostly interesting information about the basilica, but also largely evangelical).

Again, I won’t hold your hand and repeat the tour to you (there are some things you are going to have to come here and experience on your own), save for one stop: Michelangelo’s Pietá. Here, I simply must comment.

After you walk through the mighty doors of St. Peter’s, the Pietá is immediately on your right: no beating around the bush here. You walk in and BAM! there it is. As with the David, I was firstly shocked at so abruptly seeing such a great work of art (as though we had not been properly introduced), which was immediately followed with a feeling of recognition; as though I were seeing an old friend.

But whereas the David demands your captivation, the Pietá demands your reverence. It is so believably life-like, it feels as though you are intruding on an intimate, solemn moment between mother and son. Yet, Mary’s face and open hand beckon you forward. Through her sorrow, she invites you to join in the worship of her son.

This alone was enough to command my attention, but listening to the earnest audio guide describing Mary’s emotional state nearly broke my heart. It finishes with this message of hope from Psalm 23: “Yea though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” If that’s not enough to make you cry, well, then, I don’t know what is.

After that, I considered everything else a frickin’ bonus. I had seen the ginormity of the church; I had seen the Pietá, what more could I ask?? I persevered though, patiently listening to the audio guide in its entirety before I returned it just before the deadline. Truthfully, by that point I was thankful to turn it in; I was simply over-saturated. I had seen a lot of truly spectacular art today.

In general it was too dark for pics (largely due to the lack of natural light from the stormy weather), plus I couldn’t muster the strength to be a “proper tourist,” so other than the Pietá, I didn’t bother. I was too late to take the elevator to the top of the dome anyway, so I figured I would come back tomorrow to snap a few pics and tour the dome.

Since I was so tired at that point, I decided to eat near home at a pizza joint Rick recommends. I finished my meal with a slightly different take on my favorite Italian dessert: ricotta panna cotta. Predictably, it had a little more texture, but was equally good as its predecessors. After that, I gleefully hit the sack.

Roma Pass – Part 4: Borghese Gallery

Probably if you are anything like me, and only have a basic, cursory knowledge of foreign countries (like, Italy for example) then you haven’t heard of the Borghese Gallery. Fortunately for me, I have a mother who has not only studied art, but has also visited Italy in order to see it. Thus before I left, she told me it was a must see. Best Advice Ever.

The Borghese Gallery is on the north side of Rome and houses a collection of works of art that were obtained through painstaking research, high-priced commissions, a little pillaging, a bit of corruption, some coercion, and good ol’ fashioned manipulation. I’ll let you rent the superb audio-guide for the more specific details, but it’s got a dirty little history to go along with the dramatic works of art it houses.

I made my way to the gallery via the metro (for free!) and my own two feet. The subway takes you as far as the entrance to the villa it resides on, but then it’s up to the art lover to walk through Rome’s version of Central Park to arrive at the Borghese’s doorstep.

Despite being less known worldwide, it’s still a popular site. Entrance is limited to 360 people every two-hours and they keep a tight watch on the time. Reservations are usually mandatory, but since it’s off-season, I waltzed right in at 12:30, skipped the 2 EU reservation fee and flashed my Roma Pass for free entrance at 1:00. Le me tell you, it is simply euphoric when plans go smoothly in a foreign country.

Since I had a half hour to kill, I decided to make use of the payphone in the gallery café. I had realized that morning when I was getting ready that I was missing a beautiful, gray, sweater-wrap-thing-y I had bought earlier on the trip. By process of elimination, I figured I must have left it in my locker at the Assisi hostel. Now seemed like an opportune time to see if they had it.

I managed to decode my phone card (and the payphone) and actually connect with the hostel. However, the husband of the woman running the joint answered the phone and he had no idea. He said he would look for me, but I should try calling back later. It wasn’t the, “Yes! I have it right here!” I was hoping for, but I was relieved to have just made contact.

Soon it was 1:00 and armed with my audio-guide, I made my way to the entrance. Even though I would love to take you on a room-by-room tour (which I could almost do by memory I enjoyed it so much), I won’t. But let me just say, Bernini is the frickin’ man. It seems as though every room featured a stunning sculpture by his hand (there were 7 rooms of sculpture and 5 of them featured a major work by Bernini – it should really be called the Bernini Gallery…). And when I say stunning, I mean that you walk in the room and are stunned. I think my mouth dried out from letting it gape open for so long.

Predictably, I was not allowed to take pictures, but I encourage you to find some online so you can connect a few mental images to what I’m talking about. I’m not sure why Bernini isn’t as famous as Michelangelo, but fame he surely deserves. (Perhaps it’s only that I haven’t heard of him and the rest of the world is in the know – I’m not sure.) In any case, I was absolutely captivated by his artistry.

Now, I will freely admit that I am quite green in the ways of appreciating art and often quite unable to name admirable qualities in specific works (in fact when it comes to paintings, often you have to tell me what is good…and why). However, when it comes to sculpture, I feel like I “get” it. Or at least, more so. Perhaps because it is three-dimensional and so easily comparable to real-life, it is easier for the layman to understand; I don’t know. But whatever the case: I love it. Paintings I could take or leave, but sculpture – lead me to it! So you can understand why I toured the main floor (sculpture) twice and blitzed the second floor (paintings), making a bee-line for the audio guide highlights and then immediately moving on.

I used every moment of my two-hours in the museum and it was free money well spent. Rick Steves also rates the site extremely high, but I’m not sure I would have made the effort to see it had it not been for the solid recommendation from my very own mother. So thanks mom; that was definitely one of the highlights of my trip. I left the museum extremely satisfied and dying to talk to you. I can hardly wait to debrief when I get home!

Dinner-ish & After-ish

After my very full day, I decide on a quiet evening with my computer. At some point in my previous roamings, I had spotted free wifi at an Irish Pub. My mission tonight was to find that pub again, and make use of its fabulous offer.

The only crummy part of the deal is that it’s in the area of town that is not serviced by the metro; this means I’m walking. Fortunately, I do a fair job navigating and (eventually) find it. And to my great surprise, it’s a tapas bar to boot! So for the low, low price of 4 EU for my Newcastle, I also have dinner and all the internet I can get. So happy!

When it gets close to 11 (and the lights dim and the mmph-chh mmph-chh mmph-chh music comes on) I consider that my cue to leave. I try to obey the 10pm curfew my Italian guardian from a café at home gave me, but some days are better than others. I make the long walk home and as I turn into my building, who do I see walking out other than Jed!

Immediately I think, “What is he doing here!?” so I say, “What are you doing here?!” and he tells me how his flight out of Ciampino (the small Rome airport) was shut down today because a bird flew into the engine of a plane (Seriously? You just can’t make that crap up). They told him to come back in several hours. So he does and it turns out his flight was rerouted out of Fiumicino (the big Rome airport), but now he’s missed it. So he was now stuck in Rome for one more night. Sucks to be him.

He was actually on his way out because he realized he’s left a book on the bus and he’s going to try and go get it – do I want to walk with him? It’s 11:30 by now and I’m tired, but I figure, sure – why not? So we speed walk it over there (swapping further stories on the day) and he makes it in time to rescue his book – woo hoo! We then make the leisurely walk back and I tell him how sad I think the Colosseum, etc. is.

When we arrive, he tells me that due to his exhausting day, he opted for one of the hotels in our building, instead of the hostel (wasn’t in the mood to share a room – can you blame him?) But he tells me if I ever want to visit England, I’ve got a place to stay. Sweet! We say our good-byes (again) and I head up the extra two flights of stairs to the hostel.

When I come in, the Pakistani dude on duty at the desk immediately starts giving me the third degree about Jed. “Where is your boy?” he says. My boy? Well, he must mean Jed... “Oh, he’s not with me,” I say. “Yes, I just saw you. I was watching you on the camera. He stay somewhere else?”

Well this is semi-creepy/personally invasive. Not only do I now have to break the news to this guy that Jed is cheating on the hostel, but I feel like a kid out past curfew. “Uhh, oh yeah, him. He's actually not with me; I met him here. He missed his flight home, so he decided to stay in one of the hotels tonight. Ya know, wasn’t in the mood to share a room…” I’m hoping this will pacify him and he’ll just give me my room key so I can finally go to bed. “I have single room! Why doesn’t he come here?” (Dude, I don’t know….)

To my relief, he drops the subject. However, he picks up several equally undesirable ones: Am I single? How old am I? You’re American!? You’re new president is just like the last one – he say different things, but has same policy. He will try to control China. Italian girls are beautiful and intelligent; American girls can’t be alone. Why are you alone?.....aughhhh!

Finally I just give it to him straight and say I really must go to bed now. He relents and, after giving me his card with is number on it, (which I accept in order to expedite the process) he finally gives me my key. Ahhh, my sweet bed! I thought I’d never get here!!

Roma Pass – Part 3: St. Peter in Chains church

I’m really excited about this stop because a) it’s free (even without the Roma Pass), b) I will get to see an actual piece of biblical history (which I can hardly even comprehend) and c) it’s another opportunity to see one of Michelangelo’s works – and I hear it’s quite good.

When I arrive I learn, shockingly, that I can take pictures in here…even with a flash* if I want. What the heck? I do not understand the context or boundaries within which these rules are made. Whatever – I’m rollin’ with the punches on this one.

First stop: Peter’s Chains. Unfortunately they do not inspire me in any particular way, nor do any other miracles happen within their proximity while I’m viewing them. Really, they’re about what I expected them to be. Fairly meaty, no way a person could bust out of them, could easily be Hollywood extras. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I was super excited to be able to file that visual memory into my data bank, but it didn’t evoke a specific emotional response. (A first from me, I know.) Perhaps I was still digesting lunch, I don’t know, but I’m sure the next time I read that part of the gospels I’ll either have a completely new-found respect for God and what He can do, or I’ll cry or something. But right now – nuthin’. So I move on to Moses.

Now Moses didn’t exactly evoke the waterworks either, but he was pretty dang sweet. There were two main ways I felt it was semi-similar to the David: 1.) The details in his hands were compelling enough to make you stare. Like really stare. (How does he do that?) and 2.) What sets it apart from other statues, is the look on his face: you can see real emotion there, determination. Moses’ determination to save God’s people. Pretty compelling.

Now here’s the downside: 1.) It was terribly lit. So much so that even though I was standing right in front of it (and by “right in front” I mean, roped off 20 feet away), I felt like I couldn’t quite see it. I kept leaning forward. (Which of course accomplished nothing other than looking stupid.) The distance combined with the crappy light = Boooo! It also made for terrible pictures, and thus I apologize. 2.) As you may notice from the pictures, Moses has horns. Yes, horns. Seeing as people don’t actually have horns anymore – or wait – have EVER had horns, this kind of detracts from the piece as a whole. It abruptly reminds you that no, this is indeed, not real. Why would Michelangelo make such a decidedly odd artistic choice? RS says it’s because centuries ago, the Hebrew word for “rays” was mistranslated as “horns.” Can you believe that? Some poor guy’s “typo” is now immortalized thanks to Michelangelo. Stuff like that cracks me up. Reminds me that everyone else out there is human too.

On my way out I noticed this creepy niche and thought I’d take advantage of the a-ok picture policy and immortalized it for you. I think it’s saying something akin to “Death: sooner or later…muah ha ha ha!” (In case you can’t tell, the skeleton is holding a sand-timer, in addition to the HUGE scythe…) What’s your take?

*Speaking of “with a flash,” while I was swapping David stories with a gal in my hostel the night before, she told me that while she was standing, staring and waiting for David to move (heh), with no apparent warning all the guards cleared out and took a break. So the entire room takes on a conspiratorial air and like kids illicitly talking while the teacher is out of the room, EVERYONE starts taking pictures! She said flashes were going off like crazy and no one was shy about it. Hmph, at least if the dang thing crumbles due to “over-flash-exposure” we’ll know I wasn’t the only one…

Roma Pass – Part 2: Roman Forum and More

After I was done grieving for the Colosseum, I made my way past the Arch of Constantine, toward Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum. Again, I was able to bypass the line thanks to the Roma Pass, only this time, I couldn’t find the dang audio guide booth anywhere. All I saw was a sign that said Palatine Hill to the left and Roman Forum to the right. Since I had a self-guided tour of Roman Forum in my hot, little hand, I decided to head that way first.

If you don’t know what the Roman Forum is, I’ll tell you right now: it’s rubble. It quite literally is the few stones, pillars, arches and remnants of buildings that represent the very center of the heart of original Rome. The short story? Lots of history, lots of rubble, lots of tour guides (would’ve been nice to have one of those…). The self-guided tour was not too bad, but certainly left me wanting a bit more. In general though, the Forum made a similar impression on me that the Colosseum did: all that decay…it’s just too bad!

Near the end of my self-guided tour though, I was running on fumes. The sun, as well as being so emotionally invested in what I was seeing, was simply taking it out of me. I needed to eat. But is that what I did? (All together now…) No. No I did not. I decided it would be better to “push through” and just see Palatine Hill while I was at it. I was already in here, couldn’t get out, blah, blah, blah (one of these days I’m going to have to find myself a man who can curb this need-to-persevere-through-the-hunger thing I do – it’s so stupid and I’m totally blind to it in the moment).

So I wander up the hill (and I mean wander – I have no apparent direction, I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m supposed to be seeing…) and check out some stuff. But with no audio guide and no RS guide, this is basically how my internal monologue goes:

“Oh. Look at that. It’s falling down too. Huh. I bet that was something cool. I wonder what it was. I should take a picture of that. But that requires getting the camera out and I don’t feel like it. I’m tired. This looks old too. I wonder what “Palatine Hill” is even all about. I bet Rick knows. I should ask him. Nah. I’ll do it later. Neat, a column. Where am I? Am I there yet? How do I get out of here? I’ll follow these people. Ooo! There’s a water closet – I’ll go over there...”

Yeah. Didn’t get much out of the Palatine Hill (which is, most obviously, my own fault on several counts.) If you find yourself in the neighborhood: get the audio guide and start there, before the Forum. It’s the way to go, I promise. (This pic to the right was nearly only pic I took of Palatine Hill...)

I finally feed myself (good grief) and then (because I can) I take the metro one stop down the line to avoid a hill I would otherwise have to walk. (I love free stuff!) I’m now heading for St. Peter in Chains church.

Roma Pass – Part 1: Colosseum

*Note: Since I did lots of sight-seeing over the next couple of days, I’m going to break it up into several, smaller posts so it’s a little more digestible…

The long weekend is over for everyone in my room (and they all have early flights) so while they are practically gone when the sun comes up, I’m left to sleep in alone and get ready in peace – ahhh, so nice! First stop today (after breakfast, of course) is to buy the Roma Pass from the TI and head straight for the Colosseum (as I now have free public transport at my fingertips, and I intend to use it – muah ha ha ha!

I’ve decided it’s a taste of the old Rome for me today. In addition to the Colosseum, I intend to visit Palatine Hill, the Roman Forum (RS does a self-guided tour of the latter; a perfect chance to fit that in!), and to top off the day with St. Peter in Chains church. Truthfully, I’m quite excited (especially since with the Roma Pass in my pocket, all of this is costing me 0 EU – LOVE it)!

First stop is the Colosseum, mostly because I’m dying to finally see the inside for myself. The outside is stinking impressive enough (and now that I’ve got a few Roman Amphitheatre viewings under my belt) I’m looking forward to marrying the image of the outside with the true picture of the inside.

I’m pleased that, as RS promises, I’m able to skip the nasty line to get into the Colosseum because I have the Roma Pass (yes!) but am disappointed when I realize, this has also bypassed me beyond the audio guide check-out area. Now it seems as though I can’t get an audio guide without going out and coming back in; but since I swiped my pass, it’ll say I’ve already visited – what if it doesn’t let me back in? Hmm, ugly dilemma.

In the end, I decide to simply skip the guide. I feel like I already have a decent base of historical info on the Colosseum and that I’ll be able to enjoy and appreciate it even without a guide. Besides, it’s 5 EU less spent.

I quickly climb to the second level to check out the bird’s eye view. Indeed, the place truly deserves its colossal name. There is something that inadvertently demands that you pause to appreciate the absolute magnificence of it. Similar to the impulse to whisper in a library or touch a pregnant woman’s growing belly, it’s something, on a subconscious level, you simply must do.

I stand at the very top and inhale the whole experience. I take in the underground tunnels that are now exposed thanks to the removal of a large portion of the ground floor. I watch tourists politely push and shove their way to better viewing spots, just as ancient Romans would have done as they made their way to their seats before the big battle. I try to force-feed my brain into understanding and accepting what this truly once was. Needless to say, I stood there for a while.

Eventually I walked a slow lap around the entire upper level of the Colosseum, turning the images of what I know it once was over and over in my mind’s eye like a smooth stone, until I wear it down to what I now see before me. And truthfully, that image was sad.

Comparatively, when you look at the rest of Rome, the Italians have really done quite a fantastic job maintaining such an ancient city. But as I’m learning today, it’s most archaic pieces of history are, simply that: only pieces. For me, I think that having been exposed to amphitheatres such as the one in Verona (which is still 100% in tact – and in fact, it’s still used today - see pic to right) made viewing the Colosseum that much more…heart-breaking. It provided a real-time picture of what the Colosseum once was, and could still be now, but is not. Instead, it’s merely a shabby shadow of the splendor it once was.

Rome at My Fingertips...

The next morning, while chatting about our potential days, Jed invites me to go tour Trastevere and the Jewish Ghetto with him (parts of Rome), but I’m not sure what my plan of attack is going to be yet, so I thank him, indicate as much to him, and offer to have lunch instead. Since he doesn’t know where he’ll be for lunch, he suggests dinner instead. Okay – fine with me. We agree to meet back at the hostel at 7:30.

After that I go in search of a suitable place for my morning ritual, but it’s MUCH harder here. It’s so dang big! Where do I go? Which direction should I head? There is no “main” downtown like in Siena or Florence. It’s just all over the place and spread out. So I wander for what feels like forever, but I don’t recognize much and I can feel the crankiness from hunger sneaking upon me, so I just pick a place that looks decent. I end up with a really good cappuccino, but a crème filled doughnut with shockingly little crème (aww).

I consult with Rick about what I should do, as I now have all of Rome at my fingertips, but as I’m flipping through the sights of Rome, I become so absorbed in reading about them, that I’m practically tuckered out already. Eventually I pull my nose out of the book and rationalize, I'm actually here, in this place; I should go see something. Unfortunately, I’ve been biding my time all day and now I’m in “the dead zone” and the two (free) things I want to do today, aren’t open for another couple hours. (Bugger.)

So I leave the café I’m currently sitting in to go in search of lunch (when in doubt, eat!). Rick recommends a good lunch place near St.Peter in Chains church (where I can see the actual chains that fell off Peter and Michelangelo’s Moses). I find the eatery and show the cashier my RS book and he breaks into a huge smile, shakes my hand, and escorts me personally to a table (what service!). Then I’m given the option of a special RS menu – Hokie Dinah! They sure love Rick at this joint.

After lunch I go looking for the church, but take off in the complete wrong direction (whoops). So I decide to settle for the Roman Forum instead (can’t miss it – right next to the Colesseum), but discover it is no longer free (gar). Now, normally I would just pay to get in, but Rome has this cool tourist pass where for 20 EU you get into the first two sights for free (and every sight after that is half price) plus you get free transportation for three days. And since there is no transportation to be had for free today, I don’t want to waste a valuable day. Thus, I will not be paying to see the Forum today when I can see it for free tomorrow.

It appears I can’t quite get my I’s dotted and my T’s crossed today. (Oh bother...) So I settle for taking care of a few practical details and head back to the hostel a bit early. All this nothing has made me rather tired.

Shortly after 7:30 Jed returns and we head out for dinner in Trastevere. With no transportation, it’s a loooong walk, but we’re up for it and head out. We talk a lot about travel and I pick his brain about living in another country as an American. Turns out Jed is a prolific traveler, having been to over 70 countries. That’s right: 70. Needless to say, that alone is fodder for all kinds of conversation. After what feels like the longest walk in history, we finally find the restaurant, enjoy a good meal, and I have my first taste of pig skin (Jed ordered pig skin and bean soup and was kind enough to let me try – it was actually really good!).

We finish our meal with panna cotta (with caramel this time; which we decide had a distinctly “burnt” flavor to it), as well as with some shrewd observations for one another about where we are in life (more him for me, as I’m in such a period of transition), and then opt for a cab on the way home – it’s been a long evening.

It was the teensiest bit weird to head home with your dinner date…only to have “home” be the same room. But fortunately he peeled off to use the restroom and all was normal. Ahhhh.

Arrival in Roma…

When I board the train for Rome, it turns out to be standing room only. After a day of all walking, I’m a bit disappointed, but I do my best to cop a squat on my luggage and concentrate on being thankful that I will arrive before the transport strike.

I get off the train at Rome’s Termini station; its major transportation hub. This is not only where the entire city utilizes the train system, but also where its two subway lines and several bus lines converge, thus making it Italy’s one, well-organized, majorly cool transport central. (I mean, don't get me wrong, the trains, metro and buses are all still late/sporadic at times, but at least they all meet at one central location for once.)

I've chosen a couple possible accommodation options near the Termini station, so finding them should be pretty simple. The first one is booked out, but I catch a break at #2. There are only 4 beds in a room, so that’s kind of nice. When I walk in, I meet a young gal from Illinois who is in France for a semester and visiting Rome on a long weekend. I chat with her (and her friends who stop by to pick her up) for a while before they head out.

I was tired and not really willing to venture around the 'hood after dark, so I spent a little time on the internet (where they charge you extra to use your own computer AND to upload photos/use the USB port – LAME!), and then pop into a café (bar) for a bit to eat and some gelato.

That pretty much tuckers me out, so I come back to the room for some down time and a guy walks in. Oh!...I guess this is a co-ed dorm then. Ooo-kay. So I chat for a while with Jed from New York who is a lawyer, but lives in London. He too is in Rome for a long weekend (must be why everyone is so full at the moment).

I think Jed is (unintentionally) funny because when he talks, you can tell his brain is going faster than his mouth and soon his sentences turn into fragments, skipping the end so he can begin the next one quicker. Thus leaving you, the listener, with the responsibility of leaping from one ending to the new beginning. Fortunately, Jed is not like tangential-Sally; his thoughts have a logical flow and keeping pace is quite easy. (It actually reminds me of skimming: they say that you don't actually have to read all the words on a page to get the full message; Jed is the same way.)

Listening to him speak gives me the sensation of running downhill, which turns into a tumble, which turns into huge somersaults (insert mental picture of Wesley and Princess Buttercup falling down the big, grassy hill - "As...you...wishhhh!!!"). That’s what it’s like. Although, surprisingly, (as I said) it’s not difficult to follow at all. But it does make me chuckle a bit.

Soon one of our other roommates comes back (thankfully – not that I didn't like my new friend Jed, but I wasn’t extra keen on getting ready for bed with ONLY a boy in the room), and the three of us pretty much hit the sack.

Rome in a Day

Sunday was our first full day in the city and we spent it in true tourist fashion: with mouths agape, eyes wide, and with cameras, maps and tour guides in hand. We tread miles upon miles from early morning until, well, the wee hours of the morning. We saw paintings, sculptures, fountains and architecture. Rome simply has so much to offer, it’s difficult to stop yourself from running from one priceless piece of art to the next. Even if you are not one to “appreciate art” it is still difficult to say no to the kind of greed that takes over. It convinces you with smooth rationalization like, “Let’s just see one more thing!” or “Let’s just go one more place! After all, when am I ever going to be here again?” It’s something akin to wanting to spend every possible moment in the sun when vacationing somewhere warm. Or the need to ride every rollercoaster at Disneyland. Or perhaps the compulsion to do just one more run down the mountain before you call it a day. It’s a compulsion that, I think, is very American as we are constantly trying to squeeze every possible drop of fun out of our experiences. The only problem is, do we ever stop to actually enjoy the experience?

In any case, Sunday was as busy as it was fun. We began the day at Vatican City, as previously mentioned, along with half of Rome, as it was the last Sunday of the month: Culture Day (aka – free entrance day). Despite the hoards of people, it was truly something inspiring to see so much Renaissance art with my own eyes. The four-mile tour, of course, culminates with the Sistine Chapel. Suffice it to say, it was nothing like I imagined. It was overwhelming in not only its enormity, but also in its complexity. We spent probably close to 30 minutes just standing and looking at it, but I still felt as if I hadn’t seen it enough. But alas, time (nor our empty tummies) would permit a longer look.

From there we spent the rest of the day doing a combination make-it-up-as-you-go/Rick Steves’ self-guided tour. The result was actually quite fantastic. We walked for hours, and discovered no less than three gelaterias (as in, we stopped and ate there), I haggled for a pair of big, black sunglasses (got him down to 10EU – still not that cheap, but better than 30EU. Micall still thinks I got hosed), and saw the Colessum, the Pantheon, and the Trevi fountain*, to name a few. All in all, not a bad day.

The girls only had one day in Rome, so we saw what we could and felt pretty successful about it (though I was thankful I had more time to come back and slowly explore later). Tomorrow we’re headed for Cinque Terre. I’ve heard from several friends it was by far their favorite place to visit. Needless to say, I’m quite excited.

*While at Trevi fountain, one brave tourist decided to strip down to his skivvies and go for a little dip – hahaha! The polizia quickly caught him as he was trying to pad away and he ended up begging other tourists to help pay for his 160EU fine!! Ouch!