I am falling further and further behind. I don’t know why, but I have been putting off updating my blog to the extent that it has now been a month since I was in Rome and I still haven’t written about it. Well that is going to change, and hopefully I can catch up to present day soon. Without further ado…
ROME
Arriving late in the evening our first night, we check into our cute B&B (decently cheap by the way). Although it didn’t have the feel of a hostel that I always look forward to, it did have slamming breakfasts with glazed and cream filled croissants, toast, yogurt and juice and it was only 5 minutes from the Forum and the Coliseum.
Actually, let’s back up a little bit.
We touch down in Rome in “another on time flight” (read in an Irish accent, for Ryanair flyers, you know what I mean). We file out of the plane and, like the good little travelers we have started to become, try to locate an information desk to pick up a map. Easy, right?
Well, no, actually.
We follow the signs pointing towards informazione like lost sheep and find ourselves standing in front of a TV with a place to speak into. We hit call and are connected with a woman on the other end. We shout into the mic, the situation somewhat resembling a terrible drive thru experience, and request a map. Amidst the hubbub of the airport we cannot even make out a word of the woman’s instructions. We just nod and walk away. Welcome to Italy.
As we exit the terminal we are mobbed by taxi drivers. No thank you, we bought our bus ticket already, please back off and give us our room. Lost, an airport worker approaches us and offers us help. Mack snaps back that we don’t want his help if he is just trying to get us a taxi. I ask him where the busses are and he directs us. We get on the bus without any more excitement.
Comfortably seated, I start to settle into the bus, ready to depart. Then an Italian guy comes and sits right next to me. Note, the bus was nearly empty. But no, he forces me to place my bag at my feet, leaving me no room, and then proceeds to talk to his mom on the phone. For the entire bus ride. Using his hands. Why do the bus gods hate me so? I flashback to the time I rode the bus to Washington DC from Cornell for spring break of freshman year. This wasn’t nearly as bad as that ride when a Bobby Brown/Whitney Houston-like couple cracked up out of their minds sat a few seats away from me. I can still not block out the vomiting on the floor. Nor the scene they created when they broke up and Bobby Brown proceeded to hit on every girl that passed him, offering to fill every orifice he could find.
Anyways, we make it to Termini Stazione and, again, attempt to find informazione to obtain a map. This time they were just having fun with us. The signs led us in circles and in the end we gave up. We took the metro to our stop, got out, and luckily found the B&B without too much trouble.
Okay, so we head out from our room and immediately take advantage of our close proximity to some of the oldest things I have ever seen. Phrasing it that way kind of devalues the Roman ruins. Well, we walked past the Forum down the empty street towards the Coliseum. It is exactly what I was expecting, fulfilling all of my dreams sparked by my childhood viewing of The Gladiator, well, besides the actual gladiator fights and no Russell Crowe in sight.
Hungry and tired we head back to our place and stop at a restaurant for the greatest lasagna of the trip. At this point I have only been in Italy for maybe 4 hours and already could see myself living here. The euphoric feelings brought on by the Italian food wear off and I snap back to reality. I couldn’t even locate a map and I don’t speak the language. Besides the fact that I would die an early death from obesity brought on by the food, I remember that I could never afford to eat out every night and would therefore need an Italian mother if I were ever to actually eat like this on a regular basis. Plan shot, need rest.
The next day we head off to the smallest country in the world. Confronted by a line and men telling us we needed tickets (not sure we did), we exit the Holy See, but only after sending my sister a postcard from probably the only post office in the country. Sadly, I had no epiphanies or religious rebirths. Luckily, this meant I would still be eligible for birth right which Rebstar and I have to look forward to (I am not actually sure I qualify for birth right, but I am going to delude myself up until the point of fatal disappointment).
The rest of the day we spent wandering the Roman ruins we found scattered throughout the city. We saw the Palatino, the Coliseum, the Forum, Circus Maximus (well, the site that it was once located) and random ionic columns or statues we happened upon while walking. We got a pro tip from this guy we met in Nice, telling us a free tour left from the Spanish Steps in the evening. We confirmed this through research online. Well, after a trek up to the steps, we tried to find where this tour could possibly have been leaving from. If you haven’t been to the Spanish Steps, you try finding something in the evening. The area is comparable to Las Ramblas in Barcelona, but with twice as many people. The plaza (piazza?) was crowded beyond belief and we just got lost in the commotion. No free tour for us. Oh well.
We meandered back in the direction of our B&B, stopping by Fontana Trevi, the Pantheon, and random other sites on our way. Trevi definitely was everything I was hoping for (and more, like all the extra tourists). The fountain is impressive, to say the least. We made our wishes by throwing our coins with our right hand over our left shoulder (I think). We only saw the outside of the Pantheon and were disappointed to see it under construction, but as I have learned, everything is under construction. Always.
Well, as we know, all good things come to an end. No, my trip wasn’t over. The fearsome twosome of Zach and Mack was splitting. Mack headed up to Bologna to meet up with another friend studying there, while I remained in Rome to stick it out for the rest of the trip alone.
The next day I made it into Saint Peter’s Basilica (sans ticket). I ended up not knowing how to get to the Sistine Chapel, but I did go up in the dome and the view of the city was amazing. It was well worth the hike up the narrow stairways with walls that made it impossible to stand up straight. I even met some women from Valencia and we spoke a little Spanish together, I was getting out of practice.
Well, I spent the rest of my days wandering the streets, filling up on gelato and studying for fluids (our professor set a prelim for the day we got back from break!). But after almost 20 days, 7 countries and over a dozen cities, I was exhausted and looking forward to returning to Santander. The trip was definitely eventful and I will always remember the Swedish man running up to me yelling, “He just punched a hooker.” Yes, staying in Europe over the break was definitely worth it. There will be other Christmases that I can spend with my family, but how many opportunities will I have to countdown the New Year at the Eiffel Tower or cross an international border on foot? Not many, not many.
