Rome -- 4/13/11

Bad start to the day.

Really, really bad start to the day.

I don’t normally wear a watch and I completely forgot to bring one. I was thinking that I could use my cell phone as a clock but there’s no signal in Italy (No, I can’t hear you now!). The room had no clock except for the one on the TV. That clock would only display when the lights were on and the TV had been turned on. Not helpful. Knowing all this, I made sure to buy an alarm clock the previous day. And set it by the TV clock.

Big mistake.

That clock was an hour behind. And so was I.

I woke at 5:37 (really 6:37). Figuring I had some time, I just lay there for a while. Less than ten minutes later the phone rings. It’s the front desk telling me that the tour bus is waiting downstairs. Oh crap.

I nearly kill myself to get ready in record time and run downstairs. I get there and let the driver and the guide know I’d arrived and they still wander around confused. They refuse to believe that I’m the only one they need to pick up from the Art Deco. When they finally realize that it really is just me, we’re off.

Unlike my first two days in Rome, today day is overcast, windy, and cold. As my knees are being crushed against the bus seats, I realize that along with forgetting my jacket and umbrella (and oh yeah my Chapstick), that I’m in some amount of pain. The nightly soaking is doing wonders for my feet. They’re not the problem. My ankles and shins hurt. What’s that about? And, thanks to those steps at the Colosseum (seriously, just take the elevator!), my thighs are sore. Nice.

After picking up a few more passengers we head to the tour office where there’s more confusion. The bus picked up people going on several different tours and now we have to get sorted onto the correct buses to head out. It takes a while but I make it on the bus to Capri which also includes a tour group headed to Pompeii. We are greeted by a pretty Italian tour guide named Angelica who impresses me by speaking fluent Spanish, English, and French. She explains that the trip to Naples will take two hours (with a pit stop to a town called Cassino mid-way through) and that the Capri people will be let off at the ferry while the Pompeii people will stay on the bus.

By the time we reach Cassino, it is really starting to rain. While the other passengers get in line for snacks at the small truck-stop, I do some shopping. The gift shop is pretty extensive. Along with the usual postcards and stuff, there is a big display of glasswork and a vast selection of olive oils, pasta, and chocolate. And limoncello. Lots and lots of limoncello. Angelica had told us on the way over that Naples is where the special lemons are grown to produce this alcoholic brew so we would find it all over this part of the country. I bought some truffle infused olive oil and balsamic vinegar as planned for this trip.

Back on the bus, Angelica hands out headsets for the Pompeii people and stickers for all with the tour company’s name and phone number on them. She tells us that if anyone gets lost or separated from the group, they should dial the number and she would get with the guide of the tour to find the lost (but please don’t get lost because is costs her money).

First impression of Naples: it’s dirty and full of slums. Add that to the fact that the rain that had stopped during the trip was starting up again and I was getting very apprehensive. The bus stops at the pier to drop off the Capri people. Angelica hands us over to another tour guide, an older gentleman named Umberto, then gets back on the bus.

The 12 or so people in my tour group are left to wait while Umberto gets the ferry tickets. The group stays under the awning for a while before splintering off to visit the nearby café or wander the pier. I head over to a newsstand to reluctantly buy an umbrella. The very over-crowded little stand also sells plastic raincoats. I buy one of those instead and put it on just as it starts to pour outside. Since I don’t have a watch and I don’t know where the pier is, I end up slogging through the rain down to the far end of the pier looking for the group. They weren’t there so I slogged back to the awning – which is where I was supposed to be in the first place as the rest of the group has already gathered.

Okay. Let’s recap. I was late for the bus. I had to pay 7.5 euros for a cheap windbreaker when I had a jacket and an umbrella all nice and dry back at the hotel. I’m already cold and now my jeans are wet from the knees down (and there is nothing more disgusting than wearing wet denim). All I can say is:

This had better be the best freaking tour I’ve ever taken in my life.

After waiting in line in the now slacking off rain, we finally board the ferry. The seats are set up like a large airplane (wasn’t expecting that). With the cabin pretty full, we were on our way.

I already knew the wind was up but I was not expecting the water to be as choppy as it was. Not a good sign when the crew starts walking the aisles handing out plastic bags. When the waves first hit us, people were cheering but that didn’t last very long. Then the retching began. And of course it had to be the woman in the row behind me to start it. Others soon joined her, including the guy sitting two seats away from me. The young woman in front of me actually stood up and turned around to wave off a guy from barfing before she was also clutching plastic.

Personally, I enjoyed the waves. It was like being on an extended roller coaster ride. I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched the spray hit the windows. It just reminded me of how long it’s been since I’ve been on the open water. My lack of sea-sickness also lent further credence to my past-life-as-an-explorer theory. I vowed then and there that my next vacation had to be somewhere tropical. I would love to go back to Hawaii but really anywhere I can get wet will be good.

With more and more people barfing around us, the American woman next to me noted that this would be a long hour. I had to agree. My only concern was that all the noise and … uh … smells (eww!) would make me queasy. Praying that no one vomited on me, I buckled down and wished I’d brought my MP3 player.

And yeah, that was a long hour. By the time we could see the pier the rain had stopped. The woman who had started the vomit-fest was moaning quietly and chanting “Per favore! Per favore!” I was sitting next to the door so I was one of the first ones to jump up and get in line to leave. I’d taken off the raincoat for the ride and when I got up to put it on, I noticed a tear along the right shoulder. Now how did that happen? Oh well. It was still windy outside and it was all I had. I put it on as best as I could and left the ferry.

On the pier I thought I spotted Umberto’s umbrella as he raised it in the air but I soon lost sight of him as we hit the street. I then begin to nervously look around for any other member of the group. I can find not a one of them.

I did not want to be that special child; the one that you have to watch like a hawk so they don’t wonder off. But, here I am, on my 40^th birthday, wandering clueless on the pier of Capri. I’m walking up and down the street contemplating whether I should call the number taped on my shirt and wondering why I didn’t just stay in Rome when I finally spot the tour group. Oh everyone was so worried and Umberto joked that I must have found another tour I liked better. Ha. Ha. Can we just get on the bus?

Our group is one of at least three tour groups that were on the same ferry. We all mingle together, making me feel lost again, until we board our respective busses. Then we head up this narrow windy road to another bus stop. Umberto leads us to the town square and gives us an hour of free time before we are to meet again in front of a little shop called Limoncello.

Now that the panic of being lost is over, I can actually appreciate how gorgeous Capri really is. The small island only has about 20,000 full-time residents. It has a very small town feel yet you still see some Italian excess in the high-end shops that are all around. I’m really confused as to why one would need a Balenciaga gown on such a small island but whatever. Business must be good because I see more than one new shop under construction. Tourism is obviously very big here as there are hotels, restaurants, and lots of souvenir shops everywhere.

With no watch, I rely on the watches displayed in a store window to keep track of the time. The rip in the rain jacket is steadily getting bigger and bigger and with the wind up, it’s all I can do to keep the right sleeve attached. With my hair blowing all over the place (no time to twist it up as I’d planned to do this morning), I look like a wild-haired vagrant set loose on the streets.

The shop called Limoncello is very prettily done up in yellow and green. Umberto encourages me to join the others in getting a free sample of the island’s most famed product. The lady behind the counter offers me a cold shot. Limoncello, if you’ve never had it, is like lemonade on steroids. It is a very strong liqueur that clears your sinuses with some serious lemon action. I buy a couple of bottles as souvenirs for others but I think I’ll stick to being a teetotaler.

We board another bus to go higher up the mountain. You need skills to drive in Rome. Capri roads take driving to a whole new level. The streets here are so treacherous you really have to have nerves of steel. There are places up this road where we are literally hugging the curve on the edge of a cliff. Then another bus will pass by so closely we can practically high-five the other passengers. I still don’t know why there aren’t bodies piled up on the side of the roads.

We make it up the mountain and park. Umberto leads us to the restaurant where we’ll have lunch. It’s a small place and the seats are really close together. The lunch is included with the tour (except for drinks) and is made up of a pasta course, salad and meat (pork) or fish, and dessert. I have this almost jelly-like fish which is pretty good although there is way too much of it for me. I only finish half the fish and take a few bites of the chocolate cake before I’m ready to leave.

I go to put on the dreaded rain coat again when I notice that another tear has started up the other sleeve. That’s it. I shove it into my bags and immediately go off in search of the first shop I can find that sells outerwear. The shop I spot is tucked away in a corner with the owner standing out front. She greets me and helps me into a blue zippered sweatshirt. It fits amazingly well (even the sleeves are long enough and that never happens for me) and I ask the damages. At this point I don’t really care what it costs or even what it looks like. It’s hooded and warm which is just what I’m looking for. I happily pay her 25 euros and go off to explore further.

Shops abound up here as well along with a museum and some kind of spa. I stumble on a sunken area with three shops huddled together. Two of the shops have the usual t-shirts and small souvenir knick-knacks. But the first shop is full of hand-painted pottery and interesting candles. I go to look at the candles shaped like shells, figures, and food and the shop owner comes over to help. She tells me that everything is made by her and her husband and I can tell she takes great pride in that. I’m a craft person myself so I like to support others. I decide to buy a nifty candle shaped like a slice of cake with fruit on it when I spot the paintings along the back wall. Amidst all the bright sunny paintings of Capri, this 5 x 7 one of the caves underneath the island really stands out. She tells me that the caves are now closed so there’s no chance for me to see them for myself.

Now I’m not normally an art aficionado. I can admire artwork and then walk away (it helps that I’m cheap). But I love this piece. She tells me the price is 59 euros with the frame and 39 without. So why not? It is my birthday.

Her husband comes out from the back and I compliment him on his work. He takes the piece out of its frame packs it up, and rings me out. I leave quite happy with my purchase. The painting by itself almost makes up for all the other mishaps on this trip.

Once again I eye some gelato in a store window. It’s just so pretty. All the colors! But even though the rain stopped it’s still a cold windy day. Just not the right time to be eating ice cream. Maybe tomorrow.

We gather up again and it’s back on the bus for trip down the mountain. Off onto another bus that takes us to the pier. Umberto again purchases our tickets but there’s a hitch. I go to give my ticket to the crewmate at the ferry and he won’t let me on. Seems this is the 5:00 ferry and my ticket says 5:30. A few words between Umberto and the crew and those of us (glad it wasn’t just me) with the later tickets were finally allowed on board.

The trip back on the ferry is a breeze. It’s not nearly as crowded and the water is calm. I end up sleeping most of the way back. It was almost like I blinked and we were pulling into Naples harbor.

With the weather cleared up, we can make out Mount Vesuvius in the distance. Back on the bus, Angelica hopes we had a good time despite the yucky weather.

We make a stop at the same shop in Cassino as earlier mid-way through the trip then head back into Rome. As I am really tired at this point, I’m glad the plan to go back to the tour office to change buses again is scrubbed. The driver instead drops people off directly at their hotels in some cases and he lets me off on Via Palestro. By this time it’s around 9:30. I have just enough energy for a bath and then it’s off to bed.

Despite the really rocky start, I am glad I took the trip. I can definitely say that my 40^th birthday was one to remember.

Rome -- 4/12/11

Voices in the hallway wake me at 2:30 and I can’t get back to sleep. I read for a while then pseudo-nap until about 7:15. My early rising gives me time to think that after yesterday, I’d had more than enough with the happy wanderer crap. Today, there has to be a plan.

I get up, nearly stub my toe on the step up into the bathroom (that is just wrong on so many levels), and get ready for the day. I’m actually not tired considering how little sleep I got. It seems that my body just works differently when I travel. It requires less food, water, and sleep than normal. Makes me think that maybe I was an explorer in a past life; someone used to long voyages, scant supplies, and harsh conditions. Maybe I was someone like Amerigo Vespucci or Vasco De Gama (I’ve always like those names J). Anyway, it’s just a theory.

One of the perks of this hotel is that they have a complimentary breakfast buffet every morning. There’s eggs, cereal, fruit, pastries; a nice selection. I make a small plate and take a seat in the less crowded part of the dining area. A waitress comes out shortly to take my drink order.

Italian coffee is angry. It’s dark and gloppy and more like our version of espresso (I would be truly frightened to see their version of espresso!). I knew this going in though. Back in high school, my Foods teacher had our school’s Italian exchange student come talk to us about her experiences. She said that American coffee was like drinking brown water. Well, when you’re used to sucking directly on coffee beans, I can see how our brew would disappoint. I was very grateful that the Italian waitress recognized me as an American and brought a container of milk to the table. One part coffee to two parts milk and a ton of sugar makes the coffee somewhat less chewy.

One of the pastries I snag turns out to be the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie only not as evil. There’s one to a pack with just a little cream filling and no aftertaste like a Twinkie. Tasty. This time out I’m ready. I make a left out of my hotel instead of a right and then another left onto Via Settembre. Now this is more like it. This is a major street that lets out onto all the big tourist sites. It’s lined with orange trees which I love though you have to be careful not to step on any that have fallen on the sidewalk. I knew from the day before that Roman streets aren’t always as straight as they seem. You’ll be doing fine until the street hits a circle then you have to navigate around the crazy traffic to get back on same street which might have changed names by this point. Oy.

Once again I’m nearly run over, this time while on the sidewalk. A delivery truck is coming right at me looking to park. Clutch heart, navigate around, then keep moving. These signs are everywhere to indicate it’s safe for pedestrian traffic but just know that it is only a suggestion. Just because you are in an area marked for foot traffic doesn’t mean you might not still be clipped by a passing motorcycle or just plain run over. Getting edged off the sidewalk into the side of a bus is also a distinct possibility.

I had learned the day before that it’s best to follow a Roman whenever possible, especially when crossing the street. More than once, I'd be standing on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change only to see a Roman just walk into the street then look for traffic. Bold, but it seems to work for them. I didn’t see anyone get hit the entire time I was in Rome.

I end up behind this very sure-footed Roman who appears to be on his way to work. Even when the walkway gets very narrow or crowded with parked cycles, the man would wend his way along with me right behind him. I follow his bald head over church steps and past piazzas, past a very pretty park and some of the many guard stations that are near the government buildings. I follow him until a see my turn off and bid him a silent thanks for unknowingly being my guide.

The first place I stumble on is Piazza Navona, a pretty famous meeting area nestled between a bunch of buildings. It has two fountains in it and plenty of sitting areas. I arrive early so it’s not too crowded and a lot of the cafés and vendors are just getting set up. It is another beautiful day in Rome.

I make a brief stop for souvenirs then use the map to try to find my way to the Pantheon which is nearby. In theory. Once again I’m up and down windy streets, end up back in Piazza Navona at least twice and getting frustrated and completely turned around.

I end up crossing a bridge towards a big white museum.

Following the crowd to the left across another street, it slowly dawns on me that I’ve reached Vatican City. The huge crowd in front of me is not actually a crowd but a line to get into the museums. I do want to see the Sistine Chapel but those lines are heinous. I stop to take a rest and consult my guidebook, noticing as I do that the line doesn’t seem to be moving much. That’s all I need to know. It’s back across the bridge for me and back to the original mission of finding the Pantheon.

Where is this place anyway? A huge ancient building and yet it seems to be hiding from me. Logic says I should be able to follow the crowds just like I did to the Vatican but I truly think that most of the people around me are tourists who are just as lost as I am. The few signs there are to guide foot traffic are pretty useless. There will be one sign pointing out the way then once you take that street (or alley in some cases) it dead ends into a circle that leads to two or three other streets. Now which way? Needless to say, even with a map I end up doing a lot of guessing.

Ah. There is it. The Pantheon is the center point of yet another open area with a fountain in the middle and buildings and cafes all around (Piazza D. Rotunda). It’s crowded like most places in Rome but not too bad. I can get in and see the statues and huge domed ceiling. You would never guess that this church is over a thousand years old. It’s in excellent shape. I notice people sitting in the pews and see the dais set up in the front. Could there still be ceremonies performed here? I don’t know.

Back outside I take a look around. This is actually a nice piazza. There are musicians waltzing around (accordion and violin), horse-drawn carriages in front of the ancient church, and plenty of places to sit and watch the goings on. I do have to wonder though as I look up at all the open windows of the apartments surrounding the piazza; how on Earth does anyone live next to the Pantheon? What would it cost and more importantly why would you do it? Sure, your favorite trattoria may be just a few steps away but is it worth it to have to wade through so many loud, smelly bodies to get to it? Plus the horses?

After sitting for a while by the fountain, I’m getting ready to leave when I notice a woman leaning over one of the water fountains trying to get a stain out of her shirt. Remembering the Tide stick I brought with me, I decide to pay it forward from the nice Italian lady who had helped me the day before. I offered her the stick but she was Italian and had no idea what I was talking about. I tried to demonstrate on my hand how you have to press down to get the liquid to come out. She tries but it doesn’t work. Long story short, I end up practically stabbing this poor woman in the chest in the middle of the piazza to no avail. That chocolate gelato was there to stay. So much for doing a good deed.

From the Pantheon, it’s a comparatively easy walk to Trevi Fountain. Located down yet another narrow alley clogged with vendors and tourists, I can see why Trevi is so popular. The fountain is huge and very ornate. I get my shots as quickly as I can though. There are way too many people here for me to even think of getting anywhere near the water. I figure I can always come back to it later if I want.

Whipping the map out yet again, I see that I’m not too far from my original target of the Hard Rock. On the way, I get stopped by some Italians looking for McDonald’s. As surreal as it is for Italians to be asking me for directions, it was even weirder because I actually knew where it was. I had just passed it coming from Trevi. I tried to explain to them but my directions didn’t translate. Oh well. On to the Hard Rock.

The restaurant is located at the very end (of course) of a long windy street loaded with fancy hotels and other high class buildings. Here for a shirt, I decide to stay for lunch (I know. I know. Who flies all the way to Rome to eat in an American burger joint? I was tired, okay, plus I needed to tinkle so don’t judge me). I freshen up, have a lovely meal of grilled salmon and broccoli, then head to the shop. I add a black shirt with sequins to the collection and leave the restaurant.

Since the pack is now getting kind of heavy, I plot a course back to the hotel to unload. I’m walking along, taking pictures as I do. I see a sign for a galleria and take a step inside. Wow. Even the mall looks like the Sistine Chapel.

Back out on the street, I’m trying to fight the crowds, edge around cycles, cut through outdoor patios on the way to the hotel only to run into more than one wrong street. I get back on the main road, snapping pictures along the way, thinking I’m going in the right direction. So why is it that I see this in the distance?

It’s the freaking Colosseum! Just as a point of reference, my hotel is located to the NE of the historic center of Rome, I was currently somewhere in the middle of it, and the Colosseum is located due south. What the &)*O8@! Rome was screwing with me again. Don’t get me wrong, the Colosseum is on my list of sights to see but I hadn’t intended to see it just this second. Fine. Since I’m already on my way …

The road I thought would become Via Settembre was actually Via Del Fori Impeirali. It’s a very busy street with ancient statues and ruins on either side of it. And it is a serious hoof for my already tired feet.

By the time I reach the Colosseum (and the ever-present crowds), all I can think to do is sit for a while. I join other weary travelers sitting on the short wall in front of the Colosseum and just watch the folks go by. There are tour groups of all kinds (even one zipping around on Segueways) and it’s amazing for me to note that for some school kids, this is just another field trip. And I thought my yearly trips to the Smithsonian as a kid were cool.

I haul my butt off the wall and make a full circuit around the building before I get in line to enter. The entry fee is normally 15.5 euros but when I try to give the guy my money, he says its free. I don’t even ask why; just take my ticket I go (found out later that it was Cultural Week in Rome and a lot of the attractions waived their entrance fees).

The pictures speak for themselves. I love the old pock-marked walls and the dark little alleyways full of rubble. You can’t help but feel small knowing that this building has been around for centuries and will be around once you’re dust. Very humbling.

I keep seeing people on the second floor but it takes me a while to figure out how they got there. I had seen an elevator from outside but being inside made it hard to locate. After some searching I reach the steps. Since I figure the elevator would probably be really crowded, I vote to take the stairs. Hey, it’s only one flight and a landing, how bad could it be?

Forget the StairMaster, these steps are brutal! Each one is the size of three normal steps! And I thought climbing the Arc de Triomphe was bad. Despite having more steps, that was a piece of cake compared to this. Note to future self: if I ever return to the Colosseum, don’t try to be a he-woman! Just take the elevator!

Oooh, Lawd. I need a rest after that. Just up the stairs are a series of museum-like displays with ancient relics along with renderings of how the building looked throughout the years. I look at the displays, take a few pictures, then figure it’s time for that looooog walk back to the hotel.

There are taxis gathered in front of the Colosseum as well as horse-drawn buggies. I know from my map that there is a Metro station nearby. But, once again, I chose to walk and save a few bucks. And it was a very long walk back to the hotel. By the time I get back it’s getting dark so the routine from the other night sounds like a good one. I have to get up early so I first pack my purse for the day (to give my shoulders a break from the backpack).

The music adds some well needed atmosphere to the room but the station I find is a little strange. The DJs are Italian but the station ID and call-signs are (American) English. Half of the songs are Italian and the other half are American rap, dance, and top 40. It caught me by surprise to hear a song in Italian followed by an old Madonna song, Italian, then an unedited rap song (I guess if you don’t speak the language, the n-word doesn’t really mean anything to you).

Bath, protein bar, and then a little reading before bed.

Rome -- Intro and Day One

It has been far too long since I’ve taken a real vacation. I did go to Myrtle Beach last year but it wasn’t what I’d hoped for. Fact is, I try every year to go away but it just hasn’t happened in the last few years. Last year I wanted to go to Greece but a whopping car maintenance bill prevented it. 2009 I wanted to hit Ireland but decided to pay off my credit card bill instead. My cat got deathly ill in 2008 – he lived but his hospital stays sucked up all my trip money. So the last real trip I took was Hawaii in 2007.

But as I turn 40 this year, I decided to make my birthday an event. Bills can wait. There's a passport burning a hole in my pocket and there's no way i wasn't getting out of the country this year.

Why Rome? Why not?

I’d never been to Italy, never traveled outside of the country by myself, and I really couldn’t think of a better time to do it. So as soon as I got my tax refund in February I made my plans.

The following is a day by day accounting of my trip with as much detail as I can remember. It’s not in my nature to sugarcoat anything and Rome was full of great and no so great experiences so here goes.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (otherwise known as my 40^th birthday trip to Rome)

4/10/11 – 4/11/11

Way too jazzed to sleep, I get up really early on Sunday. Bags are packed, the cat sitter is already set up to come to the house daily while I’m gone, and I’m antsy to get to the MARTA station. Took the nearly hour-long trip to the airport and arrived so early that I was able to catch an earlier flight. I had really expected the check-in process to take longer. Even though I didn’t check any luggage, I was still going on an international flight. I was directed to one of the check-in machines (no line), swiped my passport, and got my boarding passes. Cool.

This is my first time traveling on US Airways so I’m not sure what to expect. What I quickly came to realize is that they’re not exactly known as the most prompt airline. Every flight throughout my trip is delayed coming in or delayed getting in the air. No biggie this time because of my earlier flight to Charlotte. Even if we get in late I’d still have a decent layover.

I don’t think I’ve ever been to CLT. It’s a nice open airport with lots of shops. I grab some lunch during the layover and do lots of walking. The flight to Rome is overnight but still a long one. I do as much stretching as I can beforehand.

The Rome flight is barely half full. I practically jump for joy that the seat next to me is empty as well as the row in front of me. A very good thing considering that airport seats are simply not designed for really long legs.

After a chicken dinner, I watch The Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (not bad) but sleep through 27 Dresses. It takes a while to get comfortable but I try to get as much sleep as possible.

The plane arrives in Rome around 9:30 am local time. I make a beeline for the restroom and by the time I get out it's deserted. Not just the restroom but the airport itself is a ghost town. The signs are in English and Italian but I still have no clue where I'm going. I make it to the train area and almost get on the wrong train before hopping on the right one. At the first stop, an airport employee waves me off and points me in the right direction.

Customs is kind of a joke. Stand in line for ten minutes then the mute agent glances at my passport, stamps it, and waves me through. I was all excited to get that Italian stamp but when I looked at it later I noticed that most of it was faded and all you could see was the date. Well that sucks.

I stand in another line for ten minutes until I realize that with no currency to exchange I really need to find an ATM. Find one, get out 150 euros ($215.97 without fees), and make my way to ground transportation. I’d made all my arrangements through Orbitz which included transport from Fiumicino airport to my hotel. But when I looked at the voucher I realized that I should have emailed a confirmation 72 hours in advance of my arrival. Failure to do so would be perceived as a no-show. Great. Now what?

Assuming that the transport wasn’t coming, I make arrangements with another shuttle company. I meet the driver and get my voucher then sit in the overheated airport to wait for other passengers. Then I join an Asian family, a single Asian woman, and a British couple in the small mini-van.

Viewing the city proper for the first time, I’m surprised by how much graffiti there is on the buildings.

The outskirts of Rome are just like any other major city, full of apartment buildings and small shops. You can definitely tell when we reach the older parts of the city as the archways and statuary become more frequent. The driver points out various buildings and structures. Then he points to something on the left. I get my first look at the Colosseum and it really hits me: I’m in Rome! Cool!

There are vey few signs pointing anywhere but please believe that McDonald’s makes sure to make it’s presence known. Every sign we see, the little Asian kid behind me excitedly points them out. Sad, but true.

Passing the Colosseum (at the south end of the historic district) we get into the seriously congested areas. I knew from TV that Roman streets are no joke but to actually be in it? That is a singular experience. There seem to be no boundaries or real lines as everyone is just jockeying to move forward. There are pedestrians everywhere who are often walking between the cars regardless of the Don’t Walk signs. Motorcycles are zipping around cars and pedestrians alike as seemingly no one has the right of way. Cars and trucks are double and triple parked with people trying to get out of them. It is insane.

We foreigners had quite a few sphincter-clenching moments and I fully expected us to get hit or hit something. But no. Everything was fine and the driver was calm as a cucumber. This was just business as usual for him. The British woman next to me commented that they really don’t need to rent a car here. I heartily agree. I know that there’s this romantic notion of renting a scooter and traveling all over Rome but trust me; it takes real skill to navigate these streets. I’m pretty sure your average driver couldn’t handle it. Americans somehow manage to get into fatal car wrecks driving 20 mph down a straight road. Driving on Roman streets would lead to a quick bloody end to your holiday.

I was the second passenger to be dropped off. I paid my 25 euros, said my thanks, and went into the Art Deco hotel. As evidenced by the name, there are a lot of neat retro elements to the hotel by way of the furniture, paintings, and decorated panels. The room is small and narrow with gorgeous hardwood floors and a single (and surprisingly long) bed. There’s a mini-bar, a safe, a flat screen hooked onto the wall and a radio (but no clock) on the nightstand.

My bathroom has a tub (for which I would be so grateful later) and this odd looking vacuum device for shavers. It was kind of scary so I took the picture then left it alone.

It takes me a while to figure out that none of the light switches work. Then I remember that there is a slot just inside of the door for the room card. Slip that puppy in there and the lights come on for the entire room. Weird. The TV and its clock are also on the same circuit. You have about a minute after removing the card before the lights turn off again.

Before I leave the room I make sure to call and confirm my day trip to Capri on Wednesday. This was pricier than the transport and there was no way I was going to screw it up this one. Got that confirmed and hung up when a few minutes later the phone rings. It’s the transport company. They were waiting at the airport and wanted to know what happened to me. Oops. I told them about not confirming and that I made other arrangements because I didn’t think they were coming. Completely my bad. The lady understood and confirmed a pick up time for the return trip to the airport on Friday. One less thing to worry about.

There would be time to explore the rest of the hotel later. I unpack my bag and get on the hoof. One of my main objectives in Rome was to hit the Hard Rock. I’ve collected the t-shirts for years and I was not going to miss out on this one (I’d already somehow missed Paris and Myrtle Beach when I was there). I had it in mind that that would be my first stop but I immediately make a wrong turn out of the hotel. Once I realize this, I decide to just do what I do best; wander aimlessly.

One of the first things I see is a street market. These pop up at various points in the city, rarely the same place twice from one day to the next. There are the usual shoe and purse merchants, fruit booths, and folks selling jewelry. I end up getting hustled by two Indian men when I show interest in a necklace. I bought it and another just like it in a different color for a ‘discount’. Whatever. I figure I can always sell the other online if I want.

Despite already spending way too much money, I’m very happy to be walking the Roman streets. It was a bright sunny afternoon, I’m not in any rush, and I’m enjoying getting my first taste of how Romans live. The personal soundtrack I have running in my head was playing Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine (a joyous song about finding happiness after a bad time) and thanks to my run in with the Indian con artists, the other song in my head is Hustlin’ by Rick Ross. ‘Cause believe me, if you venture out of your home in Rome you will be hustlin’ to navigate through the cars and the pedestrians and the uneven cobblestone streets and – uh oh. Look out for that motorcycle coming up behind you on the sidewalk!

From the market I just wander the streets for a while, ending up at one point in the University of Rome area. Lots of official sounding buildings with students milling about. Every few feet or so on the rest of the streets there seems to be a trattoria or a smaller joint that seems to be the Italian equivalent of fast food. The places are small with two doorways on either end and a long glass display in the middle of the room showing the food. Most have a small sitting area inside but they’re really designed for you come in one door, get your food, and head out the other door. I eye the pretty colorful gelato in several stores but the lines are usually out the door so I keep walking. I do make a brief stop in one place to have a slice of pizza before heading out again.

Periodically, I spot one of these funky hydrants spewing water onto the street. I don’t know if they’re supposed to be water for drinking or not but I don’t risk it. I use it for wiping off sweaty hands only and buy my water in one of the shops.

By this time I’m getting a little tired of wandering. I’ve seen plenty of Roman neighborhoods where Romans are walking their dogs, playing in parks with their kids, meeting at cafes, or just going about their daily lives. This would all be more interesting to me if I could actually find my way to any of the historical sites I want to see.

Instead I find myself at the Tiburtina Metro Station. Really exhausted by this time, I think about getting on a train but I’m tried and determined to find my way back on foot (yes, I can be something of an idiot sometimes). I have my guidebook with me which has maps it the back of it but I end up getting another larger map (I only realize later that there are smaller maps in that guidebook that would have been more helpful than the pull-out map that I kept referencing – I should have better studied that book before the trip). With the large Metro station as a starting point, I tried to map out a course back to the hotel. By the way, I was nowhere near all the sites. Tiburtina Station is to the northeast of my hotel and the sites were further to the southwest.

The first route I took dead ended – no more pedestrian traffic. I also figured out that I was somewhere near where the driver brought us into the city. I circled around and hit the surface streets to try to get back on the route I’d chosen. Another dead end – this one right next to a bus stop. Figured out later that the #61 bus would have taken me to the bus stop on Via Palestro which was about 100 feet from my hotel. Did I take that bus? No. Sigh.

Referencing my map every three minutes, I slowly edge my way back to where I was supposed to be. But it was not easy. Already that day I had narrowly avoided being hit by a car, pedestrian traffic was rather heavy (not as bad as the more touristy historic district), and I must have gotten turned around at least a dozen times. Roman street names aren’t posted on signposts as there are here. They are listed on plaques on the sides of buildings but not on all buildings just to keep you guessing. Roads often change names once you cross an intersection to further confuse you. Needless to say it was an exhausting and frustrating journey.

I got near the hotel (I could just feel it) when I once again got out the map to check my bearings. A lovely Italian woman sees my distress and offers to help. With her guidance I finally get back to Via Palestro (from an entirely different direction from where I’d started. It was now getting dark, I was exhausted and, quite frankly, smelly, and all I want to do is get back to my room to chill out. I run some water in the tub, grab my MP3 player and my O magazine and settle down for a nice long soak. Best. Bath. Ever.

I briefly consider going out for some dinner but the mere thought of putting on shoes makes me tired. Instead I grab one of the outrageously overpriced protein bars I scored at CLT and jump in bed to finish reading my magazine. Amazed that I could actually stretch out full length on the bed without my feet dangling off the end, I conk out around 11:00.