Rome -- 4/15/11 Wrap Up

Up early on the last day. My flight leaves at 11:50 and the bus to the airport arrives around 8:50. I make sure to pack the last of my stuff before going down for breakfast.

After the meal I go upstairs to get my stuff but my card key doesn’t work. Huh? I realize that I’m checking out today but the room doesn’t have to be vacated until noon and it’s not even 9:00. No matter. There just happens to be a maid down the hall who is kind enough to let me in with her key. I quickly gather my stuff and bring it to the front desk to check out.

Part of check-out in an EU country is that you have to pay a tax upon leaving. I knew this beforehand so I was ready with 48 euros (12 for each night). Turns out it’s just 12 euros total. Cool. The restaurant bill was also on the final bill (I knew it would be) and was just another 16 euros.

I left the bags by the desk and figure I’d do one last look around the neighborhood before the bus arrives. The day is a little overcast but not bad. Taking a left out of the hotel, I spot yet another street fair. I do a quick look through (leather jackets for 48 euros? Hmm) then head back to the hotel.

Just as I round the corner, a man is staring at me. He calls my name and I can see the bus parked in front of the hotel. Thinking that it was still only around 8:15, I thought he was early.

Nope.

Turns out I was late! Again! How is that possible? It was that fricking alarm clock again! HOW?!?! One of the first things I did when I got back on Wednesday was set that clock ahead by an hour so I knew it was right. Upon further reading the instructions, I found out that the clock is German and hooked into some kind of satellite. Every morning at around 2:00 it taps into that satellite for the correct time. It decided that it liked to be set for an hour earlier than Rome time (though oddly enough, I set it to the correct time in GA and it’s been right ever since).

Now I’m annoyed. I hate being late. As I sit on the bus, I keep checking the clocks on the street to confirm that it is indeed 9:15. I just hope I didn’t make anyone late for their flights.

The driver is yet another incredibly efficient navigator of Roman streets. We make two more pick-ups, one of them in an impossibly narrow little back alley, and then he swiftly gets us to the airport.

Fiumincino is way too crowded for a Friday morning. I make it to the gate, wonder for a minute if I have to check in or not, then dodge and weave all the other passengers. Really annoyed now.

An attendant tells me I don’t have to wait in line to be checked, then when I go to board I get stopped anyway. The lady asks me where I’m coming from (?). Uh, Rome. Isn’t that where we are? She does a quick check then waves me through. I walk right past the two men checking through luggage and take the escalator down to the flight.

This flight, unlike my flight in, is packed to the gills. First the captain says we’ll take off in 30 minutes, then he ups it to an hour. Oy. Like the flight isn’t already long enough.

When we finally do get into the air, it doesn’t take long for the guy in front of me to decide that the plane is his personal bedroom. He puts his seat back, instantly crushing my legs. He promptly ignores me and the lovely Italian man next to me as we try to get him to put the sit back up. Now I’m annoyed and in some pain.

I try to make the best of it but it is a very long flight. The man next to me gets up frequently, allowing me a chance to stretch my legs. At one point, when rude guy in front of me gets up because his tray table doesn't work, the Italian man actually pushes the button on rude guy’s chair to let the seat back up. Such a nice gesture almost restores my faith in humanity (not that I ever really had any). The relief on my knees doesn’t last long though when rude guy returns to his seat and once again reclines in it. Sigh.

The attendants serve an extra snack at some point since the 10 hour flight ends up being 11 hours because of the delay (a nice touch especially since they don’t charge for it). This plane has the individual screens on the backs of the seats with the remote so you can choose what to watch. There is no sleeping for me – too uncomfortable and it’s still daylight. I end up watching Red again (like that flick) and almost get through The Princess and the Frog when the landing procedure turns the movie off (daggummit!).

We finally get to Philly. Don't think I've been to this airport either. I like the rocking chairs spread around the airport. After picking up a Philly t-shirt, I chill in one for a while before I head to the gate for my connecting flight to ATL.

The lady sitting next to me starts scaring me about the flight, telling me about the storms that have been running throught Atlanta over the past few days and that our flight will probably be delayed or even cancelled. I was getting nervous espeically since the airport hadn't bothered to update their signage for the flight. I'm already tired, it's late, and I really don't want to get stranded in Philly. To my relief, we board on schedule and get out of there without incident.

The flight is mercifully brief with no knee-crushing or turbulence. We land and I head through Customs. Not too bad and I’m again grateful that I didn’t check any luggage. I thought I might get grief for the olive oil and vinegar I’d bought as well as the limoncello and the rose that Mano gave me. No big though. I have to stop at the animal and agricultural booth but after a brief search they clear me through.

Going through Security is almost pleasant – well, as pleasant as a strange woman groping you can be. Since I’d once again set off the metal detectors, I have to endure yet another search. The woman is very nice and tells me everything she’s about to do before she does it. I had already told her beforehand that I had bobby pins in my hair and was wearing an underwire bra so she knew what she was looking for. I had to thank her for her courtesy as Lord knows I’ve been groped by rude airport security in the past.

I take MARTA back to my car and wearily drive home. It is always good to come home from travel to see that the house is still standing. I unpack a little before collapsing into an exhausted sleep.

In the time since my return, I found that the cats fared well. They were also nice enough to wait until I returned to start vomiting on my newly shampooed carpet (thanks guys!). My left shin was swollen and painful for days after the trip (still don’t know what that’s about) and it took me at least a week to get my body clock back in line. I kept wanting to go to bed about two hours after getting home from work. Never experienced that kind of reverse jet lag before but I prefer being off-kilter at home rather than overseas.

Lessons learned from Rome trip:

1. Always bring a watch.



2. Always have all maps at the ready for urban hiking. Study them thoroughly before going out.



3. I must make better accommodations for my legs, particularly on those long transcontinental flights. I already know that nothing is designed for me so I need to either save up enough money for first class or at the very least arrange to sit in the first row of coach. I really can’t tolerate anyone else reclining in my lap or carelessly crushing my knees. No more leaving things to chance.



4. Don’t be afraid of the Metro. Rome is one of many cities that has a great public transport system. There is no shame in being a bus-riding tourist.



5. Even for international flights, check-in is remarkably easy so long as you don’t check any luggage (standard rule for European travel: take half the clothes and twice the money).



6. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, when touring the Colosseum, take the elevator. Seriously.

So that’s it. If you’ve managed to get through my entire tome you know why I titled this trip ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Rome is amazing and awe-inspiring and exhausting and confusing. I would definitely recommend making the journey. I might go back myself (after a really long rest).

Hope you enjoyed the blog. Thanks for your attention.

Rome -- 4/14/11

Something wakes me at around 6 am, some kind of banging or construction. No matter. I’m not on a schedule today so I can take my time getting up.

I am not a tour person. Even though tours are very educational and I end up seeing things I may not have seen on my own, I would much rather be on my own time going where I want to go. Might mean I get lost along the way but that’s just part of the experience.

I get dressed, twist up my hair (no more flyaways), and pack my backpack for the day. Over another yummy breakfast of eggs, pears, and angry coffee, I plot my course for the day and head out. I want to hit the Spanish Steps first then maybe attempt to go back to Vatican City.

Thank goodness it’s nice and sunny after yesterday’s yuckiness. I’m walking along Via Septtembre when I notice there are a lot of politzia milling around. I get closer to a major intersection and I can hear a steady siren coming from the distance. Some kind of procession is coming – the pope maybe? Or some political figure? I wait around for a while to try and see something but I never do. Shrugging, I keep it moving.

Making the usual Roman curves, I finally find Via Sistina and make a right. The road ends in a circular area full of cars. Once I get past them and some vendors selling paintings, I see some steps leading down. I make it to the first landing when it hits me: I’d made it to the Spanish Steps without getting lost! Woo hoo! Woo hoo! Almost had to pat myself on the back!

The stairs are wet so I can’t sit down like I want. Instead I take some pictures then very carefully make my way down the steps (because old, uneven marble + water + me = trip to Roman E.R.) to explore the Piazza del Spagna.

Walking down one of the streets leading away from the piazza I spot a Lush store. I’d heard of these all natural hair and beauty products online but had never seen them up close. It’s a great store with lots of things to sniff and enjoy though not to read – all of packaging of the British-made products in this store are in Italian. Fortunately the sales clerk speaks English and is able to guide me around. I pay way too much for a seaweed shampoo bar, a bath bomb (for that evening’s bath) and a facial mask that needs to be refrigerated.

I follow this street out to Via del Corso. I know this street though not this section of it. I follow it to the end and discover yet another large oval-shaped meeting area named the Piazza del Popolo. With the standard fountain in the middle, there are two more fountains on either end with benches lining the perimeter.
This is by far my favorite piazza. It’s big enough to be crowded and yet still have areas on each end that are practically empty. There is a woman playing the cello beside the fountain (Frank Sinatra is very big here) and a couple of living statues aimed at each of the entrances (one is dressed like the Statue of Liberty and the other is a pharaoh I think). Tourists and locals alike are passing through (along with the occasional car or horse-drawn buggy), there are pigeons everywhere, and it’s a sunny spring morning. I sit for a while and write out my postcards. After all the hustle and bustle of the rest of the city, it is very nice to just be able to sit and enjoy the view.

But, this is still Rome. I had to know the peace wouldn’t last forever. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone approaching my bench. There is no reason for this; I don’t know anyone here and there are plenty of other benches on which to sit. The guy hands me a rose and introduces himself as Mano. As I’m fishing out some money (way too much in my opinion) he ties a string around my wrist and strikes up a conversation.

He tells me he’s from Bangladesh and I tell him I’m from the states. He knew a woman from California who used to come to this piazza and talk to him before she returned to the states to marry and divorce. He asks where my husband is. I tell him I don’t have one and he asks why. “No one’s asked me, it doesn’t work that way in my world.” He just can’t understand it then tells me I should get an Italian boyfriend. Just look around and pick one (now why didn’t I think of that?). Then he starts actively hitting on me saying he could come back to America with me. It was then I decided that I should get on that Italian boyfriend search immediately. I wish him good luck and head back towards the Spanish Steps. (Note to self: I really need to learn to lie when I get the rare question about my marital status – it would save me a lot of time.)

By this time the Piazza del Spagna and the Steps are crazy with tourists. I wade my way through them back up the steps and down Via Sistina only to run into a problem. The politizia have blocked the street off with vans. It’s bad enough that cars can’t get through but they’re not even letting pedestrians through. What’s up with that? We’re all just milling around on both sides of the barricade (folks trying to get to the Spanish Steps are really screwed if they don’t know Rome well enough to find an alternate route) until I give up and head back down Via Sistina. Never did see what all the fuss was about.

I pass by a shop called Blue Ice. It’s a small colorful shop full of pastries and yes, more gelato. It is time. I get a small cup of pistachio and go back to the Steps. I park myself and happily enjoy my treat while watching the people float by.

People-watching is always fun in foreign countries. In a single day you can hear accents and languages from all over the world; German, British, Indian, and some I can’t even recognize. With the tourists out in force, the vendors and beggars are not far behind. I see many more ‘Manos’ walking around with strings and roses. I’ve placed mine in the headphone hole in my backpack. It seems to ward off any of the others from approaching me (yay!). The other vendors are selling everything from eyeglasses to purses to these nifty jelly-like toys that go splat when you throw them on the ground.

I finish my gelato and take a moment to plot an alternate rout to the hotel. Then it’s back down the steps and down Via del Condotti. Here in one concentrated section is where all the really chi-chi shops are located; Bulgari, Ferregamo, Jimmy Choo’s, Hermes … the list goes on and on. I feel like I have to be a millionaire just to walk down this street. At the very end where Condotti meets Via del Corso lies a very large Fendi store. I love Fendi so I have to press my face against the glass before moving on. No sense in going in – I’ve already spent way too much on this vacation and I don’t need a gorgeous Italian bag tempting me.

Thanks to having been lost on these roads before, I actually know where I’m going. It’s a long walk to the hotel but I make it back just as the sky is getting darker. I drop my stuff off and head back out but I can see that it’s getting colder and darker. Not to mention the fact that I’m really tired by this time and can’t even fathom making it all the way to the Vatican on foot. I make a stamp run then head back to the room.

The rest turned out to be a long one and well-needed. I read and pack my clothes for my flight tomorrow until my 8:00 reservation for dinner at the restaurant downstairs.

The dinner menu is a multi-course affair. There is no way I can eat that much so I order a nice fettuccini Bolognese (good) and have a bite of a chocolate ricotta cheesecake (not so much). Then it’s bath time.

Despite the lovely bath bomb in the water, the bath isn’t as relaxing as I’d hoped. The phone rings while I’m in the tub. It is not normally my nature to run to a ringing phone and certainly not while wet. I ignore it but then not five minutes later it sounds like someone is in my room. Now I know I locked the door when I came in but I get up to check just in case. I suspect the call and the room invasion are because I left the restaurant without getting a check (the not-so-attentive waiter already had my room number so it’s not like they wouldn’t get their grip). Turns out that a lost guest had tried my door. He apologizes when I spot him in the hall and I quickly return to the tub. So much for relaxing.

I finish as much packing as I can, set the alarm and it’s out for the night.

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.