Day 17 -- Rome

Sigh.

I stir. Am I still dreaming?

"Dammit."

Nope. Not dreaming. The shower is running. Without my glasses, I can see the fuzzy outline of Erika, crouched in our tiny dirty bathroom.

Sigh.

"Everything all right, babe?" I say, groggily. It probably sounded more like: "Mmbmer ar arrrramm barar?" but Erika's got that same uncanny ability to understand my "sleep-speak" that dentists have to understand "mouth-full-of-dental-equipment-speak."

"Well, we don't have any hot water. But at least I could run the cold water long enough to wash the sugar ants down the drain."

Well…not even my relaxed attitude toward uncleanliness could put up with "no hot water." The sugar ants were annoying, but I'm more tolerant of critters than my wife is. But hot water? Not cool. Tyler is a one-to-two-shower-a-day dude.

Turns out that, sure, the hotel was in a great location…and the price was right…but this room was almost not worth the effort. If these things couldn't be fixed…we'd have to find new accommodations…and that prospect was…irritating, to say the least…not to mention "potentially costly."

So, after a crappy breakfast of cereal, bread, and juice, Erika called Allesandra…who assured us that the hot water would get fixed when the maid arrived at noon. The ants were a "building problem," but the maid would spray when she got there. The floor was supposed to be vacuumed every day, and she'd make sure that the maid vacuumed. It sounded like things were being getting taken care of…but it was irritating that those things weren't in place when we arrived.

We decided the motto of this phase of the trip would be "Rome, not Room." I guess the silver lining of a crappy hotel room was the fact that it was going to keep us from loafing, and holing up in our room. Now it was time to leave the room behind us, get out, and experience us some Rome.

First stop, a further examination of the Kitty Playground. In the daylight we could read the little placards, and we discovered that the ruins were unearthed at the behest of Mussolini in the 1920s, and at the expense of a couple of "developers" who were "fortunate" enough to purchase land directly above some historic ruins. I'm sure they were ecstatic that their investment was seized by the government for archeological recovery. And if they weren't ecstatic, they could take their complaints to the gentlemen wearing the brown shirts.

But their loss was the kitties' gain…and we got to see just how many of them were out there. Dozens. Hundreds. Apparently it was a Cat Sanctuary, run out of a room under the sidewalk. But I'll get to that later.

Because now we had sights to see. Second stop: The Piazza Venezia. It was…as expected…frigging huge…which would be a common theme for the sights of Rome.

It was then that it kinda' struck me – I bet that a large percentage of Rome's GDP is spent maintaining the various monuments around town. In fact, there was some form of scaffolding or crane-ery at nearly every site we visited. Keeping these monuments intact must cost a fortune…and I can imagine that Rome's modern infrastructure suffers for it.

Either way, we climbed the steps to this structure…which was massive…and got a good look around. Piazza Venezia was a tall, tall building (comparatively), and we had a pretty good view from the top…with sweeping views of the city. We could see the coliseum, the forum, and dozens of really pretty cathedrals scattered throughout the city…which (from all appearances) is frigging huge.

There was a museum there, but we decided early-on that we weren't going to be hitting up that many museums in Rome…partly because we were afraid of Italian-only signage…but also because we really considered the entire city to be a bit of a museum. There wasn't much point in paying extra to have it broken down and explained to us. Just looking at the massive (free) statues lining the palace we were standing on was enough of an experience. Besides, we only had three full days in the city (as opposed to every other city…where we had four), and we wanted to make the most of our time without spending an inordinate amount of time poking around in one particular site.

We could see our next destination – the Roman Forum. Now…I'd never really understood exactly what the "Roman Forum" was. I'd always thought that it was a big, crumbling old building. But turns out it's actually about three dozen crumbling old buildings. All chock full of some Tyler-approved "Hisssssssstory!"

But there we encountered one of the "annoyances" during our time Rome – tour groups. More so than any other city, Rome teemed with large groups of tourists. You could see them coming, because they were large groups of tourists…all clustered around some person holding a "hankie on a stick" (or flag on a stick…or inflatable doughnut on a stick…or stick on a stick). Sometimes you'd see the leader whispering into a transmitter, and you'd look and see each member of the tour group (sporting matching lanyards) rocking an earbud…which was spitting out the leader's whispered "guiding."

These groups get preferential treatment at all of the monuments…and since they move in packs, if you want to go to any of the prime "viewing points" at a given site, you've got to hope that it's not being occupied by one of the (sometimes 50-strong) tour groups. Because you'll never be able to fight through them to see the hisssssssstory.

The Forum was filled to the brim with these groups. Dozens of them roamed about the scattered ruins…following a magic hanky. Luckily, Erika and I had our own little tour guide…and he fit into my back pocket.

That's right…we were being led about by Mr. Rick Steeves. Inventor of the "Back Door," or something. Steeves told us that all we needed to know about these Forum ruins (having come to my ear via my lovely wife's lyrical soprano tones).

Again I got to do the goofy "I'm touching history" bit…and I traced my fingers along things carved out of rock eons ago. And…holy crap…the enormity of these things just blew me away – especially considering that these people were all quite comparatively miniature (see my earlier blog about the "shiny metallic jockeys"), and they had no power tools, cranes, trucks…et cetera.

I got to see the pile of dirt that used to be Julius Caesar. The wall that the great Roman orators would stand on to address the plebes. The avenue where victorious Roman armies would march their spoils of war. The throne room that served as the nerve center of the entire empire. The toilet that Nero pooped in. I saw it all…and I got to (occasionally) slap my hand against all (Even the toilet. I just pretended I was spanking Naughty Nero for burning his city all up).

But if you're going to go to the forum, do yourself a favor – bring a printout (or book, or pamphlet, or audiotape, or terrified historian hostage) explaining everything you're looking at, because the signage is sparse. If you've got nothing to guide you, it may look (suspiciously) like a bunch of crumbling, old buildings. There were things in the forum, like the emperor's throne room, that we only knew about because Steeves pointed it out (the site itself was deserted, too…and Erika got a chance to proclaim to her heart's content without being gawked at by passersby).

After all that walking…and looking…and walking, we realized that we were very, very hungry. Having ingested all of the history we could stomach, we needed to refuel (yes…I mix metaphors with the best of them). So we headed to a crappy little pizza cart in the shadow of the Coliseum, and split a crappy little pizza (more of a "calzone"…really…if a "pizza crust folded in half around a super-thin layer of tomato sauce and a couple of pieces of prescuito" could be called a "calzone"). Of course, we were both so starving that the quality of the "pizza" didn't really matter much…and we were far too focused on "Rome not Room" to care much.

So, when one thinks of "Rome," one usually thinks of "The Coliseum." And by "One" I mean "Me." Following that logic, that last sentence should read, "So, when me thinks of 'Rome,' me usually thinks of 'The Coliseum.'" Yes? Good.

Now I was going to see that iconic structure…up close and personable (LOL TYPO!). Thanks to our good friend Steeves' advice, we'd already purchased our Coliseum tickets at the Forum (a good move, owing to much shorter ticket lines at the Forum), so we were able to shoot to "already purchased tickets" line, and head right in the door.

And boy, the Coliseum was big.

After we'd finished at the Coliseum we went to the final stop on our tour of Ancient Rome: The Pantheon. It was…

Wait, what? More about the Coliseum? Sigh. Okay, fine…twist my arm.

Sorry…here again I run into a problem. I'll explain. When we were in Lucerne, we were chasing an old dude named "Mark Twain," who (apparently) wrote an entire book about a trip he took to Europe (or somesuch). Now, he said some really beautiful things…all quotable, and all "putting you right there," as it were. In fact, now that I have the power of Wikipedia at my disposal, here's what he wrote about the Lion Monument in Lucerne:

"The place is a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion — and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is."

Here's what I wrote:

"What's this got to do with a dying lion? Well…it's what we in the business call a 'metaphor.' I think. Or maybe it's a palindrome."

Which is my way of saying, I'm not as good at writing as Mark Twain. I'm not. Hell, I'm probably the least-talented writer in my family, to put it frankly. I just happen to be a tiny bit more prolific (as far as actual publishing for public perusal – even if it is "self-publishing for my dumb ol' MySpace blog"…which is a damn shame, because if you could just read some of the stuff my father and older brother have written you'd call for my hack-y head), at this point. So when I demure when attempting to describe something that millions of people have described before me…it's not just modesty…it's because…dammit…I'm not good enough to do it justice. Not that something like the Coliseum leaves you stunned into a wordless silence…but…I mean…for practically every impressive site I've seen in Europe I just want to write something to the effect of, "Yeah, it was totally awesome! But, you've got to see it in person to really appreciate it." Which is part of the reason that I was so excited to go to Europe – I didn't have to be on the receiving end of the "you've got to see it in person" discussion any more. I could be the guy saying it…while sipping a "Fair Trade Coffee"…wearing a turtleneck…and slacks…with an earmarked copy of "On The Road" sitting next to me…

Okay, snap back to reality. I'll do what I have to do – personalize it. Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to sound "worldly," I forget that the things I have been most intrigued by on this trip are the personal things. Marie Antoinette's bed and toilet. Picasso's painting a happy little portrait of his daughter playing with a toy boat. The little yellow bird on the steps of a Paris cathedral. The row of bunks in the Dachau dormitory. A farmer chasing an escaped maverick calf across a Lucerne highway. These are the things that interest me – sprawling monuments like Neuschwanstein, the Notre Dame, or the Coliseum certainly impress me…but it's the little personal stories that will stick with me when I'm home…flipping through our hundreds of digital photos.

So. Coliseum. I have a hard time really picturing these monuments…how they'd look during their original construction. Part of that is my fault – there are plenty of books, pictures, illustrations, etc., that I could find to fill in the gaps. But, I think part of the problem is the sites themselves. I mean...during news reports, you'll often see "Artists Renderings" of distant galaxies, extinct animals, wanted suspects., etc. (yes…I know that's the second time I've used "et cetera" in this paragraph…and I apologize). Why not artists renderings on the actual sites? I know what they look like now…and descriptions are all well and good…but how about a rendering of the "canvas topped" Coliseum? Or the rows of seats? Or the frigging Coliseum floor? Are they afraid of compromising the integrity of the ruin itself? Heck…I know what the ruin looks like – I usually have no idea what the original building looked like. And my imagination isn't that good…because I didn't study ancient Roman architecture.

Having said all that…I enjoyed the Coliseum (don't you hate it when people complain about something for an entire paragraph, then cop out in the next paragraph with the "But it was pretty cool"?). I tried get into the head of the ancient Roman citizen who was fortunate enough to witness these games live – there's the mythical imagination, then there's the reality. I don't really care much for "myth," (a topic for another blog post, some day in the future) which is why the stories of "Romulus and Remus suckling on a wolf teat before founding Rome" don't really interest me a great deal. I want to picture the ordinary Roman citizen…watching two prize fighters from way high up. Maybe sitting in the same building as the Emperor? I mean…I can count the number of US Presidents I've seen on zero hands. How about that – an ordinary Roman citizen, chilling out, eating popcorn, watching gladiators, all in the same building as the most powerful man in the world. Unimaginable.

Okay…I got sidetracked justifying my lackadaisical descriptions. Very sidetracked. Moving on. Leaving the Coliseum behind, we motored over to the Pantheon – our last stop on the "really old places in Rome" tour. Like many of the pagan monuments in Rome, this place had been "Christ-o-fied" once Constantine decided that Christianity was the coolest religion in town. Consequently, it is the most well-maintained ancient structure in Rome.

It's also one of the busiest. In addition to the standard mob of tour groups, there were a couple of dudes standing around in Roman soldier attire…asking those around them if they would "Like picture" with them. Of course, we watched several rubes take them up on the offer, only to be badgered into giving up hard-earned Euro for the honor of a snap with a couple of shabbily-dressed wannabe gladiators.

Along with those guys were about a dozen swarthy-looking guys carrying big plastic bags filled with crap – toys, noisemakers, what you will. They stroll about the plaza, in and among the pasty tourists, plying their wares. Now…as I mentioned before…their mere presence doesn't annoy me too much – because people peddling cheap crap to large groups of people is an institution that has existed as long as civilization has been around to purchase cheap crap in bulk – all the same…it'd be nice to look at a monument like the Pantheon without hearing the constant buzzing of those stupid metallic rocks being thrown in the air every five seconds. Of course, the ancients probably complained about something very similar when they were bumbling around in the courtyard of the newly-constructed Pantheon (something like: "I wish these peasants would stop yelling 'Mutton for sale!!!' while I gaze upon the majesty of the statues of those awesome Gods that we stole from the Greeks").

Having taken all of the ancient, majestic splendor we could handle, we skipped ahead to the renaissance…at the Piazza Navona. Unfortunately, the gigantic fountain in the Piazza was closed down, so instead we got to delight in the two smaller fountains…and the hordes of painters scattered through the square.

We cruised around the Piazza for a while…looking at art…stuff like that. They were setting up (or taking down) a concert stage at one end of the square…and by that temporary stage was a little church (whose name escapes me at the moment).

Inside we got to see another example of ancient Christians' favorite pastime – martyrdom. This time is was an unfortunate woman being set alight for some crime against humanity. Unfortunate…but as I didn't have my "Saint Decoder Ring," I wasn't sure who exactly she was. Agnes, maybe? I don't know…but I do know the statue was pretty cool. As was the dome…which probably would have looked cooler closer up, but I lost my ability to levitate during the war.

Having had our fill of ancient glory, pageantry, piety, and majesty…we decided to head back to "Room not Rome" (stopping briefly to fill up our cute-ometers at the "Kitty Ruins"). After watching those lil' guys for a while, we wanted to satisfy our curiosity, and find out "what was the deal with the cats?" So we entered the headquarters of the "Cat Sanctuary."

It just so happened that we entered just in time to join up with the "free daily tour" of the ruins…led by an American-born volunteer for the cat sanctuary, who was one of those kinda' awkward intellectual types with a denim shirt and a grey goatee that just loves cats. Back home he'd either be a professor, or an activist. In Rome he was a cat sanctuary worker and a tour guide.

Now…unfortunately, the tour did not include a "ruin-side" jaunt…as the organization is only allowed in the ruins once-a-day to feed the kitties. But our guide did lead us around the site, explaining the significance of the area, as well as some of the little tid-bits that you wouldn't get from the official placard (like how a trough running down one side of the ruin was a "bathhouse toilet," and you didn't want to be the guy washing his rear in the downhill end while someone was making use of the uphill end).

But the ultimate pay-off came at the end, when he led us to the "Kitty Chamber." It was basically a little glass-enclosed room, lined with kitty cages, where kitten addicts could "recharge their batteries" if they were away from their own kitties for too long. The room was littered with toy mice, feathers, string, bowls of food and water, and (most importantly) attention-starved kitties. It was delightful…and we lingered in that room as long as our exhausted feet would allow…before begrudgingly retiring to "Room not Rome."

After popping in briefly to shower (with our now-hot water) and refresh, we headed back out…led by our faithful guide Ricky Steeves.

Rick recommended a little "family owned" restaurant, just north of the Piazza Navona. That sounded good to us…so we went there to get some delicious, home-style Italian eats.

But the funny thing about following a guidebook when you're walking around a city is that you start to see couples all over following the same guidebook. So, as we meandered up to the "out-of-the-way family eatery," we saw the tell-tale dark blue Rick Steeves guidebook sitting on pretty much every table – meaning that every person at that restaurant was there at the behest of Mr. Steeves.

And the waiter must have been aware of the fact too…because we were also using Rick Steeves' "Italian Phrasebook." He waited patiently as we clumsily asked for a "table for two," then "the house wine," and he asked all follow-up questions in very competent English.

So the wine came…and it was an entire liter. 1000 mL. Now, a regular bottle of wine is 750 mL, so this meant that we had to (somehow) kill a full bottle and a quarter before our meal was finished (because if we were paying for it, then dall-garn it we were going to drink it).

This meant that, by the time Erika asked for the check (she's been the official "check asker" for pretty much every city thus far), we were both fairly blasted. The check arrived, I fished out the appropriate Euro to pay the man…and, soon enough, a man who was not our waiter came over and picked up our check (and the attached Euro).

Alarms ran through my clouded brain – we'd already had to shoo several street salesmen away from our table, and Rome seemed to be rife with folks trying to make an easy buck. So, when I saw some strange dude reaching for our payment I grabbed at it.

"No, no. This is for the waiter." I slurred.

He and Erika both looked at me with a bewildered expression. He released his hold on the bill, but explained, "Don't worry. I'm the boss-man."

I looked at Erika. "It's fine, Tyler."

I looked at our waiter, who at a nearby table, looking at me and laughing. "Don't trust him…I never seen him before…" I looked back at the man…who was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and a baseball hat. In my drunken haze, I'd missed the manager, who'd been circulating the tables for the last couple of minutes.

"Oh…geez. I'm sorry. You're the boss…sorry." I handed him the money, apologized again (forgetting, in my drunken state, how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian), and sat down. Totally embarrassed.

I left a bigger-than-usual tip, and we stumbled out of there. It was time for another walking tour – this time it was the "night walk," recommended by our good buddy Mr. Steeves.

The first stop was the Piazza Bruno. It was busy as heck…but we were far too inebriated to take everything in. Apparently it's the only Piazza in Rome that features a confirmed heretic, excommunicated and burned at the stake by the Catholic Church for daring to espouse a belief in "science." Poor schmuck.

Our next stop was the Piazza Navona. But since we'd already been here we hurried through to the next site.

The next stop, was the Trevi Fountain. This place was also jammed full of people. The fountain was gorgeous…and it was one of those sites that was even prettier at night. Apparently there's a legend that if you throw a coin over your shoulder you'll return to Rome some day. Erika did it…I didn't. Well…lucky her – I guess she'll be back some day. But, for me, I was just glad that I was now "One Euro Richer than Her." She could bemoan that fate while she watched me scarf down a delicious one-Euro gelato later on.

Final stop, the Spanish Steps. The steps were littered with both litter and drunken Romans. It was…pretty scary, really. I mean…I don't think we were in any real danger at any point…but the folks sitting on the steps, in groups ranging from 2 to 20, looked imposing. There was a fountain at the foot of the steps, and some historical buildings around that Steeves said were pretty cool…but it was altogether a little too skeezy of us at that time of night.

So we left. The comfortable "wine buzz" was starting to wear off at that point, and it was being replaced with a not-as-comfortable "wine headache." Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I got us lost on the way back…adding a good half hour to our walk home.

Needless to say, when we rolled back into our crappy hotel room…heads throbbing…feet protesting…joints aching…we were not in the "best of moods." But…at least we were back…hopefully just staying in the room long enough to sleep, eat, and leave. "Rome not Room."