Rome, day 1, part 1

Trains can come early in Italy.  They can also leave early.  After waking up at 5:30 to catch the early train to Rome, I found this out.  Fortunately, this morning was the rainiest day I’ve seen in Italy – except for maybe the night when Venice flooded, so when I watched my train cruising out of the station, it was in the middle of a downpour.  I had been plenty early to the station, but the ticket machine wasn’t accepting bills, so I had to trek out to the main street to buy a cappuccino and get some change.  Not a lot was open, as it was still dark outside, and the feast of the immaculate conception (a national holiday) to boot.

There was something about seeing my train rolling slowly away from the station as I walked up the long, tree-lined street, in the dark and rain that made me want to scream.  And to laugh.  I chose laugh, which was good, but it was a kind of manic, “I can’t believe this.  Cazzo!” laugh.  Because of the holiday, the next train was in 3 hours.  So, I headed back to the house to write and have a little breakfast.  I would have gone back to bed, but the cappuccino prevented that.

Three hours later, I was winding my way to Firenze where I would pick up the high-speed train to Rome.  All went well, and I was in Rome by 2:00.  The high-speed ride made up an hour of the time I’d lost and I was treated to some great light-shows as the clouds began to clear.

Rome is fabulous.  I walked swiftly from the Termini train station to my hotel, Hotel Aberdeen where I’d gotten a screaming deal on a room in a secure building across from the Ministry of Defense.  It even had a little balcony.

I threw my things in the room, and ran back out into the city, eager to see as much as possible.  My stay would be brief – 2 nights, and only one full day in the city – so I wanted to make the best of it.  I’d spent my time on the train examining maps of Rome and planning my time in the city.  My buddy Rick Steves had a couple of suggested walking tours that sounded interesting, one in the evening and one at night.  If I played it right, I’d be able to do both.  But first, I wanted to see the Trevi fountain.

The walk from the hotel was fascinating.  While I found Venice magical in its subtle, enchanting way, I found Rome to be magical in its might.  Every intersection had the potential to be special.  Art and antiquity blared out of unlikely spaces to grab-hold and make sure I knew that I was in an important place.  Rome is the capital of Italy.  It felt a little like the capital of the world – but it seemed a little desperate to express that primacy.  Or maybe more anxious than desperate.  Like a clumsy teenager tripping over himself with excitement to show you his new toys.   Carabinieri with sub-machine guns and military with full-out machine guns stood in doorways and piazzas, seeming to guard the stones of the city itself.

And things are big here.  Like Texas big.  Bigger.  They’re really big.  And old.  Walls stretch up, church facades are exaggerated in their baroque opulence, and buildings go on forever.  I found out on my last night that I’d been walking past the longest corridor in the world on my way to see the sights.

In a piazza just above Trevi (did you know there are hills in Rome?  Seven, evidently), which I think might be the President’s residence, I watched as a bus load of sailors and then soldiers exited with their rifles, and headed for the building.

I wasn’t sure exactly where I was, but there was a steady flow of tourists down the hill and around the building.  I joined them and found myself suddenly at Trevi, the fountain of “Ocean” and the sea of his tourist admirers.

The fountain is spectacular.  The evening light was wonderful, filtering through the clouds.  I was beginning to feel a little desperate from the hunger that comes with traveling all day without food, but I took some time to enjoy this place.  I walked around the fountain, sat and looked at it, and tossed a few coins over my shoulder, hoping for a return-trip to Rome.

When I couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, I checked my map and headed to the pantheon, where I would look for a recommended pizza place and see the big church.

It was big.  Look at the little, tiny people at the base of the columns.  Pizza was more important than the impressive building, so going inside would have to wait until the morning.

After a re-fuel I decided to head to piazza del popolo to take some pictures for a friend and start my evening stroll through Rome.  But first there would need to be gelato.  One of Rome’s enormous gelato shops was just around the corner.

Giolitti was serious about gelato.  The gelato counter was completely mobbed by couples and kids and locals and tourists all wanting cones from the harassed, white-jacketed gelato slingers.  I quickly gave up trying to see the flavors and noticed the substantial line to pre-pay.  I ordered my medium cone and took the slip to the mob of people at the counter.  After 5-10 minutes of slowly working my way forward, sneaking peeks at flavors, and formulating my plan for ordering, a kid maybe 7 years old wedged his way in front of me, leaving his dad behind.  I thought it would be the kind thing to do to let him see the flavors, but when he reached up, put his ticket on the counter and hailed the clerk, all thoughts of kindness flooded out of me.  I put my ticket next to his and looked the clerk in the eye.  The gelato dude looked at me, looked at the kid, and reached for the kid’s ticket.  Then he looked back at me.  We exchanged knowing smiles, and he filled the order while the bastardino barked squeaky-voiced orders at him.

With the kid out of the way, several more tickets appeared on the high-counter, but the clerk returned to mine, looked at the size and disappeared briefly.  He returned with a chocolate-coated cone and a wry smile.  While in line I’d been able to sneak peeks at a couple of flavors.  I had seen marone glace, in a bin that looked to be nearly untouched.  The green pistachio and red strawberry were super-popular, but I didn’t care.  I wanted the stuff with brown chunks.  And so I ordered.  I wanted marone glace and whatever the gelato guy thought would pair well.  Per usual, he seemed happy with the request, and pointed to the near-black “fondante”.  “Va bene.”  With a scoop of the paddle my cone was filled and the paddle thrown like a ninja star back into the bin.  Then he reached for the “panna,” whipped cream, and handed it over.

I was glad I ordered a “mediano” instead of the “extra big”.  I munched and slurped as I headed for the piazza, feeling completely at ease with the world.  (Yes I’m aware that food is not love or happiness, but it’s a really enjoyable companion sometimes.)

Parts of Rome shut down in the evening while people stroll along the major shopping district, enjoying the sights and sounds.

I joined in.  I walked and looked and wandered into churches, passing the beggars that seem to inhabit, one at a time, the doorsteps of every church in town.

I finally made it to piazza del popolo.

I felt like I was in “Angels and Demons”.  The eerie sky and the domes of the twin churches was surreal.  The square was full of excited people enjoying the break in the rain and the holiday night.  I walked inside to grab a look at the pyramid tomb that was actually in the movie.  It was mostly behind scaffolding – it seems the movie appearance merited a facelift.

I considered finding a church and attending mass (seemed like an interesting experience – mass in Rome on the feast of the immaculate conception), but, as bells began to ring, I walked out of the square and heard a different sound.  I thought the opera was going from a shop stereo system.  I was wrong.  As I rounded the corner into a piazza, the singing got louder.  And I saw four singers on a raised stage.  There were maybe 200 people in front of the stage listening to some of the most beautiful opera I’d ever heard.

For the next hour, I stood in the piazza and listened.  I listened to the church bells ringing, I listened to the singers, I listened to the people around me singing along.  I might have teared up a little.  When the singers had finished their first and second encores (I found myself pondering the similarity between the French word encore and the Italian word ancora), I continued on past the Ara Pacis to Capitol Hill where I climbed the steps and got my first glimpse of the Forum and, in the distance, the Colesseum.

It was quiet and beautiful, and a perfect place to decompress and get ready for the next adventure.  There was a lot more of Rome to see.