Roma

I ripped my stamped passport out of the Swiss emigration officer’s hands and continued sprinting down Zurich’s terminal.
A flight attended stood 100 feet in front of me.
“Roma?” she called, pleasantly.
“YES!” I panted, eyes as wide as tennis balls. She jogged with me down the causeway. Another stewardess told me where my seat was, but the customary help wasn’t needed: there were only two empty seats on the flight. Heads stared at me from every single other seat. I wanted to yell, ‘It’s not my fault that my connection was delayed an hour and a half!’ Within minutes the plane was taxiing away from the gate and was on its way to Rome.

Erin’s flight was delayed as well, but we were all smiles when she arrived at the airport. Unfortunately, our journey to the hotel was far from over. The late-night bus ride from the Termini station was no less exciting than my Zurich connection. First, we had to find the bus stop located near the station—a seemingly simple task that was complicated by a bad map and an empty train station. Next, we had to find a working ticket machine. We were finally on a bus headed to the Porta Pia stop. ‘Five stops,’ I recalled. After traveling for several minutes with no stops at all, I leaned over to the man next to me. “Porta Pia?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he replied in English. “Porta Pia?” that man asked another. This man pointed over his shoulder. We had missed it. I grumbled to myself, frustrated that the only way to get off at the correct stop was to know what it looked like out the bus window and press the button. ‘How should I know what Porta Pia looks like?’ Eventually we did arrive at the hotel and promptly fell asleep.

Friday was cold and rainy. Undaunted, Erin and I set off for the Colosseum. We took a mediocre guided tour and then explored on our own. The Colosseum was built by 40,000 slaves in a mere eight years—a fact I intend to pass on to the next person that reminds me, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’ Thousands of gladiators lost their lives on the Colosseum’s stage. The blatant disregard for human life baffles me. Times changed with Christianity, but the disregard for life is a mentality still shared by Rome’s taxi drivers.

The Roman Forum is an excavated area littered with ancient walls and pillars. Erin commented that it “looked like the bottom of a fish tank.”

After lunch we visited the Pantheon. The Pantheon is essentially a giant circular hall with a massive dome on top. It was built by the Romans and engineers still aren’t sure how the Romans managed to do it in 118AD. Rather than pillage the building’s materials as was done to the Colosseum, the Catholic Church “adopted” the building and turned it into a church.

Saturday arrived with sunshine and warmth. Our first stop was the Trevi fountain. As a lover of fountains in general, the Trevi Fountain ranks among my favorite Roman attractions. The fountain is set against the wall of a stone building. A mighty Neptune stands on a shell pulled literally by sea horses.* The water rushes from tier to tier into a large pool filled with coins. Legend has it that throwing a coin in backwards ensures a return trip to Rome.

The Spanish Steps were our next destination, but due to construction they offered little more than a pleasant view of the city. Erin and I continued to the Basilica of Maria Maggiore. The inside of the main basilica was fairly beautiful, but the gold-crested towers were phenomenal. I clandestinely pointed my camera upwards and hoped that no priests were around.

Erin and I had trouble figuring out exactly what Il Vittoriano was. It is a monument to Victor Emmanuel II and is the tomb of the unknown soldier and is a museum. Romans may deem it ugly, but I found it very impressive. It offered a wonderful view as well.

Saturday night I insisted we return to the Trevi Fountain to see it illuminated. Apparently I wasn’t the only one: there were hordes of tourists there. The fountain was as beautiful at night as it was during the day.

Some start the day off with coffee. Some start the day off with tea. Erin and I started Sunday off at the Cappuccin crypt, which turned out to be even more grotesque than the Ossuary in Kutna Hora. Bones and skulls adorned the walls in a similar fashion. In the Cappuccin Crypt, however, there were ledges with arching structures of bones housing especially holy deceased monks. These monks lay on their macabre beds, still fully clad in their brown robes with ancient skin still stretched across their skulls and folded hands.

*IMAGE COURTESY GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH*

Completely grossed out, Erin and I walked to an exhibit of wooden inventions found on the pages of Leonardo da Vinci’s volumes of inventions. I decided my new catch phrase is, “Hey, did you know da Vinci invented that?” The man was extraordinary. He drew plans for countless contraptions like the watch spring and the bicycle hundreds of years before they were re-invented.

From the exhibition Erin and I walked up the hill to Pincio where people were celebrating Carnival! Hundreds of costumed children skittered around the park throwing confetti at one another as their parents chatted and occasionally joined in.
Later we heard commotion coming from one of Rome’s many squares. A haphazard parade had begun! Bands faced off, freelance dancers led the way, and hordes of Italians marched alongside the procession.

Erin and I meandered around Rome after the parade. We laughed together at the sight of a priest and a nun praying over their pizza. ‘Only in Rome…’ we agreed. We ended up near the Colosseum and seized the opportunity to photograph it at night.

Finally, we boarded a bus intending to get off at the following stop to switch lines. As our stop crept up out of the right window, I noticed that the bus’s side doors were for entering and the center door was for exiting. We began shoving our way towards the center of the bus. The doors were open and Erin hopped off, but they closed before I could squeeze through. She turned around and her hands flew to her mouth in complete terror. Many of the Italians began laughing and one called to the driver, who opened the door again to let me off. They were still laughing when the doors closed. I was laughing at this point too—it was about the cutest expression I’d ever seen. In hindsight, that is.

Monday my watch rudely woke us at 7:00. It was time for the Vatican, but that is another story…

*The “sea horses” are horses with wings and webbed feet.