Tale of Three Cities – Part 2 of 3: Rome, the Ancient city.

Late, I know, but here is Part 2 of 3 for A Tale of Three Cities

Rome (Roma) transports us to the ancient past. Edgar Allan Poe penned the lines “the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome.” Rome was – and is – indeed grand. The capital of both Italy and the Lazio region, Rome’s past “grandeur” remains evident in its vibrant, energetic present. Someone calculated that to see all the sights of Rome would require at least year. We had barely 5 days, so decisions had to be made!

Saturday, 8 November. Our day began very early and not without incident(s). The week before our second travel week had been hectic with a lot of project conferences for me and test reviews for Tim and student activities for us both. Although downloading pictures and writing blog entries to be uploaded at a later time may seem inconsequential and simply fun work, I was frustrated that I was behind in posting and that the fun part was only in the writing and not at all in the technology of the posting process, especially with a server ill-equipped to deal with nearly 100 students online and downloading huge files of heaven-knows-what! (Yes, that is a long sentence à la Wiliam Faulkner, but it is grammatically correct!) Despite being packed the night before and Tim taking wet laundry to the campus dryers (no clothes dryer in the apartment), we still felt rushed, and I hadn’t quite planned out an itinerary as I had with Liguria and Florence that had helped maximize our time. Not only were we going to Rome, but to Naples as well, and this time we were going for pretty much the entire week with little front and end times.
Unable to sleep, I got up at 4 am, hoping to finish some work before leaving at 5:45 to catch the 7:06 train to Padua, where we would get the Eurostar to Rome. For some reason, we were actually early and with little traffic arrived at Castelfranco station a little after 6. Ah, I thought; we can get some coffee at the Bistro across from the station. As we hauled the bags out of the Fiat’s trunk in the parking lot, Abbey looked up and said, “Do we have to have our passports?” Hearts sinking, Tim, Emma, and I answered “YES.” (Hotels, you may remember, are required to record passport documentation for all non-nationals.) “YOU FORGOT YOUR PASSPORT???” all three of us yelled to her. Okay, situation analysis required; cool heads needed; deep breaths. Emma and I would take all the luggage to the station; Tim and Abbey would drive, or rather speed, back to Paderno. It was a 30-minute drive by normal American standards; they would have to do it by Italian standards to return for the 7:06. As they sped off, I realized that the international drivers licenses were in my purse as we didn’t want to leave them in the car’s glove compartment. Tim didn’t have his license. Normale.
Thanking whoever invented luggage on wheels, Emma and I went to the train station with 4 suitcases, hoping against hope that the 7:06 regional to Padua would be late. Good chance it would be, we thought, since Trenitalia has about a 40% on-time record. As we sat in the warm waiting room, Emma decided she wanted to frank the tickets. The reserved Eurostar doesn’t require the machine franking, but the regionals do, which is what the ticket from Castelfranco to Padua was. I go for the tickets in my purse – no tickets. Can’t be, I thought; I put them in the night before with the passports. Then it occurred to me: I had taken them out to write down the train numbers, times, car and seat assignments for everyone in case we should get separated for any reason. While doing so, I had been sidetracked by who knows what. Great. I had the ticket information I wrote out but not the tickets. They were on the kitchen table.
Thankfully Tim had handed me his phone since Abbey carries mine. I dialed her in a panic. “Abbey, l think I left the tickets on the table; look for them when you go in for the passport.” “Okay; we’re almost there. Dad’s driving like an Italian.” Not what I wanted to hear, though in checking my watch, I realize that we might have a chance to make the train as a result. Emma is pacing, watching the electronic schedule. No sign that the train is running behind. At 6:35, Abbey calls: “We got them, tickets and passport. We’re on our way back.” Okay, we might pull this off.
6:50 I call Abbey. “Where are you?” “Just past the MacDonald’s by Iper,” about 10 minutes away. If they didn’t hit traffic and timed the lights well . . . . Emma and I, in a burst of optimism, lugged the bags to the track – thankfully our train came in on binario uno (track 1). 6:55, no sign of them and no ritardo light next to our train number. 6:59, I see Abbey running breathlessly into the waiting room; a minute later, Tim. At 7:03, the regional from Venice to Padua pulls in, right on time! Thankfully, we settle in our seats, hearts pounding. I looked at Abbey; she looked at me. We burst out laughing. “Well, I saved you,” I said, “and you saved me.” Emma just shook her head, probably glad that for once she had nothing to do with a potential disaster. Tim, however, was energized: he had experienced the Italian bloodsport of driving, as Frances Mayes termed it in her memoir. “I could that again,” he said, “Wow!”
Disembarking in Padua with a comfortable 15 minutes between trains, we boarded the crowded Eurostar, thankful for reserved seats for the 4-hour ride to Rome. Departure time of 8:00 came and went. Something was wrong with the engine, and the conductors were busy back and forth on the cars. By 8:35, we were finally on our way, noting that had we missed the 7:06 regional, the 7:20 would have gotten us to Padua in time to catch the Rome Eurostar! Of course, had that been the case, the Eurostar would not have been 25 minutes late. Normale.
The scenery through Tuscany and Lazio is beautiful, especially with brilliant sunshine. One of the perks of train travel is the ability to enjoy the views. Against a deep azure sky, the rounded green Tuscan hills are marked contrast to the imposing Dolomites and Alps of northern Italy. Fields of harvested corn, soybeans, and hay reminded us of the longer growing season here. Farms and vineyards nestle between small towns, though olive groves and orchards were now bare of fruit in early November. Tall, narrow evergreens create borders and wind barriers, mixing with chestnut and walnut trees. I kept thinking how much Jonathan would enjoy seeing this and comparing/contrasting it to the farms of Northeastern Pennsylvania.
Approaching Rome, the sky grew cloudy, then dark. Rain. Ugh, I thought. Rome is not a city to experience in the rain; thank goodness we brought umbrellas. An hour after schedule, we arrive at Rome Termini train station – 1:00 in the afternoon. And what a surprise – the station is a mall!! Well-designed, convenient, and clean, it has 3 levels of stores ranging from souvenir shops to really good food to bookstores and apparel. Following the directions from the hotel’s website, we easily find Hotel Serendipity, about 5 blocks from the station, down Via Marghera to Via Castro Pretorio. It’s in a beautiful old palazzo (palace), bigger than the one we had in Florence. (Already Abbey is wondering about mosquitoes.) At the gate to the courtyard, we see the buzzer to ring the hotel; the gate opens, and we make our way to the hotel entrance just off a beautiful garden with rain-drenched trees.
Our room is smaller than the others in Rapallo and Florence, but it is clean and comfortable with a good view of the front patio and gate. We unpack a bit for our 5-day stay and notice that the rain has stopped and the sun is once again shining. Wanting to explore the city a bit, we get the Roma Pass which, for three days, gives one free entrance to two museums (excepting the Vatican), reduced fees after the first two museums, and unlimited bus/metro transportation. We decide to use them beginning Sunday to carry us through to Tuesday as we were leaving Wednesday for Siena. Emma wanted to see the Spanish Steps, 2 metro stops from the Termini train station; that settled the itinerary for Day 1 in Roma.
So, off we went. Not quite as clean as the one in Paris, the Roman metro is efficient and prompt. Only real downside are the pickpockets. Crime in Italy is very low, as it is in all of Europe; however, petty pickpocketing is often a problem for unsuspecting tourists. One popular ruse is the woman with baby and child. Having reminded the girls to keep purses in front of them on the crowded metro, I noticed a woman moving throughout the car, holding a baby with a child in tow. Hmmmm, I thought. One does not walk around a speeding metro; one sits or holds on to the poles. She approached an older woman gabbing with a friend, her purse dangling. A man nearby taps the gabbing woman on the shoulder and nods to the pickpocket. Thanking him, she pulls her purse to her. I could have sworn I saw a look of disappointment in the pickpocket’s face; she exits quickly at the next stop. We have one more to go.
At Piazza di Spagna, we get off the metro and find ourselves facing the fountain and to our left, the famous Spanish Steps. No spring azaleas at this time of year, but the Spanish Steps still draws tourists and locals alike. Rome is full of people. There is never an off-season for this city. I spied the Keats-Shelley House, having forgotten at the time it was here. We visited this very small museum which has a large collection of first editions donated by people from all over the world. Keats died here, having come to Italy in hopes the warm mild climate would stave off the tuberculosis which he contracted from caring for his brother. It didn’t of course, in the days before antibiotics. Percy Shelley, angry at the bad reviews of Keats’ poetry, claimed that Keats died from them. Rome would have bad memories for Mary Shelley; not only did Keats die there, but her 3-year old son William did as well. Both were buried in the Protestant cemetery, along with Percy, who drowned later in the Gulf of Spezia on his way to Livorno, off the Ligurian coast. To this day, I wonder how she maintained her sanity with the deaths of 3 children, her husband, and friends, Keats and Byron.
After the museum and a pleasant conversation with the Italian-American attendant (born in Boston to American mother and Italian father), we climbed the Spanish Steps for a twilight view of Rome. Above St. Peter’s Dome in the distance, thousands of sparrows and starlings flew in patterned formations, looking like a funnel cloud one instant and an approaching thunderstorm front the next. It was a choreographed dance with moves synchronized from second to second. We stood amazed. A couple of weeks later, I learned from a report on the BBC that the migrating birds to Rome were in record numbers this year, to the extent that city officials began playing sounds of starlings in distress to discourage some of the birds from settling there. Bird poop was getting a bit annoying to some residents who carried open umbrellas on sunny days in some areas of the city!
Back to the hotel, we cleaned up and decided to eat close to home. Trattoria Gemma all Lupa, on Via Marghera, looked good and was! Our waiter, who answered our paltry Italian with good English, was not Italian himself, but Albanian. He was very nice and very apologetic for delivering Emma her Coca-Cola late and so didn’t charge us for it. We had a wonderful meal at very affordable prices, much more reasonable than Florence actually. After a shaky start that morning, we finished the day on a high note and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.

Sunday, 9 November. Sunny morning was cool at first but quickly became sun-warmed. Breakfast at Bar Jolly, compliments of the hotel. By the way, “bar” in Italy is not the same as a “bar” in the States; it’s a quick place to grab a morning espresso, roll, sandwich, and an afternoon glass of wine or beer. With maps and Roma passes in hand, we take the metro to the Ancient Centre to see the Colosseum, Palantine Hill, and the Forum. A 5-minute metro ride later, we are there. If Emma was the open-mouthed and silent one at Florence’s Duomo, it was I at the initial sight of the Colosseum. Looking at the map as we exited from the metro, I didn’t look up until right in front of this incredible ancient structure. Last – and only – time I had seen it had been at night, 20 years ago, in a bus with Widener merchandising students – a drive-by view at my request as we were returning from a dinner out on our last night in Rome.
Time seems to have stood still here in this spot. The age of the Republic; the age of emperors. History comes alive with every step. I imagine chariots on the car-bustling road and shouts from spectators within the giant walls of the Colosseum. Plays at amphitheatres; Roman senators and wealthy women bustling along the streets. A bus horn brings me back, as does the sight of an anachronistic “gladiator” in full dress talking on a cell phone at the corner tabacchi as he sips an espresso.
“Would you like a tour in English,” speaks a very British voice. A nicely dressed young woman stood before us. “We have tours with English speaking guides.” I wasn’t sure at first as many people tout themselves as guides but aren’t. However, she was clearly British and licensed; the deal seemed good as I had not done all the homework I usually did before travel times. We could use our Roma pass as well. We walked with her to join a group of Americans, Australians, and Brits for a tour with an English-speaking Roman. As it turned out, we didn’t need to use our pass and got in at a lower rate anyway. The tour was brief (1 hour) but good; we learned much about the history, myths, and facts. Christians weren’t fed to the lions or killed here; they were killed in the Circus Maximus however. Nero didn’t fiddle in the Colosseum while Rome burned; it wasn’t even built until after his death. Nevertheless, the Colosseum saw its share of violence with gladiators fighting to the death with each other or wild animals that had been caged and starved below the arena’s floor. There were women gladiators described by Juvenal. Equal opportunity brutality. All rather gruesome for a civilization with a legacy of brilliant engineering, government policies, and art (though much was borrowed from the cultures the Romans conquered).
As part of the tour and to encourage business for the company, we had a freebie tour of Palantine Hill with a British guide. One of the seven hills of Rome, the Palantine is closest to the Colosseum and offers a wonderful view of the Forum remains below. Here is the beginning of the Appian Way with the Lebanese Umbrella trees; the palace ruins of Domitian, one of the early emperors; the expansions by the crazed Nero; the simple lodging of Augustus & Livia; the hut of Romulus, for whom Rome is named; the varied colored marble of the Domus Flavia villa. The Palantine is serene, a perfect spot of a picnic lunch and good book.
The Roman Forum below has a surprising amount of structure left. The 3 columns, decorative Corinthian style, of the Temple of Pollux and Castor are exquisite. The Temple was a tribute to the twins who led the Romans to victory over the Tarquins (Etruscans). The statues in the Vestal Virgins Courtyard are not intact, but enough remains to give one a sense of their original beauty. We later found a “then and now” book of Rome that has transparent overlays of the structures during the Empire over today’s ruins. The Forum was the center of Roman life. Here citizens managed the political and religious affairs of the city. The Temple that Emperor Antoninus built 141 AD for his wife Faustina is remarkably preserved; 6 marble columns of its portico or overhang remain. Trajan’s Column, honoring the defeat of what is now known as Romania, is inscribed with the battle description.
By early afternoon, we were ready for food. Passing the Victor Emmanual monument that Mussolini once made his headquarters, we meandered to Piazza Argentina and enjoyed an outdoor lunch in the afternoon sun. From there, we strolled to the Pantheon and then to the Trevi Fountain, which evoked scenes from Three Coins in the Fountain, the movie that actually made it famous. In 1762, Nicola Salvi scuplted Neptune and two figures of Triton with seahorses, one calm and the other wild (2 moods of the ocean). Legend has it that the fountain is named for Trivia, a girl from ancient Rome who led thirsty soldiers to a spring. It was dusk at that time, and the fountain lights glimmered, almost eerily, as if we were all underwater.
On our way back, we met Courtney Bibbs, a University of New Hampshire student studying in Spain. Her hostel was near our hotel, so we met for dinner: Trattoria Gemma all Lupa again, this time eating outside to enjoy the pleasant evening. Only disquieting note was the news announcement that trains, metros, and buses would be on strike tomorrow – the day we planned to see St. Peter’s and the Vatican Museum. Normale.

Monday, 10 November.
We forfeited breakfast at Bar Jolly (not a great loss) and opted for sandwiches to go from the Termini (train station). Since neither the buses nor metro were operating, we decided to walk to the St. Peter’s metro stop where we were to meet our Palantine Hill tour guide; he would then direct us to Susan, our Vatican guide. Susan is American, with an art history or cultural anthropology (or both?) degree; she has lived in Rome for 8 years. Despite the assurances from a couple in our tour on Sunday, the walk from Termini station to the Vatican was not a 40-minute one, even with walking as fast as we did. (We won’t deduct minutes – and minutes– for picture taking!) After making a few wrong turns, welcomed for a meander but not for a timed appointment, we hailed a taxi. The gum-chewing driver was pleasant, and she readily understood my Italian. Whisking us over the Tiber via Ponte St. Angelo, she got us to our meeting point in plenty of time for a coffee/tea before connecting with our tour.
Susan was exceptionally knowledgeable with a wonderfully dry sense of humor. The Vatican Museum is incredibly huge; like the Louvre (and many other museums), it is impossible to see everything in a day. The double helix staircase makes one dizzy. Susan had studied much about funerary art and took us to the ancient Greek and Roman area and explained the rites and traditions of sarcophagi. The sculpted tomb indicates the person’s social place, familial relationships, and work. We looked at several art works with both Christian and classical themes. One work that stood out was a painting of a table that, although painted from an angle, looked the same on either side. Spooky. A bit like the eyes that seem to follow you no matter where you are. Many sculptures such as Apollo Belvedere were in excellent condition, though many others were broken (or had their private areas fig-leaved when the Church went through an art-unappreciation mode).
The Sistine Chapel was very crowded; good weather had brought many people to Rome. I had been here 20 years ago, when half of Michelangelo’s ceiling had been restored. Then we could take pictures. Now, with restoration complete, we cannot. Postcards will have to do. Funny that I remember the Chapel larger than it seemed this time. Nevertheless, Michelangelo’s work cuts to the soul; indeed much of his own is in it.
Susan left us at St. Peter’s Square, and we visited the inside of the church – very beautiful. However, for some reason it did not have a “spiritual” aura (not sure how to describe it) that other churches have had, Notre-Dame or Florence’s Duomo, for example. Its dome was designed by Michelangelo, although he died before it was completed. The Square itself, designed by Bernini, is spectacular with its symmetry and columns. Scenes from Dan Brown’s novel, Angels and Demons, kept appearing, to the point that I gave in and bought a paperback copy to reread while in Rome! The Vatican is its own entity, technically a part of Italy only by virtue of its geography. It has its own post office, government, and bank (rich, rich, rich!!). People can make an appointment to “see” the Pope wave from his apartment; we declined.
After a good lunch in a café off the Square, we walked back to the hotel leisurely. Emma discovered a beaver swimming in the Tiber, and she and Tim went to the edge to check it out. Evidently beavers made an agreement with Roman authorities not to build dams in exchange for a protected environment.
That night we met one of our CIMBA students, Mike, who had connected with one of his friends from home there. We enjoyed a great meal at Antica Birreria Peroni, known for its beer, good food, and mixing of locals and tourists. Since Mike’s friend enjoys brewing like Tim, the guys had fun exchanging successes and, well, not successes! We walked back together – a pleasant evening to view the lights and vibrancy of Rome at night.

Tuesday, 11 November.
Our hotel made us an appointment for the Borghese Museum in the morning. The strike now over, we took a bus there, fortunately estimating rightly where to get off (signs not clearly marked). The gleaming white villa shines amid the green of the gardens and shade trees. The Museum features many works by Bernini, in addition to paintings by Raphael and Caraveggio. Rick Steves aptly describes it as “Classical meeting Renaissance”; in fact, Scipione Borghese wanted to promote Renaissance art by depicted its value with the Classical works. His collection was enormous. Especially powerful is Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne.
The girls opted for some downtime, so Tim and I quite willingly set off for lunch alone and to explore the city more. We visited the church Santa Maria Maggiore, built in 402 AD and still possessing mosaics from that time. The church had been a refuge for many as the Roman Empire was collapsing. After, we had a pleasant lunch not far and did some shopping on Via Nazionale. Tim found a new suitcase, much needed as his old one had broken in London: a Delsey that matched one of the pieces we had purchased in Strasbourg, France 2 years earlier. Our hotel manager looked startled as we came in with the suitcase; she inquired where we had been and laughed when Tim said we need a bigger bag for all the souvenirs. That night we visited the Pantheon inside, meeting some folks from Australia. We had dinner on nearby Via dei Pastini where each ristorante was hawking its menu. Tim opted for one that featured fish; Emma and I didn’t care as the pasta was always superb! The heaters enabled people to enjoy an al fresco meal in November. Ahhh – Roma e la bella citta!

Wednesday, 12 November. Train to Naples.
Packed and ready for the train to Napoli, we said a sad goodbye to Rome. It is indeed grand.