When in Rome: Day 2

Compiled by: Alicia, Kari, Cori, and Danielle
Written by: Danielle
Photos by: Alicia, Kari, Cori and Danielle

The next day dawned bright and early and we did not get up bright and early. We got up around 9:00. We were looking forward to hot showers, breakfast, and hitting the tourist traps.

Did I mention Hot Showers?

Well, well, well.

When we got up, there was no hot water. Only cold. And when I say cold, I mean mountain stream cold. I mean snow melting cold. Bracing.

Kari and I were brave, and took the cold showers. I cried out in pain during mine. Except, I’m the kind of person who laughs when they’re in pain, so I laughed throughout the entire painful episode. Cori was a wimp, and just washed her head in the sink, and we all know Alicia had already had 2 showers and all the hot water.

We tried not to hold it against her. Much.

We needed to get started on whatever it was that we were going to do that day, so we set off for Termini station, the main train station in Rome. We took the metro to Termini, and planned to get a Roma Pass (museum passes that also covered transportation) there.

Termini station isn’t exactly the most clearly marked train station. We wandered around the station for a least 2 hours, if not more. We had to get the Roma Pass, and train tickets for Venice, and possibly Naples, but we still spent more time than necessary in the station. Rick Steves told us we could get Roma Passes at the tourist information booth—which meant that we had to find the tourist information booth. Fortunately, Rick Steves could tell us where that was, too. What he couldn’t tell us was how to find the ticket office to buy train tickets, but we eventually found that, after getting turned around several times, and going up and down stairs several times.

After buying our Venice tickets, we were starving, so we wandered out of the station in search of lunch. We finally settled on this little hole-in-the-wall “authentic” looking restaurant which ended up being a restaurant that went deep, deep back into the city block, and was probably not the most authentic Italian restaurant in the world—although we did have another little old Italian waiter who spoke no English. Or pretended he spoke no English for the sake of authenticity…We’ll never know.

So, we decided that our first sight would be the Coliseum. We took the metro to the Coliseum stop, walked out of the station, and BAM! There it was. The coliseum is right across the street from the metro stop. I mean right across the street. You could practically touch it. It’s a remarkable sight, and it’s just set in the middle of ordinary Roman traffic and bus stops and metro lines.



We crossed the street to the Coliseum, and approached the entrance, when we heard someone ask us: “Hey, do you guys speak English?” It was a young woman with a very American accent trying to get us to sign up for a tour of the Coliseum and of the Forum (they are kind of combined sights)—only 10 euro, she said. She stood there, pressuring us, really—telling us a tour was about to start, and how great it was, and how there are no signs or anything in the Coliseum itself—just a bunch of rocks and stuff, she said.

We were debating whether or not to do it—I was half for it—why not? I thought, but others didn’t want to, so we said no. Besides, we had Rick Steves and Alicia, and why did we need a tour guide? We told her no, and she said: “Well, if you get bored inside, my name is Dana—I can still sign you up for a tour.” By the way, she was a total liar, because there were plenty of signs in the Coliseum about the Coliseum. Plenty.

I don’t know, but I find it hard to believe that we would find the Coliseum boring. Maybe that’s just me, since I like history, but still—boring? Hardly.

We were not bored.

It’s incredible, horrific place, the Coliseum. It’s huge—not as big as a modern stadium, of course, but still huge. There are no seats any more, no marble—it’s mostly just the remaining brick work, but the sense of the place is still there. The middle of the Coliseum is the area where the gladiators and others would have fought. There’s no stage an more—it’s now an open space with the tunnels beneath the Coliseum showing. What they did in that place is sickening, revolting, and deeply fascinating. It still holds a repulsive charm, I think, for anyone who goes to visit—a “fascination of the abomination” to quote Heart of Darkness.





The whole time we wandered through the Coliseum, Alicia listened to Rick Steves on her iPod—because he has free podcasts for different famous sights—and then she would tell us about what she had just learned. This was the beginning of Alicia’s official role as tour guide.

I was instructed by one of my students that we had to stage a battle at the Coliseum (and take pictures), so we did.





The Coliseum had a really cool cross that was placed there by the Church at some point to honor the Christians who died at the Coliseum. We thought it was cool, and since we’re Christians and missionaries and everything, we took a picture in front of it.





After the Coliseum, Rick Steves told us to go to the Roman Forum and Palantine Hill (these are sort of the same sight). We wandered the wrong direction from the Rick Steves tour, which got us a little bit turned around, but Alicia got us back on track, eventually. We even prepared a readers theater presentation of a Rick Steves introduction to the sights for Cori and Kari. I’m not sure they were terribly impressed with our efforts.

We had a scare when Kari lost her camera—because we had all stopped to take a picture in some grass that we found, and it fell out of her pocket. Fortunately, she found it. She lost it again a bit later—but it was in her pocket the whole time.



Rick Steves continued to guide us, through Alicia.


We finally saw almost every sight of the forum, staged a picture of Julius Caesar being killed...

(The one with the puffy hair is Caesar...)

...when we wanted to find the shrine of the Vestal Virgins. The Vestal Virgins were 6 virgins (duh) who were in charge of keeping the undying flame of Rome from dying. If they ever let it die, Rome would die. And, “according to Rick Steves,” if they ever had a boyfriend, they would be burned at the stake, or something gruesome like that.

So, we though it’d be fitting to get a picture of 4 DA Virgins (or, “Singulars” as Gloria calls us!) in front of the temple of the Vestal Virgins. But, as we found it, the guards started whistling—no, not because we were in trouble, or because we were very good looking (although I thought we were), but because the sight was closing. So, we took a very fast picture, and didn’t even manage to get the Vestal Virgin temple-thing in the picture. Oh well.



After being booted out of the Roman Forum (that’s not a sentence you get to say every day, eh?), we sort of wandered aimlessly down the road, and we were headed toward this massive white building, which some thought must be the Pantheon, since it was so big. We finally got to the front of the building, and it was the Italian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier—and a modern structure.



By this point, we were utterly foot weary, and needed cappuccino, even though in Italy, it’s considered gauche to drink cappuccino after eating anything with tomato in it—but we did not care and threw social custom to the wind, once more. While drinking our coffee, Kari noticed that the ladies at the café next door had gelato, and decided that she wanted gelato—or else. So, she got her gelato—and I also had some. Now, Rick Steves claimed that the Gelato stand near our flat was the best gelato in Rome, but Kari claims that this café had the best. I am still on the fence. Perhaps we can send a note to Rick next time he goes to Rome to try this place.

Alicia's cappucunio:


After coffee and gelato, we decided to try to find the Trevi Fountain. Rick Steves had a walking tour in the area that included the Trevi Fountain, and ended with the Spanish steps. So, we set off for the Trevi Fountain, and got lost. It’s quite simple to get lost in Rome—there’s nothing to it. We had to stop and check maps again and again. And by we, mostly I mean Alicia and Kari, because I lagged far, far behind the group (eating my gelato) and Cori was somewhere in the middle. We’d stop, I’d catch up, they’d decide on a direction to go in, we’d go in that direction, and then, get lost again. I wasn’t worried, Cori wasn’t worried, but I think Alicia and Kari were feeling frustrated—which was understandable, because it’s frustrating to get lost. Eventually, we decided in a direction that would take us to the fountain, and it did.

We walked down an alleyway (of course, nearly every road that isn’t a main road in Rome is an alleyway), and there it was: The Trevi Fountain. There were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people. And who did we see? Barb and Fran, teachers at DA who were also traveling in Europe! We had no plans to meet up with them—we just happened up on them, and they upon us! It was so exciting—A DA reunion in the middle of Rome, unplanned. We had to take a picture, of course, to document the occasion.



We also threw our coins into the fountain. I was the only one who made a wish—but I can’t tell you what that wish was, of course. (Alicia said she made her wish after the fact—not sure if that counts, though.)





Then, we had find something to eat. We were famished—famished! But, of course, we had to find the perfect restaurant—not too expensive, but nothing like McDonalds (gosh, who would eat there?). This took some time. While wandering to find the Perfect Restaurant, we managed to find The Spanish Steps.



At this point, it was about 8:30 at night. We climbed the Spanish Steps (Oh my word. Stretch before climbing the Spanish Steps. Stretch well.), and still didn’t have any place to eat. Someone mentioned that the metro might close at 9:00—we had seen a sign somewhere, sometime. There was a metro stop just below the Spanish Steps, so we took the elevator down to check and see. Don’t judge us until you too climb the Spanish steps after walking miles and miles and miles that day. Don’t judge.

We walked into the metro tunnel, but saw no signs. We looked at a map of the metro, and it said 12:00 AM. It looked like an old sign—but not too old—and so we decided to “risk” that the Metro wouldn’t close at 9:00, and continued on our search for the Perfect Restaurant.

Finally, finally, finally we found the Perfect Restaurant. We were nearly at the end of our ropes, our stomachs were completely empty, but we found it.

It was kind of a strangely decorated restaurant—it was decorated like a boudoir, I thought. But, the food. Oh the food.

Alicia ordered pumpkin ravioli with truffle sauce, and she found the Best Pasta in Italy. (Later, Alicia commented that it was slightly anticlimactic to find the best pasta in Italy on the second night of our stay, but oh well—she does not regret it one bit, despite the narrative flaws). Everything else was very good, as well, but oh, that pumpkin ravioli. We are all still drooling over it.



After The Best Pasta in Italy, we were ready to go home, so we headed back to the metro stop. We traveled under many, many miles of tunnels, and found the official sign that told us that the metro was closed—and had been closed at 9:00, as suspected.

Blast.

So, we followed the signs that led us through many more miles and miles of tunnels till we finally came to the end of the tunnels, and a bus stop in a place we had never seen before. We were ejected from the tunnels with a group of equally confused looking people—other tourists, as well, surely (who else pulls out maps at strange bus stops—not the locals). The four of us stood in a clump, and wondered what to do. By this point, I was extremely tired, and extremely cranky. I’m sure the others were, too, but I think I may have been the most tired and cranky.

Anyway, as we stood in a clump, a man asked us: “Do you need help?”

I’m so used to “helpful” people in Africa that I automatically said: “No, thank you.” Cori, however, is not so skeptical as I, and walked over to him.

This man was like something out of a movie. He was of a heavier build, had a long black pony tail, a top hat, and a coat with tails, and a cane. I think he looked like either someone in the mafia, or an opera singer.

"Where are you trying to go?” He asked [please insert Italian accent here].

“We trying to get to the Vatican,” Cori said.

The man dramatically put his head into his hands, and rocked his head back and forth: “Oh no!” he cried, “It’s too late. You can’t go. It’s closed.” He told us.

Cori managed to keep a straight face, but the other three were having trouble holding it together while we listened.

“No, no, we’re staying near the Vatican.” She explained.

“Ooohh!” He cried again. “Okay, you have to take the 116 bus to [insert Italian name here that we didn’t understand], get off and take the 64.”

“The 116, then the 64?” Cori repeated.

“Yes. One. One. Six.” He repeated.

And then, he walked off into the night. He turned around one more time, held his cane out into the air: “One. One. Six.” He called. Then, he disappeared under an arch, never to be seen again.

We never found the stupid good for nothing One. One. Six. We searched and searched for the stop, we started stopping buses as the passed to see if they went near the Vatican, and none of them did. Someone suggested we just try walking, but everything in my being did not want to walk, and I think in other people’s being, as well, so we finally hailed a cab, and he took us home. It was about five miles away, so we were quite glad we didn’t walk.

We finally got home around midnight, and collapsed into bed.

This little adventure with the Roman transportation system was the first of many frustrations with the Roman transportation system.

But that’s for Day 3.