Rome

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Italy as a state came into being in 1861, uniting the disparate regions of the entire Italian peninsula. People who couldn't care less about each other were melded together into one Kingdom.
We'd traveled down from the curvaceous rump of Venezia, and had found ourselves in the bony shin area also known as Lazio, Roma. If Rome is Italy's shin, it's a hairy inelegant one at that.
Late at night, we disembarked at Termini Station in the middle of Rome. We went from the spic and span high-speed train to the dirty, run-down & slow Roman metro to get to Ottaviano, our rented apartment only minutes walk from Vatican City. Tired and in unfamiliar surroundings, I had to check my negative tendencies and not critique this place to death. But wheeling our bags down Via Candia it became apparent that it was much uglier and louder than any city we'd been to.

After a long walk down Via Candia we found number 111 and were buzzed upstairs by Gianluca to our apartment. It was decorated in creams & browns and came with a full kitchen and an indecipherable front-loading washing machine. The beds in the bedroom and the one in the corner of the kitchen had burgundy throws. On the 1st floor we had louvered windows opening onto the busy street below. Tiny, old TV's mounted near the ceiling hung in the kitchen and bedroom. It turned out the white box on the wall wasn't aircon. Gianluca ruefully told us it was a heater. But we had a single fan to keep us cool he countered. There would be no refuge from the oppressive heat and noise outside. We should've stayed on the train.

No doubt we'd have been in far-worse shape if we'd flown. Like 99% of people, we can't afford business class flying, but taking the Eurostar got us to Rome in comfort and style. While it was still light we watched the wonderful Tuscan countryside fly by. Trains and planes are good places to write what you're reading now. The power points under the table between us didn't work. So I slid over the other side and used the vacant booth opposite us. The conductor told me no one had booked the seats so I was safe. As we got closer to Rome the seats started filling-up at each station we stopped at. Soon I had a couple sitting opposite me and I was boxed-in by a young girl in the aisle seat.
By now there was a constant migration up and down the aisles as people looked for free seats , some it seemed, vainly holding-out for a free booth. The couple opposite were determined to get comfortable. Michelle still had 3 vacant seats around her in our cubicle. So the man got up and sat down, propping his feet up on the seat opposite him, next to Michelle.
Now I could tell you he had a shifty disposition and swarthy Latin features (which he did) and Michelle needed protecting . But a jealous pang had struck. Certainly, the smirk on his girlfriend's face, beaming back at me meant I must have given the game away.
So there was nothing left to lose but move back. Clambering over the man I sat back down in the window seat facing Michelle. He got the message and moved back over the aisle.

The apartment.....We discovered Italian game shows on TV though. With a sadistic relish thousands of Italians tune in every week night to watch 'La Botola'.
It's a sudden-death talent show where two contestants perform in front of the studio audience. One is voted-off, with the other proceeding to the next heat. Before each contestant performs, a close friend or relative reads out a plea of sorts to the audience. Telling us what they'd spend the 200,000 Euro prize money on. My guess is air-conditioning for their Rome apartment.
Each contestant, after performing, is stationed in the middle of a square on the sound stage. Once the votes are tabulated you're subjected to the compulsory, contrived, enforced suspense of formula TV. Suddenly the result gets announced and the losing player drops through a trapdoor into a pool of water. 'Botola' as you may have guessed means 'Trap Door'. The Trap Door's contestants range from the hugely talented to the painfully deluded. Our favourite delusional was the 50-something Freddie Mercury impersonator who barked-out 'I want it all'. Although the audience had made some shocking choices (mind you, these are the people who voted for Silvio Berlusconi#), they showed no mercy to Freddie with a paltry 20% of the vote.
Points for effort, but maybe it was time to get a new prescription?
Between acts, the Trap Door's very own troupe of Barbie Doll meets Solid Gold dancers with blow-up breasts, shiny white teeth & shinier legs encased in Daisy Duke denim shorts, jiggle round the stage providing the audience with set-piece dances with Page 3 faces. The cameras cut between their midriffs and the beaming, lecherously appreciative grin of the bow-tied host.

Cruelty and the commodification of it, has a long history in Rome.
In 80 AD, Emperor Titus opened the Flavian Ampitheatre, more commonly known today as The Colosseum (it's shorter so pragmatism wins ok?). Just in time to have some pesky Christians eaten by Elsa the Lion for entertainments sake.
Getting to the Colosseum was easy. We got on the Metro, made a couple of changes and up a few steps we emerged into the blinding sun outside the ruins. Immediately we were confronted by a disheveled Londoner selling guided tours. He looked like he needed a few more sales to get back home so we chose him over the dozen or so others milling about.
We joined the 20 strong tour guided by Luigi. Most of the English speakers at the ruins that day seemed to be American College students & some adventurous Mid-Western types.
Following Luigi past the massive crowd grilling under the sun we trickled through the x-ray machine and into the Colosseum. The tour got off to an uncomfortable start.
Compensating for lack of knowledge and fluid, polite English. Luigi proceeded to tell us all about prostitution in Roman times. The college boys had a puerile chuckle, elbow-jabbing each other. The Mid-Westerners maintained a polite silence. Inside their minds, Luigi & the Cosmopolitan excesses of Rome were going straight to hell. They looked as uncomfortable as Methodist George Bush did sitting next to the number 1 Catholic, Pope Benedict. XVI.
Minnesota Nice^ won through, Luigi took us inside & moved on to safer ground, engaging in mild sexual harassment of the younger women in the group instead.

Walking through the arches, into the Colosseum put us right inside the elaborate skeleton of the empire the Romans had built. After the collapse of Rome and the consequent waves of Barbarian invasion, followed by some Dark Ages pointy headedness, only about half the Stadia remains.
Locals started carting-away all the marble, the church got in on the act and nicked the rest. Some of Rome's biggest churches are layered in Roman marble. Fitting revenge after being hunted by dogs, dragged to the Colosseum and devoured by Lions.
The Romans show us that technology (mostly Greek innovation, mastered by Romans) is no antidote against the impulse to kill lots of people and whole species of animals. In fact most of the people who died here were common criminals and political dissidents. The opening extravaganza resulted in over 6,000 creatures getting slaughtered in the ring. The brave Gladiators had swords and spears. The animals, brought up suddenly into the bright sunlight were blinded, and couldn't see well enough to defend themselves.
Nevertheless, it is an amazing sight. Taking in the sheer scale of this place. Apparently, another 2 or 3 levels of seating sat above the gutted stories around us.
After an hour or so, Luigi finished with his double-entendre's and set us free to roam around.
In the shade, we found a free slab of rock and unpacked our picnic. Soon we had a Spanish tour group for company, for the next half-hour we listened to the nonstop, staccato Spanish commentary from their guide. They got the whole tour from one spot. We finished-up our lunch and headed back outside.

The second part of tour was about to begin. Waiting for our guide for Palatine Hill and The Forum we got in some people-watching. Occasionally a sweating, sunlight-stunned tourist with a young child in tow would pose for photos with burly men, dressed in Centurian costumes strutting around.
When he was distracted, looking the other way into someone else's lens. I thought I'd be sneaky and snap off a shot without Brutus watching. He had a 6th sense for lost revenue and I got off one crappy shot before ducking, turning the other way. The word “shit” flew past my ear as I scurried off.


Our tour guide showed up. Her brassy, authoritative Long Island accent cutting out all background noise. Mandy, an aspiring sales rep, holder of a classics degree, was having a great time taking people around the Palatine Hill ruins.
Little remains of the Senate buildings which used to sit in the saddle of the hill. Without a hat and loads of water, the midday sunlight in Rome can stupify you. Badly mixed mortar helped the sun rays quietly destroy the Forum. Today, only three archways of this formerly massive building stand on the edge of the Palatinate. Dehydration isn't a problem; fresh springs still provide cold, fresh, delicious water to fill your bottles from. Over an area the size of Westfield St Lukes, are scattered columns and lumps of marble block. Mandy kept up her enthusiastic commentary as we wound our way through the ruins. Down a long tunnel we were shown the spot where Caligula was murdered. Eventually we all gathered under a shady tree. Behind me stood a couple of Nova Scotians cracking lewd remarks on what Cleopatra held in her hand that belonged to Caesar? The proper answer is his illegitimate son, Octavius. Mandy actually did do an excellent job. She had a mastery of dates and made some shrewd political observations just as valid today. When someone mentioned we'd had Luigi on the earlier tour, she told us in a matter of fact tone, as if he was a hazard on the tour map needing identification, that he was indeed a genuine creep.

The Vatican Museum. So far our skepticism about paying to jump queues had been unfounded, it really did help. So, once again so we handed over some of our diminishing supply of cash for VIP entry.
We'd prepared well for the day ahead. Picnic lunch, good shoes & a charged camera. It almost got derailed when the guards stopped Michelle from entering. Her shoulders weren't covered. We'd had the same hassle in Venice. There they rent out shawls for bare-shouldered offenders. Here, no such luck. A kind lady lent Michelle a cardigan to get through the brazen hussy checkpoint.
As we moved-on it appeared that this time the 'priority' tickets only saved us a ten minute wait.
At 30 Euro each, don't bother if you're there first thing in the morning.

After handing my bag in to the coat check, we ascended an escalator up into the Museum.
This one is huge. The whole complex takes up a large percentage of Vatican City. Running parallel with each other are two long, long halls. Two storeys high. Linking them is a further series of connecting halls. Within the walls there is a massive collection of sculpture, paintings, statues, bust & assorted bric a brac dating back to pre-Roman times. However, the first sculpture you meet turns out to be an ultra-modern golden globe with internal machinery exposed. It's hard to describe. The photo will clear the air.
As you wind your way further into the the museum, down marbled corridors lined with the splendour of Empires past. A palpable excitement builds. The rooms get smaller, a little bit darker. Paintings fade into the shadows. Look a little closer and some have brutal scenes of the vanquished, hands bound, having swords run through them. Others are chock full of cherubic figures having a great time doing god knows what. Chatter increases as finally we come to the magnificent Sistine Chapel. The entire floor space is packed with people staring upwards. A security guard, with impotent fury bellows out “Silencio!!!” as we walk in. Everyone ignores him. Another guard spots Michelle's offending shoulders, muttering something unpleasant under his breath. His eyes bore into us as the filthiest scowl crosses his face. But there are bigger fish to fry. Taking photos or video in the Sistine Chapel can result in instant confiscation. A couple of plain clothes guards prowl around catching furtive snappers. Someone should run a best sneaky photo competition in here.
It had taken a couple of hours to get in here. Footsore we found a seat and listening to our audio guide looked up and admired the view. It is a truly beautiful room.
If you're only traveling for a couple of weeks it would be amazing. By now our jaded selves could only manage tired sighs and think about moving on.

Leaving, we hurried past some modern art devoted to Mary and made our way out. We'd gone in at 10,30am, now it was around 3pm. Retrieving our weighty backpack full of food, we slunk back to our apartment and had lunch there.
Most businesses only took cash and Gianluca had collected a large wad from us for the apartment. Eating-out had been a challenge in Venice, to stay solvent we applied the same formula which worked in Venice....Pizza.
Pizzerias in Rome are much cheaper, but like the city, are unattractive to hang around in. Most of our dinners became takeout in front of the TV (eagerly watching La Botola to see who were going to be tonight's unwitting victims). Years ago, I worked waiting tables in an Italian restaurant. Here in Rome, the food was pretty much the same except a lot cheaper than the Viaduct and the owners weren't Macedonians masquerading as Italians.

Outside our apartment the world consisted of swarms of Vespa's & loads of cars hurtling down grubby, litter-strewn streets. Back in Auckland, rarely do you have to compete with other scooters to get in front of the cars. Here they jostle for pole position. When the light turns green, a wrist-twisting full throttle charge of 2 wheelers bears down the street . A contempt for pedestrians, is reflected in most crossings being blocked by 'parked' cars. Crossing the road required you to stand your ground as if a Silver back Gorilla is charging you..
Unlike Venice, the street vendors crowded the pavement along with flea-market like stalls selling cheap underwear and shoes. Italy may have the 8th highest quality of life in the world according to The Economist Magazine, but Rome must be keeping it down in 8th place.
After the Roman ruins and The Vatican we'd exhausted any charm the city held. Spending long periods holed up in our un-air conditioned, beige coloured apartment biding our time, counting down to our departure for Santorini.
Would we make it?
Some sort of therapy would be needed.
Cats. Not the musical, real live cats.

In the middle of Rome, right in some Roman Ruins (Torre Argentina), surrounded by the snarling traffic is a cat sanctuary. Amidst the ruins some 250 odd cats live together. Hiding in the sweltering daytime shade, coming out to hunt, play & fight with each other at dusk. Perched above the sunken ruins sits a feline hospital. Dozens of ill, injured and crippled cats are cared for by volunteers. Some are adopted out, even immigrating to foreign families. Others join the motley bunch in the ruins. Many have to be put down. Upon entering, through the cage wire double doors your head meets a skull-cracking low ceiling. It encourages you to crouch down and pat the cats. Timid & traumatized, a few recoil from touch. But most are up for a play & are quite charming.
They all have names and the volunteers are fiercely devoted to them. Tino, a handsome brown & white lad with a bit of Burmese in him had escaped repeatedly. His last jailbreak ended in capture when he was spotted outside a fish restaurant. In a few days he'd be jetting-off to New York to his new, adopted home. Michelle's worries and travel fatigue melted-away as she gave all the willing cats tummy rubs and someone to play with. It gave me great pleasure to see Michelle's face lift up into a wide smile after all the stress.
We quizzed a volunteer. Romans seem to be unsympathetic towards cats. When we told the volunteer about the Venetian cat's vacation exodus she was adamant. No, the owners weren't going to take them on holiday. They were on their way to being dumped like the cats of Rome.
There are fanatical animal-lovers that love animals as much as they can despise their fellow humans. I think this one couldn't accept that some ordinary Venetians may love their own cats as much she cared for the abandoned ones.
Mandy's murder mystery tour had ended with her correcting the popular belief fostered by Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar' that he'd been killed atop the Palatinate. In fact he was killed steps away from where we were petting cats in the Torre Argentina. Don't cry for Caesar. He was a bwute.

We'd come to Rome for the Roman Ruins. Tick! Part two was the Vatican Museum. Tick! Last on the list was St Peter's Basilica. There's nothing like a pilgrimage to get people up early. One day, around 9am, I was wandering the streets looking for a supermarket and I spotted a really long queue snaking around the corner, then another corner, and another. This was the St Peters Basilica queue.
A month before, Michelle's parents had beaten the queue with a cunning solution. Getting up at 6am. With a strong resolve we set our alarms, skipped mid-afternoon coffee and managed the 6am start. We were literally the first through the door. Previously, I've gone on a bit about how some church is amazing, blah, blah, blah....
Seeing it was a Sunday, it seemed only fitting that we go to church, and boy, what a church - St Peter's is stupendous. It is the supreme winner of grandeur. My superlatives are inadequate for the task. They allow photos, so I'll let them speak instead.
At various stations around the church Priests, Monks & Nuns worshiped next to laypeople. A lot of clergy, black cassocks swishing made their way here and there through the hushed peace. It was quieter than a library for deaf people. Eventually we meandered out of the church into St Peters Square.
It was now around 7.30am in the morning and only a few people were crossing the vast, cobblestoned square. A couple of fountains sit equidistant from the middle. St Peters sits at the top of an upside-down colonnaded horseshoe. Leaving an opening looking out onto Rome itself.
Large TV panels make for great G-Rated viewing when Pope Benedict addresses the usually thousands-strong flock.
Just outside the square, the siren song of retail draws pilgrims. Any gift is available as long as it's Catholic. Teaspoons, tea towels, watches, DVD's. Choose from Benedict, Mary or the still popular John Paul II.

In between our set-piece tours, we'd found some time to just wander around.
Walking past The Vatican, we crossed a bridge into Rome. A stark difference is illustrated walking over the Tiber.
In Paris, the river Seine is a celebrated, much loved waterway. Here in Rome it's as maligned as the footpaths. Rotting old barges and trash line the banks. Attempts at pedestrifying it seem to have failed. In this prime mugging spot, the few cyclists we saw zip by stood a better chance of survival than walkers. The aim was to navigate between the landmarks on our map. Somehow after numerous detours and backtracking we connected the dots. Of Roman antiquity, but almost intact, the Parthenon was a treat. For the uninitiated it is a 4 or 5 storey dome with a hole in the top.
So what? Well it's still standing after centuries. The dark, forbidding exterior bears no resemblance to the light filled, ethereal interior. There are only two light sources. The hole in the top and the doorway. I hated geometry at school, but here it all comes together.

The majestic Trevi Fountain is a meeting point and the biggest photo-op in Rome.
In the summertime back home I remember watching twittering sparrows crowd around a bird bath
in Cornwall Park. It's a bit like that here, although it's strictly forbidden to bathe, of course. But you can toss some money backwards, over your left shoulder and make a wish. This required some aggressive jostling. Taking your time, waiting for a good spot is impossible.
Come back at 4am.
We moved on down a promenade, a while later it widened into yet another square lined with restaurants and gift stalls. In the middle, on the right hand side, we found the Spanish Steps.
At the base of the steps lay another, much smaller, but still grand fountain. Kid's squealed as the carved stone fish spouted water into their bottles. A deep pool surrounded the fish. Around the semi-circle people sat dangling feet in the pool. My feet were throbbing by now and anticipating spa-bath warm water I slid off my jandals and plunged in up to my knees.
The icy cool hit me. The throbbing in my legs slowly died, replaced by crushing cold.
Seeing I hadn't froze to death yet or had contracted cholera, Michelle joined in and oohed and aahed with me. A couple of minutes was enough, removing my legs from the water got that deep-heat tingling as the sticky, hot afternoon air hit.
Afterwards as we walked up the Spanish Steps; it felt as if I wasn't walking on my own set of legs, but something cushioned like the little rubber tips you find on the bottom of crutches.
What can you say about the steps? You walk up and down them. Nice enough, but we liked the leg-dipping much more.

With a sense of relief we boarded the train to the airport. Going back to Termini Station wasn't our idea of fun. Italian public transport was the worst of the bunch in our European travels. Things like impossibly bad or non-existent signage on the subways and being unable to escape advertising.
Escape advertising??? Imagine this. Say you're at the train station. Waiting for your train. Look up, you'll see a horde of 42” plasma screens lining the platform. Every single one of them playing the one same ad, over and over again, every 30 seconds, 24/7. The music, a bastardized mix of aria & electronica screeching at you. I'm surprised the Italian parliament hasn't passed a law banning this kind of carry-on. I suppose it probably keeps the drunks out of the station. As for the poor staff who work here, they'd better be on Valium.
The ad summed-up Rome, we'd found the city oppressive & relentless. It lacked the charm of Portugal, had none of the style of Paris. If you come here, be wise and book good accommodation (air-conditioning is a must in summer months) and don't stay too long.




* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quality-of-life_index

# Between terms as Prime Minister (so he can create laws preventing his arrest for corruption), Silvio Berlusconi's energies are channeled into plastic surgery & executive producing game shows (He owns most of the TV stations & Newspapers in Italy).Right now, he's also busy rehabilitating Fascism.

^ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minnesota_nice

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Photos

Shroud
The Vatican Musuem

Microdot Rome
Taken at the Colosseum from behind a mesh fence.

La Botola
Great family viewing

Busts R Us
The Vatican Museum

Caligula
Right about where this photo was taken, Emperor Caligula was murdered.

Vatican Collonade
St Peters Square

Orb
Vatican Museum

Peace
Taken inside St Peters Basilica

The innards
The exposed Coloseum basement

Mary
From the Vatican Museum

Medusa
Vatican Museum

Segments
The Coloseum

Wrestlemania
The Vatican Museum

Spiral
Exit staircase at the Vatican Museum

Trevi Fountain
About as close as you can get before going for a swim.

Triumphal Arch
None have been built after 1940

Vatican Museum
Have you seen The Golden Compass?

Arches
At the Coloseum