Day 35 - Rome

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Day 35
August 5, 1997

As they say “When in Rome, do as the Romans”, so I slept in to 9 AM, didn’t take a shower and didn’t go to work. In my short time here, I have discovered that Italians are not a very lively bunch. Maybe that is why people call them the Jamaicans of Europe. Or if they don’t, maybe that is why I call them the Jamaicans of Europe. They always seem to either be taking a siesta or waking up from one. However, I will not place any blame or shame upon them. In the summer months, it is just too damn hot to work. (Probably the same situation in Jamaica) I think I have drunk more water in this country than I have in the last six months all totalled. I feel like Daffy Duck when he gets shot by Elmer Fudd in those Looney Toon cartoons. It is so hot that when I pour water into my mouth, fountains instantly spurt from my pores.
Ivano does not provide breakfast so I went down to the store and grabbed myself a Milky Way. It was probably the best breakfast of the entire trip thus far. Savouring my delectable choco-log, I flipped through the pages of my bible and planned my day’s activities. Yesterday was as moving a day as one can get. I jam packed so many splendid masterpieces into my afternoon that it was impossible to replicate. However...there was one particular attraction that I missed....namely the most famous of Michelangelo’s creations...The Sistine Chapel. Conveniently, while there I could also knock off the Vatican Museum. Sounded like a plan.

I guess it was 10 or 10:30am when I nonchalantly aimed my carcass towards the Mikey’s other masterpiece. I had the bible in my hand and was trying to understand the map. My biggest complaint I have about tourist guidebooks is that the scale is always off. For example, the distance between me and the Sistine Chapel was 8 millimeters. I should have been able to see the place from where I was standing. It was so hard to tell from within the mass of people. Yet, I was certain that I was in the right place. Surrounding me there were hundreds of Yanks, big ole chubby Yanks. Tall, overfed, a lumbering people. It was a virtual Old Navy fashion show on display...and the ubiquitous Chinese multitude filled in every possible gap in the streetscape. I would not see a thing. Like the Roman Legions before them, battalion after battalion of tour groups followed their commander, notably some middle-aged frumpy yak wielding her company flag on a stick. Today was much different from my visit to the Vatican on Sunday. On Monday, I found that the crowds had swelled the line for entrance into the Sistine Chapel so that it stretched for almost a kilometre. Current time...10:44 am. Posted Estimated Entrance time...3:00 pm. Estimated abandonment of the line...10:45 am.

Spartacus vs Uggg son of Uggg
The next item on my itinerary was going to be cool. The Colosseum. With each step leading away from the Vatican to the subway station, I transformed myself from a bespectacled, cultured, bookworm to a haggard, battle-scarred barbarian slave awaiting his turn to walk up the ramp leading to the floor of Caesar’s Colosseum. Before entering the amphitheatre and doling out damage to Caesar’s best, I mentally prepared for the battle by surveying the exterior of the building. Wow. Approximately 1900 years ago, barbarians like me, battled it out to the death on the dirt floor of the stadium. On a typical day, 50,000 spectators stood, cheered and urged their favourite gladiator to slay doomed slaves like me. In addition to approximately 500,000 men, millions of animals from lions to tigers to bears and giraffes were slaughtered to amuse the masses. The exterior of the building retains the imposing character that has made it one of Italy’s most famous tourist attractions. It is quite large and would be imposing for any first century denizen would found himself away from their village homes and in Rome for the first time.

A slave barbarian wandering the grounds in AD 80 would be overwhelmed by the multitude of people attending such events. The streets would have been packed with throngs of attendees, vendors and artisans. You could probably buy yourself a souvenir of a miniature chariot, a gladiator helmet for kids or an “I Survived Flavian flayfest Xv.....Colesseum, Rome 85 AD” tunic. The building was situated in the heart of Rome, just outside the section that contained many key government buildings.

The Gladiators were stored, caged in the Hypogeum. A hypogeum was the maze of tunnels, passageways and cages located beneath the Colosseum floor. Both man and beast were housed there until it was their turn to die. From the viewing area, today one can review the remains of the hypogeum. It was rather eerie, seeing the exact place where so many frightened souls huddled in fear, hearing the seething throng in the audience chant and call for their final appearance. Directly across from where I was standing, a single wooden cross was affixed to remember the dead. I took a picture. It seemed it was the right thing to do.

Si puo tocarre i bicipiti, bi boy
While my imaginary dual personality, Uggg, son of Uggg the Barbarian got the thumbs down and was consequentially bisected by Slashius the Mean, I left relatively unscathed. My only scar was the gaping wound in my heart for the dead beasts....I love those giraffes. They are so cute. Next, I decided to just wander around and check out a nearby church, namely the Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli. As I was on a Mike le-Artiste-Magnificent kick, I had read one of his sculptures was contained within the church. It was a sculpture of Moses.

Whenever I think of Moses, I picture a tall, white-haired older man. He would be look a bit tired and haggard from dragging those stone tablets everywhere. Michelangelo pictured Moses a little bit differently. I am not sure, if he used one of his buff boy-toys as a live model or he just thought the stone tablets containing the 10 Commandments weighed a couple hundred pounds each. Either way, Moses has guns. Large calibre guns. The Moses looks more like star linebacker for an NFL team than the guy who lead the Jews out of Egypt. Or maybe he held back the waters of the Red Sea with his 24 inch pythons. To go along with the body builder physique, Moses had long flowing locks and piercing eyes. With every moment I spent looking at the Moses sculpture it became more and more clear...Moses didn’t lead the Jews out of Egypt....they were just so infatuated with the debonair beefcake they followed him due to their pent up desire .

Basilica San Piero in Vincoli means St. Peter’s in Chains Church. St. Peter...back in the day... was imprisoned for being the wing man of the Big Guy. This church had the original chains hanging from the wall. I am not certain if they are the original or they just picked them up at the Domus Depot. However, it was nice to see them and now I am able to say...I saw St. Peter’s chains.

Stupido, stupid, stupido
Hey....before I continue I must interject with a little story of a most incredible find during my trip over to the Coliseum. While standing in the Roman metro station after abandoning my futile attempt to see the Sistine Chapel I encountered an old friend. I was thousands of kilometres from home and I ran into nobody other than Alison Gray. Knowing my dear university-mate, if there was one place on earth where I would expect to find her, it would be Rome. She is an old anthropology vet from UWO. Alison is a beautiful lady and even more ravishing person. Lots of history here but this is not the time or place to reveal ancient personal insights. Regardless, it was very nice to see my friend Alison in the Roman metro. Quite nice indeed.

Un altro posto veramente vecchio
Prior to coming to Europe, I only had 3 reasons for taking out a British passport. I wanted to get waved through the customs offices of Western European countries in the hope of sneaking a free day or two on my Eurorail travel. Second reason was the prospect to maybe stay longer, get a job (good job), meet a young lady in the south of France and have her crank out puppies by the dozen. Third reason? Get in free to the Palatine Hill. Apparently, the Italians offered travelling residents of Britain free admission to the Palatine Hill grounds. But...the sap working behind the desk at the entrance rejected my passport. As I was not a ‘resident’ of the UK, I had to pay. Didn’t he know that we Brits saved their asses from Nazism and Fascism? If not for us Tommies he would be goose-stepping to work every day. I was angry, upset, pissed, fuming mad.....and tossed him the requisite fare like the starving pigeon that he was.

Tired from battling Slashius the Mean to my bloody death, demoralized by standing before Moses and comparing his monster pipes with my measly pipe cleaners and pissed off from my haggle session at the entrance gate, I was ill-prepared to seriously focus on Palatine Hill. The heat had sapped my curiosity. The sun baked any imagination from my weary brain. Then. I slogged up the hill, the highest of the Seven Roman hills and to my delight, I encountered my two Norwegian bunkmates, Solfried and Margita. I first met these two lovely Nordic bunnies late last night while lounging around at Ivano’s. They spoke brilliant English and had lovely accents. Solfried was the stereotypical leggy, gorgeous Norwegian blonde. She had a body that could stop a Viking ship. Wow with a capital W. Margita was not as physically gifted, but then 99% of humanity isn’t. She was just a plain cool chick who reminded me of someone, but I can’t recall who that was. What an opportunity. My brain was stuck in neutral and fortunately, that is the best possible position for me when it comes to la ladies....Situation ‘All charm, no tact’. Stupid jokes, inane commentary, irreverent, potentially off-based quibs... perfect scenario to guarantee a wonderful day. We wandered from site to site...relaxing under the Arch of Constantine, having a quorum near the Forum, roaming around the House of Romulus. My pictures fully captured the day’s highlights....I have one with Solfried and I standing under a tree and another with Margita pretending to break out of a jail cell. Ohhh the memories. We filled up the rest of our day playing in a fountain near the Piazza del Campidoglio, revisiting the Spanish Steps as tossing off into the Trevi Fountain.

The evening cumulated in a great feast at Ivano’s. We all gathered in the kitchen and assembled a fine collection of foodstuffs for each and all to enjoy. Tasteless spaghetti and tasty wine. Ummmm. How could one improve upon such a fine meal other than through the addition of two young Dutch ladies to the mix? Catherine and Zard, fellow residents of Ivano’s accompanied us for dinner. Catherine is a wonderful young miss. She has, you know, one of those looks that one dies for. At first she doesn’t blow you away, seemingly normal young miss...then she threw off this glance...wow...gone...sold. You can’t describe it. It’s indescribable. Although vastly different physically, in some ways she reminds me of my Viennese Spaniard ‘friend’, Yolanda. (Sent her a post card). The other young lady is Zard. She is also Dutch and attends school in the States. Unfortunately, she has developed an American accent. Without the accent….meow, with it…mew. So we ate, drank, chatted, made plans for the next day and called it a night.

Lastly, I final item. Before calling it a night, I made a late night phone call to home. It was a collect call and from my knowledge of European phone rates this one was going to be pricey. I stood somewhere in the middle of the night, chatting away to mom and dad. A perfect way to end a couple of very good days in Rome.

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