Rome, Italy March 29, 2016

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Rome: The Amazing Race!

This day was just a frantic blast.

We had had quite a few sea days before Naples so that gave me lots of time to plan our day. Poker buddy Sharon loaned me her tablet to peruse her extensive collection of walking tour guides of Rome.

I took photos of the maps in the tour guides in the library so I could be looking at my camera instead of a big foldout map and perhaps be less of a target. Hmm, should have thought of this before. Sharon was a trove of walkabout suggestions, having lived for some time just steps from the Pantheon.

Marianne and Doug had spent a few days in Rome in the past, but agreed to come with us on our walking tour, whatever I came up with. I ended up with a route from the train station to the Colosseum, to the Trevi fountains to the Spanish Steps, and back again to the train station. I figured about 5 hours slow strolling, perhaps a little further than around a golf course.

The industrial port of Civitavecchia lies on a latitude with central Corsica to the east, across the Tyrrhenian Sea. We headed for the shuttle bus to take us to the port gate.

Our timing was good. The shuttle bus from the port to the train station had just begun and would return shortly. We got to the station, bought inexpensive commuter tickets (which include a mass transit pass valid for busses and subway for the day), validated them at the mysterious validation machines, found our platform easily due to the familiar faces from the ship, and soon enough, a quiet, sleek train arrived.

The ride was smooth, the interior modern, clean and comfortable. Big clear windows afforded great views as we followed the coast southward. The landscapes along the track changed with each few kilometers, from industrial to farm to quaint village to modern subdivision. After about an hour and a half, we slid into the main train station in Rome, right on time.

First things first: we checked the return schedule and took a photo of the gate and time information, as well as info for the later train in case we missed our target train. Sharon's walking guides had also warned that even if we were back to the terminal on time, it was a further 10-minute brisk walk inside the terminal to the proper platform. As it turned out this was good to know.

First, bathrooms (stainless steel and Western!), then an eastern exit that plunged us directly into the eternal busyness of old Rome, packed and noisy. Checked watches, reviewed plans, and set off; move along, move along to the next stop.

We gawked our way east, and found the first waypoint, Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore.

This is a magnificent example of the opulence of the old church without the crowds of the Vatican. It is owned by the Vatican, and often used by the Pope, but sits in Italy and is not part of the Vatican city-state although it is treated as a diplomatic mission.

Marianne excitedly suggested we enter, and while I often threw an anxious glance at my watch, the visit was deeply worthwhile as it was so representative of the historical dominance of the Catholic Church.

The building faces the intersection of six streets with a large piazza. It being right after Easter, there were many faithful still in town, flocking to the sights. A short lineup led to a security frisk where Jane's insulated mug was taken into protective custody for a time.

It was all very dramatic, with stately columns, vaulting high windows and an ornate ceiling covering a football field-sized floor. It contains many Papal treasures. Centuries-old paintings and sculpture, historical and artistic treasures and venerated corpses. In one room, a ceremony with censers and chants. Not an inch of stone not formed and filigreed, no wall or ceiling unadorned by images of the departed human adored or biblical scenes. High windowed domes admit the sunlight to reveal the detail and care of each small area. The history is so deep and varied and stretches back centuries.

Too much time in there, retrieve Jane's mug and off down via Merulana in what I hoped was a reliably southerly direction, barbarians in search of the Colosseum, turn right on via Manzoni and keep the hill on your right; move along, please.

Trying to walk briskly was quite impossible. The ancient streets and buildings constantly revealed small distracting treasures. We were drawn through a gateway, through an entrance and into a courtyard where pathways and doorways beckoned, leading deeper into the warrens of buildings and alleys off the main street. We could have explored there for some time, but move along, move along.

We found another grand piazza featuring cafes and columns and busts and old stone buildings with many intersecting streets. I took several pictures, then began fiddling with a map to discern our next steps . . . Doug tapped me on the elbow and pointed westward down a walled street. The grand curved walls of the Coliseum were unmistakeable. "Good thing you brought the map," grinned Doug. Move along.

As we approached, other portions of Old Rome came into view. A wall supports one of the Seven Hills across from the Colosseum, which was open but under repair; move along please. The tourist industry began to appear: men in Centurion outfits, with short sword or pilum and shield, selling photo ops. We took our own selfies and each couple shot the other; move along. Buskers here and there with the occasional oddity - one man played what looked like the innards of a harpsichord flat on a box table, using wooden mallets like for a xylophone.

Sadly, I misused my camera for one of the very best moments of the day. A tour of young Americans were enthusiastically applauding a sidewalk band of about ten people who expertly played a wide array of instruments, to dramatically different effect. We were too far away to hear the discussion between the leader of the band and the leader of the young 'uns. The young folk then lined up behind the band and the band struck up a medley of tunes, following the extremely talented and creative vocals of the young Americans. I'm so sad I failed to record any of it. It was one of those irreplaceable found moments, enchanting and unlooked-for.

The visual background to the exciting chorus was the array of ruins at Palatine Hill. As the impromptu audience began to disperse, we fought our way northwest. The crowds were more compressed because of the great amount of construction, excavation and renovation being done in the area. Most things were pickpocket-safe, but we kept a firm grip and remained aware that chasing anyone in this crowd would be futile.

The ruins and sculptures fascinated and continually distracted as we moved along with the press of sightseers, and so it was that, further up the hill, dazzled by the granduer and history of the ancient figures and architecture of the fabulous Piazza di San Marco, my prized internal compass failed me and I led us 180 degrees in the wrong direction. I rarely get it wrong, but when I do get it wrong, I get it as completely wrong as is possible to be.

So when we came upon a river, it was difficult for me to look confident when I had in fact taken myself quite by surprise. "Well, this shouldn't be here," I said unhelpfully.

"This," said Doug firmly, "is the Tiber River." We regarded the picturesque view of a quickly-moving river flanked by ancient stone buildings and huge trees and lush gardens, and a man fishing in the fast-moving current.

"The Tiber should be behind us and to the left. This must be something else," I observed a little stubbornly.

Doug looked at me and said a little sadly, "The Tiber Is the only river in Rome."

"Oh. Okay. Here we are at the Tiber, then."

I looked around some more. "This is wrong."

"Yes," said Doug, "Behind and left. You said."

I sighed. I leaned against the bridge wall and diligently consulted the map with no little confusion between the neighborhood maps I had collected, and of course I had no map for this particular area near the Tiber because of course we weren't going anywhere near the dang Tiber.

Doug let me look at my maps for a bit, then tapped my elbow again. I followed his pointing finger back over my shoulder, where I could see that a nameplate was affixed to the bridge I was leaning on.

So we found the bridge on the map, gathered my remaining bearings and headed off, confident again, towards the Piazza Navona and its magnificent fountains; move along.

Along the storied avenues we strode with both new determination and time constraints. The distance hadn't been much but over the morning we had lost an hour and might have to modify the route. Picking up the pace was not an option as everyone began to make the sounds of peckishness. And then bathroom needingishness. Not wanting anyone to get hangry or, um, pissed, we started looking for something local.

People were alternately helpful or brusque when I approached them in sparse but hopefully polite Italian, optimistically mispronouncing the name of our next waypoint. One young waiter at a sidewalk cafe who found my question unworthy of eye contact, waved me on so languidly I was unsure whether I was being directed or dismissed. A little of both, perhaps, for the full Roman experience.

As we drew closer to our goal, Marianne sought reassurance from a hulk-sized, very friendly heavily armed and armoured guard outside a bank, and he gave amiable detailed directions in proudly perfect English. A few minutes later, we emerged into our long-sought and quite magnificent piazza.

"We're going to have to blow off the Spanish Steps if we stop. But we don't mind, hey, we're walking around Rome on a beautiful day."

"Um, trotting around Rome," corrected Marianne. "Bathroom," she further declared, with a few degrees more insistence.

So, that was lunch. We found a table at a piazza cafe, with a fine view of the buskers, and espressos and beers and pizzas were ordered. Tourist prices of course, but oh my, the atmosphere.

Now that we had stopped moving, we could take time for the peoplewatching, the many street performers and statue imitators, wandering minstrels and a puppet show, a scattering of swarthy men selling things shown in the shadows of their leather jackets, and a team fishing for three-card monte marks. A patrolling squad of uniforms enters the square at one end, and the less scrupulous vendors melted away. The buskers, with much less haste, passed their hats and then moved on as well.

The food was flavourful and fresh, everyone's beer cold and tasty, and I had my first real espresso since Starbuck's in Singapore. We kicked back and forgot time for a bit, able to enjoy where we were and how amazing it all was. Business was slow and the cafe folks didn't mind us lounging.

Time pressed, though, and having struck a couple of kilometers off of our route with the abandoning of the Spanish Steps waypoint, we set off for the Pantheon.

Doug and Marianne had been inside before and preferred to go get a gelato while Jane and I entered the floor of the grand dome.

This was most remarkable. Another architectural marvel of the day, with its unique dome and temple-portico facade, this 2000 year old former Roman temple is now a Catholic church. Indeed, the word Pantheon means temple of every god, so it has quite the history as a religious Walmart.

The hole at the apex of the dome is the oculus, and although it seems small when observed from the floor' it is over 8 meters wide and lights the building's interior quite well in daytime. Rain enters as well, cooling in the summer months but likely unwelcome in colder times, and is channeled away through drains in the floor of the rotunda. Move along and outside to find the gelato-eaters; move along.

A charming stroll through the post-Easter packed streets and with relative ease and a single wrong turn, we found the magnificent Trevi fountains. The renovations and cleaning had been recently completed and the whole installation was clean and fully visible for the first time in years. The fountain itself takes up almost the whole piazza, and but for the staired and benched galleries facing downwards towards the fountain, milling crowds overflowed into the narrow streets flanking the fountain.

The piazza was densely packed with bodies, mostly tourists and guides and a buffet for pickpockets. I was surprised by how small this famous area is. Hemmed in by the narrow streets, the magnificent sculptures completely overwhelm the small cobblestoned piazza, all of it shadowed by looming three- and four-story buildings that in this cramped space must must block all but the highest sun.

The myth is that you will return to Rome if you toss a coin into the fountain, backwards over your shoulder. There was a constant river of people moving to the fountain, taking a selfie of the coin toss, and moving aside for the next pilgrim

A glance at the watch and a gathering of the group. Now we needed to to make the final push back to the train station and we struck off, heading east and south.

Almost immediately we found ourselves on the wrong side of a walled hill, forced off our bearing and I was just beginning to think that we really really needed to turn south now, we came upon a busy main thoroughfare which went in the right direction, but led through a four-lane traffic tunnel under the hill with a sidewalk on one side. It wasn't a tunnel on my map, but seemed to lead the right way. Doug caught me looking at my watch as we moved into the dirty, noisy tunnel.

My unease increased just a bit. But although this wasn't on the map, my inner compass said this was the way, and the distances looked good. So as long as we didn't hit a major glitch we had time to get to the train.

By the time we emerged back into the sun and fresh air on the other side of the tunnel I had successfully consulted the camera maps. "Ok," I said, waving at the intersection ahead, "if this is via Piazenza then we're on the right track. If not, we flag a cab. Indeed, it was Piazenza and the time looked good; move along.

We began climbing what I was pretty sure was the final hill before the straight shot to the train station. Doug glanced worriedly at his watch. "Gonna be tight," he observed. I grinned.

"Doug," I said, "You have no reason to believe me when I say this, but Jane and I have an unbelievable amount of good luck when we travel. Our youngest swears by it too. We call it the Hansen Horseshoe, and it's jammed up there pretty good. We'll make the train with time to spare, and even if we don't, there's enough time to catch the later train and still get to the ship before sail away at six."

"But not before all-aboard at 5:30."

"But before sailaway. Trust the horseshoe, Doug."



I could feel his disbelieving glare as we trudged around the corner of the homestretch. He waited for me to pass and as I did, he reached over and rapped the back of my head with a gentle knuckle. "Knock wood," he growled.

We arrived at the main gate of the station in plenty of time, but the kicker in Rome, don't forget, is that the Civitavecchia platform is another 800 meters from there. Forewarned, I had factored this time in but anxiety levels were high in my companions as we half-jogged down the platform.

Close, but there we were, sprawled in the comfortable seats, all anxiety now drained as we spotted the occasional shipmate amongst the stragglers banging through the train doors and sideways down the aisles with their multiple shopping bags from the posh districts swinging from their arms shoulders, whacking shoulders and knees of those already seated. We had been seated for eight whole minutes when the train gave a gentle nudge and we began easing out of the station.

The ride back up the coast was as delightful as the morning's trip in, with locals bustling on and off the trains at the village stops along the way, the quaint little places reflecting centuries of varied history and character, and cows and crops in the fields and the highways full of tiny cars and trucks, the small scale vehicles absolutely required for the many narrow ancient streets of Italy.

We loved each frantic minute, but we realise how superficial it was. Of course, the whirlwind nature of the visit and pace of our route meant barely a taste of Rome; so many different faces of this deeply complex city we missed completely. We did not experience a city steeped in several layers of civilization, art and knowledge, but we are resolved to return and do that.

We did bond with Doug and Marianne over the shared experience of the day, and we spent a lot of the remaining shipboard time in their very pleasant company. I am not necessarily saying that they avoided going ashore with us again, but that is indeed how it ended up.

At this port we also said goodbye to Krishna, the semi-scrutable casino dealer from South Africa, whose company and wit as a poker dealer was greatly enjoyed. We first met in the fall of 2014 when we were on the same ship in the Pacific for two months. Finding him aboard the Rotterdam had been a highlight. I would stop and chat if he were unoccupied, and we had many enlightening and entertaining conversations. I will remember Krishna's wry grin and diplomatic humour; it was most engaging, especially if the diplomacy slipped a bit.

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Photos

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Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore

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The Colosseum!

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Doug and Marianne. Our companions for the day!

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The Campitelli

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Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II

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The Tiber River and the Ponte Fabricio

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One of the many alleyway distractions!

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Piazza Navona where we had lunch

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The Pantheon

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Trevi Fountains

Comments

[Doug and Marianne]

A great and memorable day in Rome
Hi guys, What a great story teller you are Paul and jane for keeping all the notes! We have very fond memories of that day. Thanks for sending the blog, what a job! We are doing well, had a busy summer with kids and grand kids. We are getting ready for our next adventure. We are flying to Cuenca , Equador on January 4 for 6 weeks, then on to Santiago, Chili for a 33 day cruise around South America up to Fort Lauderdale . We'll spend 4 days there and then on to a 10 day Caribean Cruise and then home. We've had some stormy weather here on the Island, but manage to get out every day for some fresh ocean air. Let us know what your plans are keep up the blogs and keep in touch. We have really enjoyed your company. Cheers, Doug and Marianne