Thursday, June 23, Arrival in Rome
We touch down in Rome just before noon. Fortunately for John, he has slept the entire way and we all groggily disembark into the muggy heat of the day. Immigration is the easiest that I have ever experienced and we breeze through passport control; disappointed that our passports are scanned and not stamped. We wait 20 minutes until our bags appear on the revolving carousel and push through the doors of the terminal to street beyond to find transport to Hotel Antica Locanda in the Monti district of Rome. We appreciate the Rick Steve’s guide book advice which suggests that for parties of 2 or 3, taking a taxi into Rome is easier and more economical than taking the train and transferring to the subway. Forty-five minutes and a set 48 Euros later, our taxi drops us off at our hotel.
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| Il Vittoriano, Piazza Venezia |
Our hotel is ideally situated in the old town, perched on the corner of a narrow and picturesque cobbled street. We are graciously welcomed and showed to our triple room two flights up. There are no elevators and John cheerfully carries my luggage. The room is a tiny jewel with gleaming wood floors, a brick ceiling and crystal wall sconces. The gleaming bathroom has a faux baroque mirror, a ceiling chandelier and a sleek glass shower enclosure.
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| Lace Curtains and Crystal Chandeliers |
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| Ornate Bathroom Mirrow |
By 2:00 P.M. after quick showers we walk through the Monti district in search of lunch. For our family, getting our bearings in new cities when jet lagged and hungry is usually challenging and todays unfolding scenario is typical. I am hungry and my blood sugar low and want food immediately while Art wants to read menus and carefully choose where to eat our first meal. Disoriented and with John’s wishes to also consider, disharmony rises and by the time I desperately choose an outdoor café we are all snapping at each other. The food is absolutely terrible.
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| Colosseum |
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| Obelisk |
In spite of the disappointing meal, we manage to salvage the afternoon and walk the short distance to the Coliseum and the Roman Forum and instead of snapping at each other, we are snapping photos. We are not up to tackling either of these sights today but wander along the perimeter taking photos and people watching. The temperature is in the high 90’s and the sun is brutal. I have left both my hat and dark glasses in the hotel and before long I feel dizzy and need to return to our air-conditioned hotel to rest. We wander slowly back and once out of the sun, I feel better. John has let his hair grow long, partially out of laziness and partially to be in character for the Pirate Festival but in Rome, the men are trimmed and stylish and John feels noticeably out of place. When we pass a barbershop John decides to get a haircut. It is air conditioned inside the two-chair shop and John asks the elderly barber the price for a haircut. It is $20 and Art and I collapse onto an ancient couch and John mimes the style of hair cut he wants and then turns to me and asks if I have a photo of him a year ago at “Grandpa’s” 98th birthday? I pull a photo up on my I-phone and John shows it to the barber. It is cool inside and for a few minutes, Art and I watch as John’s long locks fall to the floor but our hotel is just around the corner and we leave John on his own. When John returns, he preens in front of the mirror, delighted with his new look.
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| The Roman Barber |
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| When in Rome, look like a Roman |
After a two hour rest and a second round of showers, the three of us set out walking towards the Spanish Steps. John and Art navigate our route and after a few wrong turns, an unpleasant hike through a long traffic congested tunnel and a steadily uphill climb, we find ourselves at the top of the Spanish Steps with a hazy view of Rome below. The steps are under reconstruction and visually and physically cordoned off by high fences. We wind down an adjoining street to the cobblestone plaza below where hopeful horse pulled carriages wait for passengers and where people congregate around the Sinking Boat Fountain, designed by either Bernini or his father. All the fountains in Rome are aqueduct powered and I watch as people fill water bottles and take drinks from smaller drinking fountains where the water is sweet and pure.
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| Spanish Steps under reconstruction |
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| Art and John, Piazza di Spagna |
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| Designer Shops |
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| Marty, Piazza di Spagna |
Designer shops line the perimeter of the plaza and the radiating streets and we wander past Gucci, Armani, Versace and Cartier, their opulent and glittery window displays suggesting a perfect life should one be rich or thin enough to afford the finery.
After much wandering, we choose a café bar a block off the main street and order drinks. Art and John order Campari and Soda and the accommodating waitress suggests a mulled strawberry drink for me. When she brings our drinks, she sets down a plate of crudities and Art’s cheerful demeanor vanishes. He is certain that there will be a charge for these since at lunch we were charged for bread that we did not order. I surmise that these will be included in the price of the drinks and John and I nibble guiltily on the tiny sandwiches and cheese puffs and when the bill arrives, there is no additional charge.
We make our way to the Trevi Fountain which glows aqua in the fading evening light. The surrounding fountain is packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists and I stand on a stone bench to take a photo above the heads of the crowd. Although beautiful, the ambience is not that of La Dolce Vida or Three Coins in a Fountain.
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| Trevi Fountain Crowds |
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| Trevi Fountain |
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| Trevi Fountain |
We walk back to our Monti district and spend another 30 minutes choosing a restaurant for dinner. Art makes the call tonight, and the food is mediocre at best. Happily, the wine puts a harmonious glow on our otherwise uninspired meal.
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| John toasts to our first day in Rome |
