Roma Bella

Treno Michelangelo

Saturday, July 31, 2004 - Frankfurt to Rome

It's 4:30 AM and I'm wondering what I was thinking when I scheduled a train trip from Frankfurt to Rome.  It's more than a 14 hour ride albeit through the Alps where the scenery should be exceptional.  Oh, well, it's time to go to the station.  I say goodbye to Pam who I won't see for three weeks or so and head for the hauptbahnhof (I still love this word). 

The hotel front door is locked and as I am trying to find someone to open it when a guest returns from his all-night wanderings and opens it.  At this point, the desk clerk mysteriously appears and starts to freak, thinking I'm running out on my bill.  I try to explain that my wife is still in the room but he's in such a state of excitement and confusion that he doesn't understand.  I finally yell at him to cool it and then explain that Pam is still checked in and he also has my damn credit card.  I don't wait for his response.  I just walk out.  As I cross the street, I keep expecting someone in a uniform to stop me but nothing happens and I enter the station (enough with the hauptbahnhof).

Wow!  The station is busy at 5:00 AM.  I suspect this station is busy 24/7.  I grab a croissant and an extra large coffee, find my train, find my seat and at exactly 5:30, the train leaves.  I am the only person in my luxurious car.  The dawn arrives about a half hour into the trip. The sunrise is beautiful.  I feel like I am looking at a Monet painting of the fields.  There is a light mist which adds to the effect.  After an hour of pastoral beauty, we pass into the hills and what is left of the Black Forest.  Everything we pass seems to be waiting for someone to make a postcard of the scene.  I am actually sorry, four hours later, when we pull into the Munich Station, right on time for a change.

Brenner Pass, Austrian Side

I have only 20 minutes to find my connection, the "Michelangelo" direct to Rome.  I am anticipating a luxurious inter-city train like those I have been riding throughout this trip.  Wrong!  Michelangelo, were he familiar with trains, would have either laughed at the use of his name to describe this horizontal pile of junk or he would have cried at the damage to his reputation. 

I find my reserved seat, the middle of three in an empty compartment for six people.  I struggle to get my 70 pound duffle onto the luggage rack above the seats and grab a window, wondering how long it will last.  After a while, I decide to find a window seat in the non-reserved section so I can view the scenery for the whole trip. 

We head into the Alps through Innsbruck and eventually climb over the Brenner Pass between Austria and Italy.  The scenery is indescribable, at least by me.  We hesitate for about 30 minutes at the Brenner Pass Station and I get off the train and stroll around, breathing the air and contemplating all the history that has involved this place.  It's summer so the climate is benign but I can imagine how mean it could get in the winter. 

As we descend I decide to have a little lunch and some beer in the dining car.  While the service is excellent, I am surprised to find that when I order the cheese and sausage platter, I get not only the expected salami, prosciuto and mozzarella but also a huge chunk of bleu cheese, which I don't like.  I also find I must pay an extra €2.50 for bread and crackers.  I really didn't expect an Italian train to have mayonnaise but no mustard?  That's right, just butter.  I learn another lesson.  Next time I buy baguettes in the station and just buy beers on the train.

As we descend into the Po River Valley, the hillsides are covered with grape vines.  The sun becomes Italian.  By that I mean sunlight is somehow softer in Italy.  At every stop the car fills with more and more Italians.  I feel myself starting to get upset at the intrusion on my enjoyment of the scenery.  After a short while, I start to laugh at myself.  Where did I think I was, still in Germany?  This is Italy.  People are noisy and chaotic and interesting. 

One young lady is particularly fascinating.  I first notice her out the window.  She is accompanied by her father whom she is totally ignoring as she talks on her cell phone.  She decides to sit in my compartment and is off the phone only long enough to get her bags situated with lots of help from two nearby young men, then immediately ignores them and re-starts her rapid fire conversation.  This goes on for at least an hour.  At one point someone says something so she goes out into the passageway.  This does not help, though, as we can still hear every word of her conversations.  Later when I move to my original compartment in the same car, she's still yakking away at the top of her voice so that everyone in the car can hear what she's saying.  A number of the listeners are chuckling to themselves.  I wish I knew someone who could translate for me.

I have to move to my original compartment to avert an international terrorist incident with me as the terrorist.  At one stop, I hear a number of raised voices and I have just enough Italian to realize they are trying to determine the ownership of a piece of luggage.  It tangentially occurs to me that they could be discussing my bag but since I don't want to give up my seat by the window, I ignore the whole thing.  At the next stop, I notice an armed policeman marching down the passageway towards my original compartment.  I reluctantly get up to find out what's going on.  Sure enough, the policeman, the conductor and a number of other people are standing outside the compartment discussing and gesticulating.  I move to the doorway and notice they are pointing at my duffel bag.  I quickly claim ownership much to the relief of everyone.  I decide I better sit in my assigned seat to avoid a similar misunderstanding.

Rome Termini Station Interior

Now I can't see any scenery.  Additionally, none of my four compartment mates speak English and they are carrying on an excited conversation that looks like it will continue until we get to Rome.  I try reading and that works for a while.  I decide to go to the dining car and have a couple beers and some snacks.  At €5.00 a can, this is an expensive diversion.  After I spill part of my fourth beer, I realize I better return to my seat and try to snooze for a while.  Wrong!  The seat is too uncomfortable and the conversation is too loud for snoozing.  I surrender to the experience and look out at what little I can see through the window and look forward to arriving in Rome. 

This is my first experience of a "regular" Italian train and as I am sitting there, I begin to develop some conclusions about the differences between German, Dutch or Belgian (GDB) trains and Italian trains, not including the modern train that runs from Rome to Venice via Florence, which I expect has been upgraded for the zillions of tourists that visit along that particular route.

On GDB trains they announce the upcoming stops about five to 10 minutes before arrival.  On Italian trains the announcement comes five to 10 seconds before the train screeches to a stop.  I do mean screeches.  GDB trains roll to a slow stop.  On Italian trains you had better be well-anchored or seated as the train enters the station.  On GDB trains, people honor reservations politely.  On Italian trains, if you try to claim your reserved seat from someone who is already there, you will have to endure all sorts of facial and other contortions, to say nothing of muttered imprecations as the usurped passengers gather up their belongings, taking as much time as they can to vacate the compartment or seating area.  Maybe they secretly hope you'll get tired of waiting and go away.  On GDB trains, someone comes through checking tickets after every stop.  On Italian trains ticket checking is a sometime thing.  No one asked to see my ticket nor anyone else's as far as I could tell after Brenner Pass.  Lastly, on GDB trains the water from a flushed toilet drains into a tank.  On Italian trains it fertilizes the track bed.

Hotel Julia

We arrive at cavernous, confusing Rome Termini Station at last.  My compartment mates who have said nothing to me since the duffel bag incident are suddenly showering me with arrivedercis.  I join in the insincerities and de-train quickly.  I grab a taxi and head for my hotel, The Julia.  The Julia is in a centuries old building but the rooms have all been remodeled and the location is superb.

I am meeting my friend of 40 years, Tom Trier.  This is his first trip to Europe.  He has been very eager to make this trip.  For my part, I am sure I will enjoy the next three weeks even more with his company, especially when we see the sights I've visited in the past.  Tom got in yesterday and is waiting in his room when I arrive. 

We decide to eat near the hotel on the Via Veneto or Tourist Central.  It seems as if there are more Americans walking around than Italians.  We choose a place named Ciao Bella if you can believe that.  Nevertheless, Tom's enthusiasm is contagious and our pizza and pasta dinners are actually quite good.  The food is accompanied by a pretty good soprano of indeterminate age singing popular light arias.  After dinner, we walk around getting caught up, stopping only to buy a gelato.  But even Tom's excitement can't hold back my exhaustion so we return to The Julia and a great night's sleep.

Trevi Fountain – Rome

Sunday, August 1, 2004 - Rome

I decide to sleep in until 9:00 AM., it being Sunday and all.  Tom and I breakfast in the crowded dining room. This seems to be a very popular hotel with Americans.  We Americans do love our breakfasts.

Tom and I stroll to some of the nearby tourist sites.  You can access pictures of these sites in my Rome photo album.  We start with Trevi Fountain, hoping to see Anita Ekberg wading in the pool.  We are disappointed but continue on to the Pantheon and the Piazza Navona.   It's Sunday and families are out in force.  Church bells are ringing all over.  I feel like I'm in a video being shot by the Rome Tourist Authority.  We also visit the churches of San Luigi dei Francesi and San Agnes fuori le mure.  Even the most obscure churches in Rome are filled with beautiful art and sculpture.  They also almost always have an old woman or a young woman with an infant begging on the front steps. 

Gesu, the mother church of the Jesuits, is not available for tourists.  We should have guessed that.  There are no begging women in the vicinity.  It's Sunday.  We can't figure out why we can't get in.  Do you suppose the "Soldiers of Christ" are hatching some kind of plot?  Nah, we've been reading too many Vatican conspiracy novels.

We continue to the Piazza Venezia. Mussolini loved to orate from the Vittorio Emmanuele Monument, overlooking this piazza.  I'm tempted to climb the steps and yell to the masses of people in the area, "Go home, Mussolini is dead!"  The architecture here may define the term wretched excess.  Look at the picture below and draw your own conclusion.  The historically significant Palazzo Venezia is also on this piazza. 

We cross the piazza to visit Trajan's Forum and Trajan's Column.  I'm flagging badly but walking with Tom is such a pleasure because he is so obviously enchanted by everything.  At one point I see him hug a pillar.  This is not the same as hugging a tree, I assure you.  Maybe he's using it to cool off.  It is hot in the sun but comfortable in the shade.  

We must return to our hotel.  Tom has booked a tour for the afternoon and I plan to find an internet cafe and take it easy.  I grab a couple beers at a corner combination café/bar/grocery store on Piazza Barberini which contains the well known Fountain of Triton designed and built by Gian Lorenzo Bernini in 1642-44.

Vittorio Emmanuele Monument

I am disappointed at the internet place.  I can't access the e-mails on my Hong Kong ISP - very frustrating but a common occurrence on this trip.  The site loads too slow and I get a "site not available" message.  The internet cafe itself is fascinating.  It has hundreds of computers and an elaborate system for insuring that the user does not get one extra second of time.  It is packed with people, mostly tourists, spending a Sunday afternoon in Rome reading and writing e-mails.  

I give up and return to the café for more beer and a sandwich.  I meet two young couples from Chicago who are sick of riding on tour busses and have decided to strike out on their own as frightening as that might seem to them.  We discuss possible scenarios and they set out with renewed determination, partially fueled by cheese, sausage, beer and wine.

At the hotel, I sneak in a nap for an hour or so waiting for Tom to return from his tour of "Early Christian Rome."    On his return, we grab a table at the corner café and suck down a few beers while watching the world walk by.

Piazza Barberini - from the cafe

One of the more interesting sights is of a man warmly dressed in red and orange woolens in spite of the heat.  He also has on a set of headphones which are actually two mobile phones wired together.   He gently accosts passers-by, both those on foot and those in their cars.  We ask the waiter about him and he tells us that the man often shows up on Sunday afternoons, is harmless and provides a good show. Tom and I agree, noting that the more beer we drink, the more entertaining the man becomes. 

We decide it's time to add a little food to the liquid nourishment we've been consuming.  After wandering around for 15 or 20 minutes, we find a street-side pizza restaurant.  Forgetting our good intentions, we order and just about finish a bottle of Chianti before we order our food.  We now know we must have something to eat so, with weakened restraint, we order more than we can possibly finish, bruschetta, two different kinds of pasta, two veal steaks with sautéed mushrooms and spinach and, of course, another bottle of Chianti. 

We introduce ourselves to two very young female students at the next table.  Only one of them can speak English.  They are from the South of Italy, outside Naples and are visiting Rome for the first time.  Somehow, everything we say and they say is hysterically funny.  Everyone is laughing.  In retrospect, perhaps they are laughing at us rather than with us.  We offer to buy them an after dinner drink and when they demur, we force the issue by agreeing to have one ourselves.  We order Sambucas all around.  Not being totally out of it, we drink the Sambuca the "boring" way.  You'll have to check the link to discover what that means.

About this time, Tom runs out of cigarettes and asks where he can buy some.  The Maitre de indicates no problem, walks across the street to his Vespa and returns with a pack of cigarettes for Tom.  Tom is so taken by this act of generosity that he tips the guy about three times as much as the smokes would have cost. 

The girls leave.  We settle our bill.  Now we must somehow find our way back to our hotel.  This becomes a bit of a problem as we can't remember how we got to where we are.  We don't realize this immediately, of course, and, when we do, we can't seem to find anyone from whom to ask directions.  Lurching from side to side, we wander around until we find the Piazza Barberini and from there lurch our way to our hotel.  We lurch to our rooms.  I manage to undress and lurch into bed.  This act is the last thing I remember.

View of Roman Forum from the south

Monday, August 2, 2004 - Rome
Ouch!  I awaken with a headache but a couple Tylenol and breakfast take care of the pain.  We meet a lovely couple from Vancouver, Canada over breakfast.  They had spent time in Hong Kong so we had great fun talking about it.  I can't believe that I'm feeling a little homesick for the place.

Tom is off on a guided tour and I decide to visit the Forum.  Last time I was here with Pam, we only saw the Forum from above.  This time I want to walk among the ruins.    Before I take off, I call SOSRome, a home away from home for Americans in Rome. It's run by a retired air force officer, Mario Brunetti.  Pam and I had some problems with our tours when we were here in January and Mario had gotten us credits which Tom was using.  Mario's operation is first rate and I try to set up a time for us to meet face to face.  Unfortunately Mario has a medical problem he needs to have treated daily and we just can't put a meeting together - next time.

Spanish Steps - Rome

Off I go to the Forum.  It's about a 30 minute walk from the hotel.  The weather is hot but breezy.  The Forum overwhelms me.  As a history major and with four years of high school Latin under my belt, I am in awe of being in this place where so many historical events occurred.  I take many pictures, trying to capture everything. You can see them in my Rome Photo Album.

The breeze does not reach the floor of the forum, so I eventually give up because of the heat, and climb out of the small valley it sits in.  I walk back to the hotel exhausted and sweaty but also exhilarated by what I had seen. 

Tom is waiting and we grab a quick lunch at a nearby pizzeria accompanied by liberal amounts of beer.  The combination of the previous night's activities, the heat, the pizza and the beer make me want to take a nice long nap.  Tom is agreeable so we decide to meet about 5:30 or 6:00 for more exploration and dinner.

We finally recover enough to explore the area north and west of our hotel.  We first visit the Spanish Steps.  Pam and I had walked up them the previous January but Tom decides my description is good enough.  The scene is fascinating.  People sprawled all over the steps and the fountain at the foot of the steps.  Tourists, vendors, pick-pockets, horse carriage owners, taxis are all fighting for space on the street.  Pure chaos - I loved it.

Our next stop is the Piazza Del Popolo.  It's relatively empty after the crowds at the Spanish Steps.  I remember that, on New Year's Eve, this is to Rome what Times Square is to New York.  I had watched the festivities on TV from Venice the previous December 31.  The buildings surrounding the piazza are interesting in their own right and I keep my camera busy. 

We head south and discover a weird looking brick building we can't immediately identify.  It is the site of some kind of street art exhibit that neither Tom nor I understand.  This is true of most street art that I encounter no matter where in the world I am. I recently saw some photos of 3-D sidewalk paintings from New York City that I got but that's about it.

We figure out we are at the Mausoleum of the Emperor Augustus.  There are no signs and the whole site is totally rundown and surrounded by a chain link fence.  How soon they forget!  We walk around the place.  I take some pictures and we move on to the Tiber River.

Walking along the Tiber is a wonderful experience.  It's dusk, a cooling breeze is rustling the leaves on the trees, the nearby houses all look architecturally interesting, there are few tourists around, and the whole scene has a calming effect.  We walk as far as Giusti Palace, take some photos and head away from the river toward the Piazza Navona where we intend to have an al fresco dinner. 

We find a suitable venue, The Quatro Fiume, named after the famous fountain in the piazza.  We proceed to make the same mistake we made last night.  We drink some beer, order some antipasto, drink some Pinot Grigio, order some pasta, drink some more Pinot Grigio and watch the people passing by.  Our smart-ass waiter keeps taking my menu as soon as I tell him I want to keep it and then deposits it on my blind side.  Tom enjoys this much more than I do. 

The people watching is spectacular.  We particularly notice an unbelievably attractive couple dressed as if they were straight out of a high fashion ad strolling around the square with their hands firmly around each other in the area just below their waists and non-verbally sending the message, "Eat your heart out." to both sexes.  Tom and I were unaffected by this display, of course, because we are just too mature and dignified to be caught lusting after this representation of our lost youths.  Yeah, right!

As we are drinking in what is basically an after-dark carnival, we suddenly realize it's after 11:30 PM.  To avoid turning into pumpkins and also to insure we can carry out our planned excursion to Ostia the next day, we rush back to our hotel to sleep, perchance to dream of being 25 and parading around the Piazza Navona on a warm summer's eve.

Roman Theatre, Ostia Antica

Tuesday, August 3, 2004 - Rome and Ostia

We are up bright and early.  We hope to unravel the mysteries of the Rome train system so we can get to Ostia Antica, supposedly the site of the best preserved Roman ruins in Italy including Pompeii. 

We have no problems with the trains but when we arrive in Ostia, because we cannot seem to read signs, we end up wandering around in the in the ancient district of Gregoriopolis instead of Ostia Antica.  It contains a medieval castle, called the castle of Julius II or sometimes Castello Ostia.  After asking several amused locals for directions, we finally backtrack to our starting point and ultimately arrive at the entrance to the ruins which were only a few hundred yards from the train station. 

We are immediately overwhelmed at the extent, beauty and historical significance of the area.  You can see photos in the Ostia photo album.  We are impressed not only with the preserved condition of many of the ruins but also by the information available at every stop we make.  The most outstanding building is the theatre which has been partially restored and is used for plays and concerts.  We also cannot take our eyes off the preserved tile work that is spread throughout the site.

The only sour note is supplied by a number of children who are climbing all over the ruins.  Their parents have, obviously, no regard for the signs that ask people to stay off the ruins to insure that the ruins are still there for future generations.  I take it as long as I can and I approach one group of chattering British mothers, watching their kids try to destroy 2,000 year old brick walls and ask if they have read the damn sign?  I forget the first rule of intervening in such situations by using profanity.  The focus immediately shifts to my use of the word damn.  I try to apologize while maintaining my intention of reminding them of their parental duties and finally announce that my use of the word damn does not obviate the need for them to get their damn kids off the ruins.  This announcement sets off a whole new round of tsk, tsks but has the desired result.  I handle an Italian father much better by merely reminding him of the sign.  He responds immediately by calling his children off the ruins.

I need a beer or perhaps something even stronger so Tom and I go to the cafeteria, which believe it or not, serves one of the best lunches we have in Italy and at very reasonable prices.  I can't imagine a cafeteria anywhere else in the world, but Italy, that would have as high quality food.

Restored Floor Mural, Roman Bath

After lunch we visit the small but impressive museum full of statuary, rescued from the ruins and restored.  Unfortunately, they don't allow picture taking, We also have to rush through the museum because of a peculiar custom we find in Italy.  Instead of staggering the lunch hours of the staff, the museum closes for an hour and a half in the middle of the day.  I guess everyone wants to eat with their friends even if it is during the peak viewing hours. 

We explore the ruins even further and observe areas where they are continuing to unearth buildings that were buried centuries ago when the Tiber changed its course.  The area also provides some beautiful views of the Tiber. Eventually our energy flags and we make our way back to the train station. 

Temple to Augustus, Ostia Antica

The train is full and not air-conditioned so we must stand and sweat.  This reminds me of that lovely verse from some long ago war, "They also serve who stand and sweat." 

We are exhausted and thirsty by the time we get to Piazza Barberini.  We flop onto the chairs outside our favorite little café and order two beers each.  The waiter doesn't hesitate fetching them so I don't get the pleasure of quoting one of my favorite lines from John Steinbeck's "Cannery Row," "The first for thirst, the second for taste." 

After a short nap and a quick reconnoiter of the area we choose a nearby restaurant.  We are moderate in our alcohol consumption and just enjoy people watching.  After dinner we walk to a café just off Via del Tritone near the bus terminal for a slice of tiramisu that I recall from Pam's and my visit here last January, is "to die for."  The tiramisu does not live up to my memory of it so we don't die but we do enjoy the parade of interesting "night" people wandering in and out of the place.

We end the evening relatively early for tomorrow we entrain for "Fabulous Florence."