... in Rome

 

The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Rome

 

 

For reasons which seemed a good idea at the time we booked a flight from Stansted Airport which left at 6.00am. This meant we needed to be checked in by 4.00am for which we would need to leave home at about 2.00am.

We didn’t fully appreciate this until a few days before we were due to go. Our chosen plan was to go to bed very early (almost as soon as getting in after work) and set the alarm for 1.00am. It all seemed fine – until we ended up going to bed some time after 10.00pm. Nevertheless, the alarm went off, and miraculously we woke up and set off.

We arrived at Stansted which was littered with sleeping travellers – some had come very prepared with sleeping bags and roll mats while others just lay out over their luggage. The concourse was dimly lit and quiet, as it should be at 4 am in the morning.

The good thing about being there at this time was that there was no queue for Garfunkels, and we were very much in need of a decent breakfast and couple of strong coffees.

The flight left on time and within minutes we were over Dover – although for a minute or two neither of us was sure because the Channel just looked too small – France seemed closer than we had though it ought be. We flew in over Rome and were afforded a fantastic view over the city as we came in to the airport.

Having arrived in Rome – which was hot – we got the bus to the Termini station from where we would walk to our hotel. There was a bit of a traffic jam on the way – as a result of an accident where the drivers had not tried to move the bumped cars off the road, but put on high vis jackets, and got out of their cars right there on the dual carriage way to have it out.

The heat of the day was rising. Fortunately the walk from Termini was all down hill, along Via Cavour,  and by the time we got to the bottom, having had a quick glance down the road to the Colosseum, we decided to pause at one of the cafes for a drink and bite to eat. It was, after all, nearly lunch time.

We sat outside in the cooling shade as the café was roofed by greenery which grew over a metal frame. A number of birds nested in this and as they shuffled about amongst the leaves plant debris fell into our food. Then the resident sparrows quite blatantly sat on the edge of our bread basket helping themselves to bread. The waiters fought a losing battle trying to shoo them away.

Our lunch was simple, but like all food in Italy, thoroughly delicious and all washed down with a much needed beer. We shared an antipasta starter and I managed to ping an olive off the plate which flew away from the table onto the carpet over the gravel behind me. No one seemed to notice.

We wandered over to have a quick look at the forum (we were dragging our luggage around with us) as we were next to it before attempting to find the hotel. We knew where the hotel should be, the exact bit of street – which we found quite quickly. But couldn’t find the hotel.

The bit of street was 50m long – there were shops, a couple of cafes, but no hotel. Eventually we did find it – at the end of a long corridor that ran deep into the buildings which from outside signposted to a barbers.

The hotel had been done up in an incredibly modern style, frosted glass staircase, glass lift and lift shaft – providing an excellent view of the cables – large quantities of modern art and modern, presumably designer, furniture which was very pretty but not that easy or comfortable to sit on.

We dumped our luggage and set off to wander in earnest, starting off along Via del Corso and then cutting through the narrow, busy side streets that epitomise Rome. Cars – primarily Smart cars – were parked haphazardly along the road, as were dozens of scooters.  And those that were driving hurtled along the roads at great speed.

We came to the Pantheon which we went into, and saw the tomb of Raphael. The Pantheon seen today was built by Emperor Hadrian in the 1^st century on the site of an earlier temple built by Agrippa. What is remarkable about it is the dome – a semi-sphere 43.5m in diameter, 6m thick constructed of concrete, and with a hole in the middle. The floor beneath is apparently slightly dome shaped so that rain water runs to drainage systems at the side of the church. Originally the dome was covered with bronze cladding but this was stripped off by Constantine II in the 7^th century to decorate Constantinople, and 1000 years later Bernini took the rest to decorate the alter canopy he was designing for St Peter’s. The marble floor is unfortunately a 19^th reconstruction. The huge bronze doors, however, have survived since Roman times.

We walked on, through narrower, busier streets to Trevi Fountain – on the way seeing a few potential places for dinner. The fountain depicts Neptune flanked by horses representing the calm and stormy seas. Apparently the water now contains bleach – presumably to reduce the annual cleaning requirements.

We threw our coins into the fountain – to ensure our return and wandered back to the hotel. It started to rain, which was actually quite refreshing in the close heat of the late afternoon.

 

Back at the hotel we lay down and almost immediately fell asleep. When we woke it was dark, and time to think about dinner. We aimed for the places we had seen by the Pantheon as this was only a few minutes walk away. As we wandered between them – undecided – it started to rain again, much harder. The need for a decision being pressing we dived into a throbbing trattoria. The entrance was decorated with larges piles of garlic and vegetables – the real thing – hung up all round the door, and boxes of tomatoes that really were straight off the vine. We were shown to a table at the back of the room. It was a table for 4, and two women were already there. We sat at the untaken chairs. The trattoria was one room, filled with tables which were all occupied. It was dimly lit by dark chandeliers, and a high shelf on the walls was lined with bottles and bric a brac. We ordered some wine and water and were given a basket of freshly sliced bread.

The food was delicious, and the atmosphere fantastic. Mid way through the evening a middle aged, goofy toothed man set himself up on the steps at the back of the room which led up to the toilets and proceeded to play guitar and sing.

We had a wonderfully long, lingering and relaxed dinner. Thoroughly stuffed we then wandered through the dark but lively streets to Campo di Fiori and Piazza Farnese – both of which were disappointingly quiet and empty. So we went back via Piazza Navona which had a lot more life to it, the pavement restaurants were still doing a thriving trade for the American tourist market. The piazza’s centrepiece is Bernini’s Fontana dei Fiumi. Formerly a chariot racing stadium, it has always been a hub of Roman social life. There was a market in the piazza for centuries and it used to be flooded in August to form a vast watery playground for rich and poor alike.

Despite it being cool and late we decided to buy an ice cream from a rather excellent shop just off the piazza that I know. The man behind the counter slightly misunderstood what we asked for, and instead of a cone each with one flavour each, he pilled up one cone with both flavours and handed it to Boyfriend. So I re-selected two flavours for myself – it seemed that just going for one flavour was not the done thing at all. However I did decline the topping of cream. Boyfriend didn’t.

We wandered around the Piazza, eating our ice creams. During the day the Piazza has a number of motionless human statues. As we headed back towards the hotel Boyfriend stopped me to show me one such motionless person, hardly visible in the night. However, rather than just standing there, this man was in a state of static motion. His tie was arranged so that it was blowing high in the breeze of his fast walk, he had a hand in his pocket, the other in front of him, marching ahead. One leg was also stretched out ahead, his mouth open. It was as though he had quite literally been stopped still while walking briskly down the street. It was incredible. A stationery man in motion.

Back at the hotel we were having difficulty with the completely ridiculous lavatory. It been crammed in between the bath and bathroom wall such that there wasn’t actually enough space. When Boyfriend sat down he couldn’t part his legs to let his meat and veg between them, and had to cock one leg over the edge of the bath instead.

We tumbled into bed – which was two beds that had been pushed together and then had a double sheet and duvet put over them. This was fine for sleeping, but during our nocturnal activities we did find that the two beds started to get pushed apart and at some point during proceedings one or other of us would be suspended by the sheet alone before disappearing down the gap altogether.

I woke up cold to the sound of noisy English people outside. Boyfriend was also awake. I decided to get up and showered. After running the water for several minutes there was no suggestion that it would get hot so I braced myself for a cold shower – and let out a few exclamations as the cold water took my breath away. I got out and dried and decided to wash my hair separately. Whilst doing so, the water became hot. So Boyfriend, who had been waiting for me to finish, had the pleasure of a hot shower.

We went upstairs for breakfast. It was all decorated with designer furniture, and the plates were curious metal squares. There were no tables laid up, so we sat down and assumed that the man who regularly wandered around the room would realise and bring us the necessary bits. Our table had one of the place settings gone, so we only had one plate, knife and cup. I went to fill the cup with coffee. We also got some juice and a supply of bread with appropriate spreads. The man came out, and provided everyone else who had sat at used tables with clean place settings. He then set to wiping down the used empty tables and came out with fresh place settings to lay them up again. Realising that we were going to be ignored Boyfriend went and helped himself to one of these fresh place settings. The man returned, saw the missing place setting from the table he had laid up only minutes earlier. Clearly confused and bewildered he then cleared the table up again and wiped it down again. Boyfriend and I watched him, and giggled. He then proceeded to un-lay and wipe down all the empty tables – which he had only just finished laying up. The whole process was very amusing and Boyfriend and I struggled not to burst out laughing.

With the hilarity of breakfast over we went out. The room had seemed cool, so I wore warmish clothes. The minute we got outside I realised that this was a terrible mistake – it was an extremely hot day. We walked up Via del Corso, window shopping and passing some sort of street pet shop – tiny kittens and puppies in pens, and along Via Condotti. Usually packed with well heeled fashion victims this street is the heart of designer Rome. It runs up to Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps. Despite the heat of the day, we climbed the steps and were rewarded with a stunning view over the city and to St Peter's. We went into the church at the top of the steps, Trinita dei Monti – where the obese nun at the door told me to pull down my top which appeared to have risen slightly showing my stomach. I’m not sure if she was offended by my flat stomach or that she felt God would be – who apparently made me in his own image and therefore shouldn’t be too bothered by the sight of his creation.

From there we continued on to Piazza di Popolo which was a fantastically huge and empty piazza. On one side were two basilicas that look identical but in fact have different shaped domes – one oval and one round due to space limitations. At the other end was the wall of the old city and a huge gate into the city – this piazza once providing the first sight of Rome to 18^th and 19^th century visitors.

 

The piazza was also the sight of executions where criminals had their heads smashed with hammers until the guillotine took over. And in the middle, by the 3000 year old obelisk that Emperor Augustus brought back from Egypt and around which the piazza was designed, was a solo saxophonist. Passing through the gate, we walked along the outside of the wall to the River Tiber – rather hoping to find shade.

We walked along the Tiber in the shade of the trees to Ponto d’Angelo and up to St Peter’s. The bridge was lined with negros selling presumably fake designer handbags. Castel Sant’Angelo – Hadrian’s tomb – was their backdrop. Somehow it seemed wrong. The Castel was built in 117-138 by Hadrian as a mausoleum to himself and is a labyrinth. There is a high level passageway between it and the Pope’s residence in Vatican City so that in the event of a siege the Pope could escape into the castle.

 

The bridge is lined with angels sculpted by Bernini, each displaying one of the stages of Christ’s passion. Their ecstatically swooning expressions earned them the nickname of the ‘Breezy Maniacs’. Apparently a couple of the sculptures never made it to the bridge, being considered too beautiful to withstand the rigours of the Roman climate. Whilst most of the bridge dates from the 17^th and 19^th centuries the central arches are the remains of the bridge that Emperor Hadrian built in the 1^st century to lead to his tomb.

 

We walked along the white stone street up to St Peter's. The square in front of the basilica – which is in fact a circle is hugged on either side by colonnades of huge pillars, 4 deep. We walked round part of one side of these, primarily to take advantage of the shade before coming back out into the square and joining the queue to enter the church. First we had to go through an airport style security check. This was a new addition – in recognition of the modern world of terrorism.

Whilst not being remotely religious, it is hard not to find St Peter’s awe inspiring. The church is massive – 187m long, and proudly lists on the floor of the nave the length of all other major churches in Europe. St Paul’s has the privilege of being the next biggest. The dome – designed by Michelangelo, rises to the dizzying height of 132.5m, and there was a huge queue of people eager to climb it.

One of the statues in the church depicts Mary with her foot on a globe. Out of that globe is a spike pricking her foot. The spike originates from England and apparently has something to do with Henry VIII’s break with Rome. England is for evermore seen as thorn in the foot of Mary – which is nice.

 

The 13^th bronze statue of St Peter is touched by pilgrims and believers to such an extent that his right foot has actually completely worn away. Clearly none of their prayers were for the continuation of the statue’s foot.

Over the alter is a huge 20m high baldacchino, or alter canopy, designed by Bernini under which only the Pope can celebrate masses.

Michelangelo’s statue of Mary holding her crucified son on her lap resides behind bullet proof glass. It is by no means the most remarkable sculpture I have seen but there is a certain something about seeing it, an image with which I have become so familiar created by someone so famous. There was a wow moment.

However there was a certain hypocrisy in the vast and visual wealth of the Catholic church compared with the millions of catholic poor and suffering. Furthermore, the church has been built by using Rome as a quarry. A virtually un-ruined – although unused – Colosseum was plundered for stone and marble, as was the forum. The old used to build the new. Destruction of the past for the glory of God.

When we emerged from the church it had clouded over, to our immense relief.

Boyfriend had perused our guide book earlier with a view to finding places for dinner. There was a restaurant and jazz club that looked interesting, both of which were the Vatican side of the river so we decided to try to find them now. The area we were now in, Trastevere, was much quieter and less crowded. But there were still little centres of activity, piazzas with cafes attracting the local populace.

 

We managed to find the club, Big Mama which gave no clues about when it opened but at least we knew where we would be heading for this evening. We then wandered on in search of the restaurant, Roma Sparita in Piazza S Cecilia which apparently served genuine Roman cuisine. We found the medieval piazza but initially couldn’t find the restaurant. Then I noticed a building with a menu on the wall. Being shut the restaurant was not in any way distinguishable from the other ancient, shut up buildings in the piazza. We looked at the menu, which didn’t seem to be particularly interesting.

As we were next to Santa Cecilia church we had a look inside – while a wedding party gathered. Rome has hundreds of churches, every few paces there is another one. From the outside they have high and slightly imposing facades but inside many of these buildings are vast and richly decorated. In the tight, scrambled alleyways of the city you never really notice the sheer size of these buildings. They seem to just be there, rammed in alongside the other buildings.

The Santa Cecilia church is entered through a courtyard. The front is pillared with mismatched columns that were plundered from the ancient temples of Rome. In front of the altar is what appears to be a statue of the saint in the position of her death, but on closer examination you can see her skeleton under the ivory exterior. We then went underneath the church where there are the remains of a Roman house and shops, as well as mosaics. What was particularly incredible about it was that most of it we could actually walk through and touch. In England we have become so used to ancient sites being put behind glass or barriers that to just wander freely amongst it seemed curiously exciting. The mosaics we stood on had been walked on by Romans hundreds of years earlier. It put the history of it into perspective.  

By now we were getting hungry and it was rapidly approaching lunch time so – arming ourselves with an ice cream on route – we wandered back across the Tiber in search of somewhere to eat. We returned over Ponto Cestio and Ponto Fabricio. There is an island between these two bridges where we sheltered briefly from a particularly fierce downpour then muddled our way through the cobbled streets, stumbling across another amphitheatre. The site was still being excavated, and the ground had been dug several feet down to the base of a row of pillars. The top 4 feet of the rest of the row, unexcavated, carried on along the street, sticking out of the pavement that had been built around them.

It was still raining, but in the ever present warmth it was refreshing rather than unpleasant. We wandered towards Campo de’Fiori which has been one of but busiest squares in Rome since Renaissance times. The market held there was still buzzing with life. We wandered through the stalls of fresh vegetables, cheeses, fish and meat. It was food that would probably taste the way it was meant to, and looked as though it had grown without being forced to be a certain size, shape or colour.

The square is lined with cafes and we settled for one that looked as though it was more suited to a drink and snack rather than a full blown meal. In front of us was the statue which dominates the square, of Giordano Bruno, a philosopher who was burnt at the stake here in 1600 for heresy. Boyfriend and I, more or less at the same time, said that he reminded us of the ‘book shitter’ statue in Venice.

We sat under the awning, sheltered from the rain, drinking our beers and writing the postcards that we had bought in Vatican city.

We watched the people go by, particularly looking out for red trousers. A friend from our Morocco trip had recently been to Rome and told us that everyone was wearing red trousers. We hadn’t yet seen any. By the end of our trip we had only seen about half a dozen and on our return I informed said friend that Boyfriend had brought red chinos, red shorts, red jeans and red corduroys on the trip and frankly had felt a little foolish – being the only person in red trousers. Friend politely informed us that we clearly hadn’t been hanging around the fashionable areas.

Determined to speak Italian to someone who wouldn’t just speak English to me I was pleased to go into a Tabbachi and find the woman behind the counter struggling with the English speaking customer in front of me. ‘Avete francobolli per Le Grand Bretagne?’ I asked, and she seemed relieved to have someone speak her language. She told me yes, and how much they cost before asking how many I wanted. ‘Dodici’, I replied. In my excitement I had got the wrong number and had in fact meant undici. She wondered whether she would have enough, but did and the transaction was satisfactorily conducted. I felt delighted that I had managed to speak to someone and make myself understood.

Replete and exhausted we returned to the hotel for a siesta. When we woke it was dark and there was a helicopter overhead. Unable to see from our room what was going on, we got ready for the evening and went out. Piazza Venezia – in front of the hotel – was filled with people, demonstrating in front of the building nicknamed The Typewriter. There were riot police everywhere and the movement of pedestrians was being limited. We walked through the side streets, where there were small groups of riot police, to get around the piazza. At the top end of Fori Imperiali was a curious dance show – red lights and people dancing with flames attached to their clothing, barely visible as more than shadows in the red smokiness of the night sky, accompanied by evocative music. All this right next to a demonstration, which we later found out was for the two Italian women hostages held in Iraq. Apparently the deadline for their execution had passed. The demonstration moved off. It was hard to know who was demonstrating as opposed to who was just out for the evening. Apparently the helicopter knew – as it followed the demonstration.

We headed back to the restaurant by Santa Cecilia. It was a changed place by night, open and lit up it was suddenly lively. However, we were still not fully convinced it was where we wanted to go so we wandered along Via San Francesco a Ripa – which crossed the large and busy Viale Trastevere, where there were a number of pavement cafes but they were right next to a busy road.

Eventually we stumbled along a small piazza with  a couple of eateries. We picked one and, having not yet had pizza, both ordered pizza. There were huge – bigger than the very large plate that they were served on. And they were delicious. We did of course have our by now regular, antipasti starter. Despite the vast quantities of food we still managed to force down a tiramisu for pudding. The police helicopter was still circling in the distance – indicating that the demonstration was nowhere near us.

 

What was particularly nice about this restaurant, as well as the trattoria of last night, was that all the clientele were Italian. This may have been because it was in the residential side of the city rather than in the centre or that we were rather good at picking places that were not touristy. I was starting to realise that the Mediterranean diet consisted of large quantities of fat, salt, alcohol and ice cream.

Having sumptuously fed, we wandered back to the hotel. By now the crowds had dispersed. On the way we passed a large excavated area, exposing a Roman forum, called the Argentinean Forum. You could easily make out the road and buildings, now habited by the city cats. There was no public access, so the cats were safe here – and they knew it. We stood there for while, just looking on, amazed. We passed underwear shops, lit up in the dark of the night, the manikins dressed in brown underwear. In Rome, clearly brown undies can be the height of hip and sexy. What’s more, the manikins had cellulite – perhaps it was a design flaw or trick of the light, but the thighs of the plastic model were bumpy. And it was nice.

Returning to the hotel we stopped at on of the neighbouring cafes for a drink and chat with the locals before going back to the hotel and collapsing into bed. It was still hot.

The following morning we woke late and there was again the slight cold water problem. Now aware of the situation I left the water running for ages. It never got warm.

 

We missed breakfast, but didn’t really mind. Again the day started hot and airless. We ambled towards the forum, but on the way decided to climb the white steps up to the Monumento a Vittoria Emanuele II (The Typewriter). Half way up the steps burns the eternal flame at the tomb of the unknown soldier, which is constantly guarded by armed soldiers of the Alter of the Nation. The building is huge, and seems more so by being perched at the top of a vast amount of steps. Inside there was no relief from the rising heat of the day. It was warm and stuffy. The building is now a vast museum which in no way caters for English tourists, all the captions being written in Italian.

 

Boyfriend came upon a case which contained the pen used by the Italians to sign the armistice at the end of World War 1. We went outside to wander around the high level terrace. On one side we had spectacular views over the city, and its multitude of domes, to St Peter’s. On the other side we could see over to the forum – which was the target for the day.

 

Managing to find our way out of the building and back down to street level we both felt peckish and decided to get a snack and drink from one the mobile vendors that lined the Via Dei Fori Imperiali. The man serving us was delighted at our efforts to speak Italian. Having ordered the food, he asked ‘bere?’. ‘Un’aqua minerale, non gassata’, Boyfriend replied. This delighted him even more – ‘I asked you what you wanted to drink, and you said water’ he told us excitedly. What he didn’t know was that Boyfriend hadn’t actually understood his question, he had just asked for a water anyway as he wanted one.

Fed and watered we walked down the road to the Roman Forum. Cars drove past slowly, beeping their horns, and we later learned that this was normal procedure for a wedding party.

The forum covers a number of centuries as various emperors added to it. Across the road is the Imperial Forum in which you can still see Roman houses and shops as well as the outlines of temples. The Roman Forum is very extensive. Entered through an ancient and magnificently carved arched we walked along the Via Sacra between the ruins. Marble steps lead up to floors that would once have been lined with pillars and sumptuously decorated. The pathway through the ruins itself has probably been levelled or even partially reconstructed, but is by and large the same path walked on by the Romans several centuries ago. The forum contains some buildings which are ruined to the point of being almost unrecognisable, while a few feet away will be another building, usually a church, completely intact. It made you realise the extent of plundering that had taken place in order to build the Renaissance Rome that we know today. It seemed ironic that the Renaissance, which is generally considered to be a period of extensive creation was the cause of destruction of ancient Rome.

To our right rose the Palatino, a lush hilly area covered with the remains of a massive Roman palace.

As the ground level of Rome rose and before the forum had been thoroughly excavated, doorways were cut at a higher level into the ancient churches of the forum so that they could continue to be used. When the forum was excavated these doors were left, unusable, in the walls of buildings, about 20 foot above the ground.

We came through the other end of the forum, past the decorative Arch of Titus which was erected in the 1^st century, and towards the Colosseum. Outside men were dressed as gladiators and posing with the tourists. The way in to the Colosseum wasn’t immediately obvious until we saw the queues. After queuing for several minutes an English speaking guide helpfully told us we were in the wrong queue – there was one for guided parties and another for individuals.

 

Having bought tickets and passed through the security system we went in. Even by today’s standard of modern buildings the Colosseum is huge. Much of the structure of the original building needed to be imagined – the columns either side of the stair cases, the lines of seats, the floor of the arena.

The height of the building was impressive, and again I tried to picture the rows of seats and hundreds of people sitting there, the noise of it. Commissioned by Emperor Vespasian to fill the site of a massive lake excavated by Nero, the Colosseum could seat over 55,000 and apparently everyone in Rome had a free, designated seat – strictly allocated according to sex and rank.

It ceased to be used by the 6^th century, gladiatorial combat having been banned in the previous century and was plundered in the Renaissance for its marble. Yet despite this and occasional serious fires the building still stands. Some parts of it are largely untouched. You can climb the steep brick steps, heavily worn, to the upper levels and walk in the dark coolness of the upper corridors.

 

Having wandered around, we made our way out. Feeling the need for a reviving drink we headed to the row of cafes where we had had our first lunch in Rome on this trip. As we sat there two elderly couples sat at the neighbouring table. It transpired they were from England and were delighted to happen upon some other English folk. Having struggled to order drinks from the fluent English waiter they then started to chat to us about what we had all been visiting. The topic of conversation turned to St Peter’s. One of the ladies, mopping her brow – finding is considerably hotter than her home town of Bolton – said ‘Ooh I didn’t much care for it, too over the top. It wasn’t to my liking’. You have to imagine it being said in her northern accent. It was all I could do not to laugh.

Across the road, sticking out of the pavement was the top 5 feet of another column. Obviously some ornate building lay beneath these streets, but was unlikely to be excavated due to the 6 lane road which ran between the Roman and Imperial forums. The thoroughfare was built by Mussolini over the ancient remains to act as a triumphal route to his Palazzo Venezia headquarters. However there are still some who have suggested digging it up to excavate. We walked back past the Fori Imperiali which comprises the fragments of 5 other, smaller, forums built to accommodate the overspill from the original forum.

Now on the hunt for lunch, we walked up to the streets around the Pantheon. Finding a suitable pizzeria we sat down. Our table was outside, at the junction of 4 busy, narrow streets. It was buzzing with life, and almost death as some vehicles motored along with little attention to the possibility of other vehicles - or people - crossing their path. In fairness, there were no give way signs or road markings on any of the streets. Slightly detracting from the atmosphere was a loud and ignorant American woman at the table behind. Almost everything she said was stupid. She asked the waiters exactly what the Pantheon was – they told her it was a place of worship to which she exclaimed ‘Oh, like a temple’. Close, but church, or basilica was probably nearer the mark. The final outrage was, as she looked at her map (and most tourist maps of Rome include small pictures as well as names of all famous landmarks) she called out ‘What’s this Colosseo?’

At first I thought her question was similar to the Pantheon and she wanted to know what it was for. But no, she didn’t understand the Italian word Colosseo and needed it translated into the English Colosseum before she knew what it was.

Despite this ‘entertainment’ lunch was fantastic and the venue perfect. We ambled back to the hotel through the narrow, busy streets. Every few yards huge churches are crammed in amongst the houses, with relatively ordinary looking exterior. But when you go inside, and see the immensity of the building and the richness, if not gaudiness, of its decoration it belies belief, more so as to how such a huge building was crammed into what appeared to be such a small space. Because in most cases you can’t walk around the outside, it really comes as a complete surprise to find them so huge, particularly when they are apparently squeezed into such a bustle of shops and houses.

By chance we went into one church, Sant’Ignazio Di Loyola. The ceiling was painted to depict the saint’s entry into paradise, and the dome too is painted.

As you walk down the aisle the perspective of the dome is right, but once you stand underneath it and look up it is clearly all wonky. Apparently the neighbouring university building complained that if a dome was built it would block their light, so the roof is flat and the image of a dome painted on. It was our favourite church.

 

We returned to the hotel for our siesta as well as to start getting packed up for the next day – trying to fit two bottles, a small statue and packets of pasta into hand luggage so that firstly nothing would break, and secondly the luggage wouldn’t be overweight. That evening we went for dinner at a restaurant in Piazza Sant’Ignazio. The dimly lit church façade rose up behind us with a silent but evocative presence. Dinner was delicious although there was some query as to whether it was actually what Boyfriend ordered.

On our last day we decided to attempt breakfast again. This time there were plenty of tables laid up and the whole proceeding was far more organised. But there wasn’t any cheese spread for the rolls. I had eaten one of the sweet croissants the last time but on this occasion found it revoltingly sweet. Neither of us could eat it. The strong coffee however, was still flowing freely – as was the overly sweet squash.

I had tried to shower again that morning, but at no time did any hot water emerge, so the plan was quickly abandoned. Not completely sure what time the bus left for the airport we decided to wander in that direction and find somewhere nearby to have something to eat and drink. Again, it was a burning hot morning. As we walked up the hill of Via Cavour I saw some steep steps to our right. For a joke I said to Boyfriend that we ought to go up there and have a look. So I was a little surprised when he agreed. But me, him and the luggage climbed the steps to Piazza S Pietro in Vincoli, a small quiet piazza, which naturally contained a church, in what appeared to be a university area. There were buildings proclaiming to be a university and vast numbers of student looking people sitting on the steps outside them.

Our detour wound back to Via Cavour – down a further steep flight of steps. We got to the station and knew that the bus left from the street running down the side. Walking down what we thought was the street we both soon realised it wasn’t the right place. I started to muster in my head the sentences I thought might be required ‘Di dove parti l’autobus per l’aeroporto?’ and the like. We also needed to know ‘a che ora parti l’autobus?’

Boyfriend decided to go along the street in the other direction, and we soon found the bus stops. Having just over half an hour before it left we went to a nearby café for some beers.

The bus journey back to the airport seemed to take a long time, and for much of it we could see the old aqueduct. We had a panini at the airport and were loaded onto the plane more or less on time to be flown back to a cold Stansted.

NOTES

The above is a true story. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.