From Rome to home

Mornings aren't my best time. Despite checking and double-checking I had a moment of panic that I'd lost my phone - again - before discovering I'd packed it in the luggage. I guess a shot of adrenaline isn't a bad thing on travel day.

We'd booked a driver to take us to the airport. He looked about 70, and drove as if he had no intention of hitting 71. He'd take up two-lanes, tailgate at 170 kph while flashing his lights for cars to get the hell out if the way, and slip in and out of traffic with inches to spare.

I suppose if you have to die in a high-speed car accident it may as well be at the end of the holiday.

We show up, body parts unshattered, and find out the check-in won't open for another 45 minutes. I got up at 6.30 for this?

We could sort out the VAT refund for tourists, but we need boarding passes for that. Coffee time.

Eventually staff show up, we check in, and go to customs to arrange the VATrefund . He asks to see our purchases - uh, they'd be in the luggage we just checked in. Nobody bothered to tell us we'd need to show anybody, and it doesn't make a lot if sense for us to check in, then take our luggage to customs, and  d back again to the airline to check the bags. He mumbles about it being "irregular", but signs off he paperwork anyway.

Boarding time. We go up stairs, down stairs, into a bus, onto the Tarmac, up more stairs... Emma wonders why Air Italian has declared war on her knees.

The first leg to Abu Dhabi is fine, although once again we have to run the security gauntlet. By the time we board the Etihad flight we have been through Italian security, Abu Dhabi airport security, and finally a security check at the departure lounge. Unless the staff at Abu Dhabi airport are smuggling drugs and guns - Emma suggested that possibility - it's an exercise in serious overkill.

On the other hand the last check did manage to seize the highly dangerous bottle of water we were bringing on board. Obviously Etihad is terrified of he prospect of a maddened Australian rushing the cockpit and saying,"take this plane to Dubbo or I'll drink this entire bottle of water!!!"

On the last leg I struggle to sleep, while Emma dozes for seven hours straight. "Best night's sleep I've had in six weeks."

Envy.

I'm seriously unimpressed with the staff on this flight. Our video players aren't working, so I hit the button to call a flight attendant. Fifty minutes later someone shows up and says they'll reset our players. Another ten minutes go by before he does it.

The meal service is sloooooow, and of the three meals on offer in the menu we get a choice of: one.

I get up to get us me a drink of water and a black tea for Emma. The first attendant ignores me and continues filling in paperwork, the second finally turns to me after several minutes before unenthusiastic ally getting our drinks.

Not to worry. Clearly Etihad doesn't need my business, nor I their services. Lest I complain too much, at least they had the decency not to explode mid-flight.

After a brief holding pattern we land, load up on booze in duty-free, pick up our luggage, breeze through customs, and find Olav (who, with his wife Sarah, had been house-sitting for us) waiting.

Easy-peasy. And really glad we arrived when we did because after we got home the rain pounded down, followed by hail. Then lightning. Which may not have been much fun to land in.

Home. Despite my love of travel, even through my sleep-deprived hallucinatory fog, it's good to be back.

 Especially chasing the cats around the house and smothering them with hugs and kisses.

Vatican II: just popeless 

We missed out on seeing the Basilica of St Peter last week, but we weren't worried because we knew we had this week to catch up.

However...

When we arrived at the Vatican there were thousands of people everywhere. We forgot Wednesdays were one of the days the Pope comes out and addresses the public.*

In any case we wanted to see the nearby Castel Sant' Angelo, so we bailed on the Vatican and went there instead. We guessed this would take an hour or so, and then we could try again.

Originally built as a Mausoleum for the Emperor Hadrian and his family.** Over the years it's been repurposed as a fort, papal apartments, and a prison.

Cool fact: there's a secret tunnel connecting the castle with the Vatican, which Pope Clement VII used in 1527 to escape from the army of Charles de Bourbon.***

The castle has a large statue of the Archangel Michael on the top. The current statue is "only" two hundred and sixty years old. The original was a marble statue erected in 590 by Pope Gregory the Great, who promised to build it if God stopped a plague ravaging Rome.****

I found the papal rooms interesting, especially the bedchamber. One several of the walls are the expected religious paintings with a spooky-looking baby Jesus, stoic-suffering Jesus and seriously-bored dead Jesus. On another wall is a painting of a unicorn with Giulia Farnese - a mistress of Pope Alexander VI.*****

So wrong, and yet so fitting.

Plenty of interesting parts: the treasure room, ornate ceilings, places were prisoners were left to starve to death, old Roman passages... it took more than an hour to explore.

It also provides the best views of Rome in the city. We had lunch on the terrace of the restaurant on the top level. The food was as expected - average is a kind description - but we couldn't pass up the view on our last day in Rome.

Once again we headed for St Peter's, but the queue was horrendous, snaking around the front and along the plaza. Oh, we'll, not this trip. Guess we'll just have to come back again.

On our return to the hotel we had a final coffee at our little cafe and said goodbye. They were suitably sad to see us go, and the manager joked we'd have to stay ("there's a strike tomorrow; the planes, the people in the towers, everybody...")

This was also our last chance to see the Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore, the one outside our hotel.

Seems we left the best for last.

The Basilica is stunning, somewhere between the usual Roman Baroque magnificence and the starker understated approach of the Duomo in Florence. "Best" is subjective, but Emma and I were captivated by it. It was also the most active church we'd been in, with several chapels in use, and numerous priesthearing  confessions in various languages, all conveniently posted on the confessionals.

We had time for a last Italian meal just up the street, with a superb minestrone and a very good gnocchi ai quatro formaggi - almost as good as the one at Napoli in Boca in Haberfield.

On the way back to our room we saw the American family from Detroit sitting on the fourth floor balcony, said our goodbyes and exchanged email and Facebook info. They were sitting in the fresh air, enjoying their last night before catching a 6am flight, which required them to be at the airport at 3am.  This makes our 8am check-in/11am flight decadently late.

Any more decadent and I could be a pope.

* I have no idea what he says when he comes out. "Buy low, and sell high. Yellow cars are more visible on the road, which makes the, safer. Never overcook pasta, it should always be al dente." Something like that, I guess.

** Emma noted that Hadrian got around. We've come across Hadrian stuff in Rome, Athens and Ephesus. Yeah, I know he didn't personally build it all himself as DIY weekenders, but there's still an awful lot of crap with his name on it.

*** The Holy Roman Emperor's army had just finished beating the French army only to find out the Emperor was a bit short of cash, and maxed out on his credit cards, and unable to pay them Unenthusiastic about fighting for free the army suggested pillaging Rome was a reasonable alternative.

**** Trivia: the roof of the castle is also the setting for the final scene of Puccini's Tosca, which Floria Tosca swan dives from.

***** Alexander VI had at least two mistresses and seven illegitimate children. He was so debauched that the priests at St Peter's initially refused to bury him.

Firenze Frenzy

Here's a great thing to do while staying in Rome.

Go to Firenze (Florence). 

Firenze was one of my favourite cities on my first trip to Europe. It was the cultural centre of much of the renaissance, and home of the Duomo of Florence, a fabulous 13th century cathedral, and the Uffizi Gallery, my favourite art gallery in Italy, Europe, the world, the solar system, the galaxy*.

We took the Fressciarosso, the high speed train from Rome to Frenze. It leaves from Termini Station, and in classic Italian style was running late. Forty minutes later we board. Ah, well, it's not like we're in a rush.

We selected the Premium Economy option, which offers roomy leather seats and a visit from the catering car offering free drinks and snacks. So we're kicking back in comfort, watching the countryside race past at 250 kph.

I manage to get us lost at the other end, until we manage to steal a map and head in the opposite direction.

The Duomo is as magnificent as I remembered. Building commenced in the late 13th century, but took 140 years to complete. Significant parts of the design done by the famous architect Filippo Brunelleschi, including the dome (duomo), which the largest in the world at the time it was built. The interior is massive, and far more understated than the churches we've seen in Rome and Venice, which I find gives the cathedral a much more refined and peaceful character. 

After a quick lunch it was on tho the Uffizi. Basically it was originally the private collection of the Medici family, and is jammed full of Roman and Greek sculpture, with the core of the gallery room after room of paintings from around the mid-thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries. Pretty much a who's who of painters are represented: Botticelli, da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Caravaggio, Dürer, and more.

The building is like a giant U, and after a couple of hours we'd finished the top floor and had coffee in the rooftop cafe, with great views of the city. I thought I remembered more to the museum, and as we headed down, sure enough, we'd skipped an entire floor. Despite my fatigue I pressed on. So much art goodness, so little time and energy.

Post-Uffizi we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, the jewellery store centre of Firenze. Emma surprised me by not going onto any of them, although she did manage to look into every window. Every. Single. One.

We wanted to see Michelangelo's statue of David , but it was late by the time we arrived at the Accademia Gallery. If we had a couple of hours to spend we'd have gone in, but paying eleven Euros each just to look at a stone guy's dick was a bit pricey.

The train home was on time, ruining my stereotypes of Italian rail inefficiency. Bugger.

Tomorrow's our last day in Italy, then home. As much as I love Italy, I am at the ready-to-go-home stage. I like our home, and I'm really missing our cats.

But we do have one last day of adventures. I haven't hit my quota of Pope-iness yet. To the Vatican!

* There is an awesome antimatter art gallery in the Andromeda Galaxy which is slightly better.

Dem bones, dem bones, gonna rise...

The bones did rise. To the ceiling, and along the walls. Thousands and thousands of tiny little bones. Human bones.

We didn't sleep well the night before. The rain continued all night, but the rain got bored and extended an invitation to the wind, and they partied all night long.

We lost one of our shutters, which Emma heard clatter into the courtyard around 2am. Weird drippings and clicking and banging all night.

Emma was too tired for breakfast, but I find it hard to pass up a free feed. I saw the cop from Michigan, who said they'd had a fabulous time yesterday in Florence, which is our target for tomorrow.

Today was the Church of the Immaculate Conception, a Capuchin church not far from the Savoy. Simon told us about it yesterday, so we had to check it out.

What's so great about this church?

The ossuary.

Bones.

Human bones.

In pretty patterns. Stars made out of vertebrae, arches constructed out of thigh bones, columns of human skulls.

I thought it wa fascinating. It creeped Emma out.

The Capuchins are one of the three orders of Franciscan monks, and the crypts below the church are where the monks were buried. Well it seems around 1760 someone decided piles of monks were a bit of a bore, and that arranging the bones would be a spiffing way to smarten the place up.

There are six crypts, all with different themes: 

The Crypt of the Resurrection - my favourite, with a scythe-wielding angel of death on the ceiling.

The Mass Chapel - I don't recall the detail of this one.

The Church of the Skulls - featuring, surprisingly, lots of skulls.

The Church of the Pelvises - yup, pelvises.

The Church of the Leg Bones and Thighs - no prizes for guessing the feature here.

The Crypt of the Three Skeletons - three slightly-mummified dead monks standing around doing something monkish.

No one knows who arranged the bones like this, or even why. It made me think of Zen or Tibetan Buddhism, about the impermanence of life, and not taking it too seriously. Fascinating stuff.

Weirded out we went wandering into town, and saw the Tritone Fountain, which was closed for renovation last week, was being reopened. Interesting, but not anywhere near as cool as the bones.

Then a quick lunch at a totally unpretentious restaurant well off the tourist path, and another trip back to the Trevi Fountain and Pantheon. They never get old.

Out goal for the evening was dinner in the Jewish quarter of Rome, the old ghetto. I managed to guide us in a near perfect circle around the distinct, which turned out to be a fortunate diversion as it brought us past the Theatre of Marcello, and the church with the "Mouth of Truth" that was in Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. 

Personally I thought the Mouth of Truth was a bit of a yawn, but the tomb of Pope Hadrian underneath - that was interesting.

We walked across the Isola Tiberina (eh), then found a Roman Jewish restaurant, La Taverna Del Ghetto. The chopped liver was hot, which was unusual for us, the best thing being burik, a sort of fried pancake stuffed with potato.

By now it was freezing, so we taxied back. I wanted dessert, and popped next door to the gelato shop.

Emma's response: "Let me get this right. We've been here for a week with hot weather every day. On the coldest night of the trip you go out for gelato."

Me: "When you put it like that it is kind of daft."

...and water covered the face of the earth

Today was a very wet day.

More 7am church bells. At least it's Sunday so they're expected. I could probably sleep through the bells, but Emma's talking about the bells ensures I wake up.

That's not the real problem. The real problem is I have a cold. Sore throat, runny nose, mild headache.

Plus the sky is grey, and the ever-reliable BBC Weather predicts rain.

If we need a final excuse not to run all over town, we need to do our laundry. Rarely have I been so grateful for domestic chores.

So when Emma asks if we can have a quiet day I don't argue. Great idea.

After breakfast* we grab our washing and umbrellas and head off to the laundromat, which turns into an interesting experience. Like most things Italian it's a highly social process, with lots of chatting.

Procedures are different too. There's a guy on crutches with a broken foot** and a big smile supervising the place. He not only gives change, he feeds the coins into the washing machine - actually, he feeds the one Euro coin in three times. 

The rain finally comes, pelting down. And stops just as we're leaving. Lucky. 

We spend the rest of the day dodging rain. Every time we go inside it hammers down, and stops before we go out again. With luck like this I really should be buying lottery tickets.

It's Simon's last night in Rome, so in the evening we meet him and his friends Robin and Pepe for dinner, at the restaurant in Travestere we liked so much our first night in Rome. As it's raining and I have a cold we decide it might be worthwhile to take a taxi. As we're English-speaking tourists the taxi driver decides it might be worthwhile to take the artificially extended tourist route.

No point letting it ruin the evening. Or the annoying guy who wanders in selling roses or scarves or something.

(Italy is full of people all selling the same crap. The same scarves, handbags, squishy plastic heads... and the instant it rains, umbrellas, produced as if by magic.)

Dinner's great, especially the fried artichokes which were a big hit the first time, and the spaghetti carbonara. We order enough for four, and get platters that could feed eight. Maybe twelve.

After the meal it starts to drizzle. Emma shared her umbrella with Simon, and asked him, "when are you going to get your own?"

"I'm waiting for some Indian dude to sell me one," he said as we turned the corner, " - and here he is."

Which he was materialising as if by magic. Spooky.

Then Emma spotted a taxi, and grabbed it, cutting our goodbye period down to seconds. Good idea, because we're really going to miss him and long goodbyes - well, you know.

So quick hugs and goodbyes, and we're off. Although there may have been a few misty eyes during the ride to the hotel.

* At breakfast we talk to a nice American family from Michigan we met in the lift the previous day. She's a nurse, he' 's a cop, their daughter turned twelve the day before (we sang the "Happy Birthday plus one day to you" song), and they also have a son living in Rome who's studying electrical engineering and acting as tour guide. They're heading off to Florence by today.

By car. Brave

** The broken foot is probably not a requirement for the job...

When in Rome, shop

Hmmm... I'm getting a sore throat. I started coughing at night at the Savoy, but put it down to mold or allergies. I may be getting a cold. I'm not dying, so either it's just a passing thing, or it's a mild bug. Time will tell.

Today's plan is to go shopping, with the main objective to find me a new leather jacket. My options were shop or slam my hand in a car door, and I lost the coin toss.

No possibility of sleeping in. The Basilica's church bells start at 7.00, and repeat every fifteen minutes until 9.00.

As normal we start at the cafe on the other side of the piazza - we're becoming regulars, which I like - is to meet Simon at Termini - on time today - then take the Metro to Spanga station, on the edge of the shopping district.

We hit the H&M shop, and Simon and Emma both find clothes they want to try on. No problem, wait in line  for the change rooms...

I don't know if it's a Rome thing, or just an H&M thing, but this takes forever. Everybody takes half a dozen items, their friends, hairdresser, personal stylists, lighting directors, and have a little personal fashion show before deciding they don't really want anything they brought in, and send their entourage out for more gear.

While they're waiting I go browsing. Ends up I'm the only one who buys anything, picking up two t-shirts and a pair of tartan shoes.*

No, seriously. Tartan shoes. I put them on as a joke, and Emma and I both love them.

We interrupt our shopping to check out a 16th century church in the middle of the shopping district in Via del Corso, the Santi Ambrogio e Carlo l Corso.

It's magnificent, in that gaudy, overblown Italian Baroque style. Although I was a mildly disturbed by the relic in the back of the church, the heart of St Charles. Who's the twisted genius who figured carving up heroes of the church is a great way to bolster religious belief? All the rage once upon a time, which is today there's a church with some guy's dessicated heart proudly displayed in a jar, surrounded by angels and latherings of gold leaf.

We broke for coffee, and Emma spotted a shop with nice jumpers (that's  "sweaters" for the North Americans), and picked up a nice one with a touch of bling. The shop next door had leather jackets, and after trying on a few I ended up with a new mid-length leather jacket for roughly half-price.

Feeling cat-deprived we took Emma past the Largo di Torre Argentina, home of four Roman Republican temples, Pompey's Theatre, and half of Rome's cats.

That afternoon back at our hotel we discovered the church bells are a recurring theme on Saturdays. Maybe it's a special holiday. Maybe Seventh Day Adventists have infiltrated the Catholic Church. Dunno, but they're making Emma crazy.

That night we sent Simon off drinking with his buds, and caught a quick pasta around the corner at the extremely Italian-sounding Robin Hood's Restaurant. Food was adequate, but the interior was brilliant, with a six-foot replica of the Statue of Liberty, and walls covered with old movie posters and happy-snaps of strippers. 

* Technically Simon bought clothes as well, but a bulk pack of socks doesn't really count.

Who can? Vatican!

Omigod. The noise last night.

By day our room seemed perfect, overlooking the Basilica Santa Maria di Maggiore. Beautiful to look at. What I hadn't factored in is that the Basilica is in the middle of a high traffic area, just off a major thoroughfare.

What a racket. Every siren, every braking vehicle, every horn... Emma finally went for the ear plugs, I didn't but should have, and ended up having a severely broken night's sleep.

Eventually I woke up and glanced at the clock: 9.37am.

The problem being we were supposed to meet Simon and Robin at Termini at 10. Oops.

I ring Simon, who thinks it's hysterical that this time he's on time and we're late. 

"Can I tease Emma about it?" he asks.

"At your own risk," I said.

We suggest they head off for the Vatican on their own, and we'll catch up in the afternoon. We can see the Vatican after Simon's returned to London.

We head downstairs to the concierge to see if we can change rooms. Again.

They point out we'd been upgraded to one of their best rooms, overlooking the Basilica; we thank them, but explain the noise is horrible. The new room is poor for Internet access; doesn't matter because it isn't working in our current room anyway. The new room only has a view of the courtyard; perfect.

We move, and we're really happy. Much quieter, lovely outlook, and the Internet connection actually works - erratically, but sometimes beats never.

Accommodation sorted we grab a coffee from our new favourite cafe, then it's time to brave the Roma Metro. After a brief period of confusion we work it out. Easy. Basically just a big "X".

The Metro is clean and efficient, and we make it to Lepanto station without incident. Our plan is to catch up with Simon and Robin when they finish at the Vatican, and we'll all go to the Castel Sant' Angelo. We fill our time walking along the Tiber, listening to two guitarists playing Pink Floyd's classics, and grabbing lunch.

The guys ring, and they've finished touring the Basilica of San Pietro. They're keen to check out the Vatican Museum. 

It's around 3.30, and I figure the queues will be a killer. Turns out there's no queue at all.

You're kidding? No? Let's do it.

I've forgotten most of the details from my first and only visit - it was twenty-odd years ago - but I recall it being awesome. That bit was right.

There's an extraordinary collection of Roman and Greek artefacts (I remember those), an excellent Egyptian collection (forgot that entirely), collections of gold pre-Columbian American artefacts, modern and contemporary religious-themed art (which I think was closed when I was there), and amazing gallery after gallery of medieval, renaissance and post-renaissance art, the walls and vaulted ceilings often more impressive than the works along the walls.*

My favourite bits: the four Raphael Rooms, with frescoes painted by Raphael and members of his workshop. And, of course, the Sistene Chapel ceiling painted by Michelangelo. 

Fabulous.

We grabbed some drinks at a great little bar near the Vatican, and then ate at another tripadvisor.com gem called La Fraschetta. It's a tiny little place, fairly new, and the food was a mix of different cuisines done Roma-style; Argentine arebas, Mexican tacos, a variation of a Roman porchetta, along with several Roman artisan beers.

While the food was outstanding the real star was the owner, Marco. A former IT technician with Apple Computers, he made a complete career change and has gone into the restaurant business. He took a liking to us, adding the crackling to our serve of porchetta, then not only giving us free limoncello aperitifs, but leaving the bottle on our table for free refills.

I can't imagine that happening back in Sydney.

Tomorrow we're having a break from touring. It's shopping day in Rome.

Half of us are really excited about this.

* It seems there is virtually no culture, or historical era, that the Vatican hasn't pillaged in building up the collection. Ok, in fairness they did buy much of it, although that raises it's own issues. At least the collections have gone from the private collection of clerics with ostensible vows of poverty, and been made accessible to the public, so I'll stop moaning about it.