Welcome back to the land of simple English keyboards, thanks to an alphabet so outlandishly different than our own that they just put the different letters on top. I hate European keyboards pretty much uniformly, even the British ones are different enough from ours to give me a headache.
So, Rome. Rome was, well, Roman. And it was grand. We arrived by long train ride after stopping in the city of Assisi to see the tombs of a couple of saints, found our way through the metro system in Rome, and arrived at what I can only call a truly strange hostel. We got to the place, saw the little “Hostelworld” sticker on the gate, and figured we’d found the right place, so we went into the compound (sounds cultic, no?) looking for an office. All we saw was a patio and a door, and a window leading into the kitchen. Lacking any clearer indication of where to go, we went inside to ask where reception might be. Inside was a dorm room separated from said kitchen by an open stairwell, and a table with a computer on it. That was reception.
Anna, the nice Romanian girl who worked there, checked us in, took our money, and introduced us to the small world of Happy Days Hostel. The computer on the table was for the internet, free from 4-11, the bathroom door didn’t lock, so don’t open it if it’s closed, and here’s your bed, right next to the stairs. I could climb into bed by going halfway upstairs then just simply slipping under the railing. I was not impressed. In fact, the only thing preventing me from comparing this place unfavourably to Venice was the fact that it was small and fairly new, and, bathroom door aside, it was very well kept up.
At the moment, the only other people in the hostel were a pair of young twits from Edmonton, pretty much fresh out of high school, cooking dinner while engaged in a duel to the death with a five litre bottle of wine (it ended in a draw). They were actually pretty funny to listen to, and they spent most of their time talking about a) pot and b) alcohol, with very little clue about anything else. We dubbed them Tweedledee and Tweedledum Stanleys, in an unprecedented transfer of Stanley names from a pair we met in Salzburg. Fortunately, they were leaving the next morning.
We were tired, and didn’t feel like cooking, so Will and I set out for the nearest grocery store to get some bread and cheese, then set out to find a bench. We later discovered that we walked past at least two of them in our quest before settling on the back end of a Metro entrance on the Via Giulio Caesar. If anyone ever makes a movie about this trip, somewhere in the middle will be a montage involving us sitting on a bench, arguing over bread and cheese, while in the background various cities of Europe flash by at speed. Bread and cheese and bickering are three of the precious few constants on this trip.
After the bread and cheese we walked around a bit, found the Vatican, ate some gelato, ate some more gelato, then went to bed.
The next day was Friday, and by the time we left the hostel, which water pressure forgot, it was about 11:30 or so. We got our bread and cheese for lunch, groaned when we found one of the benches we’d missed the previous day, and after eating set out to see the Vatican Museum. When we saw the line, we decided to wait until Monday, as it had to have been at least a kilometre long, possibly more. As we were deciding what to do, negotiating the crowd, I accidentally stepped on the back of some lady’s shoe, and, of course, apologized. A moment later, I heard either her, or her companion, very grouchily say “just let them past!” then they moved aside. We did pass them, and I was mightily offended. It was a simple accident, and I had apologized! Not to mention the fact that we were in a fairly large, pressing crowd! What was I supposed to do?
Since we had a week in the city we decided to spend the weekend doing a bench tour to avoid the crowds upon crowds of people mysteriously present in Rome at the beginning of November. We walked on a bit, found St. Peter’s Square, explored that for a while, then found some benches to sit and read on. Then we saw the Pope. We were just sitting there, reading, while the police were putting out barricades on the road, and we heard sirens and saw the beginning of a motorcade. Just as I was wondering who the luminary might be, there was a gaggle of bodyguards, a Mercedes limo, and Benedict XVI waving from the window, not eight feet away from where I was standing. I love Rome!
After a bit, we followed the Tiber to a little island, sat and read for a while, then continued on until we found a large, grassy field with a couple hills and some totally inexplicable staircases, with some great, old ruins on a hill to one side. We sat down to read, and it wasn’t til later that we found out it was the Circus Maximus.
After it got too cold to read, we wandered a bit more, and stumbled upon the Coliseum. That’s right, we accidentally found Rome’s most famous landmark. There’s really no way to prepare for the experience, whether you know it’s coming or not. It’s just big. We spent the rest of the evening wandering around Rome, and we picked up some pasta and sauce at the grocery store on the way home to make supper.
When we got back, Ivano, the hostel’s owner, was arranging one of the dinner parties that his hostel is apparently famous for. For only €20 we would be treated to a great Italian meal, “Lotsa food, lotsa wine, a real good time!” Having previous experience with €20 meals, we opted out, thank you very much, since we really couldn’t afford it, and we already had our dinner. We cooked, we played on the net for a while, then we went to sleep. Well, Will went to sleep. Seized by an inexplicable panic, I found I couldn’t even keep my eyes closed, so I crept out of bed to plan the last legs of our trip. Good thing too, since that night I discovered just how long it takes to get from one place to another when you’re going by boat!
I had been thinking in terms of rail travel, where, even if it’s an eight hour trip, you can reasonably do it in a day. Most of the ferries we needed were overnighters, which wrought pure havoc on the schedule. In the end we cut out another three Greek destinations, and ended up with the itinerary you saw below. Too bad, but I started planning my next trip to Greece well before we got here. Finally, I was able to sleep. Then, at about 4:30 everyone came back, and someone got the brilliant idea to cook some pasta. I can’t tell you how impressed I was.
Saturday arrived, and we took the metro to the basilica of Saint Paul, a truly enormous church where the eponymous apostle is buried. It was a beautiful place, and it’s only a visit to a truly beautiful church that one can see what we Protestants missed out on when we decried the excesses of Catholicism. There were some traditions that needed to get the boot (indulgences, anyone?) but in going to the “four bare walls and a sermon” philosophy, so much of the beauty and joy of Christianity was lost to us. A great church is a work of both God and Man, and properly done it glorifies the artist who built it, and through him, the Artist who made everything. But more on that later.
We decided to walk back into Rome, which wasn’t too far away, and ended up at the Circus Maximus again. So we read some more. This time we’d thought ahead and brought both sweaters and jackets, and water. We were planning to take a different route home, but as we made our way into the city, we found our path blocked by several thousand marching people. We stood and watched for at least an hour, trying to figure out who or what was going past, then we followed the parade to its source. After the last group of protester/demonstrators were about eighty riot cops to sweep the streets afterwards. We walked along with them for a while, as I dearly wanted to see some hippies get beat up, but alas, it was a peaceful demonstration. I just don’t know what for, all I know was that most of Italy’s communists were out in force. Don’t they realize they lost the Cold War? We got back, cooked dinner, and sacked out.
The next day, Sunday, we did nothing. For most of the day we didn’t even leave the hostel, we just sat around and hung out with our fellow travellers. This one guy, let’s call him Wino Stanley, got up, talked a bit, killed a bottle of wine, then passed out again. Before noon. We also found out that there was a soccer game that night, and Ivano wanted to know who wanted to come. Tickets would be anywhere from €18 to €100, but he would go down, find out how much, and phone back to see who was still game. We decided to go, since we’d saved a lot of money the previous few days, and also out to dinner afterward.
As game time rolled around, Wino Stanley roused himself out of bed not long before Will and I got back from having a little snack at McDonald’s. As I walked in, one of the other guys there looked at me and said “it’s still morning, right,” and he gave the old confidential nod that is the universal signal that someone’s being suckered. “Of course!” We spent the next several hours maintaining Wino Stanley’s impression that it was still morning, despite the fact that everyone was up and about at 6. And it was still dark. He believed us then, he believed us when we told him that they play soccer in the morning in Rome, and he believed all sorts of other stupid reasons why it wasn’t light yet at 11, until after the game someone didn’t have the heart to continue and told him it was really night. I couldn’t believe it.
The game itself was amazing. The stadium could hold 84,000 fans, and I reckon it was between half and three-quarters full. The fans were going nuts, and the teams were AC Roma and Florentia, if that means anything to anyone. Apparently they’re like the Oilers and the Flames, but with violence. After the game the Florence fans had to wait for the Romans to leave, then they left from a different end of the stadium, under police escort. We got frisked coming into the stadium, and my dear friend Will forgot he had his knife with him. I got to watch him get questioned, and had a merry laugh at his expense. Eventually, they ended up searching him about four times, harshly questioning him, confiscating the knife and an old blown bearing he likes to carry, then they searched me for good measure. Will was livid, more at himself for forgetting about the knife than anything else.
Soccer is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be. Rome won, which was cool, and I realized that I don’t hate sports as much as I used to. I prefer to watch them live, but I think when I come home I probably will watch the occasional game with my brother when I get home. The tickets cost €25 each, and it was well worth it. After the game we went along to the restaurant, and the food was amazing. We had a couple of appetizers, a couple different kinds of pasta, breaded veal with fries, espresso, and the most devilishly hot peppers you can imagine. If anyone ever tells you to try a pepperonchino, tell them where to go and how to get there! We got back late, and woke up the next day even later.
Monday was the beginning of Museum Days, we wandered downtown and went to the Coliseum, and since it was Monday it took us all of ten minutes to get in. It’s smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside, but it was still pretty cool, and there was a temporary exhibit about the Iliad, one of my favourite epic poems. I say that like I read a lot of epic poems, but I don’t. I’d like to, and I wish someone had given me that one to read when I was in school. It’s ridiculous really, I grew up thinking that poetry was for girls and girly-boys. Then I read the Iliad and read in beautiful verse about guys thrusting bronze spears through each other’s heads. Honestly, if you want a boy to appreciate poetry, give him death and gore, and leave leaves and flowers for the girls!
After that we wandered over to the Palatine Hill, site of ancient Rome, and roamed around there for a while. Then we read some at the Circus Maximus. That night, more pasta and bread.
Tuesday was the Vatican Museum, and we got up early to wait in line with a nice couple from Florida who we met at the hostel. It was pretty good, but I’m a little bored with Renaissance art. The Sistine Chapel was cool, but it’s a lot smaller than you’d think based on all the hype. Following that, we wandered around the rest of the Palatine, got some good pictures, and went back to the Circus Maximus to read.
Wednesday was Catacomb day! We took the metro and a bus to get there, forgot to buy tickets for the way back, so we had to walk to the metro station. We beat the bus. The catacombs themselves were fascinating, we got a guided tour for €5 each, and it was one of the better deals for our money we’ve found. And, we got to see the tomb of St. Sebastian, one of the most recognizable of the early Martyrs, and probably my favourite. We had meant to go to see St. Peter’s that morning, but when we got there the place was packed, and up at the front, the Pope got into a jeep and drove around for a while. It was baffling, and busy, so we decided to wait until evening. We hurried back, got inside, and were immediately blown away.
St. Peter’s Basilica is one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen in my life. The building is absolutely enormous, it’s wings are the size of some cathedrals we’ve been in. It’s incredibly ornate, and since it was evening, it was relatively deserted. There were probably a hundred or more people still inside, but the great maw of the building could have swallowed ten times that number without flinching. Your eye is constantly drawn upward, and because of that, when you do happen to look down and across, you’re flabbergasted once again at the sheer size of the place. The sides of the chapels contain the tombs of old Popes, some more ornate than others, and the canopy over the altar is huge, stretching probably forty feet into the air!
When I looked from the front to the back, as the dome stretched out of sight, it seemed like an alley, like the outsides of buildings at night. It seemed too big to be enclosed.
When cathedrals and basilicas first started reaching to heaven, the idea was to draw the eye and the heart heavenward. Something about that great open space is simply striking. Anyone who fails to be awestruck at the sight is simply jaded. And though St. Peter’s was indeed financed through the sale of indulgences, it is still a Christian treasure despite its poor provenance. The skill and audacity if its architects is a testament to the skill and audacity of the One who created them, who made the materials and drafted the physical laws that made such a structure possible.
If man is the image of God, our best works are the image of Creation. Though it often happens that our attempts end in but a poor parody, every once in a while a man or woman is inspired in the truest sense of the word to create a work of art that reflects the glory of the Great Artist, and I beleive that God is pleased with St. Peter’s Basilica. The danger of course always lies in mistaking ourselves for God, for imagining that we can outdo Him, that we don’t need Him, and that the works of our hands owe nothing to His.
That evening was another dinner party, and we decided to go. And it was delicious. Since we were leaving early the next morning we decided not to sleep at all, but to stay up and sleep on the train to Napoli. We stayed up, talked to our new friends, and then went to pack. Then, Will came up to me, and told me he’d lost his Eurail pass.
We looked everywhere, but the black neck-wallet that he kept it in was gone, either stolen or very thoroughly misplaced. Fortunately it was the only thing missing. We were going to go down to Pompeii that morning via Napoli before heading for Bari and Greece, but with the loss of the pass we decided to go straight to Bari to save money. Thankfully, it had only two travel days left, and I estimate that the loss only put us out another €50. But it was still pretty annoying.
We went to Bari, found the ferry terminal, and waited. We left Bari at 8 in the evening, and arrived in Patra at noon the next day. Then a few hours on a few different trains, and we were in Athens. We met up with some Kiwis and a Norwegian and we all ended up in the same cheap hotel. The kitchen sucks, but the rooms are nice, and as we were going out today the proprietor asked Will and I if we wanted to change rooms to a double with a bathroom. Ever wary, we asked if it would cost more, but no, still €20 a night, so we moved right on over. Kitchen aside, it’s a pretty nice place.
I have heard nothing good about Athens, that it’s dirty and boring, but I can’t imagine why. It does feel a bit run down, but we got used to that in Eastern Europe, and it’s really no worse than Budapest. I love it. Whether I’ll continue loving it you, and I, will have to wait and see!
One last word on our hostel. We started off not impressed at all, and in the end, it’s joined our pantheon as one of three or four hostels we highly recommend. If you want privacy, go elsewhere, or ask for the room upstairs. But it was a lot of fun, and the efforts of Ivano made all the difference in the world. He was hilarious, and he looks like Antonio Banderas. Someone mentioned this to him, and he replied, “Why people always calling me Bandera? I’m better than him for three reasons: first, he’s only 5’9″, I’m 5’11″, second, he has brown eyes, and mine are beautiful blue! Third, he’s Spanish, and I’m Italian! You want to know why Italian men are better? Ask Spanish girls!”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Rome.
PS – There’s a hidden communist joke somewhere up above. If you can find it, email me with your answer and your address. First person to get it right gets a postcard!