Roman Sentiments Part II

Hey,

So first, I have to apologize in the delay between blogs. I've just been busy. But anyway...back to the Rome trip.

The idea of a pub crawl is something I'd never experienced before in life. It's a genius idea actually, if you think about it. In a pub crawl, you pay the operator (usually a local promotions company) a set amount of money, and you get to go from club to club over the span of several hours. Because you paid the fee to the promoters, you don't have to pay to get into any of the clubs, and usually you get a wristband that allows you some deep discounts on drinks at the various clubs. Well, this pub crawl I joined did all that, plus they gave us shots as we walked along the club route. I didn't know that they would be doing so, and had a couple of drinks before we left, So, by the time we reached the 1st stop of the evening, I was more than a little intoxicated. (Sorry, Mom). I also have to add that the pub crawl gave me a chance to actually walk the streets of Rome, which are amazingly beautiful at night.

Roman nightclubs make me feel like I've decided to climb into a time capsule and travel back ten years. The decorations are dated, along with much of the music, (they played YMCA by the Village People for goodness sakes) but there is something magical about these places. Unlike American clubs, they have a feel of someone's living room and aren't the cold and unfeeling places I've seen in past club outings. The people there are focused on two things 1-having a good time and 2- drinking. If you come across as not doing either, you should be prepared to spend the night alone. I was able to do both until 2AM. The Kissing Hour. (cue "doom" music) It is an unofficial rule in Roman partying, at least in all the clubs I visited, that everyone start kissing when the DJ announces it. Well, the DJ announced it, and I look to my left. Kissing. Look to my right. More Kissing. Look in front of me, MORE KISSING. The crowd parts, and an attractive but sweaty Italian guy comes a-walking in my direction. At this point, I only had two options. Deal with him directly...or run. I chose the latter, hiding out in the unisex bathroom.

After all the kissing was over, I emerged from the bathroom and decided to walk back to the hostel. I did so without a map, and really was able to take in the city. Of course, I made sure to not freak out my Mom and I did so with two guys I'd met who also were staying at the same hostel as I was. I'd be grateful they were with me, because not less than one block from the club, a random Italian homeless man began shoving roses he was selling in my face. Then he tried to hug me and touch my butt. The guys stepped in and got him off of me, and we made our way back to the hostel, which was a long walk, but we made it safely.

Over the course of the next few days, I would see all Rome had to offer. I went to the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and the Vatican. I ate such wonderful Italian food and drank fabulous wine. I even made friends with the staff at a wonderful restaurant called Miscellenea (find a review of it here), where Mikki, the manager, and his waitstaff made us feel like we were hanging out with friends instead of in a place of business. So much so that we could have gotten away without paying, they were so relaxed about it! It's right near the Pantheon, but only open for dinner. If you go to Rome, you must visit, if not for the inexpensive food, have a glass of the 2 euro 'sexy wine'. Unlike regular red wine, it is made from fermented strawberries, and not grapes. As a result, it has a smooth sweet taste and smells like fresh strawberries. I bought a bottle home with me, and my mom can vouch that it is amazing. I intend to go back and get more.

There are some aspects of my trip to Rome that I hated. So while I talk about how magical Rome is, and how you can smell the history and touch buildings that are older than Christ, there were moments where I wanted to leave. Walking around for two hours looking for a bank was one. Being propositioned as a prostitute was another. An Italian man asked if I had a hotel and if I would sleep with him for euros. After being disgusted and walking away, another Italian told me that because of my complexion, people would mistake me for being Brazilian, and the Brazilian women are perceived to be thieves, prostitutes and otherwise of bad moral character. It explained a lot of some of the treatment I received, but didn't make much sense because I spoke no Portuguese, had an American passport and an American accent. But they were convinced. A vendor spat into a sandwich that he tried to sell me which led to me screaming for my money back and having to call the police, a lady followed me around in a store because she thought I was going to steal something, even though I had no place to put anything, and I was glared at in many places. Later, I would find out that Brazilian women broke up a lot of Italian marriages and used to openly be spat at in Rome as they walked through the Piazzas. I was just grateful that never happened, because I'd be in Italian jail right now for murder.

While I enjoyed the beauty of the city, the saliva-free food, the wine, the architecture, I found myself more and more ready to leave Rome behind for Paris. The last night I was in Rome, I went to bed early after eating a three course meal for only 10 euros (about 16 dollars), made sure my clothes were clean and ready to be packed. On the plane, I found myself wishing that I'd been able to share the experience of Rome with someone else, and for the first time, I felt lonely. I watched out the window as the plane propelled up into the air and shut my eyes, wanting to get to the destination I was the most excited to see: Paris, France.

As I sat on that plane, I thought about my trip and realized I'd miss Rome. It's a city with so much history and beauty. Places like the Campo de Fiori look beautiful at night, as well as the lights all lit up on the Tiber River. The Vatican is breathtaking, as well as Saint Angelo's Castle. The Pont Angelo (Angel Bridge) lined with majestic angel statues that literally take your breath away, the clear blue water of the Trevi Fountain, the powerful emotions when looking at the Spanish Steps as well as the Tomb of Raphael...it's a city that serves as the model for many American cities. If you have the chance, do go see it for yourself. Even though I had some downs on my trip, I don't regret going in the slightest.

Before I knew it, the plane was landing outside of Paris, and the next leg of my journey was soon to begin.

Next Blog:

Parisian Perfection

Thoughts?

Ashley Robin

Roman Sentiments

Hey,

After I said a goodbye to London, rode a train and arrived at Stansted Airport in the suburban London countryside, I would get on the flight from hell and head to Rome. Not only did I arrive at the airport entirely TOO early because of my own poor planning, but I was tired from being out the night before TOO late. I got up too late, and rushed, breaking my neck and not realizing that I could have taken my sweet time and arrived just like I wanted. However, getting there so early allowed me to experience what the airport SHOULD be.

In a word, Stansted cannot be described. It's clean, sunny, bright and people are really happy to be at work. Well, except those who work for RyanAir. (I'll get to that later). The airport is totally state of the art, with internet stations, showers in the restrooms, duty free shops like Chanel, M.A.C., Sephora, and a full fleged deli with caviar...sigh. Duty-free shops are simply places in the airports overseas where you can buy things and not pay taxes on them. Unlike America, where you pay MORE for goods at the airport, in Europe, it is LESS. Hindsight, I would have bought more from there. This is what it looked like.

Well, the flight from Stansted to Ciampiano Aiport was interesting. I'd never seen anything like it. The flight on RyanAir was more like the Wild Wild West. Passengers were drunk, flight attendants rolled the cart down the aisle selling food, then trinkets, then liquor, then jewelry. Random babies then began to walk up and down the aisles, and then they started to cry. There was a smell of body odor that ran rampant, and the Italian lothario on the flight proceeded to make his way down the aisles flirting with woman after woman, and by the time he got to me, he reeked of rum. People were not wearing their seat belts when told, the flight attendants were screaming at people...it was pure insanity. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I instead shrugged my shoulders and did a lot of head shaking.

Finally, I was off the flight and in Italy. Signs were in Italian, people spoke Italian. I landed at night, in an empty airport, and I got in my hostel late. I managed to drag my hefty bag there, and fell asleep. The next morning, hungry and out of money, I searched for a bank. In doing so, I would get my first taste of true Roman hospitality.

"Get out!" were the first words I heard upon surrendering my purse to a locker, and walking through a kind of revolving doorway that locked as you stepped in, which was unlocked by bank staff. I was confused. I'd said nothing and done nothing, and after walking in triple degree heat, I did not understand why I was being treated in such a way. I asked if they knew how I could get money from my account, and after rudely being told that my business was not wanted or desired, I was escorted (and I use that word nicely) out of the bank and into the street. I started to walk away, until I realized I'd placed my purse in a locker. I went back and after some fussing at the guard, I was able to retrieve it, safe and sound. It would take me almost two hours to find another branch, one in which my money and my business was appreciated. It happened to be in a tourist-y area, where I should have remained.

As I did in London, after getting enough money to last me for a moment, I began to explore my surroundings. However, while I was amazed by the history, and noticing the buildings and underlying beauty of Rome, I began to notice something else. People...were staring. At me. And I didn't know why. I walked along the Tiber River, down to the Campo de Fiori and watched the city light up at night. I walked past Termini station and down into Chinatown, where I scored two of the most comfortable pairs of sandals I've been fortunate to wear. However, I felt like people were staring. When I got back to the hostel, I asked why the people of Rome might find me so interesting and got no reply from the Australians who worked the desk. I showered, went out to eat my first Italian meal and shrugged it off.

My first Italian meal was pasta, of course. I washed it down with a Coke, and it's pictured to the left. It's known as a local seafood special, and consists of mussels, langoustines (shrimp), scallops and clams tossed with olive oil with garlic and a hint of basil on a bed of linguini pasta . The plate doesn't look too big, but it was deep and cheap and orgasmic. I found myself eating here everyday, where they knew me as an American, and because I tipped well, they took care of me. I was so hungry on my first visit, that I ate this bowl and took another as a take-away (to-go)! Hey, why not, I was on vacation! Who cared if my waist expanded? After a night of walking around, I settled in my room and went fast to sleep. The next day, I did not wake up until around 430pm. I didn't realize I'd slept so long until I looked up and realized housekeeping had managed to clean all around me. Invigorated, I decided to try my hand at a night of Roman partying in something called a pub crawl.

To Be Continued in:

Roman Sentiments, Part 2