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

The Drama with the Passport!

hey,

i've been out of the blogging game for a while, but for good reason. i have good news, though, and that is that i'm going to europe this summer. very exciting, and the trip is very wonderful. i'm planning it all out now, which is pretty much consuming my time outside of school and the doctor. as far as the medical, i'm doing so much better...and i consider this trip to be a reward for myself. 

so, today i went to get my passport for the first time. well, i should have not listened to my mother's friend at the passport office, and just went to the post office like normal. however, he told us that i needed to go downtown to the official passport office to get it. well, i get down there, park my car and am off. this begins the hellish adventure of obtaining my us passport.

first, i have to go get my passport photo. i go in the little shop, and a spanish speaking old lady points to the stool. so, i sit down. no warning, no nothing, but a giant flash goes off in my face. i must look confused, because she says, "you go" and points off to her side. so i get up, and a few minutes later, my picture comes out, and in it...i look like someone slapped me. so i ask for a retake. this time, i look like grimace the grouch because i'm trying to keep my eyes from widening so big from the bright light. disgusted, i take the photo and leave. (I'm getting my bank to reverse that charge). 

i go to the passport office, and it is PACKED full of random people. so i leave, and am told i can apply at a post office across the street. i go there, and the most mentally lacking person who mumbles everything starts reading all the details on my application. now, that's one thing, but then she starts revealing my details to everyone around. that's right, she starts READING my application out loud in louder than normal speaking volume. She didn't believe I lived in englewood, etc...

finally, i finish there and head out to go get my car and go home. i walk down the street and see two boys tripping a nun, and laughing. so, me being a catholic and young woman, i help her get up and collect her belongings that she dropped as she fell. then i make sure she's fine and proceed to tell the boys (once she is out of earshot) about what her outfit represents and that by tripping her, they have condemned themselves to eternal hellfire. 

so, I get my car and drive back home, killing a seagull. i ran it over with the car, and i still feel guilty. but, it was either swerve and whack an old woman or whack the seagull. since seagulls can't sue me, i figure it's time to say bye to the bird. 

after that, i realized i'd been dinged twice on my card for a charge i never made, and then...i got hit on by....THE CORN MAN.

all of chicago knows this man...he rides or walks up and down thoroughfares on the south side selling the mexican corn...which is a roasted corn on the cob (or in a cup) with mayonnaise, mexican cheese and sometimes has hot pepper on it. because i am light skinned, and wear my hair curly, i am often thought of as latino. and because i was in a latin area of the city, i guess he felt like he could holler. but he was at least 40, had about three front teeth, and was wearing a sombrero, pushing his corn cart down the street. he even asked for my number! i was beyond mortified, especially when all my friends i was meeting saw him talking to me when honestly, i just wanted the corn. 

Thoughts?

*Ashley Robin*