Terza Settima (Third Week).... My adventure in the Eternal City.

Picture Explanations from Bottom to Top:

1) View of the Tuscan hillside from the train.

2) The Colosseum.

3) The Colosseum
.

4) Me on my tour at...you guessed it... The Colosseum.

5) Saint Peters Basillica and Saint Peters Square.

6) The Pantheon.

7) The Spanish steps in the Piazza di Spagna in Sepia on a Saturday night.

8) The Spanish steps in black and white.

9) The Trevi Fountain.




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I could continue this blog outlining the progression of my first two weeks of classes. I could tell you about how because of a mess up at the consulate in Boston no one in the Middlebury program has as of yet been able to enroll at the Università degli Studi di Firenze for our sojourn in the Italian university system and classes alongside Italians. I could tell you about syllabi received, and incomprehensible moments breaking away into epiphany.

Or… I could tell you about my trip last weekend to Rome.

Santa Maria Novella Train Station; Saturday, 20 sept. 08; 13:20:

I step on a train alone to go to a city I’ve never been before. I’ve made no plans for accommodations, I don’t know anyone. I’m carrying a laptop bag with my provisions: a change of clothes for the next day, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, a contact lenses case with fresh solution, a notebook, and my passport.

When I step off the train and exit the station in Rome every direction may as well have been the same direction so I pick a street and walk. I buy a map off a street corner magazine vendor and he tells me how to get to The Colosseum. He says it’s too far to go on foot and that I’d best take the subway or the bus, he points me in the direction of both of them. Trying first the bus I found the route system daunting and incomprehensible not knowing, of course, in which zone I could find The Colosseum. The subway was easier although I had to buy two tickets. The first ticket, after several unsuccessful tries to get through the gate and unto the blue-line, was crumpled and disposed of. With the second, however, I quickly realized that if I would only turn the card around before putting it into the machine it would quickly admit my entrance. I was relieved. My stop on the subway was called “Colosseo” and as soon as I climbed the steps out of the dark subterranean subway pit I could quickly see why. There it was, ancient and enormous, with a line wrapped around one small section of its girth.

I did the tour. I paid the extra Euros to go into the express line and smiled as I passed all the patiently waiting people fiddling with their cameras as I zipped to the front of the line. The tour lasted about forty-five minutes and didn’t really tell me anything the history channel hadn’t told me already. I left feeling culturally fortified.

With map in hand like any good tourist I began to scan for points of interest. And like any good American I wanted to make efficient use of my time. Seeking to maximize utility, I planed my journey in a linier fashion between The Colosseum and the Piazza del Popolo zigzagging to the sights I wanted to see along the way.

By about 7:30pm I was at the Trevi Fountain with tourists elbow to elbow eager to throw their coin and take their picture. I ate dinner close by. My waiter talked to me in a mixture of English and Italian. I ordered a half liter of red wine and a two course meal. When I got the bill something seemed fishy and I took out my pen to make the calculations myself. I was overcharged one euro. The mistake was remedied.

When I was done eating I was excited to go to the Spanish steps, hearing that that is the place to be in the early evening hours. Hundreds of young people sat on the steps drinking wine and beer and vodka. A group of American guys with a loud speaker were screaming out the slogan of their fraternity…or something of the like… and another group was responding. I made conversation with a beautiful Spanish señorita in knee high boots smoking by the wall. She spoke pretty good Italian. She asked me if I was here in Rome to Study.—No I study in Florence. She asked me if I was here in Rome alone.—Yes. She asked me if I had any plans for the night.—not really. She told me that she was waiting for some of her friends who were, like her, here in Rome to study. She invited me to meet her friends.

This was how I met over a dozen people here in Rome on, “Erasmus,” the European exchange program and our equivalent to study abroad. With the Irish students leading the way (seriously) we were off to find the best pub or party spot in the city that particular evening. They led us to the Piazza di San Lorenzo where a festival of sorts was going on. I decided not to drink. I hadn’t found a place to sleep for the night and thought it best I keep my wits about me while traveling alone in a foreign city. So while my new friends pounded shots of vodka some Irish blokes, some English chaps, and I stood on the piazza and discussed, of all things, American politics and economics. Hours later, at about 1:30 in the morning I decided that it was time to collect the contact information of my new friends and to begin the search for an open hotel or hostel.

This proved to be easier said then done. While in America it is quite easy to find an open hotel at 1:30 in the morning this, however, is Italy where everything, including hotel access shuts down at a particular hour. I walked. My journey brought me outside the ancient city walls and into a part of Rome which was beginning to look a little less like the picture books. So I hopped on a bus, the first bus I saw. I didn’t know where it was going and I didn’t pay for admission. I sat down looking out the windows for any sign of a hotel that might still be open or better yet a hostel so that I could save some money. The bus went back by The Colosseum and it was here that I decided to get off. I thought that if I could find a place to sleep here, near The Colosseum I’ll be able to take the subway in the morning to all the places I had yet to see. No luck. By this time it was 3:00am. It was cold. I had prepared for this adventure with only two pairs of shorts and two tee-shirts as I expected Rome’s balmy Mediterranean climate to apply also to the evenings. I was proven wrong. I walked past The Colosseum and sat on the steps of the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II (google it. It’s nifty). 3:30am. It was here on these steps that I decided, to hell with it—to hell with a hotel, to hell with a hostel, to hell with sleeping. I roamed the city all night long.

I returned to the Trevi Fountain at about four in the morning. Apart from one couple and a police woman I was the only one there this time around. Neighboring the Trevi Fountain whose water is continuously recycled there is a smaller fountain whose water comes from an ancient aqueduct beneath. I used it to brush my teeth. I walked back past the Pantheon, and approached the Castle di Saint Angelo. From here I made my way to Vatican City. It was deserted. I stood alone in Saint Peters square. I advanced to the Piazza del Popolo, where Mussolini gave all his most infamous speeches; with the exception of scattered traffic again I was alone.

When day broke I was hungry and at about 7:30am when the shops started opening I found a little café and ordered a croissant and a cappuccino. I returned to Saint Peters Square to find it inhabited and Saint Peter’s Basilica open to the public. I went in. By the time I left my neck hurt from looking at the ceiling. Everywhere was opulence and beauty. I took the bus from Vatican city to another bus stop (this time I paid) and from this bus stop I went back to the train station. The train ride was longer this time around but I didn’t mind, I slept for most of it. When I got back to Florence my bed was waiting for me just as I left it: scattered with course syllabi, articles to be read the next day, and half finished writing assignments. I cleared it all off and went to sleep, feeling satisfied.