Episode Five: Is it okay if we walk through the Rose Garden?

So we arrived at our Hotel in Rome at about 8 AM our time and, after a lovely snack of croissants and cappuccino on the patio overlooking the courtyard of our hotel, we did the unthinkable: We slept for a couple hours! I know, you're supposed to stay up to adjust to the Circadian rhythm of your new locale. But, frankly, we were exhausted! I'm not a good on-the-plane sleeper, and Wendy had pulled an all-niter to finish something for work (a budget I think) and  to pack. So sleep was needed!

After a couple of hours, we emerged from our room refreshed and ready to explore. It's a good thing that Wendy had several detailed maps and has a keen sense of direction, because the Garmin GPS we brought along never did find a satellite to connect to. This was no surprise, this same GPS had in the past brought us to a suburban home and an exurban apartment building when asked to find a coffee house in the US.

Guided by Wendy, the Human GPS, we started carefully traversing the death-defying streets of Rome. the first thing we noticed was that every woman under 60 was wearing skin-tight leggings, whether it was a wide fashion decision or not. Call them tights, leotards, jeggings, slim-fits, whatever -- they were everywhere! And the men's apparel was equally distinctive: Shiny puffy coats (c'mon guys, it's a Mediterranean country, it's in the mid-50's), tight pants (but not as tight as the women's) often in reds or green, greasy long hair (peruke or ponytail optional) and scruffy stubble that had not seen a razor for at least a week.

Italian dude in red pants. Hew wasn't the only one.

We also realized that crossing the street meant taking your life in your hands! Rome is a huge, busy city, like New York. And there are precious few opportunities for crossing busy urban streets with the aid of a Walk signal. So we learned to wait until an Italian simply stepped in the street and - hoping that traffic would actually come to a screeching halt in time.- we would step right behind them. I kinda thought that the Smart cars were light enough that I would survive their impact. But the scooters and sleek motorcycles were fast and their drivers were reckless. So I was worried about them.

Hmm.This looks important.

Braving the traffic, we wandered a few blocks until we encountered a large white building with a spacious brick plaza in front of it ringed by police.Wendy's maps indicated there was a large lovely garden nearby. We found the entrance to the garden -- but there appeared to be a guard stationed in front of it. Wendy approached the man, asked if he spoke English, and - since he did (just barely) - asked if we could walk through the garden.

He indicated that no, we could not walk through the garden. Then he added "is President's Palace." Apparently what we had done was tantamount to walking up to a Marine on duty at the White House and asking if we could take a little stroll through the Rose Garden!

Somewhat chastened, we returned to the plaza in front of what we now knew was the Italian President's Palace, where people were gathered to watch ... well, we had no idea what they were gathered to watch! But then we heard the dulcet tones of a small but excellent marching band.

It turns out that it was time for a kind of changing of the guard at the palace, and the guys in sailor hats who were with the marching band were replacing guys with capes and berets. It was no changing of the guard at Buckingham palace, but it was cool nonetheless, and unexpected.

After ensuring that the guard had safely been changed, we continued on our orientation stroll. We walked the narrow cobblestone streets, dodging the occasional tiny Smart Car, Fiat or speeding scooter, and passing restaurants, clothing stores and Papal Supply Outlet Stores until clusterf*ck otherwise known as the Trevi Fountain.

I mean, it's a nice fountain and everything, but it was 10 deep in touristsas, all of whom needed to toss coins in the water and take each other's pictures. Chaotic and annoying! Apparently no one cared until "Three Coins In The Fountain" (1954); since then it;s been overrun with tourists. We took some obligatory Trevi Fountain pictures, skipped the whole coin tossing thing and made our way toward the Pantheon.

No, not the Parthenon - that's in Greece. The Pantheon, I learned, was a Roman temple built in 126 AD by Emperor Hadrian (we'd hear a lot about this dude in the coming days). It's incredibly well preserved -- mainly because it has been in continuous use throughout its history, and since the 7th century, the Pantheon has been used as a Catholic church. As the Interwebs say, "...almost two thousand years after it was built, the Pantheon's dome is still the world's largest un-reinforced concrete dome."

We've all seen still pictures of the Pantheon dome. But it's not until you actually see it in person that you realize how huge it is.

After touring the Pantheon, we walked up Capitoline Hill(one of the Seven Hills of Rome, apparently) to look at a piazza designed by Michelangelo, a replica of  an equestrian statue of the emperor Marcus Aurelius, and to enjoy a spectacular glorious view of the Roman Forum (more about that later). Then it was back home to rest and to have Wendy plan our Day at the Vatican!

Episode Four: Gypsies, tramps and pee

Disclaimer: This post talks about Gypsies. Although they are not a protected class in our country, I assure you that I do not intentionally discriminate or harbor any ill will against Gypsies or other Romanian-Italians. I am simply reporting what I read and saw. And I love Django Rheinhardt!

As Wendy and I have said many times, travel is not for the faint of heart. Even the "easy travel" we were about to embark on (everyone speaks English, the toilets flush, etc.) can involve long walks (or runs) through airport terminals, miles of uneven cobblestone streets, careening motorcycles, and 463-step ascents to cathedral rooftops. And even when you travel to cities as civilized and refined as Rome, Florence and Venice, there are genuine perils which can inspire trepidation among even the hardiest sojourner.

Since just about everybody has already been to Italy, we received quite a bit of advice from friends and colleagues before our trip. In fact, our dear friend (and Wendy's co-worker)  Bill, whose whole family hails from the region, had a family gathering to brief us on the perils and pleasures of travelling to their homeland.

In addition, friend and world-traveller Sarah L. messaged me the following: "Have you heard about the pickpockets in Rome? They're real."

And about a week before the trip, colleague and virtual namesake Kari M. sidled up to me and asked, with great solemnity and gravitas, "Are you aware of the bathroom situation in Italy?" She went on to describe the primitive place-for-your-feet-and-hole facilities she and her hubby had encountered in their own travels, and to describe an unfortunate incident involving her spouse and such a facility.

Kari went on to express concern that the combination of primitive bathrooms and an abrupt transition from my no fat, no-carb 17-Day Diet meals to rich, fatty Italian pasta, bread and sauces could result in a veritable perfect storm of digestive disaster!

I thanked Kari for her information and her concerns, made a mental note to get a giant plate of pasta  from the Macaroni Grill ASAP, and started Googling "Italian pickpockets" and "Bathrooms in Italy."

My bathroom research resulted in many warnings about bringing your own toilet paper, the perils of the hole-in-the-floor model that Kari warned me about, recommendations and rules-of-thumb (use the facilities you find in museums; when in doubt, seek out a McDonald's or Burger King), and an actual web app that showed where to find the good toilets in Rome.

I also researched pickpockets in Italy. Several alarming accounts described the threat that Gypsies posed in Rome, including a gambit where an adult shoves a sheet of cardboard under your chin and, while you are distracted trying to read what's on the cardboard, their children steal your possessions with their nimble little fingers! Several other posts described another nefarious tactic where they board a subway with a baby - sometimes fake, sometimes real - and then they throw the baby at you to distract you while they rob you!

Really? Gypsies are a threat? And they throw their babies at you? I have to confess, I don't know much about Gypsies. I know 1930's jazz virtuoso Django Rheinhardt was a Gypsy; legend has it that when he hit it big in Paris with the Hot Club of France, he invited his whole clan to live in a tent they set up in his hotel living room. (See him in action here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzz6fAdFFis&feature=related ).

I also remember once being warned as a kid not to go down to nearby Basset Creek park because there were Gypsies living there! I have no idea whether it was true. But I do know that a camper had been set up in our little WPA-era roadside rest stop -- and who other than Gypsies would have a camper?

Django Rheinhardt. Listen to his brilliant playing, and then try
to figure out how he played like that with only two fingers!

I dutifully reported the results of my research  to the wife, warned her of the Gypsy treachery that apparently abounds in Rome, and purchased a money belt at REI. In the week before the trip we often would facetiously remind each other "don't catch the baby!"

We landed in Rome, bussed into the city, and made our way toward our hotel, luggage in tow. Suddenly we saw before us a gaggle of colorfully-dressed children and an adult female with a baby holding a sheet of cardboard. "Yow - Gypsies!" we exclaimed in disbelief. "Walk quickly, don't talk to them, don't look at the cardboard and don't catch the baby!"

We rapidly circumvented the horde with our possessions intact and made our way to the hotel, where our charming host provided refreshing croissants and cappuccinos on the patio overlooking the courtyard. Whew - crisis averted!

We never again encountered this ploy, and only came across one hole-in-the-floor toilet in the two weeks that were there. And, thanks to Kari's warning, I abandoned my diet several days before our trip just to make sure I didn't experience a shock to my system when I reached foreign soil. So the Wednesday before we left I went totally off the rails and consumed the following: A Mai Tai, 1/2 a burger, onion rings, Tater Tots, pizza, pickle roll ups, hummas and pita bread, and some birthday cake. I think I might have overdone it.

Episode Three: Odd trousers

Now, back to our story.
(Note to management: No work hours were harmed in the writing of this blog!)


Despite the passport snafu, when we arrived at the gate we found that our flight to Toronto hadn't even started boarding. We breathed a sigh of relief and sat down, making sure we kept control of our bags at all times, and accepted no gifts or packages from strangers, per the TSA's instructions.

Among the waiting passengers, I noticed a couple guys in winter jackets, which seemed odd given our recent Spring-in-March Minnesota weather. They also appeared to be unfamiliar with the idea of shaving more than fortnightly. One was wearing a pair of bright green pants. Little did I know that this would be a harbinger of things to come!

It's 68 degrees out. Do you need to wear the jacket?
Also, what's with the green pants?

The Toronto airport has an intriguing unique concept of checked luggage all their own. Even though we checked one bag each with Delta and were assured that it was "checked through," everyone on our flight had to retrieve their bags from one carousel, carry it through customs, and then deliver it to another baggage check! Of course, no one actually told us to do this; we learned by watching what others were doing.

In Wendy's and my case, on, a woman standing behind an unmarked baggage conveyor saw us passing by, interrupted her animated foreign-language phone conversation and asked us if we were flying AlItalaia. When we replied in the affirmative, she grabbed our bags, put them on the conveyor, and continued her phone call in a tongue we couldn't identify.

We wondered where our bags were actually going to end up, and hoped the people who would eventually possess them would put our clothing and sundries to good use.

The large, mostly
empty Toronto terminal

At the AlItalaia ticket desk, we encountered more long-haired, unshaven Italian men in colorful pants and odd, shiny puffy jackets. Several of them had three or four hard-shelled luggage items apiece, which - judging by their animated gesticulating - apparently was causing a kerfuffle with the airline.

Despite the fact that only one of the five staff persons manning the desk was actually doing any work, their issues were apparently resolved at some point, because we saw them on our plane to Rome - sitting in First Class! Perhaps dressing for success in Rome means crazy trousers, greasy hair and 10-day-old stubble.



One overpriced, mediocre airport meal later, we were on our way to Rome! Hurray!



The delicious treat that awaited us at our Rome hotel! Not mediocre.



Episode Two: Title explanation/Summary of highlights

Before I continue posting about our misadventures in Italy, I thought I'd offer an explanation and a summary:

Explanation: Blog Title
Some of you may wonder why the title of this blog is "Two Rubes in Rome..."  I mean, Wendy and I aren't really rubes; we're college-educated urban professionals who are somewhat well-versed in a variety of areas, including literature (Wendy), history (Wendy), art (Wendy), the Renaissance (Wendy), and bass guitar (Gary).

Okay, at least Wendy isn't a rube! And  in my defense, I did NOT end up going with 'Plan A' for my travel outfit (a fanny pack, big white tennis shoes, cowboy hat, "God Bless the USA" t-shirt, stone-washed jeans, foam #1 finger). But between our inability to speak Italian beyond "Grazia" and "Il conto, per favore'" (which is either a way to ask for the bill or a request a conte' crayon), our occasional cultural blunders (like asking if we could walk through what is essentially the Rose Garden of the Italian White House), we pretty much felt like rubes through much of our visit. And, frankly, those rube moments are the most fun stories to tell. Thus the title.

Summary: My favorite things
To paraphrase a training video that my co-workers and I are all too familiar with, "A lot of people want to know the bottom line." And, although I am a beguiling raconteur, anecdotalist and all-round man-about-town, some of you may just have a passing interest in our little trip. So here's a list of some of my favorite Italian things; unfortunately I am not Oprah, so you audience members will not be receiving these items:
Gary's favorite Italy stuff:

• Michelangelo's David
• The cappuccino and gelati 
• Sistine Chapel and Raphael's School of Athens
• Saint Paul's cathedral (the Vatican)
• The cat shelter in Rome
• The cheesy Wax Museum
• The Pantheon, Roman Forum and Colosseum 
• The markets in Rome, Venice and Florence
• Reliquaries of saints' remains
• The Bone Church (Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini)
• The sheer cuteness of Venice
• Wax anatomical models at the Museo Della Cere
• Food at Porks and Pugi
• Boboli Gardens (Florence)
• Medici Chapel (designed by Michelangelo)

Future posts will talk about this stuff and much, much more in excruciating detail. Proceed at your own peril!

And now for some random Italy pix:

There are Roman ruins everywhere!

My tour guide and human GPS

You too can own fancy vestments!