After Florence, we were off to one of the greatest cities in the history of our dear planet:
ROME!
We took a train to Bologna and then were to head to Florence. We skipped onto the train (late) and were stuffed into a six-person cabin. Two lovebird Italians were seated next to the window and AC; a Scot couple in the middle and Hans and I got opposite next to the door.
If I haven’t explained to you just yet, Italy is HOT!
Humid, sticky, sweating, HOT!
And here we were trapped in this Italian train. The train decided to be quite temperamental by turning the AC on and off every few minutes...heavy on the off. But that was the least of my problems.
I decided to visit the loo.
Walk in. Lock door. Try to leave. Tear off handle.
I’m not that strong! I tore off the handle! I look around. I need to pull the door toward me in order to open it. I claw at the door. I hit it. I kick it. I bang the door. I do this for about fifteen minutes. I pluck open the window, desperately seeking fresh air. I start yelling. Banging the door. Twenty minutes. Finally, our train slows and I’m thinking “Oh! They’ll be people on the platform!” Then suddenly, I realize, I don’t speak Italian. I don’t even know how to say help, hello, anything in Italian.
Goodness I hope I get help.
I run toward the window and face an open field. I keep on banging the door and yelling “Heeeeeeeeeeeello!” (People have heard the English hello before, right? More than the Ukrainian one at least) Train starts to move again. I’m thinking, I’m never going to get out of this bathroom. I will forever be stuck in a smelly bathroom on an Italian train. So much for that college education.
And then...a savior!
As I am about to throw another futile bang against the door, mid-punch, a young Italian man opens the door. He looks me up and down with a terrified expression on his face. Justified I think. He was starring at a crazed American, one raised fist, and a door handle in the other—most likely exuding a smel not fit for a lady. I put the handle down, muttered a quick “grazie” and ran out the door.
Half an hour has passed since I’ve left the cabin. I walk back in and sit down, barely holding down giggles. Hans looks over and says, “What happened? You were gone forever. I was about to go look for ya.” The whole cabin glances at me waiting for an answer. “I got locked inside the bathroom,” I quietly let out. The Scots laugh. The Italian man tries to suppress his giggles. I explain the story to roaring laughter.
Oh Italian trains.
We did get to Rome though. ; )
ROMA
Rome is filled with history and the tours and sites were marvelous. However, I wasn’t very impressed. (And I’m impressed by aluminum foil!) It was hot, messy, dirty and in my eyes…not very Italian. Until now, I had been traveling during the off-season with few tourists, most of whom are the hard-core backpackers: lovely, talkative, interesting, spur of the moment people. Rome greeted me with lots of American Southern belles who decided to pack and use their daily can of hairspray in their peroxide blonde hair as they snapped their pink bubble gum and commented that “like Italian guys are soooo much hotter than guys back home.” It was magical.
Obnoxious tourists aside. Rome was nice. I went to most of Roman Holiday’s location shots (because who doesn’t adore Audrey?) did all the main historic sites and learned too much for my own good. Yet I was thrilled to go back to rainy and cool Holland. Oh Italy. Can’t wait to go back. It's a love-hate thing.
This is from the top of the Colosseum. While all other normal folk are taking pictures of architectural marvels, me? I'm taking pictures of the street sellers. Their knock offs were superb! Also, the umbrella men were everywhere. Quick story: Traveling throughout Italy, Hans and I were bombarded with offers for everything! In Venice, especially at night, African men would shout after us offering us "designer" bags. For a while they would yell, "Buy your white lady a bag" at Hans. And I always thought, well that's just rude that they need to point out I'm white...we all can see, no need to point I can't tan. Finally, Hans told me it wasn't white...it was wife lady. They assumed we were a couple and kept hassling Hans to buy things for me. They offered everything from bags, sunglasses, umbrellas, posters, etc. Rome also had plenty of gypsies selling flowers as well, though not as many beggars as in other countries. Gypsies usually like to drug their babies and beg near the churches. Not so much in Italy. And, if like me, you want to hear a great analysis of the immigration situation in Europe, specifically the Italian-gypsy relation, listen to this story from Talk of the the Nation
They have a great story about Europe's difficulty dealing with this issue. It's quite the stark contrast to America where we are very used to and embrace our differences.
The last pope was shot... and the bullet? Right there in Mary's crown.
Ceaser's ashes were here!!!They think.
Vatican City! They have their own post office that everyone swears by. They go through Switzerland and are the most reliable and fastest mail carrier! This was the highlight of the Rome trip. Vatican City was gorgeous and laden with the world's treasures: Greek, Roman, Egypt, they had it all. Vatican City was very moving. To be in the same location where amazing leaders like St. Peter were martyred was incredible. Hearing such accounts of early Christians suffering for their faith was immensely toucing.
I could totally pass for a gladiator. Eh?
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