Walking on the Shoulders of Really Old Stuff
Trip Start
Jun 15, 2006
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6
11
Trip End
Jul 09, 2006
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Rome,
Italy
Monday, June 26, 2006
How can you describe Rome? The city of all cities, an Italian metropolis, a historic village, a tourist trap, a foodie's paradise, or simply an old man on a corner playing his accordion for pocket change. Rome is indescribable simply because there are too many ways in which to describe it. Further, even if you find you can describe it today your description will thoroughly change by tomorrow.
Upon arriving in Rome I would describe it as large, sprawling, overly crowded, a bit dirty and completely innavigatable. As you first take to the streets you desperately try to get your barrings by simply hoping to bump into something significant and therefore recognizable. And so Kara and I set out, map in hand, through the crowded streets (of people, cars and scooters) in search for something familiar; that first taste of Rome.
After avoiding near death collisions with several renegade mopeds we finally stumbled upon the site that told us, "you're in Rome". The Spanish Steps, the meeting place of the world. We take a breath, realizing that the voice of this chaos was right, we were indeed in Rome. As we sat and watched the street vendors, the lovers, and the backpackers, I still found myself asking "what is Rome"? I had found Rome but I still needed to get a sense of who it was. We trekked on, eventually stumbling upon the masses surrounding Trevi Fountain, a gigantic stone facade of sculpture and water.
Ancient Column
Needing to get away from the crowds, we wondered down one of the numerous tortuous stone alleyways and until we found an outdoor (need I say) Italian restaurant. As we ate alfresco, I began to understand the romance of Rome, outdoor dining in the shadows of ancient empires, beautiful artwork and, most importantly, delicious food. I had my first taste of Rome and I could tell I was falling in love.By your second day in Rome the city slowly begins to shrink and sort of makes sense. We visit the Pantheon, an architectural wonder; the Roman Forum, the foundations of an ancient metropolis; and through a museum, full of one of the world's finest collection of Roman sculpture and art outside the Vatican. At the end of the day, exhausted from the unforgiving heat and intense walking, we get an early dinner outside our hotel, served by a classic, old singing waiter. However, instead of singing a classic Italian tune or opera, he was singing the latest dance club hit. This city will never cease to surprise you.
By your final day in Rome, you get it. It makes sense. Maybe its standing outside the city's star attraction, the Colliseum, that stops you in your tracks and broadsides you with the secret. Or perhaps it's the view from Palatine Hill, amongst the gardens of a former emperor, looking out over the Colliseum and what is left of the real Caesar's Palace. Or maybe its the food, like finding the perfect panini sandwich and salad with a refreshing Belgian beer or the divinity found in the small cup of a cafe espresso. Yet, it may just be finally finding that classic, tucked away family run restaurant hidden at the end of a shadow engulfed dead end. A restaurant where the food is so good you need a cigarette just to recover from it. A restaurant where the wine is so crisp you wonder if there isn't a vineyard hidden behind that ancient gate. A restaurant where upon eavesdropping on an annoying American bus tour you are able to learn which tourist sites in which countries have the best toilet facilities (the winner: during her concert tour of '83...). A restaurant where everyone who works is family, a manic child, an exhausted grandmother, and two entertaining tios. A restaurant that isn't the Olive Garden that brings you into the family, even if you converse with each other in languages the other doesn't understand.
Making our way home, a bit intoxicated and overly full, we walk hand in hand with embarrassing sentimentalism, each of us knowing that we had finally stumbled into the essence of Rome.
Klenske, Ink.
