Rome
Useless Travel Guide 1997 Rome
Sunday Dec 28th.
We have just finished a wonderful
family Christmas. Mountains of food, gallons of wine , presents galore, hours
of silly games in the company that we would choose above all.
The young Buckleys left some hours ago to join the elder Buckleys. They telephone
to say they have abandoned the trip because it has taken them over an hour
for a ten minute section of the M1.
The Elder Ridleys reconsider their route. We opt for the back roads to Newark
then the A1. Between the A1 and M11, we call at a Little Chef for a bite and
a break. Meg plays with her Vodophone Christmas present. There is a message
from Steve, the M11 is blocked at junction 9. Gratefully we divert onto the
A10.
Our progress has been steady rather than swift. On the M23 we have a blow-out
at 70 mph, nasty!! After much high speed veering , accompanied by unsympathetic
hooting I am faced with changing an offside wheel on the hard shoulder. Meg
devises a range of bright reflective eye-catching diversions which are likely
to cause a crash on the opposite carriageway. Meg vodophones Steve with our
latest tribulations. We get to Brighton and bed around 11-00pm. We never catch
up the hour we lost . We check into Gatwick an hour late the following morning,
but that just cuts down the time we have to hang around the airport. We reflect
that had we been in Dheli we would have missed the plane for sure
From the aircraft we can see Annecy and the surrounding hills clearly and
on the descent see all the major landmarks of Rome. The temperature is supposed
to be 2-3C but the sun is shining and we feel much warmer. The coach weaves
a weird route to drop off the other tourists. There are only about 20 of us
but we seem to be staying at 10 different hotels. We pass some buildings four
times on the intricate route. Our hotel, Hotel River, has been carefully selected
by Meg with a view to its location relative to the main attractions we want
to see. It is near the Piazza Populo, which by lucky coincidence is where
the main New Year celebrations will be. The accommodation is fine and we take
advantage of the extra 4 hours a late change to our itinerary has given us
to set off on foot for St Peter's Square. Our route is by the River Tibe,
which snakes under a series of bridges all made of the same soft white stone.
The riverside walk is arched with the lower branches of tall plane trees which
have retained a surprising number of their leaves for this time of year. The
effect of the blue sky, sunshine, trees and stonework is very pleasing to
the eye. We pass the magnificent statued building of the Palace of Justice
and the Castle d' Angelo. Street traders sel , or rather fail to sell, carved
wood, handbags, motorised seals balancing balls and mechanical soldiers that
wriggle across the pavement rifles at the ready. We skilfully avoid having
our ankles bayoneted. Models of Micky and Minnie mouse seem to dance unaided
by motors or wires. Meg buys a toy train for Adam. the coaches of which are
formed by the letters of his name. We could not afford one for Catherine.
It turns out to be the only thing we buy on the entire trip except for postcards
and museum guides
St Peters Square is magnificent. Much bigger than I expected yet seeming smaller
because of the 80 saints who look down on you from the curved, pillared arms
that enfold the area. In the centre is a Nativity the stable which looks better
appointed than our hotel. I guess this is about a ***** stable. This particular
Mary and Joseph must have been delighted. Beside the nativity is the tallest
Christmas tree I have ever seen. It is decorated with baubles the size of
basketballs and angels and tinsel and lights. Carols are played continuously.
The tourists, of which there are surprisingly many, (our winter city holidays
are usually relatively tourist free zones), are being led in flocks by guides
holding some kind of identification. No one has thought to use the roman legions
eagle, they stick , unimaginatively, to umbrellas and head-scarves tied to
walking sticks.
We enter the church and are immediately disappointed. It has the ambience
of a major railway station however the decoration exceeds even the Moscow
underground. Micaelangelo's pieta is the most beautiful item, he has managed
to create a terrific impression of weight in the sagging corpse of Christ
even though the body looks quite frail. The east window is a simple dove,
which contrasts with all the gold and convoluted marble. Some of the mosaics
are probably as good as the Taj but the milling throngs of which we are part,
destroy the atmosphere.
.
We walk to the Piazza Norvona
by a contorted route and find it full of market stalls selling Christmas nick
nacks , including stockings? Later we learn that the Italians hang their stockings
up on 12th night. Witches also appear in profusion. Apparently the good witch
is a significant Christmas character. We are getting tired but have decided
not to return to the hotel before dinner so we head for the Spanish Steps,
a sort of Roman Piccadilly Circus. Romans of all ages sit on the steps watching
other Romans stand at the bottom and watch them. There are two groups on the
steps singing to guitars. It is quite difficult to work out which are the
least musical. Neither would make a brass farthing busking.
The pedestranised streets at the foot of the steps are lined with the shops
of the top fashion designers. They tend to have one shoe or one pair of panties
or one brooch in the window. No prices of course. If you want to know the
price, you cannot afford it.
Pedestrianised is an odd concept in Rome, it seems to be applied to streets
that have no pavements and where the traffic speed is reduced by about 2km/hr.
Zebra crossings controlled by lights are where the traffic thins out a bit.
It's getting cold, we wonder at what time the Romans eat and hope they are
not like the Spanish. 7-30 seems to be a popular on the little postcards on
the doors so we still have an hour to kill. I find a bar. Romans line the
counter drinking and talking and looking very sophisticated. Meg finds a couple
of stools by a window ledge. My way to the bar is blocked by people who are
already served, which is not normally a problem with my height. The staff
ignore me. I try the cash desk, often you need to pay before obtaining coffee
or cake. No I am told to pay after I have been served. I am not however any
wiser on how to get served. Meg only wants a warm place to sit, so we perch
and watch. People come in and wander round then leave. If a space appears
at the bar neighbouring wanderers surge to fill it. It seems that in Rome,
nature abhors a vacant space at the bar. After a while one of the bar staff
takes their order. It happens infrequently as most of the customers who have
been served linger inordinately over their drinks. So basically you have a
bar staffed by people with nothing to do, cut off by a line of people they
have served but with no where to go, from a mass of people who are dying of
thirst and a few who have just come in to pass the time in the warm. Its 7-35
when we reach the trattoria of our choice. It is already half full. We get
a table between the fish pond and the door. The kitchen is reached by waiters
going outside through the door which has an automatic opening mechanism which
stays open for too long. Consequently inside the Trattoria is distinctly cool.
The food is excellent, I have roast lamb, Meg a delicious salmon pasta followed
by veal stew.
It has been along hard day and Meg is afraid her legs will react in the morning
but her fear is unwarranted.
Dec 30th
After breakfast, we are still
about an hour behind schedule , we make a bee-line for the Vatican The streets
are those of a modern city with lots of promising shops. Meg promises herself
we will return later to buy a handbag, she never manages to find the time..
There is a 50 metre queue already, but it never stops moving at less than
a brisk walk. The nine ticket desks are handling visitors with an efficiency
that reminds me of Dover. Where I wonder can they all be going? Inside we
buy a guide book, decline an audio guide and read a notice about itineraries.
A one and a half hours, B three hours, C three and a half hours, D five and
a half hours. We elect to follow C. It is a massive deception to describe
this as a visit to the Sistine Chapel. After three and a half hours we still
have not reached the chapel itself.
We have however thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The Vatican houses so many treasures
that it does not know what to do with them. Dotted around the galleries you
come across Van Gogh, Braque, Matisse, with no particular distinguishing notice.
In one corner we met Rodin's The Thinker. Is it a copy? We wonder, No it's
an original. There are Egyptian treasures that were stolen by Roman Emperors.
Greek marbles taken long before Elgin. A small chapel is decorated by Fra
Angelica. It is glorious. Then you reach the Sistine Chapel itself. Packed
solid with people because all routes, A B C & D converge here. The route
D heros must start at dawn to reach the chapel before closing time. Somehow
it does not matter because as all the decoration is on the upper walls and
ceiling, no one stands in your way. There is so much to see. One wall depicts
Judgement Day the ceiling tells the story of the Creation. One wall the life
of Christ another the Old Testament. They are all linked with Prophets, Angels
and Figures. The colours are much brighter than I expected. We stay for a
further half hour, so pleased that we are not being rushed by a tour guide.
The Vatican closes at 1-00 officially but they throw us out at 1-45 we have
been on our 3 ½ hour tour since 9-30 and we have to miss a couple of
the major attractions. A tour guide would have got us there of course.
We have decided to Siesta in the afternoon and so are in much better shape
to face the evening. We not only need food but somewhere to eat tomorrow because
it is San Silvestri (hands up I you remember the meal we had in Firenze).
I don't know whether it is a factor of age, but we both feel that twelve courses
would be wasted on us. The first few places we try are fully booked. The only
ones with space are doing twelve to twenty courses for £100 per head.
Eventually we find what we are looking for and make our reservation for tomorrow
and go off to enjoy tonight. Meg has Steak in Borolo. It is so rich and juicy
that Dracula would have enjoyed it. The waiters frequently break into a few
bars of song. The tiramisu is heavenly.
We stroll home via more marbled Piazzas. One has a tall column decorated with
a spiral frieze
"Ah Trajan's column " I exclaim knowingly remembering it from my
Gombrich.
'Fraid not' replies Meg this is a little know emperor's column. She navigates
us to the Trevi Fountain where we duly toss our coins. The Spanish Steps are
on our way home. The quality if the singing has not improved. We watch Romans
watching Romans until it is time for bed. Back at the Piazza Populo however
we pause to climb the steps to a viewpoint from which we can see most of the
highlights of the Eternal City illuminated in the darkness. Below in the Piazza
there is much frantic construction of bandstand underway for tomorrow.
New Years Eve
This is our last chance o
go into anywhere, tomorrow everything will be closed. In the Pizza Populo,
ear- splitting sound checks are in progress for tonight. We make the riverside
walk to St Peter's Square and climb the Cupola for a view of the city in dazzling
sunshine that has been our constant companion The dome is slightly off centre
for some reason. We walk down stream and find a weir which explains why we
have seen no big boats on the Tiber. Mallards, Seagulls, Cormorants are relatively
undisturbed. There are some water busses presumably used in warmer seasons
a few rubber dinghies and we did see one double sculling skiff. We have found
an ancient temple to virtue so, appropriately, I take a photo of Meg and the
famous statue with the gaping mouth. Tradition says put your hand in the mouth
and if you are a liar it will bite you. For some reason it is my turn to be
photographed. I guess its teeth have worn way over the centuries but I do
my best to produce a look of anguish to meet Meg's photographic requirements
We are on the wrong side of the forum and so must work our way round. We pass
through a square designed by Michaelangelo and the famous statue of the wolf
feeding Romulus and Remus before entering the extensive ancient ruins. To
be honest they are less impressive than the Parthenon but the association
with names that are familiar makes the visit fascinating. A house built by
Julius Caesar, another by Mark Anthony. A tall pillar stands alone.
"Ah this must be Trajan's column" I exclaim.
No but it is quite interesting in its own right. It is the column towards
which all roads were built. As in "All roads lead to Rome". Temples
to Saturn, Castor and Pollux, the gardens and accommodation of the Vestal
Virgins. Triumphal arches to mark the Empires conquests. It is awe inspiring
to walk on the same blocks that these people did two thousand years ago. Up
on the Palatine hill there are still more homes of Caligula, Claudius and
the dreaded Livia.
We treat ourselves to our first ice cream (we still have not had a pizza)
before catching the tube back to the hotel for our siesta. Italians drive
their trains like they drive their cars. The lurch away from the station,
are still travelling flat out when they reach the next stop, then slam the
brakes on flinging unsecured passengers in a heap on the floor.
We arrive at our restaurant
dead on time. We are the first to be seated and place out orders we are conservative
and limit ourselves to four courses. Before the first one is over the place
is full. By the time we have coffee the place must have turned away a thousand
hungry customers. Most of the clientele are Italian. A table nearby has four
adults and three children everyone I enjoying themselves. It is what Italians
do best. Next to us the young couple are speaking French but they turn out
to be Belgian. The food is not one of those never to be forgotten gastronomic
symphonies but suits us nicely. We are able to walk the streets in comfort,
so we do the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps and head for the Piazza Populo.
It is 23-00 and Meg is perturbed by the increasing number of fireworks that
are exploding at random As we near the Piazza the streets are solid making
fire-work dodging very difficult and as many people are leaving as arriving.
We head for the river and spend the last half hour of 1997 on the banks of
the Tiber. We are about 100 metres from a bridge which is a major fire-work
launching platform. Along the banks groups are celebrating in a much quieter
mode than in the neighbouring streets and piazzas. There is a family just
down stream with dad behaving much worse than the kids. Just upstream are
three youths perfectly well behaved. They have but a few minor fire-works
and a bottle of fizz. They keep checking the time with us. Most of the groups
have bottles of fizz. We are fizz less. I did notice that all the street traders
had added 'champagne' to their normal stock of fruit or coke or chestnuts.
I did not see anyone selling rockets. They launch roman candles from their
hands. Well they are ROMAN candles so I suppose they know what they are doing.
The bridge is launching some rockets horizontally but we are just out of range.
Across the rive fire-works are being set off from a roof top, and from a window
on the third floor. The size and frequency of the display increases up to
midnight and the rather to my surprise carry's on. I get a big kiss from Meg
and we stay to watch the show for a further half hour. Very soon the area
becomes more crowded as people are streaming away from the Piazza Populo.
We are surprised that we have not heard any music. They have been running
sound checks in there all week and we are only a few yards away. Perhaps the
show finished at 11-00.
We dodge the fireworking throng and by a circuitous route return to the hotel
River.
1998 buon anno
Dawns as sunny as 1997 closed.
Broken glass and dead fireworks litter the streets. The busses and underground
are running and all the churches will be open there are an awful lot of churches
in Rome. We call in at the nearest one. A side chapel has been decorated by
Carravaggio. It is very dramatic. Goodness knows what we have missed in the
thousands of churches that we have not visited.
We metro to Termini and walk past some of the yet unseen landmarks to the
Coliseum and ponder what the gladiators really said. Something more like
"We who are about to die feel really pissed off?" Traders are still
trading seals and soldiers.
We head for the monument
to Victor Emanuel.. Italy's first king. It is massive and classical and anywhere
else would be a major attraction but here it lacks the class or style or atmosphere
that the more famous sights have. There is a column outside a church which
appears to be all dome and nothing else.
" I have stopped calling all the columns I come across Trajan's column"
I announce
Pity because this actually is Trajan's column. A very fine column it is too.
That's another page of Gombrich I can tick off.
While Meg rests her tired feet and watches the antics of a character dressed
in a toga and plumed helmet, I enter the small church.
"You can have 1000 guesses what the nativity scene in there is made of
" I remark.
With still over 900 guesses in hand Meg realises that I am never going to
tell her so off she trots while I take over Centurion watching. The nativity
including all the normal characters had been baked out of bread.
We are going to have a sandwich for lunch on the Spanish steps but the Trevi
fountain is on our way so we toss more coins in. My companion, an expert on
Roman customs now informs me that my coin tossing technique is seriously defective
and coins must be tossed over the shoulder. I have been employing long range
tossing with bags of spin. I consider her technique laughably mundane while
mine is manly and dramatic. As it is very likely that we will both return
to Rome together I suspect results will prove inconclusive. I leave Meg among
the tuneless choir while I search for a ham and cheese bun. All the stalls
have suddenly become alabaster statue sellers. I am sure an alabaster statue
sandwich will disappoint Meg. I cover a couple of kilometres before I can
lay my hands on anything other than chestnuts and crisps. Later I find that
the top of the steps is littered with all manner of goodies. We have an ice
cream. Not quite up to the standard of Cristals but definitely Italian.
There is a large green area on our now rapidly disintegrating map. I had it
earmarked for jogging when we arrived but walking for six hours a day rather
diminished my interest. The park is busy with strolling Italians enjoying
the holiday sunshine. One path is lined with busts of people like Aristotle.
There is a place hiring children's bikes, another hiring rollerblades. We
give some very unsteady bladers plenty of room. A smaller path leads down
to an oval lake and the only bench is vacated by a couple of young lovers
just as we arrive. Sitting in the warm sun I actually contemplate the need
for sun cream.
January 1st and my face is beginning to burn. I am puzzled by the map because
the pattern of roads and paths does not correspond with the geometry I see
before me. I conclude that we are sitting by a lake that is not shown on the
map. Sure enough we find a bigger lake complete with rowing, or to be more
precise, splashing, boats. We circle it before returning to the hotel for
our final siesta. Meg has a soft drink from the bar while I try to find some
sensible sport on the TV. The picture is about the quality we used to get
in the mid fifties and the programs are terrible. Not a spec of sport in sight.
Satellite must have collared even more in Italy than at home. At least we
still have darts and horse racing on our terrestrial channels.
We are returning to last nights restaurant for a pizza. This is a 1 pizza
1 ice cream Italian holiday. The place is full but a table is nearly ready.
It looks as though service is going to be slow because a neighbouring table
cheers sarcastically when their coffee arrives. We are in no hurry but our
service is OK. It seems it depends on how near the aisle you are. The little
time we have to wait passes quickly as we chat to Chuck and Liz from Philadelphia.
They are off to Venice and pick our brains over a glass of wine. We are a
bit over ambitious on the walk back, trying to take in all the sights on a
last all-inclusive stroll. In spite of finding some routes that are much shorter
than those we used earlier, Meg's muscles are complaining vehemently as we
get back
Jan 2nd. Its pouring down and I do mean pouring down. This is Grisedale Pike
rain. In thirty seconds dashing up the steps to the aircraft we get soaked.
Back in England a couple of hours later it is still pouring down and the coffee
tastes awful. Time to start thinking about another holiday. Meg's brain is
in overdrive as we drive home. Syria ? Madeira? Mexico? Sri Lanka? Read the
next chapter of the useless travel guide to find out…..