Day 17: Stumbling Over History

Saturday was a bit of a recovery day for us after Friday’s adventures, so we slept in. After getting up late and skipping breakfast, we decided to head back to Trevi Fountain and do a little finishing-up souvenir shopping. Still feeling the effects of yesterday’s excursion, we punted on the Metro and took a taxi to the fountain. Taxis in Rome are cheaper in the morning than at night, so if we were going to do just one taxi ride that seemed the way to go.

Once we arrived at the fountain, we oriented ourselves a little bit. Remarkably, there were still purses to buy, so we looked for our street vendors. But there were none to be had. There were a lot of police walking around the area, which we suspected was a large reason why we had no purses available.

So we just walked around for a little bit, taking in the sights and the people. We walked for a bit, and were able to listen to all the different people communicating in all kinds of different languages. It is such an amazing construct, language, the ability to have an agreed-upon set of sounds that represents things and ideas. It’s easy to take for granted when you live in an area where there is really only one language spoken. So to be immersed in different societies where English is definitely not the dominant language, and sometimes not spoken at all by those with whom you are interacting, has definitely been a growing experience. It is also fascinating how you can just sit back and observe people communicating in a language you don’t understand, watching how they communicate with their inflections and body movements without your perception being colored by knowing what they are saying.

I’m also really enjoying trying to communicate with the painfully limited Italian I know. Just going up to a bar to buy soda and complete the transaction without asking if the shopkeeper speaks English has been a great challenge. And at least from the responses I have gotten, an effort that is well appreciated. It’s pretty clear by my dress and my accent that I am an American, and I think the Italians I have encountered appreciate an American (who very clearly doesn’t speak Italian) attempting to communicate in their native tongue is welcome. Or, maybe it’s just really funny for them to watch an American struggle through a foreign language.

As we walked, we realized that we weren’t entirely sure where we were. We had some idea of where we were relative to Trevi Fountain, but neither of us could really identify it or navigate a clear way back. We forged ahead, making a turn into a new area.

And, boom, there was the Pantheon, so big and so surprising that it almost felt like it hit us in the face. Apparently we had walked far enough and guessed the right turns to take that we found one of the historical sights I had really wanted to see but had assumed we would not be able to catch on this trip. Entrance was free so we headed inside.

The structure was truly amazing. I have seen the interior of the Pantheon modeled and duplicated many times, in actual and fictional buildings. But this is the original, which was (according to Wikipedia, meaning it’s totally reliable) “commissioned by Marcus Agrippa during the reign of Augustus (27 BC – 14 AD) and rebuilt by the emperor Hadrian about 126 AD.”

So, you know, no big deal, just a structure nearly two thousand years old, one of the most iconic images of the world, that we basically tripped over wandering around. That’s Rome.

As you go inside, the oculus (the hole at the top where the light shines through) is the first thing you notice. Then, as you look around, you can see a memorial to the first Italian king, historical monuments, and a Catholic service about to start. Around the seventh century, the Pantheon was (because of course it was) repurposed into a Catholic church dedicated to St. Mary and the martyrs. A service was about to start, and the people running the service tried desperately and in a number of languages to ask for silence. That didn’t work very well, as one girl walked down the aisle between the pews and posed for pictures in front of the altar in the middle of the service.

The Vatican, so overpowering it keeps its visitors in a reverent hush, this was not.

We came back outside to consult the map and were encountered by a cello/guitar duet playing music which filled the square. You can see a video of it here, giving a real taste of the day.

We headed back to Trevi Fountain. Along the way we stopped for gelato. I got a chocolate fondante, which may very well be the best thing I have ever eaten. It was so rich, so chocolatey, so dark it almost seemed like you were eating ink. Cold, creamy, delicious ink.

We found our way back to the fountain and got our bearings. We noticed as we arrived that the purse vendors were back. So Mary Beth finished up her purse-buying, and we got to see how the purse sellers work in packs. As one was removing paper from the purses Mary Beth bought (how helpful!), his friend came up to Mary Beth and started selling wallets. Now, Mary Beth is about as tough a sell as I know. But this dude wore her down, to the point where she ended up buying a “Louie Vitton” wallet from him. She did haggle him down from 25 euros to 10, although I suspect he still had a healthy profit margin.

 We decided to stop for a light lunch, and found a restaurant a little off the path. We sat down and ordered appetizers (a caprese salad for Mary Beth, prosciutto and mozzarella for me) and did some more people watching. We also watched in amazement as scooters (and at least one car) drove by in the lane that was just wide enough to allow passage.

As we finished up, a man with an accordion began to serenade the assembled diners. The video is here, and you have to admit that eating lunch on the streets of Rome with accordion music flowing through the streets is about as Roman Holiday as you get. Sure, it’s a tourist-y cliché. But we’re tourists, that’s (at least in some measure) what we’re there for.

We headed back to the Metro to go back to the hotel room and rest, preparing for the next day. On the way, we went through a shopping district with the real Prada, Gucci, and other designers. Mary Beth peeked in the Prada store and saw the bags offered for over a thousand euros. I decided to stay outside—with the clutch of knockoffs I was carrying, I wasn’t certain they would let me out of the store if I came in.

Thankfully, subways work pretty much the same regardless of language, and we made it back to our stop and walked the few blocks back to our hotel room. A shower and a nap were in order as we checked in to our flight for the next day, packed, and made preparations to conclude our Roman adventure.

We walked over to “our” Italian restaurant, the restaurant next door to the hotel named the Col de Mara (named after the street where the hotel and the restaurant reside). We were greeted by Nuncio, the owner (pictured above on the left) and seated inside by the window.

It’s been an interesting adventure at the Col de Mara. The first night we arrived, we ate there, and Nuncio pretty clearly didn’t want to have much to do with us. He does not speak English, and dispatched his co-worker Luigi (pictured above on the right) to deal with the pesky American tourists. He made a pretty big show of talking with and showing off his wares to an Italian group behind us as we ate our first meal.

Fast forward to tonight, our fourth meal at “our” restaurant. Nuncio greeted us with a big smile and ushered us in. We ordered a focaccia (basically a pizza crust with nothing else), and he made sure to add on cherry tomatoes and a hunk of fresh buffalo mozzarella which he sliced at our table and set on our plates. We also noticed that the glass of wine Mary Beth got kept getting fuller and fuller, until tonight’s glass was almost filled to the top.

After another fantastic dinner, we thanked Nuncio and Luigi for taking such good care of us and bid them farewell. When we asked to take their picture, Nuncio thought we were asking him to take our picture. He was clearly tickled to be the subject, not the photographer, and we got the biggest smile out of him I had seen our whole trip.

We took a walk across the street to Vanni, which came highly recommended by our (non-rude) desk clerk for their gelato. We each got a cup (another chocolate fondine for me, because, duh) and took a walk. We decided to walk away from our hotel, to make sure Nuncio and Luigi didn’t see us eating at a different restaurant.

Once we got back to the hotel, it was packing time. Never have I seen so many purses stuffed so tightly into one suitcase. I’m not sure if smuggling knockoff purses is a crime, but if it is then we could have a challenging conversation with Italian customs tomorrow.

After Mary Beth had got herself settled in, we decided that we wanted a little more soda. I knew I would be up late for the USA-Portugal game, so I went back out to get some more Coca-Cola Light from the bar. I loved the walk on an absolutely perfect evening, high sixties with no humidity and a slight breeze.

I walked around the main square to the bar (which I knew right where it was), walked in past all the diners chatting in Italian, and asked the barkeep for three Coca-Cola Lights to go. I asked for cans instead of the bottles I was presented, and finished my transaction by buying a candy bar. I’m not entirely sure what was in it, but it looked good and I was feeling pretty good about myself.

On the walk back, I found a post box to send our last postcards from Rome, and strolled back to the hotel, giving a quick “buona sera” to the passing locals. I walked by the Gran Kaffee Maxxini, the restaurant where we watched the first half of the Italy-Costa Rica game. The Germany-Ghana game was playing, and as I leaned in to check the score I got a bit of a dirty look from a guy wearing a Germany jersey. My USA jersey (circa World Cup 2006) probably had something to do with that, along with the 0-0 scoreline at the half.

As I walked towards the hotel in the Roman evening, I felt pretty darn good about myself. Here I was, all on my own, navigating the streets of Italy and transacting business. Sure, it’s a little thing, going down the street to get some soda. But I was pretty intimidated at the thought of spending time in a non-English-speaking country, more than I really thought I would be. And now I felt like I had kind of conquered that challenge. I felt a little bit like a boss walking back to the hotel room, Coca-Cola Light in hand.

Of course, I didn’t really say that until I got safely back into the room, for fear of getting lost or mugged or arrested, or something like that. Jinxes are real things, baby.

We settled in for the evening, and I thought I was getting ready to watch the USA-Portugal game. What I discovered is that in my focus to make sure I got the time of the game right, I got the date of the game wrong. Kickoff is at midnight on Monday night, meaning that I will be watching the game in Luxembourg, not in Italy. Hopefully with a better selection of sports on television, as right now instead of the Nigeria-Bosnia and Herzegovina game, Rai Sport is showing me rugby. Women’s rugby. I swear I am not making that up.

So, it’s safe to head to sleep and prepare for our flight to Luxembourg tomorrow. I am reasonably sure I have our flight times—and dates—more accurate than my World Cup schedule.