vacation 2010 By: Linda Miller

Friday, May 21, 2010 … Rome
In how many languages can you say my feet are tired? It’s late Friday afternoon, Melinda and I are back at the hotel siesta-ing and resting feet while Joe is … not sure where he is … she and I got off the metro at the Repubblica station and he kept going. While eating a delicioso (I think that’s Spanish, but English doesn’t do it justice) 2 pm buffet lunch at Perilli in Prati, a few blocks from the Vatican, Melinda said, “I think we’ve seen everything in Rome.” Joe pulled out our guide book, started flipping pages and said, “No, there are things we haven’t seen ….” Though the word ‘buffet’ is French, I wonder if buffets in restaurants is an American thing … all you can eat … a bit of everything.

The group of 7 adults seated near us ordered off the menu. They were speaking Spanish and one of the women pulled out an Italian/Spanish dictionary from her bag. Melinda half listened to their conversation, sometimes chuckling. It was a wonderful meal, complete with beer and water. We order water with ‘no gas’ so we don’t get carbonated water. Today we ordered it ‘naturale’, forgot to ask Joe if we were charged for it as it came in a carafe, not a sealed bottle. (Yes, paid 2 euro for it.)

Afterward, in the metro, Joe unloaded water bottles and umbrellas from his pack, took the camera and said he was going back to the Roman Forum, or maybe Palatine Hill, or maybe Capitol Hill. It works for us …. gives me a chance to write a little bit and Melinda is snoozing.

Lunch was memorable because we very much wanted a good one. As we were leaving the Vatican Museums, Melinda said, “If we have a lunch today like we did yesterday, I’m going somewhere else afterward and ordering a second one.” Today was a winner. Yesterday, after hours in St. Peter’s Basilica, at the Vatican, we saw a little orange store front restaurant on a side street which looked family-run and intimate. It was the worst restaurant meal in the universe. Should have not allowed ourselves to be seated. Should have found a place where a lot of nuns were eating … they must know the area. There weren’t any nuns in this place. It was family-owned and they were fighting with each other, yelling in the seating area, yelling on the sidewalk near the outdoor tables, yelling from the front counter to the kitchen. An expressionless woman came to our table, with pen and pad, “Si?”, and took our order. Looked like Papa was in charge; he seemed to not like the young man (son?) who seemed to not like him. I wonder if the woman was scared of the guy (her husband?) Lots of yelling between the men. Two women quickly paid and left as we came in; a table of 6 people sat very quietly, ate, paid and left. That left us. We ate our marginal meal, paid, and had to literally squeeze between the young man and the dirty counter during more yelling in order to leave.


I’m thinking it wasn’t just a family, but a “FAMILY”. And the restaurant was not really a restaurant, but a front for “family” business. And the young guy had made a mistake … maybe a huge mistake. And the woman didn’t want to be there, but didn’t want to leave her sons, so she was trapped. She was wearing what looked like a blue housecoat over black pants … because the Papa had taken all her clothes? And the ‘good’ son was following orders, doing what he was told. Joe thinks it was just a family who was yelling at each other and serving not very good food.


Two days ago I made an online reservation for 9 a.m. tickets for today for the Musei Vaticani. Left here at 8:15 a.m., took the metro to the Ottaviano stop, and walked. And walked. And walked more past long lines of people waiting to get in and buy tickets. We entered through the “reservation” door, were eyeballed by the clothing polizio (no bare shoulders or too much leg showing), went through security, sailed over to the ticket booth to pick them up. (Should have made reservations before we left the U.S., so I feel fortunate to have received tickets for today.) Rented audio guides … always have to leave your driver’s license or passport at the audio guide counter … does anyone actually want to take those things home?


The Musei Vaticani consists of about a dozen self-contained museums with over 1400 rooms. You can’t see it all. But we tried. You start out listening to every audio guide stop and since the first collection is the Egyptian collection, it’s all pretty interesting. There is an unwrapped mummy in his coffin …. then a woman in her coffin, not mummified with head, hands and feet exposed. The info pointed out that her hair was dyed red with henna. Her right eye had a piece of cloth over it … learned that her brain was most likely removed through that eye. We saw the scarabs placed on her chest to help give her safe passage. Melinda leaned in and said, “Her inside is filled with sawdust.” She learned that during her 2 weeks in Egypt. I wondered who she was, what her life was like. Children? Content? How did she die? Next was the wrapped mummy in his coffin. In about room 8, Joe said, “We need a plan or we’ll never make it through to the Sistine Chapel.” All roads in the museum lead to the Sistine Chapel.


Frescoes, paintings, sculptures, mosaics, marble floors, painted and gilded ceilings and walls … everywhere you look there is something. And then more, lots more. The Rick Steves’ ROME guidebook says that, in his opinion, you leave either because 1) you’ve died, 2) it has closed or 3) 2 ½ hours have passed. We spent 4 ½ hours in it. There’s a rare deep red stone, porphery (something like that … don’t have internet access to check an online dictionary … am saving this as a word document until the hotel’s internet is working and I can send it) … and our St. Peter’s Basilica guide told us yesterday that 75% of the world’s supply of this stone is in the Vatican City (an independent sovereign state, 109 acres, in the heart of Rome.) We walked on a huge circle inlay of it in St. Peter’s. In the museum, we saw an enormous basin made out of this stone, I think it was 13 meters (over 40 feet) in diameter. And tall, very tall. It once stood in a public place in the Roman Forum. Saw two very high and deep sarcophaguses (sarcophagi??), coffins, that were used in Constantine’s family … one for his wife (and later a pope) and one for a daughter. Each had intricate carvings on all sides. I wonder what the “finders” do with the dust and bones or is nothing left inside? Constantine made Christianity legal in the Roman Empire. And the marble … were has all the marble come from? Marble floors, marble statues, marble everywhere.


After a few hours my mind was becoming numb from too much information, too much antiquity, too much history, too much … too much. And I love information and history. THEN … we entered the Sistine Chapel … a long oval room. It was filled with people speaking all kinds of languages, though the Italian guards tried to shush people, said talking was not allowed. Picture taking was definitely not allowed. A hushed atmosphere would have been appropriate, but hard when hundreds of people are standing shoulder to shoulder looking straight up, on all sides, all around. I want to read a biography of Michelangelo … may have one at home … our St. Peter’s guide referred to him many times as a crazy genius. He didn’t want to paint the chapel, but the pope cajoled, begged, threatened and Michelangelo said yes. He spent 4 years (1508-1512) lying on his back painting the ceiling … paint dripping in his face … if he wanted to change something he had to plaster over it and begin again. The room is 5900 square feet of space, he painted the vast majority. Scaffolding was 6 stories high. The pope wanted him to paint the 12 apostles, but he decided he would paint the history of mankind up to Jesus. He also designed the dome of St. Peter’s, based on the Pantheon dome. Yesterday in St. Peter’s, we saw Pieta, the sculpture he did of Mary holding the body of Jesus. Took him 2 years, from ages 22-24. He believed it was as important to find the right block of marble as to do the sculpting; that the figures are in the marble waiting for the excess to be peeled away.


After the Sistine Chapel, we went to the Pinacoteca rooms, paintings and tapestries … saw Rafael’s Transfiguration painting … the last thing he painted before dying at age 37, in 1520, was Jesus’ face in it, considered possibly the most beautiful rendition of his face. Rafael is buried in a crypt in the Pantheon (saw it) and the painting was brought to his funeral. Across from The Transfiguration, in the same room, hangs his tapestry of the Last Supper. It fills up the entire wall and is behind glass. Saw da Vinci’s painting, St. Jerome. Gaunt and harsh.
Joe’s back …. he revisited some ruins, went into a church built in 600 with 120 steps to it from the street. Historically women have crawled up the steps on their knees … to get pregnant, a fertility thing.


We have to check out tomorrow by 10:30 a.m., stash our luggage and take a cab later to the airport (about a 40 minute crazy cab ride from here) as our flight to Heathrow/London leaves at 9:15 p.m. (Joe thought he booked an a.m. flight but this will work fine. We better allow at least 45 minutes for a crazy cab ride.) We’ve rented a car at the airport and will get it Sunday morning. I’m the designated driver for next week in England and Scotland as I have an international driving permit and Joe doesn’t want to drive. His sense of left and right has never been very strong and it’s going to be really important to be aware of left and right. I’m a bit apprehensive. Would like a WalMart parking lot to practice in before driving away from the airport. We’re not going into London … decided to see rural areas by car. We have a 2 night stay in an Edinburgh bed and breakfast next Tues/Wed … can leave the car and take the bus into the city. Other than those 2 nights, we don’t yet have a clue what next week holds. I think we’re all looking forward to simpler towns and villages, more grass and trees, fewer vehicles and crowds. We leave London … volcanic ash willing … May 30, Melinda at 8:30 a.m. and Joe and I two hours later. We shipped 55 pounds of her clothing and books to Nebraska from Bilbao, but we’re hauling the rest with us. Should have shipped 2 boxes.


We flew from Barcelona to Rome Tuesday morning and took a cab from the airport to Hotel Nardizzi Americana … all 4th floor rooms of an old building on a tiny narrow street that is jammed with motorcycles and is across from the ministry of defense or something like that. Lots of polizia in the area. When our cab driver dropped us off, he grunted about the heavy luggage, so I tried to explain in a combination of English, Melinda’s help with Spanish and maybe a French word or two, that she had studied in Spain and was now going home. He drove wonderfully, but traffic is unbelievable … I bet his wife thanks God every night when he walks in alive. I told Melinda and Joe if I ever say I want to drive in Rome to please shoot me.
We’re fairly close to the main train station and close to a metro stop. Cars park on sidewalks if streets are too narrow to allow for both parking and driving. It appears motorcycles park wherever they want to. People cross busy streets, sometimes with 6 lanes of traffic, with no pedestrian lights … you start walking and vehicles are supposed to stop. So far it’s worked. Melinda forges out in front and leads the way. She said this is easy compared to crossing streets in Cairo. There, she and her friends grabbed hands and started running, dodging … said if one got hit they would all get hit. Have been watchful for pickpockets … I’m quite sure the 2 young guys who tore out of a metro car last night at the Flamini stop and ran up the stairs 3 at a time had other peoples’ crossbody bags on them. I didn’t like that area … my gut was saying don’t dawdle, get moving. We crossed the street into the Piazza del Popolo where Melinda turned away a couple men-with-roses-scammers and it got better. The obelisk in that square once stood in/near the palace of Ramses II in Egypt. We walked to the Spanish Steps and the fountain in front of it … sat on the cement benches surrounding the fountain and watched people. Watched the sun set behind the Spanish Embassy (I think that’s what it was, and has been for 300 years.) Watched lights come on. Down one of the streets were Gucci, Dior, Yves St. Laurent. Didn’t go in any of them. The British poet Keats died in the narrow pink building next to the Spanish Steps and Lord Byron lived for a time on the other side of the fountain. I love that stuff.


On the first floor of this building is an opera theater. We’ve heard people practicing. Also on the first floor is an Italian Korean Methodist Church. I think people may live on the 2nd floor. The Oceania Hotel occupies the 3rd floor and Nardizzi Americana is on the 4th … all are a square with the center open to the sky. Very quaint, very old, very unlike American chains. Melinda said it looks and feels like a hostel, smells like a hotel. (She has stayed in some not so nice hostels.) We have a room with a double bed and a single bed and a tiny balcony with narrow French doors that looks across the open area to the entrance hallway to the hotel. We can hear people in the hotel’s reception area from our room. Samy … a 30 something man with lots of curly hair and a beautiful smile … has been very nice. Wish I could speak Italian so I could therefore speak English with the same accent he has. Think I’d like to learn Italian. He was on duty when we checked in, took us to our room, opened the balcony doors, showed us how to use the big old heavy key to unlock and lock our door and then stick it in the holder by the door which allows electricity to turn on. (Same with the key cards from other hotels.) We turn the key into the desk each time we leave the hotel. The huge, heavy wooden doors into the building stand open all day and lock in the evening, but you buzz the hotel and they unlock the door. The one elevator (lift) is tiny. You open the lift’s metal door, then its French doors to enter … close the 3 doors and ride to 4th. Have to remember to close the 3 doors when you exit, otherwise it can’t go. Three women from France squeezed themselves into it last night with a couple small bags, but the man with his bag and backpack rode up with Joe and me.


There’s one hotel computer for guests but internet is spotty. Samy gave Melinda the hotel password so she can use her computer in the reception area. Am writing on her computer and will copy and paste into an email to send when it’s up and running. I know this is long, but it’s also my journaling. Haven’t written about Tuesday … the National Museum or Wednesday … the Colosseum, which is unbelievable, Roman Forum, standing where Julius Caesar was assassinated, standing where his funeral was held ... monuments and statues and ruins and all this in the center of Rome … the Pantheon that evening … we had taken the metro in the morning and walked from spot to spot to spot to spot, then home. Thursday … St. Peter’s Basilica and St. Peter’s Square ... seeing where St. Peter was crucified (though a couple or more layers above it), looking at the spot where he was buried, under the church … Trevi Fountain … watched a whole class of kids stand in front of it and toss a coin over their shoulders.


Rather than eat supper at 9 pm or later, twice we’ve bought fresh crusty bread, a hunk of cheese and wine and had it here. Not sure what tonight will hold other than packing to leave. At the moment, Melinda is sleeping and Joe is watching the BBC. We don’t have a clue what’s happening in the U.S., Nebraska or Lexington. Melinda misses her University of Duesto friends and was sad at saying good-bye to Amelia. She said Spanish people don’t hug, but she gave Amelia a bear hug and Amelia fought back tears. She was exceptionally kind and loving to Melinda for 4 months … doted on her … and Melinda thinks Amelia may request another foreign student. Melinda was her first. Amelia is tiny and energetic and speaks very fast … we spent an hour in her apartment one evening in Bilbao. She served us wine and pate, crusty bread and appetizers of some sort. Neither she nor Carlos (her husband, Melinda called him Carl) ate with us. Melinda said it’s the way they do it. They serve guests, don’t eat with them. Though they must eat with dinner guests … we weren’t officially dinner guests. Joy Roos and Melinda were translating between Amelia, Carlos, Joe and me until conversation was whirling around and Joy started speaking Spanish to me. At 10 pm that evening, Joe, Melinda and I walked to the Crazy Horse bar, had a glass of beer and split one hamburger … tiny sliver of meat but I buy round loaves of crusty bread that look like that bun. Enough for now. Linda