Roman Holiday

Rome, the Eternal City, one-time capital of a glorious empire, the locus classicus for all western state-builders, from consuls to kaisers to tsars. And it was the privilege of Altaa and I to experience that from Monday 1st November to Friday 5th. I say ‘privilege’ for although we had to pay for our expenses to get and live there, the sheer joy of the experience was a far more bounteous gift to us.
On Monday, we had inadvertently arrived on an Italian national holiday, All Hallows (the commemoration of saints, from which the eve Halloween has been derived), so almost all the shops were closed and our shuttle bus agent from the airport was marooned alone behind her desk having to operate three phones near simultaneously. It took an hour in that queue to get to the front and when handed our boarding slip at 1 pm it had 12.45 typed out on it, but the bus driver was still hanging around to get a reasonable complement for his transport. Added to this, it was tipping it down outside, like someone was empting a bath through a colander. Whipping along the motorway, visibility was sharply reduced through the immense quantity of water coming down, but reaching the city a few sights of historical structures and districts raised the spirits. Getting in to our bed-and-breakfast accommodation was another matter. As we later found out, B&Bs aren’t allowed to advertise themselves as a result of a law formed from the pressure of lobby groups for established hotels. This extends to not even having a sign on or next to the building entrance. The bus driver, therefore, was most nonplussed, driving around the block three times and getting out on numerous occasions to dash through the rain looking in vain for a sign before insisting that this was building number three and that we should get out. Our B&B host, Paolo di Gangi, shortly came to meet us.
Our bedroom was very spacious and the shower room/toilet was very stylishly equipped (though the jets from the shower were unforgiving). We had a panoramic view over the Roman skyline to the south-west and if we leaned slightly out the window we could see San Giovanni di Lateran – the Lateran Palace, former residence of popes and still a working church.
Altaa was seriously ill that night and Paolo abandoned his break with his family at midnight to drive us to the San Giovanni hospital just inside the city walls. He stayed until 3 am with Altaa and I, translating to the Italian medical staff and to us. Altaa was kept in overnight and I was driven back by Paolo to the B&B, on the advice of the doctor. I visited Altaa the next day in the morning and she was recovering well. Furthermore, our passports (and wedding certificate) were all the documentation needed for the care and the prescription drugs to be free. The hospital corridors may be a bit Spartan, but the help we received was much better than might have been expected from the NHS. Altaa signed herself out in the afternoon and I came to collect her.
Earlier in the day (with the weather rapidly improving), after leaving the hospital, I aimed to walk back to the hospital the same way I had came but distracted by the majesty of the Aurelian Walls (designed in the 3rd century AD to keep out the barbarians), I took a wrong turn. So, walking down a street alongside what I later identified as the Palatine Hill, I came across a structure in the distance. It’s distinctiveness was limited to the narrow aperture of the street by which I viewed it, but quickly it dawned on me. I know that. Oh gladiator, you should see the Colosseum! To stumble upon one of the most famous places in the world was magical. It summed up what Rome was to be in the next few days. I gave it a good walk round, saw the Arch of Constantine, the distant remains of the Forum and the Flavian gladiatorial training area to go with the Flavian amphitheatre and returned home via Via San Giovanni di Lateran, passing the impressive piazza and building and buying a delicious jam tart in a nearby bakery. I had a good rest outside the palace, admiring it while also puzzled by its lopsided nature, with the much later wing created by Borromini (handsome though it is), giving it this nature – a corresponding wing should have been added the other side for there is more than enough open space for this.
We had a deep sleep that night (especially as I had consumed half a litre of wine with our restaurant meal), waking up very late on Wednesday morning. We didn’t do much, soaking up the atmosphere.
Thursday was different. We got up early and headed straight for the Vatican City. It would not do to visit Rome without looking in on the world’s smallest country. The view of St Peter’s Basilica from the embracing piazza was enough to dissolve the heart in its sublime beauty. The summer sun was back in full swing now. I was in short-sleeve shirt and slacks, but some of the tourists were just a bit too slack in their clothing. The Vatican has a strict dress code – no exposed shoulders or above the knee shorts or skirts and one sultry lady, oblivious to the sign warning of it this, was promptly stopped by two officials. The guards were flexible though – a member of her party had a heavy-duty jacket slung over his shoulder and they made her wear this around her legs before she could enter.
We had seen a magnificent Renaissance church abutting the Palatine on Tuesday but the artwork was fading. In St Peter’s, the lodestone of the Roman Catholic faith, it was startling. We were allowed into the central Greek cross part of the cathedral if we were either going to prayer or confession - I opted for the former. I’m not of the RC denomination, but as a practising Christian I can pray anywhere I like to God and so I did.
One cannot capture any thousandth of Rome on camera and it would be churlish to try. Here was a prime example of that you can’t live a holiday through a lenses and if you try the experience will be diminished. So I imbibed the wonder of the place. After exploring the main hall, we went down to the crypt. Here were the tombs of former popes and John Paul II’s stands out in austere, whitewashed glory, with many adherents praying to the late bishop of Rome for miracles. As in life, his resting place was a blockbuster as well. We also observed the exterior wall of the original basilica built in the reign of the Emperor Constantine before it was demolished to make way for an even greater marvel.
Next we climbed to the top of St Peter’s dome. It was certainly pretty exercising and those in inappropriate footwear would have struggled, as would those who are more than a bit chubby for some of the passageways were narrow in the extreme. Stepping out onto the top, the view was astounding on this cloudless day – a true panorama. Not just the city of Rome too, for we could see right to the snow-capped mountains of the Apennines. Then we climbed down to the main roof of St Peter’s and had a relaxed breakfast of croissants and tangerines that we had brought with us – a highlight of the journey in Italy. We also wrote some postcards and sent them via Vatican post – not your everyday mail system.
We followed this up with a trip to the Vatican museums. We went at 11.30 am and went straight in without delay. Passing by the Vatican walls the next day, a queue in all possibility two hours long was in attendance at 9 am. We did well. We didn’t go straight to the Sistine Chapel, taking in the Egyptian section and the Map Room. There wasn’t time to see all the museums present in the Vatican as, despite the heat, the sun still set early and we had other parts of Rome to catch. Still, the closer we got to the Sistine Chapel, the more dazzling was the art on all four sides – walls, ceiling and floor. Finally, reaching the main attraction, it was spectacular but having been sated with excellence already, the brilliance was as heart-stopping as it would have been had one come to it immediately. Still, one can view it in more ways than one as the apex of luminescence in the place.
Altaa was tiring and insisted we catch a bus. This took us away from the route I had planned and we may have ended up doing more walking as a result. We took in the Spanish Steps, the Vittorio Emmanulle II dedication in front of the Italian parliament, Trajan’s Column and several fora. We also took a peek at the walls of the immense Baths of Caracalla. Altaa went home to rest and I went out in the evening to meet Eva Diaz, a Spanish friend whom I had met in Finland in my ERASMUS year and was now in Rome, teaching French. We had ice-cream (in November!) and talked for so long, before I escorted her back to her apartment building.
The next day was to be a whistle-stop tour, for me at least. Altaa was going to shop for fashion, I to hit the sights I felt I still had to see before leaving. So, I took the Metro to the Vatican, walked from there to the Castel Sant Angelo (formerly Hadrian’s mausoleum, in addition to being an erstwhile residence/fortress of the popes), then Piazza Navona, followed by the Pantheon and then the Piazza Trevi, popping in to a couple of churches along the way to admire the art. The Pantheon, with Raphael’s tomb, was also used for Mass on Sundays.
We were picked up from outside our hotel at 12.30 pm. The driver was determined to be stereotypical, driving furiously, gesticulating determinedly, cracking puns continuously. He reminded me of Bruno Tonioli from Strictly Come Dancing. But he was a solid professional too, pointing out Donatella Versace’s hilltop abode, largely secluded from the motorway by trees and he was good at compliments, enlivened greatly by the Ghostbusters T-shirt I was wearing.
I really feel I left a bit of my heart in Rome. Such a compelling and beautiful city. Only St Petersburg and Venice come close to matching it on my travels. The artwork and the buildings blow you away. The people, even when they aren’t trying to be fashionable (though they frequently are), have an elegance and poise about them, absent from most British people. The women are exceptionally attractive and I got the eye from a few stunners myself, which is a boost to the confidence whilst being committed to my wife. The food is far better. The health service is great. The Metro transport though not extensive because of so many archaeological remains, is very efficient and supplemented by buses and trolleybuses. Transport and food is decisively cheaper. There is no measure of any significance on which anywhere in Britain is better than Rome. If I could speak fluent Italian and had a good job available, I would seriously consider emigrating to this fascinating city. The glory of Rome is very much alive.