Rome, Italy

Saturday June 12, 2010
Sunday June 13, 2010
Monday June 14, 2010

I combined these three dates because all three days involved the same experience: The World Cup. I have only been out to party a couple of times this trip, so I’m not incredibly familiar with the Rome bar scene and night life. Regardless, we went out in search for a good bar and grab a seat, have a drink, and watch the game.

Saturday night was England vs. USA. We went to a restaurant in Campo de Fiori that had its tables divided by the flags on either side and screens set up outside. Our waiter was moody and the service and food was terrible (Did not think a restaurant in Italy could mess up pasta. I’ve had better cooked by drunk college students. Come on, now.) Despite the unfortunate dining experience, we went down the block to a small bar, ordered beers, and watched the rest of the game. I was indifferent with the outcome considering I’m hoping Italy wins, but had a lot of fun. At one point, my friend was reading the story in the bar’s menu and ended up surprising us all. Apparently, we had been drinking and watching the game in the same place where Julius Caesar was killed. Unbelievable.

Sunday was my birthday and so we went out to dinner (different restaurant this time) which was absolutely amazing. We had decided to go to the same bar from the night before to watch Germany vs. Australia. Since we were the first ones at the bar, we made friends with the bartender, plus the owner’s son from the restaurant in Sorrento came to visit. We were in the back in front of a huge screen next to a table of Germans who were pretty happy with the game although it was somewhat painful to watch. The night overall was just a lot of fun. Both nights I noticed the energy between groups of people watching the World Cup. Although they could be supporting different teams, the games still brought people from around the world together. What I’ve seen, it’s been a friendly, fun competitive vibe more so than a discriminatory type of competitive atmosphere that just makes watching the game with a room filled with different people even more great. Hearing about the World Cup buzz makes me wonder why America isn’t as into soccer/football as the rest of the world. That aspect is kind of sad.

Monday was a little bit different. Instead of a balance of support between teams, this brought people together to unite in cheering for one single team. It was Italy’s first game, played against Paraguay. There were rumors of huge screens showing the game in different piazzas around Rome, but we couldn’t figure out exactly where and decided to go back to the bar we spent the weekend in. The bar that was almost empty two nights in a row was now packed with people yelling at a series of television screens. The rest of the time after the score became 1 to 1 was spent at the edge of our seats and yelling in a variety of languages at the TV whenever Italy missed a shot. Walking away from a tied game was disappointing, but watching the game with that many people and having a good time made it worth it.  Unfortunately, the Italy game will be the last one I watch in Europe. I have two finals coming up, which are not going to be very fun, and then it’s back across the pond for me.

Wednesday June 9, 2010

I woke up early and headed towards the Vatican. On the way, I bought rosaries and gelato for breakfast (hey, it was open) and then met my class at around 10a.m. We were given tickets that permitted us to sit in the gated off area for Pope Benedict XVI’s audience. Even though I am not religious, I still thought this was ridiculously awesome.

When he came out he rode around and through the audience (and I couldn’t help but have Pac-man music playing in my head) and people swarmed towards him. People went crazy standing on chairs, outstretching their arms with camera’s in hand, running as far as they could go to get a glimpse of the Pope riding by. Then the blessing began. The prayers were said in five or six different languages, and before each different language a Cardinal would give special shout outs to schools and groups in the audience. When it was time for the blessing in English we were wondering if UD was going to get one too... then we heard, “... Students and professors from the School of Business Administration of the University of Dayton, Ohio....” The blessings were extended to our family and friends (and our souvenirs) and we listened while we were all thinking, “This is really freakin’ cool.”

Monday June 7, 2010

I thought about those episodes of the Discovery Channel I’ve watched about ancient burial rituals in Italy and Egypt as a small group of us were guided underneath the Vatican for a ‘Scavi Tour’. I had no idea that a necropolis was created, buried, and then hidden underneath where I was standing a few days before. We climbed down and through small, tight, passageways with original stone and some rebuilt wall (obviously) and got a look at cities for the dead including the old sarcophaguses and markers.  The tour guide read us some of the markers and expressed that some families had a sense of humor. One he pointed out was for a baby that was less than a year old claiming that (s)he "never fought with anyone".

I was impressed that people were able to accurately preserve and maintain St. Peter’s original burial spot. We saw the chapel underneath the alter of St. Peter’s Basilica that was only several feet away from St. Peter’s bones. Grates were on the ceiling and I looked up at people in the chapel looking down at me as I thought, “This is awesome.” As the tour guide explained how the city and bones of St. Peter were found starting with the history and then discussing the archaeologists excavation, I couldn’t help but have another potentially blasphemous question that I found morbidly entertaining: When the bones of St. Peter were found, some of them were put into gold boxes and placed back by the graffiti wall (part of the memorial that had been built on top of his original burial site). This made me wonder if any of the archaeologists ever put the bones from his hand in a box, shake it around a bit (softly, of course) and then go brag to his buddies that he shook St. Peter’s hand. I know I would have.... maybe that’s why I’m not an archaeologist doing work underneath the Vatican.  I guess they had enough to brag about though once the project went public.

More and more is getting piled onto my trip that is just ridiculously amazing.  I have now seen the Vatican inside, outside, and underneath, and I found out that on Wednesday I’m going to be seeing the man that runs it all: The Pope.  Maybe the spirit of the Vatican is rubbing off on me, but I believe this is the first semester that I haven’t cursed out the business school in fit of frustration. Nah, I think it’s just Italy being awesome. That, and I haven’t taken any finals yet.

[We weren't allowed to take photos in the Scavi Tour so I will end this post with a shot from the market in Florence]

Sunday June 6, 2010

We found another spot in Florence where vendors set up their leather goods and souvenirs in the morning and strolled around the streets one last time before heading back to Rome. The streets were filled with the energy we fell in love with including street performers, old Italian men yelling at each other, and people reading the paper on monuments as if it were no big deal. Sad to leave, we found a taxi to take us to the train station. We bought tickets making sure that, this time, we were in the same cabin as each other and waited on the platform.

I’ve been concerned that my language is too redundant in these entries. Almost everything I’ve seen has been beautiful and lively. Let me assure you: Not everything in Italy is beautiful. The train ride back proved it.

There were six seats in each cabin. My friends and I took up four, and a couple that didn’t speak a word of English was already taking up the two seats by the window. Before the train even left the platform, the man drinking at noon on a Sunday spilled his beer and didn’t bother to clean it up. After noticing that some managed to reach my bag, I decided to keep my wet backpack on my lap.

The smell of beer and the fact that it was now all over the floor didn’t necessarily bother me. I’m a college student, remember? Between the parties and concerts let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve been standing in a puddle of someone else’s beer. But it was hot. Really hot. And we were taking the slow train. Which means, at some point within the next hour (out of three) I realized that I couldn’t move my feet because they were cemented to the floor.

Bad first impression, right? Wrong. It was foreshadowing. The six of us were dripping in sweat, the air conditioning on the train was broken and the windows only opened two inches inward from the top. The sweaty couple, with only most of their teeth, whined at us to close the window because they were convinced the air was working. It wasn’t. One of the workers on the train actually came in after an hour without a window cracked and yelled at them to open it again. I tried wiping sweat from my forehead every so often but was unsuccessful since my hands were just as sweaty. The man insisted on constantly leaving the cabin, walking around, and sitting back down. Him moving back and forth and constantly passing us got incredibly obnoxious since we were all so close together, hot, uncomfortable and irritable.

To make matters worse, whenever he got up his wife took off her shoes and put her feet on the seat next to me. I’m indifferent towards feet usually, but that was just disgusting. Let’s just say she had the hairiest feet I have ever seen in my entire life and leave it at that. She also occasionally put her hand down her shirt and wiped sweat from certain parts of her body. My friends and I were miserable, disgusted, and wondering, “Why we didn’t spend the extra money for the fast train?” Oh yeah, it was an extra hundred euro.

The only thing good about that trip to “Rome-Home” was my music player’s battery was fully charged. As soon as we got to our stop we bolted off that train, walked for what felt like miles to our Metro line (which was also irritating), and collapsed when we finally reached our apartment.

Saturday June 5, 2010

My friends and I dragged ourselves out of bed, ate a free breakfast, and began our mission to find Academia in time for our reservation. Apparently, the hotel messed up our reservation but the incredibly nice manager let us in any way (Note: Make sure you have a reservation number in addition to the name it’s under).

It took a fair amount of time to get through the first room. The paintings were absolutely amazing. I love going to museums in general and just seeing all of the detail, attention, dedication, and overall talent that goes into each piece on display. In the hallway to the musical portion of the museum, there was a bowl that had been designed from the Ming dynasty’s influence. The description said that if someone wet their hands (there was water in this bowl) and rub the handles on either side, it would cause a vibration to produce a sound. A bowl of water was in front of me taunting me to try it out but nothing was posted giving me definite permission. So Michelangelo’s David, the reason why I’m there, is in this museum and yet I am intrigued with this display. I kept thinking, "Why would they fill it with water if they didn’t want anyone to try it? Why isn’t anyone else doing it?” Everyone just kept walking passed it, no workers were to be found, yet I knew that if I was supposed to keep my hands to myself, and tried it, someone would pop out of nowhere and kick me out before I saw what I went there to see. So do I move on? Forget about it? Anyone that knows me is probably already thinking that walking away was not one of my options.

I went to the musical portion of the museum, found someone with a badge, and with really poor Italian somehow found the words that granted me permission to try it out. I may never know the exact words said to me, but it was good enough for me to present an argument should anything bad happen. So we went back.

It’s funny how people can walk past a display that seems boring until they see someone else put their hands on it. After all, what kind of sane person touches things in museums like Academia? My friend and I ended up telling handfuls of people what this bowl was, what it was supposed to do, and demonstrate how it was supposed to work. We got a small sound one of the hundreds of tries, and we eventually gave up and moved on to legitimately look at the music room. The first attempt at an upright piano, instruments that were played for the Medici family, and other different styles of instruments were really fun and interesting to see and read about.

And then we saw him; the beautifully sculpted, amazingly finished, iconic statue. We walked through a pathway of Michelangelo’s work where you can still see the original block he started from, and ended up in front of the man we went to see. I stood in front of David looking up at every detail until my neck hurt. Words cannot describe shadows, curves, and detail my eyes observed and how spectacular it was. I got chills reading what the museum had as a description and then looking up again. [I also thought it was entertaining that women (of all ages) chose to discuss and admire the statue while sitting behind it with smiles on their faces and giggling]. Even when I went to the side gallery I couldn’t focus on the artwork on the walls – I found myself looking over at the David again and appreciating the new perspective. Unfortunately, I could not take photos - with or without flash - so I just hoped that while standing camera-less, appreciating the work of art, the scene would stick in my mind.

In another room of the museum I recognized a guy from the line getting into the Duomo the day before. I asked him what he thought of the climb, the view, and of David and we briefly talked about where we were from and where we were going. He advised me to go to the Piazza di Michelangelo on the other side of the river, claiming that not many people knew about it and I could see the whole city from there.  We parted ways, I finished the museum, and left to walk some of the streets of Florence (which included the markets) and then re-hydrate and relax at the hotel for a bit.

I wanted to take the guy’s advice and find the piazza. Others had different plans for the night. While they found dinner, I explored the other side of the river. I am so glad I did. I don’t know which was more beautiful – seeing Florence from the Duomo or from the hill on the other side of the river at sunset. The mountains and hills framed the shimmering sunlight. As the sun stopped reaching the rooftops, the bridges became silhouettes and pinks and purples started decorating the sky. Live music at the foot of the piazza steps acted like the choir music at the Duomo and completed the entire scene (Thank you, Chris Wyatt Scott).

People on the steps literally applauded the sun when the last piece fell behind the mountains. The sky turned into a bright rainbow and faded slowly as city lights began to appear. The lighting changed multiple times over a few hours and the same scene remained absolutely beautiful. A new musician began to play and I realized I had been watching the same city for several hours and not once had boredom crossed my mind. When the rainbow subsided and all of the night's lights came on, I found my way back to the hotel after a perfect ending to my Florence visit.

Friday June 4, 2010

We jumped out of bed at around 6:30am in attempt to make it out the door by 7. Half asleep, we dragged ourselves to the metro, to Termini, and then on a train to Florence. I dozed off on the train but when I saw the country as we traveled through it, it was just as gorgeous as it’s been the last three weeks. Taking a cab to the hotel we caught some of Florence and after checking in we went exploring.

The detail on the museums and churches are astounding. The doors and exterior are busy, colorful, and captivating. Since our reservations for one of the museums was for Saturday, we walked around and found the Duomo. It is just as beautiful inside as it is outside. We got lucky, because the line to get in was fairly short.  So we climbed. The stairwells were dark, tight, and some points made me dizzy. Steps alternated between regular, steep, and practically a ladder and the whole line stopped to catch our breath every so often.

The first time we stopped we were at the base of the dome. A choir sang below us, helping the painted scene on the inside of the dome come to life. The colors and symbolism drew us in (which caused traffic – but it was understood by everyone doing the climb). Hell was wrapped along the base as earth and heaven were portrayed higher on the dome. But this wasn’t even the best part.

I continued to climb... climbing to the point where excitement was wearing off and frustration was kicking in. Eventually, I made it to the final few steps that I crawled up into the sunlight. I was at the top. The view was possibly the most significant view (if not one of the most) I have ever witnessed in my entire life. The roof of the Sorrento hotel seems petty compared to what my eyes saw. Orange-brown rooftops stretched across the entire city under a crisp blue sky. Large churches and towers stuck out boldly over the other buildings and mountains stood quietly behind it all. I could have stayed out there for hours – days. I can only imagine what sunrise or sunset would look like from up there.

I eventually had to tear myself away from the scene and start the trip back down (especially because at this point I had lost my friends). I didn’t notice on my way up but the staircase(s) toward the top were unbelievable – I had to duck my head and sneak down the steps to avoid hitting the sharply sloped ceiling. I didn’t notice that we were squeezing through the tight space between the walls of the dome.

When I made it to the bottom I found my friends, filled up my water, and continued exploring. It still feels weird to me to be able to re-fill my bottle from a public fountain (or any faucet) and have it be clean “safe” water that tastes good. We met up with a friend’s friend from Italy and walked around the city admiring the architecture and shops. Before finding a place to eat dinner, one of the stops we made was the bridge. Another gorgeous spot. We sat, talking about American vs. Italian culture, among other things, with the sun on our backs and looking out at the water.

I feel as if the words “beautiful” and “gorgeous” have been used way too often in my writing... but I don’t know how else to describe it all. The different cities I have been to are nothing like I have ever seen. I’m also trying to find beauty in the small things as well as the overall picture, so I guess my lack of vocabulary was destined to be exposed at some point anyway. But exploring the bridge, the streets, the churches, the dome, - it all just seems too unreal for something so beautiful to exist - too good to be true. It may be because I don’t work or study here, so I’ll take when I can get: Two days.