Wednesday revealed itself to be another beautiful, crisp winter day. Clear skies and sunshine, with highs around 9-10 degrees (and lows around 0 – eek!), great for seeing the sights. Unfortunately, Lisa woke up in the grips of that travel cold we mentioned last time. Desperate not to let it get into her lungs and sabotage yet another trip to Italy, she decided to stay in, take aaaalll the drugs (the legal kind, relax) and stay warm and rested. (Spoiler alert: she gets better in a day or two, don’t worry.) So, John set out to explore some of Rome on his own and maybe even get lost a little; a latter day, grown-up, Italian Macaulay Culkin.* More or less.

In a certain kind of museum (which is most of them) there is a long stretch of the collection that covers roughly the 13th-17th centuries and includes almost exclusively Christian religious imagery. Icons, portable devotionals, altar pieces, organ doors… the list of things that someone would paint a martyr on is practically endless. Now, we never begrudge these things, especially since every major museum has to presume that for at least some of their visitors this is the first, maybe only, exposure to fine art that they will get and so it is worth an exhaustive walk through the centuries. If you have been to more than a handful of these significant museums (and if you’ve been following along you get the idea…) then yet another walk through a few centuries of art where, in all honesty, quality took a back seat to subject matter is just not that exciting.

Thus it was that John strolled through the early portions of the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica, or “National Gallery of Ancient Art”, at a pretty brisk pace muttering “Jesus… Jesus… Saint John… Jesus… Saint Sebastian? [reads card] yep… Jesus…” I am by no means anti-religion, but I’ve also never sought (nor have I achieved by accident) religious ecstasy in a museum. For a lapsed Presbyterian I have developed a pretty good eye for saints, although sadly it’s mostly in the form of a catalog of how they were killed rather than any miracles they may have performed. (Paintings of saints are almost exclusively depictions of their martyrdoms, at least in my experience.) Fortunately, most of these museums take the time to place some kind of context on some of their collection, if only to slow smart-asses like me down.

Here in the Palazzo Barberini (home of the Nat Gal of Ancient Art) the lesson involved these two crucifixes. As you can see, the one on the right depicts a stoic Jesus who seems less to be suffering the cross and more to be putting up with it. On the left, on the other hand, we’ve got a fully suffering Christ figure. In my naivety I had always taken this as artistic license, but in fact it is a depiction of a serious theological debate that was going on (and maybe still does? Not my forte…) concerning the nature of Jesus. [Editor’s note: this is going to be a combination of keeping things simple so as not to write a book, and also probably not knowing everything about the subject at hand. Go easy, ok?] The cross on the right represents the belief that Jesus was God en-robed in flesh but still God – thus, nailed to a tree is more of an inconvenience than anything else. The cross on the left, on the other hand, posits a fully human Jesus (son of God questions aside for a moment) who thus had the full human experience when tortured and crucified. I don’t really have a dog in this fight, not trying to convince anybody of anything, I just thought it was interesting that these depictions had more going on behind them than artistic whim.

As the centuries progress, these collections inevitably get more interesting. For one thing, perspective stops being considered the work of the devil, so things stop being quite so flat. Allegorical stories from other traditions likewise come into vogue even amongst the Christian devout, so that pictures of Greek gods (for example) start appearing. Portraiture becomes acceptable a little later, and unsurprisingly an interest in the quality of the art rises once people care whether or not a painting looks like Uncle Bart or just some random homunculus.

And all of these trends converge on pieces like this one by Raphael:

The collection in the Palazzo Barberini is largely comprised of donations from various Church fathers down the years, and so even in the 16th and 17th centuries you get more Biblical stories than a more random sampling. However, that does mean you’re more likely to get entries into our favorite art collection: Judiths!

After a day of art and wandering through the Forum, dinner was decidedly low-key. Lisa found a review for a cut-above trattoria called Li Rioni, which does many things well but specializes in Roman style pizza. One mushroom pizza and one diavola (spicy sausage, the default European equivalent to pepperoni) pizza later, we were ensconced in our cozy room once more, nibbling on ‘za and writing about the day; hi.

* Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is the reference/ joke being made here.

An excellent night’s sleep and bountiful in-room “Continental” breakfast found us ruminating about the day stretching out before us. All of the artistic and architectural treasures from ancient Rome on display for our entertainment and enlightenment. Which past master would we begin with: Donatello? Raphael? Maybe artifacts from the reign of Augustus? A stroll amongst the ruins of the Palatine Hill?

No, the answer was clear to us as we nibbled our breakfast and planned our day. Now that we were in Rome, there was no choice but to begin with the retrospective exhibition at the Palazzo Bonaparte reviewing the life’s work of… Vincent Van Gogh? Hang on, let’s check our notes…. no, that’s not a typo. We’re starting with noted Roman Vincent Van Gogh.

As a bit of a digression, our first visit to Rome nearly a decade ago coincided with an excellent retrospective of the work and life of Frida Kahlo. It was a high point of our visit, all the more so because we had no idea it was happening when we were planning the trip. We’d take a taxi through the streets of Rome and there was Frida’s iconic face on posters all over town. When we finally figured out what was being advertised, we carved time out of our schedule and went; ever since, we make a point of checking for such exhibitions when we travel. Sure enough, beginning on the eve of the 170th anniversary of his birth (8 October 2022) the Palazzo Bonaparte is hosting an exhibition of nearly 50 works from the Kröller Müller Museum di Otterlo (that’s in the Netherlands, don’t pretend you knew that already) dedicated to the genius of Van Gogh. The exhibition ends July 5, 2023. Spanning his lifetime, the exhibition was fantastic.

Augmented by letters to his brother and some paintings from his contemporaries, the viewer is firmly oriented to the artistic and social times. Van Gogh’s father threw him out of the home and he ended up basically teaching himself to draw well enough that could get accepted into a school was new (his troubles started young and he rarely had any mental support). The loss of the ear was clearly framed within the context of a violent, life-shattering argument with the painter Paul Gaughin, who accused Van Gogh of holding him back. The violent quarrel unhinged Van Gogh and resulted in his admission to the asylum.

Did you know he painted nearly 80 works in the last seventy days of his life? Or that he was only 37 years old when he committed suicide? The exhibition does a great job of showing how his style and vision evolved over the time he worked. His skill is evident in the early pieces, but they are only the smallest glimpse of his final expressive glory. If you’ve only seen his “Sunflowers”, for example, you cannot understand how his early works were so dark and dreary.

In his lifetime he sold only one painting. His first exhibition, ghoulishly, was the one hung on the walls of the inn where he died and was given a wake before burial. Known to all of the important artists of his time, he himself failed to see his genius.

To this day, no one knows why, after months of daily painting and a steady routine he chose instead to kill himself. Most shatteringly, he did so at the manure pile, reflecting his deep self-loathing and pain. All of this, you may have gathered, was described in the exhibition we saw and provided context to dozens of his works. Some from his early canon would be hard to guess were Van Gogh’s at all, if you didn’t have hints (like, say, his face projected 20 feet high on the side of the building), whereas the last half of the show, which spanned two floors of the Palazzo, just hit you, bang!, one after another with his signature intensity.

We spent the balance of the afternoon strolling circuitously back to our hotel, which means we poked around in the Forum as we traveled. For dinner this night we think we found the first place we ate on our first trip to Rome; the name “Ristorante al 34” didn’t completely ring a bell, but between that vague recollection and the sense memory of sitting down in the place, we think we nailed it. (And by “we”, we definitely mean “Lisa”. John doesn’t always remember yesterday’s dinner, asking him to go back 10+ years is really pushing it.) The meal itself was… fine. Like, seriously, it was ok. B-/C+, it just provided more evidence that we shouldn’t try to catch lightning in the same bottle twice. On our first visit, what always stood out to us was the experience of feeling defeated that we were eating in what we thought was a tourist-trap caliber restaurant but then having a cozy time in a joint full of locals. We especially remember that we ordered fish, then had the entire fish displayed to us (a new phenomenon for us back then) before the server expertly, and I mean expertly, reduced that fish to two perfect, boneless, fillets. We’ve only seen it done so well once since then, and that was in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris. This was just grampa helping out from the kitchen. Amazing. Anyway, we had a nice young man provide service and the food, particularly the artichoke served 3 ways, was tasty, but also not particularly memorable. Well, they can’t all be winners, right?

From there it was back to our hotel and then into bed on the early side – we can feel travel colds trying to get their talons into us so we’re trying to stave them off with beaucoup de sleepies. Allons-zzzzzzzz.

So, as our last post explained, the trip we had planned to take toward the end of January just kind of fizzled out. Boo. Thus, our actual kick-off to TravelFest 2023 is a 10-ish day excursion to Italy. For those unfamiliar with how our brains work, the planning for this trip went something like this: “I (Lisa) have always wanted to go to Carnival in Venice.” “Well, I (John) think that’s a great idea, but if we’re going to go to the trouble of packing our bags and getting on a plane, we might as well see other things, too, right?” And thus has trouble often emerged. This time, it feels like we kept things pretty well under control. It’s five days in Rome, followed by five days in Venice, then home. Nice and tight. I mean… it’s not really, not at all. More like, “it could have been so much worse.” But, hey! Rome! Neat, right?

By the standards of some of our trips, we got to wake up at an incredibly sane 7 AM to make our 8 AM bus for Porto. Brief diversion: buses are much more a part of our life than previously and certainly if you ignore daily work commutes. We now take the bus to *places*. [Granted, most of those places so far are the airport in Porto, but we have plans for more!] There are multiple bus companies in Portugal and, indeed, all over Europe. As a result, they have to be cleaner and cheaper than, say, Greyhound or else people will use the competition. We take an immaculate bus straight to the airport curbside for about eight bucks. Sadly (we think) the other end of the bus ride holds disappointment, as we have swallowed hard and booked our flight on Ryanair. As has been previously reported, we aren’t fans but, of course, they sing the siren song of low fares and we sailed right back to them. Cue our shock when we ended up having an acceptable experience! Despite the line for our flight not opening at the check-in counter for more than an hour after we arrived, a lovely attendant in a different line waved us over and checked us in! Might sound simple, but nothing was simple about Ryanair last time. We were able to meander through security, have a coffee as we saw fit, and get to our gate area with no trouble. Pre-boarding was also painless, except for a landmark event for John: a younger person gave up their seat so that he could sit down. John tried to wave it off, but the young man and his girlfriend insisted that he please take a seat next to Lisa. There was nothing for it but to sit down. Ouch. The flight itself was relatively painless, just the usual advertising pitches. (If you haven’t been on a Ryanair flight before, the cabin is festooned with marketing signage and they use the P.A. system to actively push “great values!” from the duty-free. It’s…. whatever. Life these days, I guess.)

We flew into Ciampino airport for the first time – it’s the Gatwick of Rome, if that makes any sense. In other words, there was a bus transfer to the train station followed by a 20 minute train ride to Rome’s Termini station. Yes, we know that’s like the soup du jour of the day or the ATM machine, but that’s the name of the thing. And not to be a broken record, but man is train travel lovely. None of this “outskirts of town” nonsense, you’re right in the heart of the city immediately. You’re also five minutes from the public streets, rather than circuitously navigating through a cavernous airport. Horses for courses and all that, but we do love a good train. The taxi stand in front of the station was actually a lot saner than we’re used to, and it was simplicity itself to book our ride to our home for the next few days, the Palm Suite. The location is phenomenal. This is not a budget accommodation; we don’t often go for luxury, but we will occasionally pay for access/location, and we are in the middle of everything.

After a day of travel we did not feel like doing much in the way of tourism, but just getting to dinner for the evening caused us to circle around the Colosseum, so … yeah. Beautiful. Our meal was at Contrario, or at least one of them. They have a Bistro and a “Vineria con Cucina” which translates, I believe, into “booze and nummies.” Whatever we’re calling it, we had a dang fine meal. It was only a little odd at first because we’d specifically told the concierge that we’d be eating all sorts of adventurous things this week and could we just start off with a straight-down-the-middle, traditional Italian joint. What we got was Italian classics juged up with modern sensibilities. Whatever we’re calling it, it was a truly delicious meal. We began by sharing a dish of Giuarda (Jewish) style artichokes (deep fried) with a Taleggio cheese fondue which was fantastic. But the standout may have been the pasta course we shared, a manicotti with minced sausage (Norcia) and a sauce of roman peccorino cheese and broccoli that had been pureed into almost non-existence and yet still infused everything with flavor. Hard to describe but bonkers good. John had a dish from the day’s specials — veal saltimboca, perfectly prepared and flavorful. Lisa had the beef cheek, meltingly tender and rich, served over mashed potatoes. They had an Amarone della Valpolicella Classico for 10eu/ glass, which was a perfect choice. But Lisa notes that they take their wine seriously and have a binder of options — 50 pages! So this is a great place to explore a variety of wines under the guidance of the knowledgeable staff. This was as good an end to a day as we were going to get, and we knew it. A lovely walk back home and into bed.

The rest of Rome awaits!

All the time we were describing our itinerary through Italy we were careful to say that we were deliberately leaving room to make changes. What’s the saying? Be careful what you wish for?

Yesterday we had a great visit at the Tarot Garden (y’all saw those crazy pics) and then went on to our final Italy destination — a thermal spring spa.

But when we arrived I (to put it bluntly) freaked. I was unprepared for the serious sulfur smell (my bad), the heated pool was fine, but not a pool-pool, our room was TINY, and the people were . . . how to put this? . . . Wishing they were Wealthy and playing at being Beautiful. SO NOT OUR SPACE. I sat on the bed and just kind of dissolved into a puddle of ‘this is a suckey way to spend our last days, I made a Huge Mistake, eff eff eff!”

And he hung in there, through his own disappointment and upsetness, through my whinging, and just kind of held on to reality in his own sturdy way.

(I don’t lose my sh*t very often, but its really messy when I do.)

So I finally had a shower and we walked the grounds and talked . . . and decided to ditch that place in the morning and go back to Rome. (One addition: its turned very autumn-y here, so the nights are chilly. All the pools are outdoors, and I literally haven’t had a swim this whole time. So my fantasy of a swim has been unfulfilled.)

I took a flyer on an apt a bit further north than we’ve stayed before (by a neighborhood) and we went to dinner.

Our place is FANTASTIC. We made exactly the right decision. And while it was a team effort, super props to John for hanging in there and helping me find my way to making a big change.

Just saying.

(April 24, 2014)

We woke up this morning to a strong sense of ‘this vacation is over.’ Three weeks is a long lovely time, but now we’re just into the muck of it: getting home. Today we’ll go from Venice to Rome airport; tomorrow is the actual flight.

*sadness*

At the station my darling husband abandoned me at a cafe so that he could run over to the postale to mail our last batch of postcards. Fortunately, the couple sitting next to us, Celia and Charles, turned out to be a lovely couple from Enumclaw. We chatted about the ‘hawks, traveling, and found we had many similarities in common. They were just starting their trip of Venice, Florence, and Rome — basically our in reverse. They’ve been to Italy several times already (lucky ducks!) and we had a great time sharing stories.

The train ride was uneventful, always a good thing. We’d brought some provisions with us, so lunch was a bit of a picnic of parma ham, cheese, bread w/ raisins, and leftover pizza.

As promised, the Rome Airport Hilton is attached to the airport, and about a 20 min walk from the train station. Aside from the fact that our room was cleaned with some kind of ‘fresh scent’ product that was pretty overwhelming, it’s a lovely room. A real king bed, and a real bath/shower combo. (We really missed a good bathroom. Which is ridiculous, I know.)

We were hungry, so we popped downstairs for dinner: a shared ham & cheese plate; pappardelle with shrimp and mushrooms for me, beef ravioli in a bacon onion sauce for J. Both very good. The prices were typical hotel-surcharge, but not outrageous, and the portions were large. After that,we retired to our room and watched Dr. Who until bedtime.

Our last night in Italy.

(April 5, 2014)

This was the one day we *had* to wake up early, and we deliberately planned it for the first day of the trip, figuring that jet lag would have us all messed up anyway so lets just get it out of the way.

Sure enough, it was very hard to wake up at 6am, have brekkies, and then walk 25 mins or so to meet our guide from Walks of Italy (walksofitaly.com) to do our tour. Guido was prompt, and handed out earpieces and audio radios (not really, but I don’t know what else to call them — live audio guides?). This gave us about a 50-foot range from him while still being able to hear him clearly. Which, as it turns out, was necessary for those of us who wanted to take pictures.

They had advertised being able to get into the Chapel and Museum before anyone else, but this was not true. We were, however, one of the first groups in, and being small (7 people, all Americans), were more maneuverable while being given a great deal of knowledge. The walls of Vatican City are something like 500 years old, and they are in really great shape. The entrance to the museum was surprisingly modern, complete with x-ray machines and metal detectors for bags and people. Guido got our tickets (included in the tour price) and off we went  . . . through a very narrow series of hallways and stairs, completely at odds with the modern entrance. As was explained, we were now in the Apostolic Residence itself, in corridors built around where the people who lived there walked and worked. Kind of a servant’s corridors made for tourists.

We basically made a beeline for the Sistine Chapel so we could have as much time in there as possible. Apparently the security guards have the mandate to keep the flow of traffic moving, so when it gets crowded, they will literally tell people to move along — even if that means your visit is literally just walking through, no stopping. Which would be a HUGE waste, because the Chapel is truly a marvel. Absolutely no pictures allowed, btw, not even a selfie. Turns out that when the Chapel was restored a couple of decades ago, part of the deal was that the restoration company gained copyright to ALL of the images in the chapel. (Corynne, are you paying attention to that?) So the Church owns the building, but not the images.

Everyone’s seen the image of Adam being brought to life by the hand of God, yes? It’s literally the centerpiece of the ceiling. Personally, I think it’s not the best image Michelangelo created. No, that honor goes to his Prophet Jonah, which sits to one side of the chapel, anchoring that wall, if you will. It’s so very 3d that I truly wondered whether it was painted on plaster sculpted from the wall; but no, it’s just very very well done.

Another favorite was the creation of Eve:

And all of the sibyls were amazing.

(these pics are from online, because of the copyright restriction)

All told, we were probably in there close to an hour and it was pretty uncrowded. Eventually, however, the guards told us to move along. Let me tell you, we went through the Chapel again on our way out a few hours later, after the ‘regular’ hours had begun, and it was VERY crowded. This tour is the BEST idea, and at four hours, just the right length or time.

The Vatican is also amazing. We walked down corridors lined with painted wooden wardrobes that were 100s of years old and had originally held the books in the Library. (The Library is, as Dan Brown accurately wrote, only accessible to scholars and by permission and lies behind a formidable bullet-proof glass wall. Not to mention the essential airlessness of the place as they work to conserve fragile paper 1000s of years old.) Now the wardrobes hold stuff that rotates into various cases to be displayed. The things we saw may not be seen by you if you visit, which is moderately fascinating.

Highlights: There is a room full of tapestries designed by Raphael. In a lovely moment of connections, we saw the cartoons of those tapestries in an unforgettable visit to the British Museum on our first trip together (April 2007).

There are a couple of rooms we walked by that contained nothing but sculptures of animals — most of them just exquisitely portrayed. The museum has a huge collection of ‘modern’ works of art by a huge variety of artists. It’s a bit confusing, except that the single theme — Jesus, Mary, and/or Holy Spirit — holds it all together. Dali, Matisse, modern artists I don’t even recognize. It was a brilliant collection of how ‘modern’ artists see the major icons of this religion.*  (We lost J. here for a bit when he discovered the Matisse pieces.) There are rooms dedicated to saints and the paintings and such found in each one are incredible. Most of all, remember that the exhibits can rotate, so multiple visits over the years would give you more things to see.

Finally, we went to St. Peter’s Basilica. Which is, mostly, huge. Oh, and filled with Bernini’s. (She said offhandedly.)  BERNINI’s plural. Which is enough grand and glorious art to fill your soul for years, but came at the end of so much beauty that we were nearly stuffed to overflowing. I can’t imagine anyone looking at his works and saying ‘meh’, and I don’t think I can say anything about him that you don’t already know. Bernini’s sculptures make Michelangelo look bad, maybe that captures it. All I know is that I wish there were chairs in the Basilica (other than the pews), so I could have taken a (beautiful) rest and opened my soul further.

(*J. and I both had a moment of ‘really, does *everything* in this tour have to be about religion?’ and then realized that yes, the whole of the Museum was about religion, in one  way or another. So we laughed at ourselves, and then again later when comparing notes.)

We left the Basilica and sent a postcard to Connor from the Vatican post office. Family duties done, we went looking for lunch. I’d heard of a pizza place up over the hill, and it was about a 30 minute walk to get there . . . only to discover that it was more of a ‘joint’ than a sit-down place. Not at all what we were looking for, or needed, (Our feet were hurting, plainly said.) So we walked back over the hill, and ate just outside the Museum entrance, thereby breaking every rule we follow when traveling.

Fortunately, our meal at Caffe Vatican was quite good, mostly because we did NOT accept the waiter’s advice to order from their ‘main’ menu, which offered steak and potatoes, baked salmon, and spaghetti with meatballs. Clearly designed for tourists. Instead we went with sparkling water and a margherita pizza. Perfectly good and easy. The feet hadn’t quite recovered, so we took a taxi (conveniently from just across the street) and went home for a nap.

Three hours later we were quite recovered, so we walked out into the neighborhood and over to San Lorenzo-Lucia Square for a cup of tea, a glass of wine, and lots of water at Vitta. We’d had enough sun for the day, so we were happy to sit inside and watch the locals drink their espressos from tiny cups, maybe with a bit of pastry or gelato, talking nonstop, and then leave. It’s a very fast culture in many ways, and watching the afternoon ‘tea’ is a great way to see it in motion.

Around 7:30 we walked over towards the Tiber again, and with a bit of help from Google maps (yay technology!) made our way to the GLORIOUS restaurant known as Il Convivo Troilani. We were a bit dismayed to be the first to arrive, but others soon came, so we weren’t too far off norm. Eric was our waiter and he knew a lot of English, so it was great to have the various aspects of the dishes explained to us, and we could be a bit more adventurous in our ordering. I was able to do the thing I love most (other than eat, of course) — I ordered, and then asked the sommelier to pair each course with a glass of wine he thought would go best. This ALWAYS leads me to gorgeous and wonderful wine pairings, and is much more interesting that just trying to choose a bottle to go with every course. He was delighted, actually, and talked to me a lot (in broken English) about what I was drinking and the ‘notes’ I would find. Truly wonderful. (And yes, I wrote to them the next day and asked for the list so I can try to find them at home.)   We were served two amuse bouches while enjoying a glass of ‘local’ white wine. (Didn’t get the name of it, unfortunately, it may be a very small pressing with no label.) J. had the artichoke ‘Il Convivo’ — deep fried heart with some leaves forming a flower (no breading); meat ravioli; and sole with mashed Jerusalem artichoke and melon. I had deep fried anchovies, fish ravioli, and ‘All the Pigeon’ — two dishes served one after the other. The first was a slice of pigeon carpaccio from the breast (I think), and a bite of pigeon liver pate. The second plate was made up of roasted breast and thigh, in a berry sauce.

Il Convivo Troilani reminded me a great deal of Le Taillevant in Paris, and Le Bernadin in New York. The service was exquisite, attentive, and unobtrusive. The food was perfection, with every ingredient designed to bring out the maximum and best aspects of the food itself. J’s sole, for example — the melon was unexpected, but its honey-like sweetness was a delightful addition to the dish, bringing out the earthy sourness of the artichoke and linking it beautifully to the sole. Meals like this are why we love to eat (and why we need to exercise!) — beautifully prepared and utterly delicious.

We had a lovely walk home, and fell into bed; a soul-satisfying day on many levels.

Up too early, but no problems getting to the airport and onto the first leg of our trip. J. and I are packing one carryon and a messenger bag. We’ve got a duffle bag for ‘just in case,’ travel size pillows (from Biosense), the big camera, and all of our swanky new electronics (Surface and Kindle).

For the trip we each packed with care:

Lisa

• 8 shirts, incl the one I’m wearing to travel and a ‘nice’ blouse (for going out to dinner)
• 8 sets of underwear
• 4 prs socks (Smartwool), incl one pair that are very low and will do instead of pantyhose for going out
• 6 pr pantyhose
• Cross body leather purse (for when I won’t be bringing my camera – mostly dinners)
• 3 pr pants
• 1 long skirt
• 1 scarf
• Makeup bag
• Toiletries (2 bags, one with liquids)
• 2^nd pr shoes (dressier)
• Tshirt for ‘night gown’
• (5) books

John

• 5 shirts (incl travel)
• 3 pants
• 2^nd pr shoes
• 6 undershirts and shorts
• ‘jammies’ (tshirt and loose pants for lounging around in)
• 3 pr socks
• Toiletries (liquids)

And that is it! We deliberately pack light, ever since our early days of traveling when we tried to pack for the entire trip, and had such a difficult time with our luggage that most of the fun went away. Now we pack the minimum, and even then my books are an extravagance. I discard them as we go, so I end up with more room at the end (souvenirs!) but the Kindle may replace them.

Maybe.

*shrug* what can I say, I like books and I really don’t like the idea of paying retail for books I already own, just so I can get them electronically. I’ve looked, and most of the books I would want are $7-$9 for the e version – and that just seems like a rip-off. So maybe the library will come through for me.

Our flight was no problem, same for the change in IAD. Nine hours is a long time, and if you can, upgrade to Business Class. We save our miles to be able to do so, and have nothing but good things to say about United’s international service. The seats go flat, have power, lots of entertainment, and they serve real food.  Sadly, I didn’t really sleep more than a few hours, so I was running on fumes when we landed.

Now, let me tell you that the passport control line at FCO was the worst I have ever seen. We waited nearly an hour just to get our passports stamped. And were clearly one of the few planes that had landed. so, be warned. Having no luggage, we just walked through customs, and then past baggage claim, where we were met by our driver, Gustaf. It was a bit of an indulgence, but for 50 euros we were driven into the city and directly to our lodging. Less than a taxi, much more than a train.

I booked the driver when I booked our lodging, btw. And the lodging came through Cross-Pollinate (www.cross-pollinate.com). We’re staying at Casa Gigli (http://www.cross-pollinate.com/rome/bed-and-breakfast/2148/Casa-Gigli) and it is GREAT for the price (85 euro/night). That said, there is no place to sit and read a book other than  our bed, the shower is miniscule, and our bed is not great. (We’ve had worse, but this is no compliment.) The location is fantastic, and its very, very quiet. We wouldn’t stay here again, but I would recommend it in general, if that makes sense? I would say that the description is very accurate, so that is important.

We both were tired when we finally got in, so J. went out for provisions (cheese, bread, fruit) so that our breakfasts would be taken care of, I unpacked our clothes into the wardrobe . . . and then we set the alarm and went to sleep for three hours. Man it was hard to wake up again at 3pm! But there was no way we could have slept any longer without really messing with our bioclocks. Besides, we had things to see!

And see them, we did. I’m calling it the ‘Dan Brown tour’ because I pulled a bunch of gorgeous sites from his books, and had a lot of fun telling J. the narratives as we were walking around. Because it was so late, I had to skip Santa Maria del Popolo, but otherwise we hit the Pantheon, the Piazza Navona, the Trevi Fountain, and the Spanish Steps (not in that order, actually). It was a perfect intro to the city, didn’t require anything other than our feet and my maps.

The Pantheon is always billed as a wondrous pre-Christian temple . . . and it is. But it’s ALSO a Catholic Church. All the Pagan stuff is gone.

The Piazza Navona is a huge open air ‘market’ — code for peddlers selling stuff. At first I was delighted to see what I thought were hand-drawn watercolors of Rome . . . but after a bit of walking around I realized I was seeing the exact same images sold by dozens of people. Clearly they aren’t ‘real’ but manufactured by slaves in China. So, be warned.

The Fountain in Piazza Navona is just lovely.

Along the way, we discovered The Colonne, THE Column. We didn’t understand the title until we saw it, and then it made sense.

Look closer: that ‘carving’ is incredibly detailed. We need to remember to find out just what it means and why it’s here.

The Trevi Fountain was three deep in tourists. April is apparently not the slow time in Rome.

It’s just gorgeous, and full of detail.

We ended at the Spanish Steps, where I’d hoped we would have a drink at the Palm Court in the Hotel Hassler. Sadly, it was still closed for the weather. But we had time to kill before dinner, so we stayed and had a drink in their Salone Eva instead. Hotel prices (ouch), but accompanied by a trio of olives, nuts, and veg chips, all of which were delicious, and did a perfect job of priming us for dinner.

Dinner was at Ristorante  34, just down from the Spanish Steps. It’s a bit touristy, but not in a way that made us feel like tourists. Mostly, the food was very good! We started with a shared plate of burrata cheese and culatello ham — sort of a non-salty prosciutto. Then I had a divine plate of pumpkin gnocchi in a cheese sauce. The gnocchi were tender and sweet and the sauce rich and slightly spicy. J. had a pasta ‘carbonara’ which was also delicious. The pasta was a thick, short noodle rather than the typical spaghetti, and I think it held the sauce gorgeously. For my main, I had a lovely sole muniere and he had meatballs Roman style — with celery, tomato, and sweet peppers. My sole was delicious, the spinach not being at all metallic and flavored with lemon; his meatballs were tender and tiny, not at all like the ones we see ‘back home’. My wine was the house red, a montelpuciano d’abruzzo (which I think is just telling me where it is from rather than a winery and/or vintage); a liter for 11 euros.

We walked home and fell into bed, preparing for the next day and an early morning tour of the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican Museum.