The Caesar Shuffle OR Ethan Gets a Sunburn
Rome may not have been built in a day, but, on this trip, that´s how long the ancient city got. Rome was my introduction to Europe and international travel nearly ten years ago, so there was a part of me that needed to go back. However, there really wasn´t too much I had to see. The Colosseum, which was closed when we visited, and the Roman Forum were my two necessities. And maybe some time in Piazza Navona, taking in the street performers, before I hop an overnight train to somewhere. That was the plan.
Well, I began my day in Rome oversleeping my alarm. By the time I got down to breakfast (the hostel had a heck of a spread!), it was already 10:30am. Great, I thought, I´m going to be a "mad dog" today, sunning myself in midday brutality. I hopped the Metro, popped out at the Colosseo stop, and hoped for the best.
Perhaps the thing I had not expected on this trip to Rome is how very much four years of Latin changes your perceptions. As I strolled through the Forum, dutifully listening to the audio guide that explains the ruins, I began to forget about the heat. What is that inscription? I bent over the stone and, as the radio attached to my ear spewed dates and facts, the wheels of my brain started turning. Something about marriage, freedom... they´re using the possessive... ok, so this was made for a wedding, and it´s dedicated to the freedom of the Roman empire. Yes! Screw the heat, I´m communicating with ancient Romans, even if I can barely make their scratchings out. I scurried around the Forum for four hours, gaping at inscriptions, listening in on guided tours and doing my darndest to be an Ancient Roman for a day. I hopped over the the Colosseum and walked the aisles, imagining what it must have been like to see so much blood spilled in such an immense theater. Peering into the central pit, I wondered what it would have been like to be an actor in this arena, knowing full well that your career would go out in a blaze of bloody glory. Talk about acting as a tough career!
Before I knew it, it was 17:00 and I was hungry. I raced back to my hostel -- near the train station -- grabbed lunch and then headed to get in line for a train reservation. Vienna might be a nice stop, I imagined, hearing strains of Mozart in teh back of my head. And what´s this? There´s a train that leaves at 19:40. PERFECT! I´ll have to skip Piazza Navona, but that can go on the "next trip" list. I stand in line, perusing my guidebooks and getting in a Viennese state of mind.
At 19:26, I finally get to a ticket agent. So much for Vienna! But I have no hostel reservation in Rome, so where am I going? The ticket agent looks at me bewildered, grunts and says, "There´s an overnight train to Munich leaving in an hour. You want?" "Sure," I shout, handing over my €20 and snatching the reservation out of his hands. Always, always, always say yes.
I race through the terminal, looking for a place to grab a bite to eat. All I can see open at this hour is perhaps the ultimate international food: McDonalds. Determined that my last meal in Italy will not be any sort of fast food (and certainly not something as foul as the Golden Arches), I race outside, bags and all, and duck into a tiny self-service place. Nothing is recognizable and nobody speaks English. I stare, smell and point my way into a rice salad, assuming it will be cheap and tasty. And I could not have been more right! It´s the perfect Ethan food, with marinated "Roman" artichokes, olives, heart of palm and anything else that´s been pickled in brine. I ate greedily, downed my qurater liter of wine, shouted "ciao" to my hosts and hopped onto the train.
The conductor on the train decided he liked me. I think it had something to do with the fact that the last name ends in a vowel. Regardless, he decided to test my Italian and we had a marvelous, if stilted and unsophisticated, conversation. However, wishing me a good night, he slapped me on the upper back and walked off to his chamber. OUCH!! I raced to the bathroom, in search of the source of this great back pain. And I discovered, to my great surprise, that the Roman excursion granted me what may be the third or forth sunburn of my life. Perhaps its the price one pays for "doing Rome in a day." My Colosseum battle scar, we´ll call it. Regardless, the train ride, already stuffy and warm with a busted AC and locked window, was a substantially more painful than usual and, when I got to Munich, the first order of business was a nap. And a long, cold shower.
Oh Roma!
Well, I began my day in Rome oversleeping my alarm. By the time I got down to breakfast (the hostel had a heck of a spread!), it was already 10:30am. Great, I thought, I´m going to be a "mad dog" today, sunning myself in midday brutality. I hopped the Metro, popped out at the Colosseo stop, and hoped for the best.
Perhaps the thing I had not expected on this trip to Rome is how very much four years of Latin changes your perceptions. As I strolled through the Forum, dutifully listening to the audio guide that explains the ruins, I began to forget about the heat. What is that inscription? I bent over the stone and, as the radio attached to my ear spewed dates and facts, the wheels of my brain started turning. Something about marriage, freedom... they´re using the possessive... ok, so this was made for a wedding, and it´s dedicated to the freedom of the Roman empire. Yes! Screw the heat, I´m communicating with ancient Romans, even if I can barely make their scratchings out. I scurried around the Forum for four hours, gaping at inscriptions, listening in on guided tours and doing my darndest to be an Ancient Roman for a day. I hopped over the the Colosseum and walked the aisles, imagining what it must have been like to see so much blood spilled in such an immense theater. Peering into the central pit, I wondered what it would have been like to be an actor in this arena, knowing full well that your career would go out in a blaze of bloody glory. Talk about acting as a tough career!
Before I knew it, it was 17:00 and I was hungry. I raced back to my hostel -- near the train station -- grabbed lunch and then headed to get in line for a train reservation. Vienna might be a nice stop, I imagined, hearing strains of Mozart in teh back of my head. And what´s this? There´s a train that leaves at 19:40. PERFECT! I´ll have to skip Piazza Navona, but that can go on the "next trip" list. I stand in line, perusing my guidebooks and getting in a Viennese state of mind.
At 19:26, I finally get to a ticket agent. So much for Vienna! But I have no hostel reservation in Rome, so where am I going? The ticket agent looks at me bewildered, grunts and says, "There´s an overnight train to Munich leaving in an hour. You want?" "Sure," I shout, handing over my €20 and snatching the reservation out of his hands. Always, always, always say yes.
I race through the terminal, looking for a place to grab a bite to eat. All I can see open at this hour is perhaps the ultimate international food: McDonalds. Determined that my last meal in Italy will not be any sort of fast food (and certainly not something as foul as the Golden Arches), I race outside, bags and all, and duck into a tiny self-service place. Nothing is recognizable and nobody speaks English. I stare, smell and point my way into a rice salad, assuming it will be cheap and tasty. And I could not have been more right! It´s the perfect Ethan food, with marinated "Roman" artichokes, olives, heart of palm and anything else that´s been pickled in brine. I ate greedily, downed my qurater liter of wine, shouted "ciao" to my hosts and hopped onto the train.
The conductor on the train decided he liked me. I think it had something to do with the fact that the last name ends in a vowel. Regardless, he decided to test my Italian and we had a marvelous, if stilted and unsophisticated, conversation. However, wishing me a good night, he slapped me on the upper back and walked off to his chamber. OUCH!! I raced to the bathroom, in search of the source of this great back pain. And I discovered, to my great surprise, that the Roman excursion granted me what may be the third or forth sunburn of my life. Perhaps its the price one pays for "doing Rome in a day." My Colosseum battle scar, we´ll call it. Regardless, the train ride, already stuffy and warm with a busted AC and locked window, was a substantially more painful than usual and, when I got to Munich, the first order of business was a nap. And a long, cold shower.
Oh Roma!
posted by Ethan at 6:25 PM
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