Since there was no direct flight from Split to Nice, Christy and I "had" to stop through in Rome for a night... I suppose it goes without saying that our stay there was somewhat less eventful than our stay in Croatia, but we still had a great time... especially considering that we randomly booked our hotel from the airport computer in Split (4 hours before we checked-in), on a keyboard that was so complicated, I had to ask the people around me three times to identify specific keys for me. Yup... not something I recommend trying to do when you are exhausted and surrounded by irritated, rushed people in the middle of a Croatian airport.
That aside, the journey to Rome was easy and when we got off the plane, we walked (well, Christy walked and I limped) over to an information booth to ask about the best way to get to our hotel. "You are girls. You should take taxi; it is less work," suggested the man behind the counter... The gorgeous Italian man. I have to admit that comments like that normally annoy me, but to be quite honest, someone could tell me that I look like a miserable, fat gorilla, and if it is said with an Italian accent, I probably wont so much as even bat an eyelash. Well, I'd bat my eyelashes... but in a different way.
Anyway, we decided to heed the man's advice and we were at the hotel in no time. (One of the great things about Rome is that it is a flat rate to and from the airport by cab). We walked (and limped) into the hotel lobby where the concierge gave us the good old-fashioned once over. It was clear from his expression (let's be real, he didn't even try to hide it) that he, too, agreed with our previous assertion that we looked homeless (see: below post). To add the cherry to the homeless sundae, these two raggedy people (if you could even call us that at this point) had booked their room from a random Croatian IP address only hours before... but it obviously doesn't end there.
I looked down, as I could not bare to face the concierge, and noticed in the meantime that my leg was bleeding. Well, that can't be good, I thought. Not only did the concierge have two homeless-looking foreigners walking into his hotel, but one of them was actually injured, bleeding and obviously unaware of it.
After checking in, we decided that we should spare no time in getting my leg examined, and after a few minutes of deliberating with the less than amused concierge, we wandered (limped) out of the hotel and into the nearest pharmacy to see what they could do for me... and we were met with looks of sheer bewilderment. The three elderly Italian pharmacists deliberated for some time, with Christy and I making pathetic attempts to communicate to them what exactly had happened to me (mind you, I fell flat on my face upon entering the pharmacy, so it wasn't that hard to figure out). I received a long lecture from one of the pharmacists in broken English about how I should have been responsible enough to go to the hospital to get stitches the previous day, while the other two sat behind her shaking their heads at me and occasionally interjecting in angry Italian... I'm sure they were interjections that I'd rather not have understood (and I'd probably have ignored them anyway). It was decided that Christy would have to mend my wound herself, as we barely had time to go to the hospital. And, more importantly, going to the hospital would leave us without time to do the one thing we came to Rome to do: carbo-load.
So, we returned to our hotel, carrying half of the contents of the pharmacy in our hands, and tended to my leg. Once that was done, and we upgraded our appearances from homeless-looking to "if I squint really hard, they might actually be cute girls", there was nothing left to do but eat. We found a good, local restaurant upon recommendation from our concierge, staffed by gorgeous Italian men, all of whom, Christy later found out, aspired to move to New York and become actors. How original. Benvenute a Roma.
Our would-be dinner was amazing: focaccia pizza bread, gnocchi with tomato sauce, spaghetti bolognese... The thought of it now makes my mouth water with a kind of depression that only accompanies the memory of a meal I never actually ate. True to my damaged form on this trip so far, I ended up really only being able to enjoy about half of the meal before having to go home. I was feeling sorry for myself after the traumatic experience of watching Christy tend to my wound, and had decided to pop back some of the painkillers begrudgingly given to me by the pharmacists... on an empty stomach. The after-shock was less than enjoyable. I went back to the hotel to rest up for the next day of touring Rome, and waited in bed for Christy, still feeling sorry for myself. Two hours later, she stumbled back into the room, teeth glowing red from the bottle of wine she was "forced" to consume by herself, due to my absence. Needless to say, the banter than ensued wasn't exactly PG-rated... Christy: tipsy, contentedly full, and in love with the six waiters who befriended her when I left; me: starving, miserable, and pain medicine pumping through my veins. So, I'll fast-forward to the next day... a happier day... for everyone's sake.
One of my favourite things about Rome is how small it is compared to London. Our hotel was in North Rome, not far from the famous Colosseum, so we decided to spend our morning touring the city on foot. We woke up and decided that the first thing we had to do was get some traditional Italian coffee from the nearby cafe. Once we were satisfyingly awake (read: bouncing off the walls), we started our journey to the Trevi Fountain, which was the only famous site in Rome I hadn't seen before. Now, Italian coffee is some of the strongest I've ever had, so our planned "stroll" around Rome was more of a jittered sprint... with my injured leg and all. Doctors should prescribe caffeine in lieu of pain-killers for every minor injury, in my opinion. It was the first time since getting to Rome that I wasn't sitting around feeling sorry for myself... in fact, I was running around feeling sorry for everyone else around me who hadn't enjoyed such a wonderful start to their day. I was no longer a tortured soul, and Rome was the perfect place to lift my sprits.
We walked (ran) to the Trevi Fountain, where we found it impossible to toss coins into the famed water... there were too many tourists obstructing the area. I thought that with patience and careful aim, I'd be able to avoid the heads towering over me and land my coin into the fountain... but Christy advised me not to try... Knowing my luck, I'd hit someone. (Plus, the coffee was giving me too much confidence.) So, we walked back towards the Colosseum, both pretending to be too cool to acknowledge the tourist traps waiting for us there in the form of dressed up Roman warriors. And a couple of hours and a few stunning cathedrals later, we were back at our hotel and ready to say goodbye to Rome after our adventurous morning.
Injury aside, those few hours in Rome were wonderful. It is a really beautiful city full of fascinating history, and one that I would recommend that everyone go see at least once in their life. The people are some of the nicest in the world, the food some of the most delicious, and the history some of the most interesting... to sum it up in a nutshell. I also remember this specific trip fondly, as it was the calmest 24 hours that Christy and I had during our entire vacation.... You see, after Rome, we went straight to the French Riviera.... and what we thought would be a relaxing week with my family ended up being quite the opposite... but more to come on that...
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| Its Rome, I had to have a picture of pizza somewhere |
Anyway, we decided to heed the man's advice and we were at the hotel in no time. (One of the great things about Rome is that it is a flat rate to and from the airport by cab). We walked (and limped) into the hotel lobby where the concierge gave us the good old-fashioned once over. It was clear from his expression (let's be real, he didn't even try to hide it) that he, too, agreed with our previous assertion that we looked homeless (see: below post). To add the cherry to the homeless sundae, these two raggedy people (if you could even call us that at this point) had booked their room from a random Croatian IP address only hours before... but it obviously doesn't end there.
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| The street where the hotel was |
After checking in, we decided that we should spare no time in getting my leg examined, and after a few minutes of deliberating with the less than amused concierge, we wandered (limped) out of the hotel and into the nearest pharmacy to see what they could do for me... and we were met with looks of sheer bewilderment. The three elderly Italian pharmacists deliberated for some time, with Christy and I making pathetic attempts to communicate to them what exactly had happened to me (mind you, I fell flat on my face upon entering the pharmacy, so it wasn't that hard to figure out). I received a long lecture from one of the pharmacists in broken English about how I should have been responsible enough to go to the hospital to get stitches the previous day, while the other two sat behind her shaking their heads at me and occasionally interjecting in angry Italian... I'm sure they were interjections that I'd rather not have understood (and I'd probably have ignored them anyway). It was decided that Christy would have to mend my wound herself, as we barely had time to go to the hospital. And, more importantly, going to the hospital would leave us without time to do the one thing we came to Rome to do: carbo-load.
So, we returned to our hotel, carrying half of the contents of the pharmacy in our hands, and tended to my leg. Once that was done, and we upgraded our appearances from homeless-looking to "if I squint really hard, they might actually be cute girls", there was nothing left to do but eat. We found a good, local restaurant upon recommendation from our concierge, staffed by gorgeous Italian men, all of whom, Christy later found out, aspired to move to New York and become actors. How original. Benvenute a Roma.
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| Alive at last |
Our would-be dinner was amazing: focaccia pizza bread, gnocchi with tomato sauce, spaghetti bolognese... The thought of it now makes my mouth water with a kind of depression that only accompanies the memory of a meal I never actually ate. True to my damaged form on this trip so far, I ended up really only being able to enjoy about half of the meal before having to go home. I was feeling sorry for myself after the traumatic experience of watching Christy tend to my wound, and had decided to pop back some of the painkillers begrudgingly given to me by the pharmacists... on an empty stomach. The after-shock was less than enjoyable. I went back to the hotel to rest up for the next day of touring Rome, and waited in bed for Christy, still feeling sorry for myself. Two hours later, she stumbled back into the room, teeth glowing red from the bottle of wine she was "forced" to consume by herself, due to my absence. Needless to say, the banter than ensued wasn't exactly PG-rated... Christy: tipsy, contentedly full, and in love with the six waiters who befriended her when I left; me: starving, miserable, and pain medicine pumping through my veins. So, I'll fast-forward to the next day... a happier day... for everyone's sake.
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| Fontana di Trevi |
We walked (ran) to the Trevi Fountain, where we found it impossible to toss coins into the famed water... there were too many tourists obstructing the area. I thought that with patience and careful aim, I'd be able to avoid the heads towering over me and land my coin into the fountain... but Christy advised me not to try... Knowing my luck, I'd hit someone. (Plus, the coffee was giving me too much confidence.) So, we walked back towards the Colosseum, both pretending to be too cool to acknowledge the tourist traps waiting for us there in the form of dressed up Roman warriors. And a couple of hours and a few stunning cathedrals later, we were back at our hotel and ready to say goodbye to Rome after our adventurous morning.
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| Too many tourists at the fountain |
You were there when I was! I wish I had hung out with you guys...your adventures sound fit for a telenovela
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