La Dolce Vita in Rome

Back in 1974, I was a strappin' 18-year-old high school graduate who was just beginning to taste his lifelong fascination and obsession with independent travel. With an external frame backpack, I—like tens of thousands of other German teenagers—bought an Interrail ticket that gave me a month's worth of unlimited train travel in most of Europe. Actually, I bought two tickets for 60 days of travel, with a two-week interval between them to really make it a summer.

And so I ended up in Rome, the first time.

Fast forward half a century, and I once again arrived in the Eternal City, this time via a First Class flight from Dallas to London and then a short hop from the UK down to Fiumicino airport. Back in 1974 I had found a bunk in a shared room in a pensione, and there's a story to that which you can ask me about in private conversation over a beer. This time around, I had reserved an Airbnb that cost more than the entire two-and-a-half months of travel in 1974, including the eventual medical expenses incurred by contracting (and curing) paratyphoid fever in Morocco. Oh, how the times have changed!

Now, at age 68, creature comforts are a little higher on the list and pinching pennies is no longer the only mantra. My apartment was located in the heart of what is referred to as centro storico, the historical center. Old town is a maze of tiny cobbled streets, often so narrow that car drivers will have to exit their vehicle to push a bike or Vespa right against a house wall to somehow squeak by. Unless you happen to live in one of the neighborhoods, you're not allowed to drive a car into the center of town.

Bella figura!

All along, the plan had been for Birgit to join me. Alas, after domestic issues had already shortened the time she was going to spend in Italy by two days, Germany's airport workers once again went on strike and her flight was cancelled with no viable alternatives. So there we went again....

But life is good at dishing out bad luck and positive twists of fate in mysterious ways. As it turned out, my long-time friend Sabine had planned to visit her childhood friend Susanne and her husband, Sven, who have been living for about 30 years on the northern outskirts of Rome. We found out about this coincidence just days beforehand, and so we planned to meet up and at least have lunch, almost four years to the day after our hasty departure from Mallorca at the beginning of the pandemic. Crazy, crazy.

Before the trip I had worked out a general schedule of what Birgit and I wanted to visit, taking into consideration that some sights are closed on certain days while others may have special operating hours on the weekends. Rome attracts vast numbers of tourists, and even though the middle of March isn't exactly high season, internet resources recommend buying entry tickets well in advance. With the last-minute cancellation of Birgit's trip some of the tickets (such as the one to the Vatican museums and the Sistine chapel) could no longer be annulled, yet thanks to Sabine's deus ex machina appearance at least that money wasn't wasted. (For those interested, I booked three tours/tickets through Viator as they had the best availability in regard to times and type of tour; some other tickets for self-guided tours I bought while in Rome, but always ahead of time as buying-on-the-spot will invariably mean you stand in a long, two-hour line to get your ticket. Do yourself a favor, spend the extra few bucks and get skip-the-line access.)

It is hard to pinpoint a particular monument as my favorite. The sheer immensity of archaeological sites, churches, and plazas creates a whole that is, simply, Rome. Still, the Colosseum was maybe one notch above everything else. It has such a presence, such grandeur. From photos and movies, we all know what it looks like, yet walking up to it and then going inside and looking down on the arena from one of the top floors is breathtaking. That place is 2,000 years old, and like a modern soccer stadium it could hold up to 80,000 spectators, all with assigned seats! The modern appearance, with all those travertine blocks that were used for the massive walls, is impressive, but try to imagine what it looked like back then, all clad in marble! Truly, the Colosseum is one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.

Before we toured the Colosseum we had walked through the Forum Romanum. The immensity of the ancient city! The size of the buildings! Clamber up Palatine Hill to get a full perspective of how Rome's center was laid out. And then imagine yourself living in one of those mansions on the outskirts of this center of the world and play an integral part in its society and politics. I'm sorry, but—comparatively— our politicians today seem to be just part of the plebes, even though I have to admit that the gilded Trump in his tower (or the flat compound in Florida) throws his hyperbole and bombastic rhetoric around in a way that might have impressed Nero and his ilk.

Lots of old stones in Rome, for sure. Wherever you turn, you see various different structures intertwined that belong to epochs centuries apart, if not millenia. I have to admit, after a while this over-abundance of archaeological input starts to dull the mind. Even "worse" are the churches! Goodness, we think of Lubbaville as the buckle of the bible belt with its 200+ churches (most of them looking like airplane hangars or chop-shops), but Rome has more than 930 of them, and they look like real churches and not somebody's large garden shed.

All of Rome's churches are free to visit, although you may be charged to see the crypt or sacristy. One evening I came across the Basilica San Nicola in Carcere where a baritone and a soprano performed sacred arias by the likes of Vivaldi, Mozart, and Händel. There was no admission charge, and sitting there listening and looking at the frescoes and paintings was deeply satisfying and rather overwhelming. Every day I made a point to stop into a church or two, just to see the differences in decor and architecture; don't ask me the names, as I wouldn't be able to tell, but there were small ones and big ones, old ones and then ancient ones.

One church that I do recall by name, though, is the Basilica di San Pietro, or more commonly known as St. Peter's. Just imagine: the largest church in the world, smack dab in the middle of the smallest country in the world! Actually, it's not really smack-dab since the basilica and its adjacent square are fronting the border to Italy. The Vatican's landmass measures a whopping 120 acres, not even a fifth of a square mile. In Texas, we call that a good-sized backyard. And yes, it is a real country with a current populace of about 525, according to the latest info from the UN.

Visiting the Vatican is similar to trying to have a look at Machu Picchu: You better make sure you have tickets in advance. Even during the shoulder season the place is a veritable zoo. I had booked a guided tour through the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel as the tickets sell out days in advance. (For the basilica proper one does not need a ticket as all churches in Italy are free to visit, as I mentioned earlier.) Oddly, our tour group was very small as Sabine and I were joined by only a Filipino family of three, who live in the Netherlands. Our female guide was really not what we had hoped for in regard to liveliness and information; her English was somewhat difficult to understand and she just droned on and on.

There were certain rooms in the museum that we would have liked to explore with a bit more leisure, but even if our guide had been merciful we probably would have gotten swept away by the incessant stream of visitors. According to Google, about 19,000 people are channeled through the museums every day, so you can imagine. But it's the same in the Louvre and other high-profile tourist attractions, and I'm not complaining because I am part of the problem.

The Sistine Chapel, where photos are verboten

The Disney-esque character of crowd management was probably the most noticeable in the Sistine Chapel, where ushers made sure that the steady flow of humanity stayed steady. For me, the chapel was a real surprise since I had always thought of it as a round, domed place; instead, it is a rectangular room with an amazing ceiling that, however, is not a dome. The paintings are, of course, stunning, but if you really want to have a good look you're probably better off studying high-detail photography that you can find on the internet. But of course, the overwhelming emotion and impression of actually being there can never be replicated by anything virtual. 

Our guided tour ended, rather abruptly, after exiting the Sistine Chapel. Our guide said ciao, not even stretching out her hand for a tip, and we were on our own. This gave us a chance to wander through St. Peter's at our own pace, and we also took the opportunity to go up to the very top of the dome, which provides a spectacular view of all of Rome—highly recommendable (be prepared for some serious stair-steps even if you opt for the lift to cut out about half of them) and just an extra €10.

View of St. Peter's Cathedral from the Castel Sant Angelo 

Other sights that I visited either alone or together with Sabine were the Capuchin Crypt with its macabre assemblage of skulls and bones of at least 3,700 friars, arranged in ways that left me wondering about the mental state of whoever was in charge back then; the Catacombs on the Via Appia, with their underground burial chambers for individuals and families, stretching for miles and miles and miles; the Castel Sant Angelo, Emperor Hadrian's erstwhile mausoleum that was repurposed in the following millenia as a castle, a fortification, a prison, and finally a museum; the Leonardo da Vinci museum, which features modern models of some of his sketched ideas; and the Pantheon, a 2,000-year old structure with its ginormous unsupported concrete dome that has the largest span in the world at more than 142 feet. The oculus in itself is spectacular.

But Rome offers not just churches and rocks and ancient architecture. The true joy (unless you are really nerdy and live for nothing but history) is the city itself with its labyrinthian streets and passageways that are barely wide enough for a small car to pass through. And just when you think that things are bordering on the oppressive, that narrow vicolo will open up into a piazza, a square maybe small, maybe large enough for marble fountains with views of the surrounding prefecture buildings, a church or two, and numerous mansions. Everything is alive, with bistros, cafés, bars, and restaurants, their chairs, tables, and umbrellas spilling into the piazza. It all looks so organic, because it is. In the centro storico nothing looks polished, with a general state of slight dilapidation being just part of it. Call it patina, if you want. Still, I was surprised by how clean Rome is, with very little trash in the streets. Only a few beggars will turn up their eyes at you when entering or exiting a church, and I didn't see many signs of homeless people aside from the encampments under bridges of the Tiber river (locally know as Tevere).

My Airbnb was located right in the middle of all this, just a minute away from the elegant Piazza Navona. Getting to my flat was quite an adventure as it involved using an ancient lift that nominally could hold three persons, although I have no idea how. This elevator had altogether four tiny panel doors, plus the exit door on each floor, on different sides of the shaft. Quite the ride, a bit unnerving with all the bounciness and rumbling and no emergency buttons. But once in my apartment (which belonged to Anthony, a photographer and visual chronicler of the city) I almost didn't want to leave: From the small veranda I looked straight upon St. Peter's dome, and a bit farther to the right there was the Castel San Angelo. The small apartment, incorporating three levels with no right angles to be found (once again, an old organic building) but oozing cozyness, was just the perfect oasis for me. Most mornings it was warm enough to have breakfast on the veranda, and at night the lights of the city from this bird's eye view were priceless. 

The Airbnb was quiet and only faint sounds from the surrounding neighborhood made it up to the 5th floor. But when I left the apartment, I'd walk not even 100 feet and would already have passed three tiny restaurants! A small supermarket with a fresh deli, butcher, and fishmonger was just a few steps down the street, and I could always find a late-night (or was it already early morning?) beer or wine to wind down another day.

As one can imagine, not only did I drink well but I got my fill of excellent meals. I ate out in the evenings a few times, and on other days I enjoyed a late lunch that was filling enough to make it impossible to eat another meal late at night. I quickly learned to not even think about the price tag for eating out. Even in small, family-run restaurants you will spend an easy €25 to €35 for food alone. Not surprisingly, pizza is the least expensive option in most places, with prices starting around €12 to €15 and up; wine is almost always less expensive than beer, with a draught fetching easily €7 to €8. Credit cards are accepted everywhere, and I didn't use any of my cash euros, instead relying on my German debit and credit cards.

Rome's craft beer scene is fairly anemic, with very few microbreweries showing up in a Google search. A notable exception was the modern and well-run Open Baladin Roma that has a very large selection of beers and a pleasant atmosphere. I also visited the interesting L'Antica Birreria Peroni, a company-run outlet for all the different beers that the iconic Peroni brews; additionally, this popular place serves some modestly priced meals. Even though there's a dearth of craft breweries in the city, it is possible to order IPAs (apparently very popular) or other non-pilsners in many of the bars. Just around the corner from my Airbnb was a nice place that had three different IPAs on tap (as well as a lovely waitress), so I got into the habit of having a nightcap while watching life go by before I turned in.

One evening, I was invited to join Sabine's hosts, Sven and Susanne, for dinner in their home in the outskirts of the city. By metro it is just a quick 20-minute ride from the city center, but in real terms it is a different world. As mentioned, the couple moved to Italy about 30 years ago, bought a nice plot of land that was zoned for agricultural use, and built their house without permits. They told stories about how the house was almost torn down by the authorities, had it not been for their neighbors' blocking the street so that the bulldozer couldn't get there. Years ago, they wrote a book about the whole ordeal (which eventually was resolved through a general amnesty for illegal buildings). Sven had made a delicious pasta dish, a lot of red wine was served up, and when I sat in the metro going back to town I had the feeling that I had gained two new friends.

Even though this was just a one-week trip it seemed much longer, with all those varied experiences. My flight home to Lubbock took two days since I had to stop over in London for the night; without that I would not have been able to apply my systemwide upgrade for the hop across the pond. (On the way from the US I had paid for an upgrade to the upgrade, a $600 fee to go from Business to First, that dying breed of cabin with only a few flights left to offer it. To me, it had been worth the money as one gets to enjoy DFW's Flagship First Dining and then the very cushy First Class cabin with only eight passengers and remarkable service.) I had to burn an expiring IHG certificate for a free night, so the stopover was actually quite welcome (I didn't have to leave Rome with the 6:30 a.m. flight to LHR), and it gave me a chance to add to my list of pubs by visiting The Three Magpies, within walking distance of the Staybridge Suites where I overnighted.

Of course, it wouldn't have been American Airlines had my final flight from DFW back to Lubbock been punctual: A fuel leak delayed us at the gate for about 45 minutes, and once we rolled onto the tarmac and were preparing to take off the entire airport was shut down for 30 minutes since President Biden was flying into Dallas.

And thus ended my most recent trip, which was followed just two days after my return by yet another high school race and almost 700 miles of driving. Tomorrow is Good Friday, and I am looking forward to staying at home for a few days before the next round of travel begins.

Jürgen