This is going to be a long post. As you know, I spent the weekend in la bella Roma (I so don't speak Italian) and it was marvelous. We had spectacular weather—sunny, warm, blue skies, and I could wear my tank tops again. I met up with someone from high school that I haven't seen since graduation and reminisced about evil Berini and IB (and how easy college has been in comparison). I ate pasta and/or pizza at every meal, and it was all excellent. Our hostel was relatively cheap (for a three person suite, it was 90 euro a night, split three ways, so 30 euro a night) and clean, and provided a free breakfast every day. And though I had gelato twice a day and pasta countless times, I walked off every single calory I ate. Rome is a city without a decent metro (it has one, but only two lines and nowhere near as comprehensive as Paris) and there was a public transportation strike on Monday that rendered the buses and what metro there is useless. Our hostel was located in one far corner of Rome, and the Vatican (one of our main destinations) in the opposite end of the city, with the colosseum and Roman ruins to the far south (the corner opposite the Vatican). I stupidly brought only my pair of heeled black boots, which are comfortable, but after walking the 1,000 or so steps up to the top of St. Peter's dome on the first morning, my feet were down for the count. Except I only had two full days in Rome, and there was no way I was going to spend them nursing my feet. So I walked. It wasn't until Monday evening that I finally gave in and bought new shoes, pretty red New Balance tennis shoes. They weren't the fluffy clouds and massage my feet needed, but they helped.
The first day we got up and took the metro over to the Vatican, where we waited in line to go into the St Peter's basilica, and then found our way up into the dome. Smart tourist people that they are, the Vatican had a small cafe halfway up where you could buy water and/or caffeine in various forms. After that, I got separated from the group when I met Armanda for lunch and spent the rest of the day wandering the city, half trying to find the group and half taking pictures of the gorgeous light at dusk. I walked my way down the riverside and around the Colosseum, then up past the Roman forum and over to the Pantheon. Then I got a phone call from the rest of the group telling me they were at the Trevi Fountain, so I hoofed it over there and we went exploring to find a place for dinner. One restuarant had pasta plates for 5 euro and offered us a free bottle of wine; we went there. It was good wine, too, costing 20 euro a bottle normally and we got it for free. I headed to bed relatively early that night to save myself from going bar hopping with some of the other kids who came along. My feet hurt too much and I didn't want to spend any money on drinks, which get expensive.
Then Monday, we got up and walked down to the Colosseum where we went in and explored. I'd already been there, but as a history major, I'm never adverse to going again. And then I lead the way across the city back to the Vatican, so we could go to the Sistine Chapel as it was closed on Sunday. To get to the chapel, you have to walk through a maze known as the Vatican Museum, and they lead you all over the place, up and down stairs, through winding halls and loop-de-loops. When you get there, they forbid you from taking pictures even without flash, but I did anyway, holding my camera at waist height or on my shoulder and clicking. What I learned about the Vatican is that it's huge. My first thought walking through the halls was that it reminds me of Fontainbleu. Not St. Peters, because many churches are elaborate, but the rest of the Vatican, the museum and the various apartments at one point occupied by popes. How can a religion that preaches the non-material (and the evil of the material, the evil of wealth and greed) justify living in such luxury? It's not for the glorification of God, it's for their own comfort and extravagance. God doesn't live there, the popes and priests and bishops and cardinals do. That would be one of the reasons why the Reformation occurred, I suppose, but it's not like it did any good.
Ah, well.
After the Sistine Chapel, it was time for dinner. I bought my new shoes as we walked across town trying to get to the Spanish Steps (where we'd planned to get dinner) but as we realized we had gotten turned around and were back near the Pantheon (opposite direction of the Spanish Steps), we decided to just stop at the closest affordable restaurant. I found a vending machine that had bottles of presecco nearby. For dinner I had tortellini in a cream sauce with ham (which is more like bacon), and then a cheese cake for dessert and a jug of the red house wine. Fabulous. But we found ourselves still hungry, and went over to a Burger King for some junior whoppers. Italian and French food might be delicious, but so is American food. Some of what I miss: Chick-fil-A, Moe's, Quiznos, hot dogs, cake.
The weekend in Rome was fun. Tuesday morning we got up at 3:30 AM to get to the airport for a 7 AM flight back. We arrived at Ciampino airport at 5:00 in the morning, got in line to check-in, and puzzled over the large groups of people hanging out in the lobby of the airport, some even sleeping on the floor. I distinctly remember thinking I'd never sleep on a filthy airport floor. After about an hour of standing in a line where no one was moving and no one was even behind the check-in counter, we happened to look up at the screen of departures to find our flight had been delayed with an expected departure time of 17:15, also known as 5:15 PM.
We were sure it had to be a typo. A sudden 10 hour delay? There was no one around to ask (cheap airline, cheap service) so we sat and waited. Over the course of next few hours, we learned piecemeal that no flights were coming in or out of the airport, and that we'd be lucky to leave at 5. We watched and listened as flight after flight was cancelled, and ate what junk food we could find at the one "restaurant" at this airport (and it had really crappy food—I'd pick starving over eating one of their sandwichs). More and more it looked like we wouldn't even get out of Rome until the next day. Apparently a plane the day before had been hit by birds and was forced to make an emergency landing on the runway. A few people had minor injuries, and by Italian law, they're not allowed to move the plane until the investigation is finished. So the airport was essentially closed. A single computer terminal in the airport offered internet, so I waited an hour in line (nothing better to do, after all) to check on flights out of the other Rome airport and any potential of getting a train or bus to Paris. One of the main Italian airlines, Alitalia, was having a strike that day, and so flights out of the other airport weren't guaranteed and those that were had no space available. We decided to stick it out with the flight we'd already paid for, and spent 12 hours—twelve hours—sitting on the floor of the airport. I even laid down with my bag as a pillow to try and get sleep (impossible). Amazing what a few hours change, isn't it?
At about 3 in the afternoon, 12 hours after we woke up, the screen finally announced that our flight had been moved to the other airport and they would bus us over there eventually. Evenutally meaning 5:30. A bus showed up outside where several hundred of us stood with our luggage in clumps, waiting to board and get a move on. And then it was chaos. Free-for-all. Lord of the Flies meets The Terminal. It was a mob fighting, stomping, pushing, shoving, smacking, smashing their way onto the bus that could only hold about 30 people. And we were six people trying desperately not to be separated in a foreign country where none of us spoke the language. People would've stepped on me to get on that bus, and if I'd fallen over, I'd have been trampled. It seriously made me mad, and sad. This wasn't even a fight for survival, for food, it was about getting on a bus first, and people would've killed over it. Not exaggerating.
I did make it on the bus, but not in time to get a seat, so I had to wait for the next one. But when we arrived at the new airport, we got to the check-in counter where the people from the other bus were already congregated, and it was yet another mob to get to the front first. A slower, more subtly vicious mob, but nonetheless, disgusting. A lot of it was probably the four hours of sleep and the twelve hours in an airport doing nothing, but I hated all people at that point and shoved my way to the front with stepping on some toes and well-placed elbows. An hour or two later, I was seated on a plane and waiting to take off at 8:30 PM, 13 and a half hours after I was supposed to take off. Got back to Paris, took a bus back into the city (an hour long ride), and hopped on the very last metro back home (12:30 AM). I only barely made it, and guys on the train had to pry open the doors for me after they'd already closed. I'd been awake since 3:30 in the morning, and had been in a state of perpetual stress and frustration. I made it back to my room at 1 o'clock this morning.
Needless to say, I skipped class today. I didn't drag myself out of bed until 2, after which I got a shower and headed out to the grocery store to stock up for the week. I dropped my clothes off at the laundromat, and ran to the Monoprix (like Target), took my bags home, went back out to the Franprix (a small grocery store), took my bags home, went to the laundromat to transfer clothes to the dryer, watched them dry, then packed them up in my bag and walked to the patisserie/boulangerie down the street to get dinner. But they were out of sandwichs, so I settled for eating canned ravioli (amazingly yummy) and buying some dessert. I'd post a picture but for some reason it isn't uploading. But it's a chocolate cake with custard and strawberries in the middle, and a chocolate frosting on top.
It occurred to me this weekend, as I walked around the Roman ruins: what did the medieval people think of them? What did they make of these ruins they built their cities around, that were made of stone and carefully crafted for beauty as well as function? Obviously some people were educated and knew about the Romans, vaguely, but what did the average, illiterate person think? They knew there was a civilization before them, but did they wonder why they'd been so much more advanced? I wonder what it was like back then to walk by those ruins and just gape, not knowing what they were or who had really built them or how. Not knowing the meaning behind the freizes, frescos and sculptures.
I love old stuff, but there's simply not enough of it left and what is left has been tampered with. Or destroyed in war. Or replaced with the modern. I wanna know what it was actually like way back when, and I want to see what they might have seen. A frustrating desire to have.
PS. I bought the French version of Ramen noodles today. We'll see if they measure up.
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