"Italy is a Shitty Country!": Day 1

He said it not me so calm down! I wouldn't say it's "shitty" as much as chaotic, disorganized, and defiantly unlabeled other than the manhole covers (they're rectangular), fire hydrants, and other banal public instruments which all display the iconic 'SPQR". I am not really sure how this applies but I get ahead of myself....

I flew in via Charlotte on the fabulous US Airways which neglects to give you free booze and headphones on international flights but who are still at least two hundred dollars cheaper than their competitors. My flight is full and is composed of love turds who have to hold hands and watch romantic comedies and old people who have to combat phlebitis for nine straight hours. Despite the $7.00 Becks (awful but laid quality groundwork for the bad biera to come) and the idiots, the flight did go quickly. Before I knew it the flight attendants were coming around with coffee and some sort of cream filled pastry. Upon landing I expected the usual announcement with instructions on passport control and luggage but this is Italy so there was none. We stumble off the plane and follow the signs and eventually make it to Passport Control where there are two booths attended by two Customs Agents who look bored as shit except when they look at your passport photo. Then they smirk, shrug their shoulders, and stamp your book while you nod your head and say, "Sorry, Scavullo was busy that day!" Humiliated I head for Baggage Claim.

Baggage Claim was awesome. You could actually see the guys at the top of the ramp throwing the luggage down slowly, very slowly. After about 50 bags, there is a lull in the action. A couple next to me, late 50s, are still waiting for their bags as am I and about 75% of the flight. The husband is bright eyed and is wearing a polo shirt and slacks that bare no creases. He has not a hair out of place. The wife is a little over weight and looks like she just came off a red eye transoceanic/transcontinental flight. She stands next to me, bored, waiting for the espresso break to end and the resumption of luggage service to begin. He stands next to the belt and says repeatedly, like a 5 year old, "Is that all of the bags? Our bags weren't there. Where are our bags? Did they lose our bags?" She says, "No dear. Yes, dear. No dear." I look at her in sympathy but then bail because I see my bag! I collect it and head to the Taxi line where I am happy to report, there was no line. I hop in, say "Buongiorno" and give the driver the address to the hotel. Before I know it I am sweating and at my stop. The meter says 49.80. I say 40. He shrugs his shoulders and I give him 45. Hey, it's the law!

When I get to the desk, they ask for a name. I say "Sinning" they say "we got a lot a Sinning" but I track down Nancy in the restaurant. I quickly down a double espresso and we head to Nancy's room so I can take a shower, brush the teeth, and change. We decide to spend the day at the Forum and as soon as everyone is ready, head up to the Campidoglio where we hope to find an entrance but first we must climb a hill and a lot of steps. By the time I reach the top, I've lost that freshly showered feeling. The view kind of makes up for it all.

As we enter the Forum, we all buy the Roma Pass for 25 Euros each. When they get to Nancy's friend Jay, they charge him 500 Euros. Since they can't cancel out the charge, he ends up with 450 Euros in change. The score is now Italy 1, US 0.

The old Roman roads are uneven and dusty so I trip a lot. As we wander, we see young Eastern European girls in short dresses posing for what we can only assume are their mail order bride catalogue photos. We also see lots of exhibits about Nero, or Nerone as the Italians call him. I can only assume this is because the Domus Aurea is closed as he really didn't have much of an impact on the Forum. I see lovely statues of Messalina (wife of Claudius) and Agrippina (mother of Nero) so I run over and call them puttana (well, she was very rotten to Clau-Clau and I don't feel at all bad that Nero eventually poisoned his mother).

Among my favorite sites at the Forum is the House of the Vestals or pre-nuns. The picture above is of the atrium. The living quarters would have been behind the row of statuary. The young ladies who entered the priestesshood (yes, I made that word up) were of patrician class and sworn to celibacy. If they got caught with a man, they were buried alive. Nasty.

At the far end from the Campidoglio and outside of the Forum proper is the Arch of Constantine and the Colosseum. I say my first "I hate you! This is all your fault!" to anything Constantine related.

Parched and starving, we head to lunch at Il Gladiatore Pizzeria. The pizza is good and as expected, the beer is pissy but it's cold. After lunch we head all the way back to the Campidoglio and down the hill to the hotel where I get a taxi to the Hotel Mercure which is back by the Colosseum (the back and forth is a recurring theme). My taxi driver is less pleasant than this morning's and after communicating to him that I am not in fact heading back to the airport tomorrow so he can't pick my up, he drives off with my bag in the trunk. I quickly run after him, pound on the trunk, and yell "aspettare"! He does. He apologizes. I grab my bag and check in. Nap for 45 minutes and meet everyone in the lobby for drinks (yes, they all hopped in a taxi and came all the way back as well). Drinks are in fact on the roof but I will save those pictures for Day 2 as they are spectacular.

After drinks, we head to dinner. Jay has a place in mind so we head pass the Colosseum (it's so pretty at night with the lights and no vendors or tourists).

Although we never do make it to the restaurant, we eventually find another. It's classic. The walls are covered with photos of the famous people who have eaten there (I really only recognize Sophia Lauren) and for whom they have cooked (Il Papa PJP II). We get a ton of dishes and split them all. The grilled radicchio is my favorite. Stuffed and a bit drunk, we head back to the hotel. It must be noted that Nancy wanted to cab it from the restaurant but that I had had my fill of cab drivers and did not want to have to ride by myself so we walked. This was okay until Jay looked for a short cut and as Nancy noted, there are no short cuts in Rome. Go back the way you came or prepare to pay the piper. I cut a Bataan Death March joke (yes, if you are Nancy and I you can make them) or two and thanks to some helpful locals, we eventually made it back to my hotel but not before we pass a titty bar and come to realize that John's sense of direction is uncanny. It will save my butt for the next three days.

At the Hotel Mercure, everyone else piles into a cab and heads back across the Forum. About 12:30 (6:30 pm Cleveland time) I finally hit the bed and fall asleep. By my count it's been about 36 hours minus a nap. I did damned well.