I had a difficult time formatting that last bit. I wanted to use italics for the conversation I had with myself but it wouldn't work. Arg. I give up. I'm going out to do yard work.

MORE MORE !!
You are funny and entertaining.

Loving this report and identifying with the tight chest as you watch other kids in the airport. My daughter is now 4 but I went to Rome with an aunt when she was 2 and left her home with her father and I experienced the same worries and anxiety. Everything turned out great, although after she greeted me with lots of hugs and kisses she did ignore me the rest of the day. Can't wait to read more!

mebe,

You are off to a good start it seems. We will be patient waiting for the installments. I love that you are interweaving your reality of housework with your "fantasy" week!

Your seat buddy story made me smile - I have often stopped conversations cold by sharing the kinds of arrangements my husband and I have with regard to our kids and housework. Funny, really, when you realize it is 2008, but people can be very judgmental about such things!

gruezi

Looking forward to more! I'm heading to Rome with a friend in September, but I definitely hope to try a solo trip someday in the next few years. I don't think my family or friends would understand, but I think it's something I have to do. So I applaud you for taking this opportunity.

This is just fabulous! I remember reading your woes about going and could relate on many levels... I am guilt ridden about going WITH my 11 year old dd in the fall - leaveing dh!

Keep it coming!

Oh Mebe, I'm so enjoying this and the "storytelling/storybook" format. I await more.

jdc

Thanks everyone.:)
Here is the rest of my first day...


After consulting her GPS, my driver found via Teatro Pace, a narrow alleyway of a street. She eased the Mercedes through the crowds and squeezed by the parked Vespas and restaurant tables, with inches to spare. The hotel was a great location for me, she said, but not for her.

A cute guy with short black hair and black rimmed glasses checked me in and helped me carry my bag up their spiral staircase, the main feature of the hotel. My room was on the third floor, at the end of a short and dark hallway. He opened my door and I stepped into a narrow, dark room.

He left and I stood just there for a moment. It was too quiet. My ears hummed. I slowly raised the drapes, opened the window and pushed the shudders back to reveal, my room with a view.

I gasped, and burst into uncontrolled, hiccupy sobs. My view was of a large inner courtyard, surrounded by buildings in various shades of white, yellow and orange. There were many terraces of different sizes, smothered in an assortment of terracotta pots, each overflowing with rosemary, lavender, jasmine or honeysuckle, the vines twisting up swirling iron fences. Seagulls shrieked to each other and rain tapped the tile roofs. I felt joyous and overwhelmed.

I cautiously walked about the room. It was shaped like a backwards J, with a large bathroom at the loop, hallway and entry in the stem. At top, a single bed was at one end and the TV, desk and chair at the other; each end with its own window.

This was my first time staying in a hotel, alone. And my inner conversation began again:
I’m alone. I don’t know what to do.
Pull yourself together.
You said I could cry in my room. I’m in my room and I’m going to cry.
Fine. But at some point you need to leave and buy a phone card to call Aaron and let him know you arrived safely.
Okay, I can do that. t

I splashed water on my face and stared into my reflection. A scared, red nosed girl stared back. You can do this, I said out loud to myself, with a nervous chuckle. I changed my clothes, got my purse organized and pulled out my camera. I wanted to capture my weakest moment and in the future, laugh at my silly insecurities. Next to my open window I smiled a strained smile, clicked the camera and left.

The receptionist pointed out a souvenir shop around the corner. Without hesitation, I walked in, blurted out “Buena sera! Vorrei una carta (phone hand gesture) call United States. She replied: 5 Euros or 10, in perfect English. 5 Euro, grazie!

Confident after my first interaction, I decided Aaron could wait a minute, or two and I set out to explore my neighborhood. Tourists and their umbrellas surrounded me. Usually, I find being with other tourists annoying. Like, what are you doing here? But no ego this time; instead, their presence comforted me. And I didn’t envy them. I was content to cruise alone. I listened to the rain and the different languages. I browsed the window displays. And I watched with awe at how the Roman women navigated those wet streets in incredible heels while easily holding their umbrella and hand bag and chatting on their phone.

From a narrow, tourist-trap street I entered Piazza Navona, a favorite spot from my previous trip. It was our preferred place to eat because we could take turns chasing Ada through the piazza while the other parent relaxed with a glass of wine. I saw the same waiter that served us two years ago. The Four Rivers Fountain was in restoration. The artists had their art covered in plastic but the rain didn’t deter the pestering from street performers.

I continued straight through the other side and began the familiar path Aaron, Ada and I frequently walked to the Pantheon (along with thousands of other tourists). The Pantheon has such jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring presence. My eyes swelled with tears again. I arrived right at seven and witnessed the wooden doors soundlessly closing, pushing out the tourists.

My heart was full and stomach empty. I decided Aaron could wait a little while longer, I mean, he understands that his wife has got to eat. I gave in to the tourist trap and settled on eating right there next to the Pantheon, hoping a great view would be worth the higher prices. Sadly, I sat deep under a layer of umbrellas, which gave me a view of, umbrellas. Oh well. I ordered fried artichokes (tasted good….a little dry) and pesto linguine (very satisfying) and a glass of red wine, for 35E.

I enjoyed eating alone. I was buzzed from the wine and gloriously content. I daydreamed about renting an apartment and living here with my family. I thought of Aaron, and was excited to tell him Rome was as fantastic as we remembered. I was in a buzzed, jag-lagged, la-la land. Then the waiter thought I looked sad and lonely and decided to stand next to me and chat. No, I’m not sad. I’m tired. I just arrived from the US. Yes, I’m in Rome for a week, blah, blah, blah…

“Little girl, are you lost? Bella bambina, you want to try my tiramisu?” This is how I was greeted by the soliciting waiters on my walk back to the hotel. My God, does that pick up line really work?

Back in my room, I took a shower, climbed into my comfortable clothes, sat on my golden bed and called Aaron. The sun had just set and my window was open to the rain, church bells and a light breeze. He answered the phone and I burst into tears.
What happened?Are you okay?
Yes, I’m fine. It’s just your voice…

Hearing my emotional fragility, Aaron quickly told me everyone was great and that he appreciated having this special time with his kids. I calmed down. Then I heard Ethan babble in the background and burst into another round of tears. I tried to explain to him that just a few minutes ago I was euphoric and content, but that leaving my family was difficult. And hearing his voice brought back all the emotion two hours in Rome had quieted. We said our “I love you” and I drifted off to sleep while clouds drifted across the night.

M, oh how I feel for you and hope after a good night's rest you were able to have a brighter outlook and enjoy yourself. Please don't keep us waiting...

thanks bfrac. Yes it does get better. :)

I'll try to get to more as soon as I can...

mebe-your writing style is wonderful. I feel like I'm right there with you and I can feel your exhaustion, fear, and joy all at the same time. Please continue.

This is wonderful, I love your descriptions about your feelings and I am sure many of us who have experienced this are right there with you. All the different emotions from generations of women who have traveled to Italy alone are right there in your story.

I am looking forward to more! Thank you for sharing.

Dear Mebe,

My girls and I were in Rome for a week last June. We also loved the Pantheon. We went 3 times to see it in all different light. It's just so "cool" isn't it?

Last week we went to the Reichstag dome in Berlin and it reminded me of a modern, "souped-up", Pantheon. I still have it in my head I was so thrilled by it. If you get the chance you have to go there some time.

gruezi

Kristina and SeaUrchin -- you are both very kind.

Gruezi -- the Pantheon is Aaron's favorite historial sight, of all time. When we went, we always seemed to walk past it on our way to see something else. I tried to do the same during this trip as well.

I have not been to Germany, yet. You are so lucky to be so close to it all! It is my dream to live in Europe just so that I can travel :)

Brava, mebe! Keep em coming.

mebe, thank you for writing this. It is enchanting.

Anselm

I haven't read all yet but want to say I just got back from 4 days away from kids at wedding in London and it was fantastic to turn off that third eye. The wedding was crazy chaos so not serene but it was a pleasure to ride a plane for 8 hours! I look forward to reading more.

While trying to write my impressions of Rome (and not doing a very good job of it) I remembered my all time favorite book about Rome, which I forget to mention in my original post.

“Four Seasons in Rome” by Anthony Doerr. He captures the spirit of Rome while living there with twin boys and his wife. I’m still trying to figure out how he got a double stroller on a bus…

I woke up to a bright blue sky, crisp air and a fresh start. It was quiet. No waking up at 5:30 to comfort cranky, sleepy kids; no making toast or eggs; no breaking up arguments over the one coveted toy. No crying. No tantrums. I’ve dreamed of this quiet morning for years…

I leisurely sipped my cappuccino, sank into my warm, chocolate cornetto and delighted in dipping my roll into cream cheese and chocolate. The view out of my window locked me into my chair for over an hour.

Enough with the languid morning – the streets of Rome are calling my name. I got dressed and stocked my purse with maps, wallet, sunglasses and camera. My goal of today was to visit a part of Rome I missed two years ago. I would begin with return visit to Campo dei Fiori, head towards the Tiber river and follow it to the Capitoline Museums.

I’m not a city girl. I grew up under fir and redwood trees, not buildings. I can handle San Francisco, for a day. But I love Rome. Rome is gritty. There is garbage, graffiti, the corners reek of urine and I still find it beautiful. Part of its beauty is in the details, the faded layers of plaster, the potted plant, and the architecturally detailed nooks. And on a grander scale there is the overwhelming history that is breaths through every stone of every building; plus the layer upon layer of undiscovered relics living untouched beneath the streets. I can’t get enough of this place.

Campo dei Fiori was as fragrant and bright as I remembered. I walked between the stalls twice inhaling the smell of fresh fruit, fresh fish and pungent spice. I will come back later to buy.

Then on through Piazza Farnese, stopping only to take pictures of the fountain, sigh another “thank God I’m here” sighs…Along the river I marvel at the maples, take pictures of Ponte Sisto and Ponte Fabrico bridges, looking across the Tiber at Trastevere, another of my destinations, another day.

I don’t use my map (not that one helps me, anyway) and I decided to cross the street and head towards the museums. I jaywalked with a bit of bravado and followed a major street up to see where it took me. I have excellent instinct, I decided, since I just happened to cruise right by Teatro di Marcello, another sight I hoped to find. The former theater radiated Roman grandeur (can you believe a lucky few get to live there?) This theater represents what I love about Rome. You just walk along and -- BAM -- Ancient Roman ruin surrounded by lush grass and red, yellow and white wildflowers. I ooohed and ahhed for a bit and decided to hitch a ride with a French tour group, figuring they knew where they were going. The group didn’t mind my presence; a few older ladies smiled at me while listening to their history lesson. They took me up to the Capoline Museums, and we smiled our goodbyes.

My first goal was to eat. I burned off my cornetto near the Tiber and I was shaky with hunger. I bought my ticket and used the elevator up to the second floor. I wanted a lunch with a view, but it was only 10ish…darn. I settled for a procuitto, parmisano and arugula Panini.

As a side note – for some reason, I never order correctly. You would think that by my second trip to Italy I would remember to first go the cashier, pay and then pick up my food, but nope. I always stand in front of the counter, trying to figure out what I want. Then the guy behind the counter takes pity, takes my order and yells it out to the cashier. Then I pay, get my receipt, pick up my food and feel so dumb.

So, this happened again, and I turned a little pink, took my Panini and then couldn’t remember if it was okay to sit. (Don’t you pay more to sit?) Not risking the reprimand, I stood at a “standing” table facing a corner, trying to hide, but still act cool, like I do this all the time.

Without a guidebook, I believe I did the museum in reverse order. First up were the huge foot, hand and head of Constantine (or Hercules?) in the courtyard. I can not get enough of these large body parts. I simply loved that foot. Someone put a huge hand in front of our local mall, but it doesn’t have the same effect. Next up were the frescoed halls and rooms that they still occasionally use for political meetings. Carved wooden doors and ceilings, massive frescos’ covering the walls - the attention to detail was amazing and visually overwhelming. I did my best and tried to give each painting my absolute attention. They were magnificent but my brain quickly tired of trying to decipher the meaning behind each painting or sculpture. I soon had a raging headache.

My eyes felt fuzzy, my head throbbed. Please, no more historically important art to soak up; head…will…explode….. And then! I entered – a white room. It was a gloriously empty, brilliantly bright, white room. Inside were the bronze Marcus Aurelius and some pieces of a very big Constantine (they think…). I guess I like my art straight forward, simple and strong. I thoroughly enjoyed walking right under Marcus and his horse, or staring up the nose of the giant head.

Another highlight was the inclusion of the Temple of Jupiter’s foundation. Big feet and hands are great, but nothing gets me more electrified than really old brick and this volcanic tuff was from 509 BC. My two great loves (history and geology) together as one. I did what I had to do, and took self portraits of me in front of, umm, old bricks. The security guide put down her portable TV to watch. I blew off embarrassment. And I got my picture.

I staggered down two flights of stairs, through the underground passage (which I think housed tombstones?) and into the Tabularium, with its splendid views of the Forum and Palatine Hill and I was rejuvenated by a blast of fresh air. I gazed around the Forum, remembering my daughter’s red Mary Janes dancing down the stone roads, her little hands searching for rocks or cigarette butts. I touched a brick archway searching for the vibrations of the past, and continued on.

I was now in the Hall of Heads and in official art overload and I didn’t care who the heads belonged to. I think I saw a glass elevator, but to be honest it was all a jet-lagged blur until the end.

I fed my fatigue with an expensive Panini from the snack truck parked next to Trajan’s column, and mulled over how to spend the rest of the day. Instead of acting reasonably, and heading back to my hotel to rest, I decided to head north into uncharted territory and visit a few churches, another goal on my “must do in Rome” list. Since I decided against the Borghese Gallery, I was determined to at least see Bernini’s St. Teresa in Ecstasy.
My ramble went something like this: from Trajan’s Column, I followed a couple eating gelato up Via XXIV Maggio, stopping to admire the view from Piazza del Quirinale, and ponder the much-appreciated excess of polizia guarding Palazzo del Quirinale (and oh my, they were the biggest flirts…).

My head was in such a mind-numbing blur, the only thing I remember after that is wandering around in circles between Via del Quirnale and Via Nazionale. To sum it up, I wasted a few hours looking for cathedrals that were all closed between the hours of 1-4. And it was two. This is when I needed a travel partner to sit my stubborn butt down at a café, have a drink, and take a moment to think. But I was alone so I kept wandering, in circles, looking for something intriguing to make the previous hour or so worth while.

And then I spotted a church, and it was open…and what happens in this church needs a bit of back story, so

…to be continued next time…

hey, that's a tease...;)

that is what I thought Gruezi!

and Dawn you should be packing!

and I should be writing about 4 trip reports...

damn Fodor's!!

;)

Oh, how could you do this to us? Your descriptions are word pictures, love it.

Well for crying out loud mebe, I was so enthralled about being in Rome with you and you..poof are gone! I suppose you had something important to do, like run after the children, or finish the laundry or grocery shopping but really...

Sorry for the cliffhanger. :)

It's taking me forever to write this. Kids all day, Phelps, I mean, the Olympics at night...did anyone see the male diving? Goodness gracious ;;)

I'll get to it ASAP.

Thanks for reading -- I truly apprciate it.

Oh jeeze -- why does a four year old need to make the two year old scream? These guys are driving me nuts.

~M.

M - bet you wish you were back in Roma! :-)

Gruezi - I am not even going to start packing till I get back from being a camp counselor for next week... so Fodors it is!

Mom -- I'll be content with them passing out within the hour, leaving me to my limoncello and Olympics :)

Cincin mebe, I hope you enjoyed that limoncello and the Olympics.

I didn't realize you were more or less in the area where I live.

Waiting for your next installment is like waiting to open up the presents Christmas morning!

Love, you are too sweet.

I'm up here in the North Bay, about an hour north of SF.

Yes, I am enjoying my limoncello. But my back is to the TV so that I can continue with my story.

But now bedtime calls, early morning with the kids...

Great report. Bookmarking for future reference!

Really enjoying your report! Looking forward to more!

Sally

OH, c'mon. You have to get back to us!!

Lovely writing style, mebe. Our daughter joined DH and I on a long weekend in London several years ago. She left her husband and two sons (3 and 1.5). She threw up on the plane into Newark, cried getting on the plane to London, took dramamine and fell asleep, cried on arrival in London and got better each day. She is VERY glad she made the trip!

More, please...

More coming soon...:)

…So here is the back story.

In January of this year, my husband almost lost his job. It was our first experience with this type of instability and since he earns the only paycheck to pay for our expensive family of five, we were scared. Our main fear was loosing the house, moving in with my Mom; but a close second was canceling my trip to Rome.

So I made this prayer. And I should mention I’d consider myself spiritual but I don’t belong to an organized religion. Some part of me wishes to be Catholic because of the art and singing (my Lutheran Grandma is rolling in her grave and the atheists in my family are going to berate me when they read this). But I don’t believe in the Pope, so for now, I stick to saying a prayer when a prayer is needed. And in January, I was praying a lot. One morning, I dropped to my knees on my kitchen floor and said: God, please let Aaron keep his job so that I can feed my family and go to Rome. And if I make it to Rome, I promise to send a prayer of gratitude from every church I pass.

Alas, my prayer was answered.


Back to Rome….

It was a sweet little church, with the strips of marble reminiscent of the cathedral in Siena. Inside it was dark, cool and quiet. I was alone. I picked a pew near the altar and succumbed to my fatigue. My feet felt sweet relief; I took a deep breath, and exhaled into tranquility.

This was first chance to make a prayer. I closed my eyes and said: “I’m grateful for my children, my husband and his job, every minute I spend in Rome.” I saw the Book of Common Prayer in front of me. Hmm…I thought. For a spiritual hoot, just to see if God is listening, I should concentrate on my family, randomly flip open the book, and see what prayer I land on. So I did just that: closed my eyes, focused on my family, opened the book and opened my eyes. I began to cry with laughter. I had randomly opened the book to “The Blessing for Marriage.” Alright God, I thought, well done. I closed the book, and left.

Once standing, I noticed a filthy man blocking the entrance, watching me. Uh oh, I thought. I calmly but quickly, walked down the aisle, trying to ignore his presence as he approached me. He talked at me in animated Italian, and I responded with “Non capisco” and left, hoping I didn’t just spurn one of God’s disciples.

Slightly refreshed and still buzzed from my “spiritual experience” I walked on to Piazza della Republica: a grand fountain and a grand hotel surrounded by insane traffic. I found another open church: St. Maria Delgi Angeli, designed by Michelangelo and built into the Baths of Diocletian. I gawked at the colorful marble and grand arches, while keeping a tight hold on my purse, since the “Welcome!” sign also stated “Watch for thieves!”

After I said my Prayer of Gratitude, my camera’s battery died. I knew this ended my quest to see St. Teresa in all her Ecstasy. If I can’t take a picture of it, I most likely won’t remember it; a sad truth. I bumbled my way towards the Spanish Steps, among all the other bumbling tourists, armed with their own crumpled maps and knitted brows. We were all in our own stage of lost.

At the top of the Spanish Steps I stepped into Trinita dei Monti, for another pray/rest stop. I said my thing, including extended family in my good withes this time, even the atheists who I knew wouldn’t want it. The gates near the altar were closed, while a couple of young priests rehearsed a ceremony with a group of squirming boys.

Trudging down the hot, crowded Spanish Steps, I decided I still don’t see the attraction to this, attraction. The tourists were thick and everywhere. They stretched down Via Corso in both directions. I was astounded. I joined the herd and cruised through the trendy and expensive shop lined streets, marveled at the clothes and jewelry, bemused by Fendi baby bottles (is their plastic more luxurious than the cheaper bottle?). Feeling the pangs of hunger, I broke a 50E on a bunch of animal shaped, wooden magnets for the kids and then began my love affair with Piazzarius.

In general, I enjoy a good piece once in a while, but I don’t love it. And normally, I wouldn’t eat it everyday. But this pizza….such yummy deliciousness. The shop is this little neon bright, step in place with a glass case filled with unusual kinds of pizza and two little benches against the outside wall to eat. I ordered uno etto of an eggplant and tomato. The woman repeated “uno etto?” Si, I said. With a look of disbelief, she glanced at the man working with her and put her spatula to the massive square, like, is this etto? I thought, did she just start working here, she doesn’t know what an uno etto is? The man shrugged his shoulders, and they stabbed the slab and tossed it in the oven.

Oh so delisicoso! The clear tomato juice and grease ran between my fingers with each bite. The crust was airy, the cheese full of pungent flavor; the tomatoes fresh and sweet. I don’t like eggplant but this eggplant was tasty. I was still in pizza heaven. I can almost taste it now…I sat outside on the bench and devoured it, napkins barely keeping up. People walked by and watched me with envy. Combined with a couple of chugs of Fanta (my special travel drink) I was recharged!

My Pizzarius is near the Pantheon, so I enjoyed another quick visit. It was now time for homemade gelato. I ordered a scoop of pear and lemon. The lemon tasted just like a lemon and was almost too tart. But the pear was perfect, like licking a frozen, creamy fruit. I moseyed past the Parliament buildings, and noticed a crowd and a couple of reporters standing near the doors. And polizia: they gathered in small groups, casually hanging out, with their big guns. I needed to eat my gelato, what a perfect spot! I joined the crowd and blissfully scooped my fruity treat while waiting for the important person to leave the building. I don’t think anyone knew who they were waiting for. Tourists like me, sensed an event and stopped. Nobody left the building. The reporters dropped their cameras in defeat. I was left with sticky fingers and aching feet. It was time for me to leave. Eight hours later I entered my room and collapsed.

But my day was not yet over…

After a shower and brief rest, I wanted out of my box. I settled on St. Ignatius, near the Pantheon. It was 7 and the cathedral closed at 7:30. I could make it in 30 minutes – no problem.

I marched through Piazza Navona, past the polizia (and hell-o again…) and to the Pantheon. Now which street was it on….how do you read a map anyway? Down one little street… nope, not there….I’ll try this one...another nope. Down another – yes! And it is 7:35. Damn.

Plan B: visit the Trevi Fountain at sunset. And the fountain was worth the extra steps, with its ice blue water, apricot buildings - all bathed in the setting sun. People smothered the steps leading to the pool, but there was still a spot for me. I sat transfixed, and listened to the crash of water and the constant murmur of intimate conversations. People took turns taking pictures of each other against the watery backdrop: couples with their arms intertwined, young kids making faces. Everyone looked content and happy in their little groups.

And then this sad chill crept in. I was an outsider; the single woman in the crowd, vulnerable and different. Not a lone warrior taking on Rome, but a lonely woman. I tried to nudge it away. I took a few self-portraits in front of the facade, faking an “I’m happy, too!” smile. But lonely stayed. I thought that if someone else took my picture, then for a moment or two, I would be included in the celebration. So I gathered every last confident bit of myself, walked over to a young couple, asked, and the man agreed. At last! I was now going to be like everyone else. I stood tall and proud and smiled! Click…he glanced at the digital image, shrugged his shoulders and with an “eh…” handed my camera back. I agreed with him. The picture was a fake. And I left.

But again, the day was not yet over…

I got lost. I headed south on the congested, busy, exciting via Corso, overflowing with cheerful groups of friends and affectionate couples. It was too much for little solitary me. Crowds of happy go-lucky people were driving me deeper into a funk. I turned right down a street, searching for solitude. But that was a mistake. Those quaint streets are a killer for directionally challenged people, such as me.

I got so lost it was pathetic. My south turned north, then west towards the Tiber River. I ended up near a bus station, then some circular old ruin surrounded by tall weeds and a chain linked fence. The sun had set; the picturesque cobbled streets now eerie. Dirty, sinister-looking men began to mysteriously crawl out from the walls. Another Rome was waking up for the night, and I wanted no part.

An hour later, I miraculously landed back on via Corso, slightly less lost. I searched my map – again – and while doing so, caught the eye of a man walking towards me, his own map carefully folded, slightly wrinkled. He has scuffed shoes; something isn’t right, my instinct whispered.

Do you speak English, he asked with an Italian accent.
Yes, I do.
Do you know where the Trevi Fountain is?
Umm…. (looking around) not really. I think we are on via Corso, so it is probably that way (pointing south). There are signs - you can’t miss it.
Oh, (looking down at his map) I keep ending up at Spanish Steps. Have you been to the Trevi Fountain? Can you help me?
Scuffed shoes, Italian asking American for help, dark streets, hmm…something not right, I thought.
I’m sorry, but no. And I continued on.

By the time I wound my way back to the Pantheon, I was exhausted, famished and exhilarated to recognize my surroundings. I ordered another “uno etto” of a mixed peppers pizza from a different hole-in-the-wall pizza place and received the same strange look, like “really, uno etto, that’s it?”

Back at the hotel, I called Aaron. He was not as chipper as he was the night before. I could hear kid commotion in the background. The talk was brief and consisted of who had naps and who was throwing tantrums. “Hey, I got lost in Rome, at night!” I tried to interject. “Oh yeah?” he responded, distracted by kids throwing food. Not the response I hoped for. And we hung up. And that was the end, to my first day in Rome on my own.

mebe,

My feet are aching just reading this!

Isn't it funny when you're alone with no one to complain you can just go and go and go?

I often wish I could just pack an extra pair of feet so I wouldn't have to stop.

Glad your pray was answered. I'm an agnostic these days, but I miss all the Catholic novenas and such. I've said a few in my day.

gruezi

<<Isn't it funny when you're alone with no one to complain you can just go and go and go?>>

This is so very true and one reason why solo travel has always worked well for me. When in a city like Rome, I never want to be in my hotel room but always out and about just taking it all in.

I am lucky that I recently married a wonderful guy that can actually keep up with me !:)

Bookmarking

Going and going and going, without anyone to hold you back, is by far, the best part of solo travel.

And since my last trip to Italy I had to work my sight-seeing around nap times and snack times, rambling continuously was a luxury.

Thanks for reading!

That was your first day!!!! I thought that at least a few days had already gone by.

Keep it coming. I like your writing style.

Gail

mebe:

I haven't had a chance to read your whole report yet, but I am really looking forward to it.

I remember your anxiety when planning this trip, which you took the week after I returned from Rome. I'm so glad you went ahead with it, and I'm so glad you came back to tell about it. I have been wondering how it went for you.

As a mother of two who takes a girls' weekend every year without guilt, and someone who just returned from Rome, I don't think you could have picked a better plan!

I'll be back to read the whole story soon. :)