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.