Since Jennie and Janda are back from their trips, and Ira and Tom have already posted theirs, I thought I'd better hustle on mine! Here it is; I hope you enjoy.

AIRLINES

We flew on Delta from Atanta. I can only say that cheap internet airfare stop being good starting at the word "cheap." After that, cheap is an entirely uncivilized way to travel. Big cattle cars for transporting the masses. My husband, R, and I were in the first row after business class ended, and we could see that the priviledged few ahead of us had real china plates. And I bet they weren't being served mushy peas, either. The bathroom lines were awful! When do humans have the misfortune of wanting to use the toilet all at the same time?? My enterprising husband turned on the English charm and asked in his superior charming accent if he could go into business class. Request granted as wifey waited in line with the hoi polloi. Cheap seats have cheap bathrooms, not equipped with real doors, but bifolds. No one knows how to exit. I saw the bifold jiggle, jiggle, jiggle every time before the occupant figured out how to extricate himself.

CATCHING OUR FIRST TRAIN

Our directions from sleepinitaly.com said it would take about 50 minutes to reach our destination at the Trastevere station (Rome). No trouble buying tickets or boarding, but we reached the statin in a mere 20 minutes! I was beside myself in disbelief and refused to get off, telling R that we still had another half an hour to go. He sputtered but deferred to my endless Italian knowledge, garnered after a summer of slavish devotion to Fodors. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves 20 minutes away from our train stop, which WAS the correct one, 20 minutes prior. Lesson learned: what you hear about how haphazard the Italians are in regard to time, as in they take their own sweet time to accomplish things, may not refer to train time. It IS possible to arrive early on a train.

TRASTEVERE

We immediately felt at home in this village. It reminded us of all the villages in our favorite cities--New York, Chicago, Paris. Small, tree-lined, short on tourists; long on locals. Authentic, in other words. Boisterous and choc-a-block with little food shops and markets. A home away from home! Our apartment ws in an ancient building with a center courtyard, entered from the street through massive doors. Only one window, which opened into the courtyard. Thank god for the powerful halogen lamp, which gave us "sunlight." Over the next few days we were given a feel for Roman living, and we laughed over how much we wanted an authentic experience--or maybe not! We were the only tourists in the buildings, so we were woken each morning by the sounds of our neighbors heading off to work. They were not on vacation like us, and made no concession to keeping quiet as they waved their cheery goodbyes to spouses and children! We were also awakened by the late shift people as they came in at 2 am. They were a jolly bunch not prone to whispering or tiptoeing about (drat! you couldn't get angry because they were just SO good natured so late at night--how did they manage that?). Ah, it was truly a slice of neighborhood life that those poor folks staying at hotels would never see or hear...it was Rome for the robust of heart, like us. (Note to myself: Ambien is the elixir of the sleeping gods. Take without guilt while staying in Roman apartment.)

A VISIT TO THE BORGHESE GALLERY AND GARDENS

We awoke early on our first full day in Rome as we had 11:00 am reservations at the Borghese Gallery. We hopped onto the corect bus, which was waiting at the curb. We were the first people on, and R leisurely validated our tickets. He fed them through the machine, which tooks its own sweet time spitting them out again. "Okay," we think, this is an Italian machine. They're probably not high-tech dojobbies like ours. No prob." The bus fills with passengers, and off we go. The conductor made his way to our seat and motioned that he wanted to see our tickets. (Italians, it seems, ride free. The conductors never bother looking at any but the tourist tickets.) He frowned at us, pointed to the validation machine and pantomined that we are required to validate. "But we have!" we protest. We are brought to the machine and shown the CORRECT way to feed the ticket through. Lesson learned: Italians do have high-tech.

Onward to lovely Borghese Villa, which houses some of the most magnificent art human eyes are priviledged to see. The building itself is a piece of art! Mosaics adorned faux-painted "marble" walls so skillfully done that the words "is it live or is it memorex" flitted though our minds. We joined a guided tour led by the wonderful Laura. Not Laura, as we pronounce it, but Low-ra, as in Al-low Laura to guide you through this museum. Say it! Roll that name around your mouth and let it slip off your tongue with all the romance Europe has to offer! Doesn't it sound exotic?

Laura is an art historian and her eyes shine with intelligence and wit. We knew we'd be in for a treat. Laura is wearing a tank top. She has hairy European armpits! The little cogs in my brain are working overtime at this discovery. When in Rome, do as the Romans do! I resolve to follow suit for as long as my husband will tolerate. My Venus razor is banished with the same vigor the early Christians used on the Venus of their day.

If I could only describe all the statues and paintings we saw! I was on the alert, of course, for Apollo and Daphne and The Rape of Posperpine, but it was Bernini's David who took me aback. David, young and full of concentration. The boy who took on the giant. The jaw clenched, the lips thin and tight. It was David, his being made of marble was a matter of inconsequence. We were looking at HIM.

...cont.

Little things I noticed about Bernini's statues. Magnificent, as one would expect from Bernini, but my goodness their bodies were, how shall I say? A bit soft. Bodies that never saw a Nordic Trak. The Rape of Posperpine: everyone gasps at how his fingers dig into her thigh. They should. This is genius. But his other hand is digging into her ribcage in a way that is terrifying. His hand shouldn't be there...you know her fate when you see how and where he has grabbed her. It seems almost sacrilegious to me that I notice Daphne's thick ankles. I curse my power of observation which observes too closely.

Laura is very funny in an understated, droll way. She waxes poetic about the travails of Caravaggio, who, we were given to understand, was a bit of a hellraiser. And how he had to butter up religious officials after he killed another man. And then there were the cardinals and popes who stole artistic treasures from one another with a holy enthusiasm that was shocking. Shameless! And the pitiful sacking of Italy's art at the hands of Bonaparte's family. Dowry and wedding settlements gone amuck and treasures now residing in the Louvre. Laura knew all the best stories.

"Look at that man," our guide commanded us. We turned to see another guide, who is wearing a headset into which he is talking, describing a certain sculpture. "He's talking to himself. I (emphatic I) talk to you." Damned if she wasn't right! His group was all over the place, and none of them was listening to a word he was saying. We smugly laughed that we had the magnificent Laura, and he had...airtime.

Two hours flew by and we were very sorry when we were booted out of the museum.

A RIDE ON A SURREY

We rented a surrey and tooled around the Borghese Gardens, which has the same feel as Central Park in NYC, or Audoubon Park in New Orleans. A well worn and well-loved park that we very much enjoyed. Not so much the surrey ride. My dear sweet husband is not a light-weight. He tipped the bench of the surrey and I spent an hour trying to keeping my tush from sliding off! We pedalled to the overlook at Piazza del Popolo. As we slowed to a stop, a group of five teenage boys rushed up to us and grabbed hold of our surrey. With wild gesticulations they made clear to us they want to know where we rented the surrey. They want one too! We give them directions in our stilted Italian, plenty of arm motions thrown in for good measure. One of the boys says to me "Parla inglese?" "Oh yes" I say, and launch into a torrent of English. He touches his hand to his chest, pounds it, and says with a side-splitting grin, "NOT ME!" revealing the sum total of his English language capacity. He's hugely pleased with his joke, as are we, and we depart laughing. Bella Italia.

Later, we strolled down the street (with a detour in the Gardens--it's way easy to get lost in there!) towards the Spanish Steps, stopping at a cafe across from the Medici Villa. A dismal lunch with a fabulous view. I've come to the conclusion that in regard to dining, "view" and "good food" are mutually exclusive terms. One of them's gotta go..and here was no exception. R and I went off to the bathroom to wash up but R came back with dry hands. I didn't. He couldn't figure out how to make the water turn on, even though he moved his hands under the faucet. He assumed the sensor must have been on the fritz. I guffaw at how easily he had given up. No sink handles? No water? No way! The faucet turns on by means of a lever on the floor, which you press with your foot to make the water flow. I shake my head in mirth that I have figured out something an engineer couldn't. And I don't even rub it in.

AN AFTERNOON IN ROME

After lunch, we walked down to the Spanish Steps. We were completely surprised by the swarm of humanity that greeted us. All the tourists in Rome were in one place! No wonder Rome had seemed so delightfully untouristy until now: they were all here on the Steps. We beat a hasty retreat toward the Piazza del Popolo. We already know we're the kind of tourists who don't like mingling with our own kind. We sat at the fountain in the Piazza admiring its three churches before visiting the one with the stunning Caravaggios. We ventured behind the altar and I sat in the grandest of the pews that circled all around; thinking of all the august bottoms that preceeded mine. It was an austere church with a striking side chapel to the right of the altar, featuring columns of rich, red marble.

We strolled through the streets of Rome heading in the general direction of the Church of Santa Susanna. An English Mass is being celebrated at 6:00 and we don't want to miss it, seeing that we're feeling just a little guilty at not having been to Mass for months...Rome seems like an excellent place to rectify our shortcomings. We passed by the Trevi Fountain and the Piazza Barberini. Along the way we witnessed at least six weddings going on. The first few were enchanting, until it dawned on us how many churches we WEREN'T seeing because of all the brides blocking the doors! We became a bit churlish. Enough of the rice already! I wanna see the artwork inside! Don't you all have a honeymoon to go to?

Santa Susanna is a bright, happy church. We struggled valiantly to keep ourselves awake. It is, by the way, next door to the church which contains the statue Ecstasy of St. Theresa. We'd have liked to have seen it, but a bride was holding guard over the dooor, and it was not to be. Mass over, we walked towards Trastevere, catching a beautiful sunset over the domes of Rome.

A DINNER IN TRASTEVERE

We explored the small, twisty cobblestone streets in search of dinner. No one was dining inside; it was culinary romance for all under the stars. The cafes were set up directly in the streets, cleverly given boundaries by large, closely set planters. We were spoiled for choice! Little Miss Tightwad had a forty euro bounty on her wallet nd wouldn't budge a wooden nickle. Onward we marched from cafe to cafe until we found the tiniest, most atmospheric cafe of all: da Lucia on Viccolo Mattanato. Lick your chops, Fodorites! This is what we ate. A carafe of red house wine, a bottle of water (with gas; not of the flat stuff for us! We're in Rome.), flavorful bread that worked our jaws overtime (crusty ain't the word), mixed vegetables (grilled eggplant, white beans, zucchini and roasted red pepper), pasta with Parmesan, veal stew with peas, and roasted rabbit with rosemary. I won't list our entire dinner because I haven't the heart to cause you so much dining envy. I will say, however, that for one of the few times in my married life, my secondi was better than R's! Score one for dln!

We noticed that in the tiny cafe with the market lights strung across and the wandering musician playing dulcet tunes, there was a fast lane and a slow lane. We were in the fast lane where differing accents of English wafted up and down the curb. Five feet from us in the slow lane, soft sweet Italian held sway. Our side was served fast, ate fast, and moved on fast. The Italians parked themselves, settled in for the evening and enjoyed.

We couldn't match such inborn languor but we gave it a mighty try. I was so proud of R! Never have I seen him chew so slowly! The man who vacuums up his food with the voracity of a Wind Tunnel transformed himself into a humble broom for the sake of Italian romance under the stars. Anything could happen in Italy, I thought to myself. All I need is a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine...



To be continued.

I'm glad to see that you have started your report. Thanks for sharing with us.
look forward to the rest, as I am eagerly awaiting your view of Naples.

Having seen both Davids several times, I too love Bernini's. Some will call it heresy, too bad.

mmr41--thanks for responding. I lost your e-mail address, and would like to thank you for all the extra info you gave me about Naples and the Amalfi Coast. We followed your suggestions to a T, and because of them, had a great time (as you will see).

dln, you are a great writer. The style and tone is perfect. Please press on!

Lovely report, dln. More, please.

dln - The hunt for the perfect cafe, dinner, and all the observations are so much fun! Oh, wait, I'm not really there. For a moment I felt like I was riding along in your back pocket. Keep up the good work!

A SUNDAY IN ROME

Up at 10:00 am. We've overslept; no wonder, but it's put a kink in our schedule. We want to see the Church of San Francesco a Ripa, and it closes at lunchtime. We run down, only to find Mass being celebrated, so we head towards St. Cecilia's instead. Wandering through Trastevere, we felt as though we had slipped through the portals of time to the medieval ages. Tall stucco buildings and high walls crowded the narrow, cobblestoned alleys. The church is enclosed in a couryard behind gated walls. Inside, it has an airy, spacious feel to it. There is a small room on the right side of the nave that is being used as storage. The door's ajar, and we peek in. Janitorial supplies and chairs are stacked all about. In a room with exquisite frescoes and an elaborate ceiling! You could only shake your head in wonder. But who knows? Maybe in the 12th century they were doing exactly the same thing. The sculpture of the martyred St. Cecilia is at the altar, and it breaks your heart to look at it. She is so frail. You can see the mrtal wound to her neck. You cannot fail to be moved by the faith contained in that small body. The sun streamed into the church in rays of light shot through the windows. It was a moment of intense natural beauty. We paid 2.50 euros to visit the crypt, and walked down the steps to what looked like an ordinary wine cellar. I said to R, "What??? We've paid to look at a moldy basement?" Little did I know. There are remnants of Roman writing and beautiful arched ceilings. It gets more and more interesting as we move along. At the end, the crowning glory--an exquisite little chapel dedicated to St. Cecilia. It was simply lovely, as befitted the brave young woman for whom it was built.

On to the grocery to buy lunch. Seventeen euros bought us two cheeses, two meats, a basket of grapes, three bananas, a litre of grapefruit juice, a bottle of rosa wine, two large bottles of Moretti beer, a quart of milk and a bottle of antipasti vegetables. A stop at the bread shop commpleted a picnic lunch fit for a Roman feast, which we enjoyed on the terrace of our apartment.

We visited the church of Francesco a Ripa to see Bernini's sculpute of Beatrice Ludovic. The church is situated in an uninspiring piazza filled with cars and scooters, and is itself uninspiring. No matter, we've come to see the scculptue, which we find in a side chapel to the left of the altar. It is mesmerizing. Beatrice lies on a couch set upon a rug of red marble. She looks inches from death, completely exhausted. Her hands are beautifully made, her face plain. The graceful draping of her clothing makes you gasp at its fluidity. There are chairs very close and you may sit and contemplate as long as you like, which is exactly what we do. We can hardly tear ourselves away. We are the only ones in the church.

Oh for the love of Pete, dln! You are setting the bar way, WAAAY too high for those of us who are working on our reports at this very moment. Compared to yours, mine is as dry as the bread you had at your little romantic cafe . . .

Jennie

P.S. Wonderful report! I am loving it!

ttt,

Delicious, dln, simply delicious!! Thanks and please continue......don't leave anything out!!

Thanks everyone for the nice comments! Here's a continuation, later in the same afternoon:

Some time later we tok ourelves away to the other side of the Tiber, over the bridge to the Circus Maximus. We came upon an unexpected ruin with and bride and her groom in the midst of wedding photography. This bride is stunning in a billowing gown of silk shantung.

Over to the church with the Mouth of Truth. The church stands directly on the edge a very busy street. Curb appeal ain't one of its finer points. The line of tourists is too long for us so we nip into the gift shop (an excellent one, by the way) and then into the church. It is as inviting as a prison. High dark drab walls. It's only when you look up toward the ceiling that you see remnants of lively frescos, and you can imagine how warm and lovely it was when it was new, so many hundreds of years ago. It made us sad to see it in such reduced circumstances.

Leaving the church, we cross the street towards an elegant neighborhood called the Aventine. Up Via Sabina to find a perfect little park with a great overlook. Panoramic photograph required! We can see the giant blue observation balloon rise into the air above the Borghese Gardens. Pretty spectacular. An interesting church next door beckons us, but yet another wedding prevents our taking much more than a peek. Up the hill further to stand in line to look through the famous Maltese keyhole, which is the reason why we've come up here. The tiny view makes my jaw drop! If ever a thing was worth making a jaunt for, this was it, hands down.

We take a look at the monastery of St.Anselmo, which has a very well-stocked gift shop in the courtyard. There are several varieties of vinegars, honeys, soaps, books, and calendars, among other gifts. There's a restroom and I notice the sign pointing to it. Do you know what it looks like? A green background featuring a figure of a person RUNNING to the facilities, an arrow pointing the way. Talk about a great sense of humor these Italians have. It's too funny not to take a photo of.

A stroll down the street brings us to the Pyramid of Caio Cestio. We weren't looking for it (in fact we hadn't even known it was there) but that's Rome for you. Unexpected ruins and monuments and oddities surprise us at every corner. It's one of the most perfect things about Rome. We walk back towards the Forum up a beautifully manicured street which turns out to be home to the American Embassy. The Embassy perplexes us. It is the most singularly ugly structure in the city, overlooking one of the most beautiful views of the city. We wandered around the neighborhood surrounding the Forum until dark, and we go back to our apartment for a rest before heading back out again in search of a late pizza dinner.

DLN,

You are truly a poet! I enjoyed your posts...more, more!!

Hey dln:

Just a question? Are you sure the building you saw near the Forum was the US embassy? Because we stayed right off of Via Veneto and were told that a building on THAT street was the US Embassy. It was almost directly across the street from the Hard Rock Cafe . . . had a big American flag waving out front? It was actually kind of stately and attractive.

Not trying to be nitpicky or anything . . . it's just now I'm wondering if it actually WAS the embassy or not because we took a picture of it and have been telling everyone who sees our pics that it's the embassy. . . ha-ha!

Jennie

Jennie, you're right that the Embassy is on Via Veneto. The building we saw was in a residential neighborhood so it probably was the American ambassador's official home. It was completely gated and there were police cars and guards around it. It was the ugliest house I've ever seen! Fantastic view, though.

Whew!! . . . OK I feel better.

The pic stays in the rotation! (I was ready to toss it if it, in fact, turned out to be just another building!)

I remenber the good old days, when you could actually walk inside the USA Embassy in Via Veneto, now is a fortress!!
Welcome back dln, glad that you enjoyed my beautiful Rome..

This is a funny, funny report. It has everything: the ability to laugh at yourself, an essay on the emotional reaction to Bernini's sculptures, obervations on Roman brides and tour guides.

But hurry up, dln, and write the rest of the Romp Through Italy.

The jam lady

Thanks everyone for the encouragement!

MONDAY AT THE VATICAN

We slept later than we wanted. The apartment is so dark with no lights turned on that you can't tell the hour. Hence waking so late. Living in an apartment gives you the real Italian life, good and bad. We feel marvelously safe, which is good. But the everyday sounds rise up through the courtyard. This is the downside. It echoes and amplifies. You don't know the meaning of community life until you've heard it coming up from the ground floor!

There's a market outside our apartment, but it is just like Boston's Haymarket, which I've grown up with, so we pass it by on our walk to the Vatican. We arrive at 12:30 and it takes exactly three minutes to purchase our tickets, one minute more to pass through the turnstile. Like the Villa Borghese, this museum is itself a work of art. There are large windows that give out to the beautiful manicured Vatican Gardens. I thought the art contained within was well-matched to the art (of nature) contained without. We enjoyed the sculptures and numerous busts, and marveled at the vivid Egyptian art. The details and richness of color astounded us. Frescos everywhere. I loved the Map Gallery. Open and airy and full of the colors I love best--reds, greens, blues and golds. I could have happily spent hours in the Gallery, had I not an impatient husband waiting on me!

The Sistine Chapel was a surprise to us. After the brightness of the Map Gallery, we were not prepared for the darkness or relative smallness of the Chapel (I know, I know, chapel means small, but this was the vast Vatican, where everything is large scale!). Yet the paintings were luminous, vibrant and warm. No one can keep their mouths shut, though the loudspeaker blares to us that we are to stay silent in respect. We are respectful; we are also awed and can't stop oohing and aahing. The paintings are large enough for my middle aged eyes not to need the binoculars we've brought--thank you, Michaelangelo!

Michaelangelo's depiction of God touching the hand of man I liked for the hands alone. Man seemed a bit too indolent and full of himself to suit me. "I condescend to touch your hand, God," he seemed to convey with his body language. And yet, the hands reaching to one another were electric! Adam and Eve too were spectacular.

We saw the Pope's bedroom. My jaw dropped open (as it's been doing at an alarming rate). "WOW" was my immediate reaction, and the security guard saw me and laughed. He told us which Pope's bedroom it was and added that he personally wouldn't have liked it for himself; the guilded, coffered ceiling was way too heavy and oppressive. Can't say we didn't agree, but it was a showstopping room nonetheless.

In the hall of tapestries, we stopped in our tracks at the one depicting the massacre of the innocents. It was a very large tapestry showing the Roman soldiers thrusting their swords into the necks and chests of all the babies suspected of being the Christ child. It was chilling and horrible and made we want to cry.

St. Peter's was massive beyond anything we dreamed. We felt like ants in the shadows of its many columns! We headed, of course, to see the Pieta.