Words and pics by Allison O'Donoghue
Be careful when booking accommodation online. Thus far I had been relatively lucky, the website and pictures matched the reality. I wasn't so lucky in Roma. Traveling by train from the wonderful city of Florence riding high on cultural saturation, I was expecting more of the same. Arriving in Roma was incredibly exciting, I really wanted to explore its ancient delights immediately but thought it best to book into the hotel and take it from there. The website stated it was 23ks from the city centre. It was further than that. It took me 2 hours to get there, changing trains and connecting with buses. My high was waning the further I got out of the city. The landscape became more industrial and baron. The graffiti more graphic, the poverty more evident. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into? I was hoping I had taken the wrong train. Checking the map, I was, unfortunately heading in the right direction. The beating sun didn't help and no air-conditioning on public transport in Italy. I was dripping wet, hot and sticky and starving hungry. I had eaten at the Termini in Roma but I had romantic ideas of freshening up and dining at the hotel restaurant.
The further I got out of Roma, the less english was spoken. Thank god for sign language and maps. I finally arrived at the hotel late in the afternoon, too exhausted to travel back into the city and feeling a little unnerved by my surroundings. My room had a view - of a bus depot. The hotel was full of Americans who had made the same mistake. There was no swimming pool and the air-con didn't come on until 6 pm and permanently set at 25 degrees. The hotel restaurant was closed and the only other place was on the highway. This was not looking good at all.
Resigned to my fate, I had a shower, switched on the TV and settled in for a snooze while the Pope conducted mass, on every station. Actually it was interesting, I planned on visiting the Vatican. The room was so hot I couldn't bear it any longer. I asked at reception where to go for a meal and was directed to the place on the highway. I strolled up the hill and surveyed my surroundings. Bleak. The restaurant was empty bar one table of staff. The waitress didn't speak english so I pointed to my choice and ordered a glass of wine, which was so bitter it tasted like vinegar. The latte', I had to kill the taste was delicious. You'd be hard pressed to get a bad coffee in Italy, but they didn't know what a latte' was, that seems to be a western interpretation of milk coffee.
The meal was interesting, Puttenseca pasta with chilli and real cheese. Yummy. I noticed the staff watching me intently, this happened in Venice as well. I asked an Italian what that meant and they thought it was one of two things; either they thought I was a putana (slut) or they thought it was a lonely sight me eating alone. I'll choose the latter thought. To Italians eating alone is shameful, as every meal should be shared. Yeah, I get that but if your traveling alone what are you gonna do, starve?
Suddenly the volume turned way up as the Americans walked in, stunning the waitress to her feet and sending the kitchen into a panic. Phew! I smiled sweetly at the waitress as she rushed into the kitchen screeching at the kitchen staff, who came out to look at the spectacle. My smiles turned to giggles then outright belly rolling in the dirt laughter, as the Americans jostled with seating arrangements, oblivious to the ensuing chaos in the kitchen. Italians are highly strung at the best of times but this was developing into an unrehearsed farce.
Grace returned from dinner and we sat outside talking into the wee small hours. The Americans also sat outside. It was far cooler out than in. We resigned ourselves to a sleepless night.
After a dreadful night I packed my bags. I rang a great woman from California Magdelana traveling with her son Raj, who I'd met in Florence. She was booked into a fantastic hotel in Barberini not far from the Spanish Steps. Thats more like it. I rang her hotel but it was booked out, they gave me the number of another next door where I booked in for 3 nights. It was expensive compared to whoop whoop but after this experience I decided it was worth paying extra.
When I got to reception it was crowded with complainers, the Americans were checking out and so was Grace. And all they had to do was switch the air-con up. Those Italians can be stubborn! We bid farewell and I headed off to wait for a bus. Little did I know this would be a long, eventful day.
The bus took ages to arrive as I melted in the hot sun. The driver couldn't speak english and not another soul was on the bus. It was an eerily deserted industrial area. I can't wait to get into the city. The bus eventually stopped at a metro station, at last, which was unbelievably crowded. From nothing to bedlam! I headed straight for the metro but it was closed due to an accident, someone had fallen off the platform. After searching for someone who spoke english, they directed me to a bus that would take me closer to the city. Everyone piled on. It was already overcrowded but the bus driver kept stopping to pick more people up. Italians are not shy in expressing themselves and they screamed at the driver every time he stopped. It was hysterical. It appeared to be the same offenders but more passengers joined in as it became dangerous. At one stage the bus nearly tipped on its side, which would have crushed me like a sardine. The bus driver got so fed up he stopped the bus and ordered everyone off. To be honest, I was relieved.
I found someone who spoke english, who had a dream of moving to Australia. She informed me it was a public holiday and everyone was heading to the Vatican for the Pope's mass. Ah, that makes sense.
The air-con was on, the room spacious and I had a view of the bustling street. Fantastico!!!!!
Amazing the difference a decent room and area makes. Next story - Barberini.
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