"Hey! The suitcase is too biiiiiiiiiig!" "He's nevvvvvvvvvver going to maaaaaaaaake it!"
The guy was expecting the bin to expand to meet his suitcase, instead of trying to creatively squish the overloaded thing into the bin. He tried two or three times. The Italians were getting more excited, like it was a sporting event. "Put it in diagonnnnnnnnnnaly!" "Pray to the Virgin for a miiiiiiiiiiiiiricle!" "He thinks because his tiny dick fits everywhere, the suuuuuuuuuuuitcase fits everywhere!" Laughter.
It's like they were making fun of guy and cheering him on at the same time, muttering under their breath all the while. This accompanied by much gesturing---fingertips together, back of the hand out, the hand wagging forward and back, or hands held open, palms up, together with a shrug. The universal "WTF?" gesture.
Finally the guy got the suitcase into the bin. The Italians actually gave a little cheer and started clapping. One of them had a tattoo on his arm, in English: Only can God judge me. Does that include English syntax?
-----
Rome airport is huge. Expect a long wait for your luggage. We waited about an hour.
-----
Then a long walk to the train that goes from the airport to the Termini, the main train station in Rome. It was dark by now and there was nothing to see. The train was about to leave, there was a line at the ticket machines, so B just said "Fuck it," and we ran for the train. Sitting there ticketless, I wondered what the penalty would be when the conductor caught us, but though we saw him, he just walked through the very crowded train and checked no one's tickets.
Here's something to know about Rome's Termini: it's fucking huge and fucking busy.
To get to the subway connecting us to our hotel, we had to walk 1.5 - 2 kilometers, up and down and up again and down again steep staircases, schlepping our luggage. It seemed like a forever walk! All this inside, of course. Finally we found the right train, got off near the famous Spanish Steps, and were walking through the center of Rome, crowded with people even though it was about 10 and still kind of hot. Cobblestone streets and hardly any traffic----that part of town has been closed except to locals and even they have restrictions, it seems.
We stayed at the Hotel Forte, a lovely old place down a rather dark alley in an area known for artists who have lived on the Via Margutta through the years. I guess it was originally an apartment building, with a winding staircase up three or four flights. They'd installed an elevator in the center of the staircase but I preferred taking the stairs during my visit. I can use the exercise.
We walked out to explore. The streets were full of people and thankfully not full of cars; just a few taxis sitting around. Tourists everywhere, and guys trying to sell stuff to tourists----roses, souvenirs, etc. We found a place to eat and had a decent but not noteworthy meal, then more strolling, where we came upon this:
Trevi Fountain. Crowded as hell even at midnight. Watch La Dolce Vita sometime.
Walking back toward the hotel, we came again upon the Spanish Steps. People congregate here for various reasons. The vendors to vend, the cabbies to get a fare, but the people just to look at this beautiful structure, or sit there and drink a beer or bottle of wine or meet new friends.
I overheard snippets of conversations as we climbed the steps. "Then I went to New Zealand and worked on a sheep farm for a while..." This from a young American woman talking to a dreadlocked European, him probably wondering: When do we get to the part where I get into bed with her? Or: "I'm not sure Obama will get a second term, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to get a second beer." Laughter from the other young Americans (?) sitting there...
There were several cops standing around or parked at the bottom of the steps in case things went nuts. Which they didn't----everyone was having a good time.
The bottom of the Spanish Steps, looking up.
About the middle of the Spanish Steps, looking down.
No comments:
Post a Comment