Italia...Day 3 - Old Shit

Nasa says you need one day per hour of time difference to properly adjust to what the hell is happening to you. Well, as far as I’m concerned Nasa can eat my shorts. I simply don’t have time for that crap. Same goes for my nutritionist that suggested I eat healthy and avoid drinking my face off on this vacation. Listen fools, I get but one vacation per year, and I’ll be damned if I have to spend it following the rules.

Yeah so I slept in until almost noon on Sunday because I was so jet lagged, and full of pizza, and hungover from Champagne. In fact, I only woke up because my mother had grown so tired of my sleeping carcass that she finally decided to come over to my bed and punch me in the kidney.

An hour later I was fully dressed and ready to go. The first thing we decided to do was go visit the Coliseum. It is located two stops from Termini (Rome’s “Union Station,” if you will) on Line A. One of my favorite things about certain European landmarks is that they do a really good job of arranging the subway in such a way that when you exit, you are visually assaulted by the monstrosity of your destination. Both the Eiffel Tower and the Coliseum are conveniently parked about 100 feet from their subway stop. Same goes for the Tower of London. Even better, to subway spits you out so you’re facing the best side of the Coliseum: the taller part that wraps around the shorter part, the angle of which most of the photos you see are taken. I felt the same way I did the first time I saw it: like my head should fall off or something. I mean, at least people around you should spontaneously burst out into song. Here I am, fortunate enough to be in front of the Coliseum for the second time in my life.

My Ma began to grow impatient with me staring in self-reflective wonder and insisted that we get the show on the road. We decided to tour the inside. Some asswipe cut in front of me in line and then pretended he had no idea what was going on. He’s lucky that ancient monuments calm me down, otherwise he’d have gotten a boot to the kneecap. Anyway, 12 euros later (a little steep, I think), we found ourselves wandering the interior. You know, the weird thing about the inside for me has always been the ground part, or lack thereof. Instead of a dirt field, where one would assume all the death and dismemberment took place, there is what appears to be a small underground village below. I can only assume this was some sort of prison where they kept the sacrificial entertainers. The ground above seems to have been removed.

We had lunch at a little place a few blocks away. Someone told me a few years ago that you should always eat a few streets away from any landmarks or piazzas, otherwise your food will disappoint you and the bill will send your broke ass home. My Ma begrudgingly allows my picky restaurant hunting to go on for about 15 minutes before she puts her foot down and drags me into the first place she sees. Turns out we made a great choice. She had soup and I had a steak. I don’t know, something about being in the place of ancient Gladiators just put me in the mood for a slab of red meat. I’m was just sorry I couldn’t club it and drag it back myself. We also split a carafe of red wine, because, Dr. Cohen, that is what people do on their damn vacations.

Next on our list was the Piazza Barberini, again. We actually went back there because there is this insane dead body thing I wanted to show my Ma. She’s into that sort of shit. Once she got to watch an autopsy and said it was one of the most thrilling experiences of her life. There just isn’t enough therapy in the world that would get me back on track after seeing something like that. Anyway, just off the piazza there is a street called Via Veneto. On that street is this church called Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini (say that 10 times fast). Little background: From about 1500 to the late 1800s, the Roman Catholic Church allowed people to be buried in and under churches. Some popes and priests and monks, etc., are even preserved and displayed (there are a few wax covered popes in St Peter’s, which never ceases to weird me out). This is why so many churches in Rome have underground crypts. The Cappuccini crypt, however, which is located just below the Santa Maria church, is especially creepy because it contains the bones, yes bones, of over 4000 dead monks. These bones are arranged all over the ceiling and walls and in these little display rooms. It’s like a religious haunted house or something. Hundreds of skulls make elaborate archways where dried, partially preserved monks are propped up beneath. There are chandeliers made of wishbones and flower designs made of hip bones. For those of you who read my last Italy blog, this would be the place where the Texan guy loudly asked the tour guide in the middle of the solemn crypt, “How’d they get the meat of them bones?” It was and remains one of the most hilarious moments of my life. My Ma was enthralled at the display, but she was slightly unsettled at what these “16th century crazy f-cks” had created. She said it reminded her of 1970s lacy wallpaper combined with crafty shit children make with pasta and beads. I’ve always been amazed at the room because it actually looks a lot newer than it is. There is plaster on the walls and it is remarkably well lit. Hard to believe it was commissioned in the mid 1600s.

After that we walked the kilometer or so to the Trevi Fountain. I was really hoping that since we are travelling in the “off season” that it wouldn’t be crowded will tourist bastards. Alas, I wasn’t so lucky. Just like last time, there were swarms of idiot tourists with stupid cameras hovering around. I mean, damn, I travelled all this way, how was I going to get a decent picture if 15 bajillion other people stole my idea?!

Eventually, we made it to the front and snapped away. Legend has it that if you throw a coin over your left shoulder with your back to the fountain you will have good luck and a quick return to Rome. Well, it worked last time so I went ahead and tossed a Euro. There is also a smaller pond attached to the fountain (the main pool of which is nearly the size of a football field) off to the side known as the “Lover’s Pond” or what not. Apparently there’s some other ritual you can do there but I couldn’t have been less interested in that fairy tale nonsense if I tried.

We decided to walk up Via Del Corso to the Piazza del Poppolo, and then to the Spanish Steps. This route is pretty fun, and it takes you past some really excellent shopping. Like, Rodeo Drive-type shopping. If you thought high-end designer stores in America made you feel inferior, you should experience the real self loathing that only Euro prices can bring. I wanted this Burberry trench coat so very badly…but unfortunately I couldn’t find someone who was willing to buy my friggin’ kidney. (I’m totally buying it at Barney’s on sale in the spring if it’s the last thing I do). Next, we ate dinner at Trattoria Leonardo off the Piazza about 100 meters. Ma had veal and I had salad. My belly was still full of dead cow from earlier in the day. We are still on a champagne kick for some reason. There’d be plenty of wine in Tuscany, so as far as Rome was concerned, we decided to drink like 22 year olds on New Years.

Totally regretted it in the morning.