Europe: A Journey (Chapter 2)

 Chapter 2

It’s Messy Here (Rome, May 12 - 16)

The JetAir flight, like it’s low budget siblings which I have experienced is strict, formal and utilitarian. I witness a passenger  grumpily dispensing of a plastic bag full of items upon being informed he is slightly over the carry on limit. 

The sky is sunny as we travel from France to Italy. I whip out Jane Eyre, which immediately starts a brief conversation with another traveler from America. I’m from Malaysia (does she know where is that?). I’m travelling, to just like you. What else is there to say?

The flight lands and I notice we are in a slightly different place. The clean sleek Paris airport gives way to an almost Malaysian experience. It’s warmer here and dirtier. As someone later tells us, Rome is more messy. Messy compared to where, I wonder?

It is a little bit too much for me. Once again I dive into Rome’s metro and emerge near San Giovanni in Laterano, a historic cathedral. I enter it and I the silence envelopes me. It is peaceful; a respite from the crowd. I sit in silence and marvel once again at such a grand building almost devoid of people. 

Our hostel is much smaller and quieter, almost a homely feel. I meet another backpacker, a middle age American travelling by herself. She seems a little jaded, almost as if she is going through the motions of travel. I do press her on this and exchange pleasantries. Later I meet another elderly American couple devoted to Rick Steves. They do have a certain pedantry to them, a routine which I suppose find comforting. I watch amusedly as they discuss about Rick Steve’s recommendations for Rome.

Opposite our hostel (nestled in a quiet University neighborhood filled with students) lies one of the best pizzerias I’ve been to and a decent gelato place. Thus begin our staple Italian diet of pizzas and gelato. I encounter the Roman pizza, square instead of round and far far more delicious than anything I’ve ever tried back home (and cheaper, too!). We sit in a corner and dine on fine Italian bread and cheese - here then is one of the true pleasures of travel, the great food which you would probably not find anywhere else.

In Rome the first thing most people would do is head for the Coliseum. And so we did. Our Roma passes allowed us to bypass the ridiculously long line and enter the ruins (crumbling ruins). It is packed with tourists, it is also pregnant with history. I have a picture of myself taken with it as a backdrop. In Facebook, someone claims it is a Photoshop. 

Later, I find out my brother snuck a stone from the Coliseum back with him. He probably realized it would make a good souvenir. Nevermind that it was probably very, very illegal. Imagine if everyone took souvenirs with them throughout the millennia the stadium has stood. What would be left of it, I wonder?

We head to the Palatine Gardens, another stroll through ruins. The sun is bearing down on us and I fill up my bottle at one of the many fountain spouts in the city. It is claimed to be safe for drinking. But it tastes less than pleasant. Perhaps I have been spoiled by my diet of filtered water back home. Here in Europe, water comes from the tap along with all the associated flavors. 

The highlight of my visit would surely be the Borghese Villa. It is small museum; a villa which belong to a Cardinal who was also an avid collector of works of art. And what art! I line up patiently to enter - visitors are limited and as I file in I can only thank their good thinking. Instead of the packed sardine experience of the Vatican Museums, I was allowed a serene and unmolested stroll through the rooms. I had an entire room of Caravaggio paintings all to myself. I stood for what seemed like forever in front of a Bernini statue. With my nose almost touching the marble I wondered at the intricate detail of Pluto’s fingers digging into Proserpina’s thighs. It was almost a religious experience in itself. 

Coming in second on my list of great experiences in Rome would be the Lux in Lumina exhibition, which was being held at the Capitoline museums. Simply put, a collection of Vatican documents were being displayed in dimly lit rooms. What were so special about them? Well, seeing letters written by Michelangelo, Galileo and Copernicus brought me goosebumps. Here were the handwritings of the greatest of men, legends and almost myths. Here were their words, inscribed by their own hand. I felt incredibly cultured already.

I had (wisely) set aside time away from the city. Our stop here in Rome were the Aquaduct Parks. Nestled in a suburban residential area, we navigated our way through the flats occupied almost entirely by immigrants. This place did not see a lot of tourists. But what a gem it was - ancient aqueducts surrounded by lush yellow fields. It was a taste of what was to come (in Switzerland). We enjoyed the walk; the cold wind sweeping us was moderated by the harsh sun above.

Unfortunately not all experiences were pleasant. As I made my way to the Vatican Museum I realized what I was in for as I squeezed my way through the throng of package tourists (I realize I was one of them, but still) who crowded the corridors as they disinterestedly listened to the explanations of their tour guide about this or that artifact. I spent the next hour or two being jostled and shuffled down corridors, heading all the way to the packed Sistine Chapel, where tourists nonchalantly snapped their photos while being shouted at by guards (No Photo e No Video!).

The Vatican, a country within a country was much smaller than the movies and books made it out to be. St. Peter’s Basilica even seemed underwhelming. As we walked back to our hostel, I am reminded again (and again) about expectations and reality. Set it low and realisticly enough, and you will be bound to be pleasantly surprised instead of disappointed.

Hustlers abound in Rome, looking to sell you trinkets and tours. Having been warned by guidebooks, I stay far away from them. Not all of them are that bad though. I pass by an Australian hawking tours in the Vatican. He asks me if I am interested. I walk pass, pretending not to listen. “Hey, you dropped something!” he says. I turn around. “Hah! Gotcha!” Good one, I tell him. 

We leave Rome for Florence, both with a slight sense of relief at being able to escape the hustle and (for me) a profound sense of disappointment. We did the sights of old Rome from the Pantheon to the Trevi Fountain but I felt that I let it down. Did I really see it? I toss a coin into the fountain, guaranteeing my eventual return.