I'm really starting to wonder whether it's possible for me to visit mainland Italy without Mother Nature pissing on my head. Am I just dragging a giant storm cloud behind me as I travel? Is my ego large enough that my personal thunderstorms are continent-sized monstrosities? (Don't answer that.) Actually, in all fairness there have been only two previous stops marked by torrential downpours, but they represent fully half the ports we've made so far. That sort of makes it feel like this entire trip has been a big soggy mess.
If you haven't gathered already from previous posts, today was Rome. (I am assuming in this, by the way, that you've been keeping up with my previous blog entries in this travelogue). More concisely, it was Civitavecchia, which is the port closest to Rome at roughly an hour's drive away. As a result of this distance, we at Theatre at Sea planned an excursion for our passengers. We'd contacted a bus and tour company in Rome, offering a comparatively cheap ride from the Civitavecchia docks straight into the heart of Rome, as well as a tour of the major sites by bus for those interested parties. Confirming which passengers wanted Rome, which passengers wanted the full tour, and coordinating this with the ship has been a fairly major task over the last two or three days, and I'm rather pleased to say the whole thing didn't crash down around my ears like a house of cards built with Buicks. At least, not as a result of any miscalculation on our part.
I woke up at around 7:30 this morning, which anyone who knows me will recognize as the truly ungodly hour that it is for me. I had just enough time to shower and grab a quick bite to eat at The Bistro on Deck 6 before hopping down to (everybody now!) Reception on Deck 5. As an aside, the Crystal Serenity has the best oatmeal I have ever experienced. I think they grind up fairy wings and unicorn horns and sunshine dust and blend them into this puree of pure happiness, then sprinkle the mix onto the oatmeal. Eating fairies is delicious! Seriously, I don't what they put in there, because the oatmeal that my father made always tasted like lumpy glue, but I definitely sense pecans, bananas, and possibly cinnamon and brown sugar. There's also an entire array of fruits that you can put into your oatmeal, although I usually stick to the strawberries...and this is in The Bistro, which is like the ghetto of the Crystal Serenity dining experience. I think I need to hire someone to make me this oatmeal for breakfast, because it will ensure that I actually...ya know...eat breakfast. Maybe I'll be able to convince my future boyfriend to do this for me in exchange for...um...sex? Fuck, Sherry was right. I am such a girl.
There were quite a few people already waiting for me down at the reception area, so I went through the list of confirmed Rome passengers I made last night, checking everyone off. Things got pretty hectic pretty quickly as more people started arriving, including the actors, although I also noticed a few missing heads. There'd been a real concern recently about whether or not we'd have enough space on the bus for everyone, but fortunately (or not) more than a few people decided they didn't want to come into Rome. That struck me as pretty bizarre - I mean, this is ROME! How can you not want to go? What kind of weird dimension of frozen cynicism and black misanthropy would you have to come from to skip out on Rome? I guess once you get to a certain age and you've been there already, it's just more of the same? I dunno. I sincerely hope my heart isn't such a shriveled onion by the time I'm eighty that I can poo-poo a trip into Rome, 'cause I found everything pretty spectacular and I didn't get to see NEARLY all the sights that I wanted. Then again, I'm also cheerful and optimistic to an irritating degree, so maybe I'm not the best person to judge. I'm also getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say the whole boarding process went off without a hitch.
The drive into Rome took a lot longer than expected, and about halfway through it started drizzling. Fortunately, I took one look at the steel wool sky this morning and decided to lug my umbrella along. The tour conductor we'd hired for this leg of the journey - a rather jovial woman in her mid-thirties who spoke only passable English - was very insistent upon giving us all a lengthy lecture about Civitavecchia sporadically interspersed with some bizarre jokes. For example, she apparently found it hilarious trying to teach us how to pronounce Civitavecchia (CHEE-vee-tuh-VEH-kee-uh!). She even got everyone reciting along, as though we were a shortbus full of second graders. I kind of wanted to yell, "Just because we're American doesn't mean we're grade schoolers!" but that assessment is, unfortunately, probably not entirely accurate. I eventually just phased her out and spent my time talking with Ron. Philip had almost convinced me last night to take the full Rome tour on the bus, but as Ron and I discussed the specifics of the trip it became apparent that I would want to explore the city on my own. We jotted down a quick guideline to the major sites I would want to see, and by the time we got done the bus was pulling into the outer reaches of Rome. Our tour guide pointed out the walls of the Vatican, then went on to brief us on how to avoid getting pickpocketed by gypsies. That one caught me by surprise, partially because she was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing. It felt kind of like someone just turned to me and said, "Oh, by the way, this is how you avoid getting mugged and raped should you head into the Bronx. Would you like another coffee?"
The bus eventually made its way to the Viale Washington, a street in Rome near the Piazza del Popolo specifically designed for tour buses. We'd upgraded at this point from drizzle to full-blown rain, although nothing as bad as what we got in Venice or Dubrovnik. Our local tour guide was already here; he boarded the bus to take charge of those people who wanted the full tour, while our Civitavecchia guide led the rest of us to the Spanish Steps. Owing to the rain, a number of our passengers decided to stay on the bus, but a surprising number opted to brave the hazards of chill and damp.
I snapped a few pictures of the Piazza del Popolo as we collectively shuffled through, trying not to get water on my digital camera while capturing the vastness of the square and the very unusual Egyptian mold of the monolith that stood in the center. There was a man dressed like an Egyptian sarcophagus standing in front of the monolith; he was outfitted in the King Tut regalia and covered from head to toe in a reflective gold cloth meant to simulate the coffin itself. For a long moment I mistook him for an actual monument and almost took a picture. I sort of regret that I didn't, actually. It was cute - the Italian version of the bronzed statue men in New York - and I wondered who came up with the idea first. Or whether they evolved in parallel, as certain human conventions seem to do.
It was a much longer walk from the Piazza del Popolo to the Spanish Steps than I'd imagined, and on the way our tour guide very insistently repeated when (4:50 pm!) and where (The Fountain at the bottom of the Spanish Steps!) we were to meet back up. The bus would also be waiting back at the Viale Washington at the end of the day, so there was that extra layer of security in case anyone got left behind. As we walked, the tour group started slowly stretching out, elongating like a piece of taffy with our guide at the front and our oldest (or least ambulatory) members pulling up the rear. I, being the youngest and most ambulatory person there, ran a few laps from the front to the back of the taffy pull, dodging pedestrians on the narrow sidewalks=, trying to make sure everyone knew how to get back. I was in horror that we would leave some seventy year-old grandmother smack in the middle of Rome to fend for herself. Although it occurs to me now that any of those seventy year-old grandmothers, with access to considerably more money and experience than I had, could probably fend for themselves far better than I could.
In any case, you can only stretch a piece of taffy so much, so about ten minutes into the walk the younger, more vigorous people had pulled well out of sight. I ended up just crossing my fingers, hoped that we wouldn't have anyone left behind at the end of the day, and, like any good gay man, decided to go shopping. To be fair, it wasn't so much a premeditated choice as the seizing of an opportunity that had presented itself. The street we were on happened to be lined with numerous shops, and as we walked I noticed a antiquities store that was having a going out of business sale. Since I'd yet to buy a present for Dave and Jordan's wedding, I dropped in and, after some browsing, plopped down a sizable sum for a sterling silver salt and pepper shaker set. In retrospect, that's pretty ridiculous, because a silver salt and pepper set would look pretty out of place on any modern tabletop, but dammit, they're wedding presents! From Rome! Sheer international novelty factor alone makes them cool!
Anyway, after buying the shakers, I made my way to the Spanish Steps, which was tall and wide and immensely theatrical. I was reminded of the scene from "The Talented Mr. Ripley," and even found myself looking around for that cafe where Tom spied on Meredith and Margo during their meeting. Additionally, and to my relief, the fountain at the bottom of the steps wasn't some enormous round monstrosity, which would make assembling the group at the end of the day that much easier. I shuttered a few pictures from both the bottom and the top of the steps, and on a whim looked into a church at the top. Rarely enough, picture-taking was allowed inside, so I took advantage and snapped a few shots of the more memorable shrines.
I took the underground from the Spanish Steps to the Ottavio stop, which was the subway stop nearest the Vatican. Nevertheless, it still ended up being a good twenty minutes walk down unfamiliar streets in weather that was growing increasingly chilly and damp. I briefly considered just buying a sweater at one of the shops nearby, but the cost of even a relatively cheap article ran a good 30 euro, which was considerably more than I wanted to spend on anything that wouldn't end up shimmering on my walls or desk. I ended up settling for a personal pizza (ordered in Italian! Yay me!) before trudging my way to St. Peter's Basilica.
The Piazza di San Pietro was impressive in its scale. My eyes were drawn to another of those ubiquitous Egyptian monoliths at the center of the circular square (hah!), to the facade of the St. Peter's Basilica that stood on its western edge, to the incredibly long line of people snaking its way around the perimeter, and to the truly remarkable attention to detail that marked the structures surrounding the piazza. The experience was dampened (hah again!) by the constant curtain of rain draped over the square, and after asking a nice couple to take my picture in front of the Basilica's exterior I contemplated getting in. The length of the line leading into the Basilica itself was substantial enough, and my time in Rome limited enough, that I wasted a goodly amount of this precious time agonizing over whether or not I wanted to wait in that very ungodly line. Neuroticism won out in the end, however, and I plunked myself behind an Asian couple. Thank god for oversized umbrellas (courtesy of Crystal Cruises!)
The line moved much more quickly than I thought it would, and in less than fifteen minutes I found myself inside the single most amazing structure I have ever visited. I am serious when I say the interior of St. Peter's Basilica easily outclasses every other piece of architecture I've ever seen. The place is sheerly astonishing, overwhelming in the degree of detail that graces every wall, and I could spend weeks, if not months, trying to capture all of the marvels inside with my itsy bitsy little camera. I can't compete with any of the resources available out there in describing the interior of the Basilica, but numerating everything that impressed me would be a task of weeks or months, and probably end up an unbearably dull read to boot. Let's just say that seeing the Pieta was an absolute treat, and that the baldacchino and the Cathedra Petri were stunning - positively, supernally, supremely stunning. I've never seen their like in all my life.
Of course, being the churlish cynic that I am, I also have to wonder how much time, effort, and money went into building this admittedly awesome building. Hell, how much time and effort went into carving any one of the sculptures housed inside the nave of the Basilica, that ultimately could have been better used elsewhere. My sense of art and history is appropriately awed by this cathedral, but my sense of humanity ultimately wonders at the opportunity cost of this extravagance. Perhaps that's hypocritical of me. What, after all, would be the opportunity cost of the evenings that I spend at XES, or the money that I pumped into an acting education that ultimately seems of little practical use. How many people could have lived better lives if I had given just a little of that money to charity instead of binging on Cosmos?
I'm not beneficent enough to follow that line of thought to its logical conclusion.
In the end, I spent about an hour and a half basking in the sheer artistic richness of St. Peter's Basilica. I left only with a very great reluctance, in the knowledge that my time in Rome was severely limited and that I still had much to see.
I made a general motion toward the southeast after I left the Piazza di San Pietro, as the Piazza Navona was my next stop on the agenda. It was starting to rain harder at this point, but the Ponte Vittorio was only a short distance away from the Piazza, and led naturally into the Corso Vittorio, which crossed south of the Piazza Navona. The Ponte Vittorio, by the way, is a bridge that crosses the Tiber river, which divides the city into eastern and western halves. The bridge is flanked by a pair of winged bronze sculptures, with additional statues on either side lining the bridge. It's visually very impressive, which is considerably more than I could say for the Tiber River itself, which looked like a scuzzy green swamp. For a city with such incredible art and architecture, they sure chose to straddle a remarkably crappy river. The New River in Radford is more awe-inspiring than the Tiber, which, unfortunately, is a little like saying a triceratops produces a better mound of dung than a rhino.
Okay, I'm done making fun of the Tiber now.
It actually ended up being a much longer walk along the Corso Vittorio than I'd thought, but fortunately for me, and against all odds, I ran into Ron and Norm in the Piazza San Pantaleo, which was apparently just south of the Piazza Navona, but which, by some quirkly twist of non-Euclidean geometry, just refused to direct me there when I attempted to head north. There must be localized time-space anomalies in Rome. Although they'd seen the Piazza Navona already, Ron and Norm were just sort of strolling around and graciously offered to take me where I needed to go. We chatted fairly amiably as we made our unnecessarily circuitous way north, and before I knew it I found myself in a long, relatively narrow plaza decorated with yet another of those monoliths. I'm sort of kicking myself for not asking about those, actually, because they seemed to be cropping up everywhere.
Anyway, the Piazza Navona was very pretty and refreshingly open after the half-hour or so I spent walking along the crowded, almost claustrophobic streets. I took a picture against the Fountain of Neptune, but unfortunately the Fountain of Four, located at the base of that most conspicuous obelisk, was closed for renovations. I was only able to catch a pale glimpse of what it might have looked like in full bloom, as it were. It would have undoubtedly been magnificent. Ah well, I was in a hurry anyway - Ron and Norm pushed me along a side street toward our next destination, the Pantheon.
There was yet another of those ubiquitous obelisks in front of the Pantheon, which is a sort of massively button-shaped building with a ostensibly Grecian front facade. The Pantheon dates back to (ahar) the days of the Holy Roman Empire, and in modern times serves as a terrific respite from sudden downpours. The inside of the building, which is essentially a single, large, round room lined on all sides by statuary of various saints (or maybe they were Roman gods. I should've taken a better look. Bad G! Bad! You're a terrible tourist!) The most striking aspect of the temple, however, was the enormous hole in the temple dome, which, although permitted rain to freely pour into the building's interior, also enabled a streak of light to cascade into the room like God's own spotlight. It's unfortunate that it was raining so, because the effect must be nothing less than divine on a sunny day.
I do have a confession to make here. I had no idea Raphael was buried in the Pantheon. I'm whipping myself right now.
Ron and Norm decided to stay at the Pantheon to look around, but I had to bid a hasty exit as I still had Trevi Fountain, the Roman Forums, and the Colisseum to visit before (everyone now!) 4:50 pm. I only had about an hour and a half in which to do this, but fortunately all three locations were relatively close to each other. More Roman streets, more twists and turns, more tourists, more G wondering whether or not he's going to get lost and trapped in Rome, and then suddenly voila! The Trevi Fountain.
I bought a cone of cherry gelato and took a picture next to the fountain, which was extremely impressive and beautiful and well carved. There is, however, something visually odd about visiting a fountain in the rain. You're holding an umbrella, with water sluicing down all around you, watching water sluice down something else. Something about that just seems patently absurd. Perhaps as a result of this absurdity and my own sense of urgency, I forgot to toss a coin into the fountain. No wish for me! Oh well - I was running pretty low on funds at this point anyway.
It was a long walk to the Roman Forums, although along the way I passed by a very large administrative building whose name now escapes me. Atop two flights of marble stairs, however, burned an eternal flame guarded by a pair of soldiers, and the look was striking enough that I had several pictures taken. I'm particularly gratified here because I overheard a couple talking and was able to exercise my somewhat stilted French. I think my grammar was excessively formal because the guy made fun of me...in a friendly sort of way. As to the Roman Forums themselves, they were far too vast and sprawling for me to be able to spare more than a cursory look at them as I made my way to the Colosseum. It might have been fun to be able to spend some more time wandering around the ruins, but I think after Pompeii I'm all ruined out.
The Colosseum itself was extremely majestic, and I was gratified yet again in asking a Chinese tourist group to take my picture. That makes four different languages that I used today, all for the purposes of having my picture taken. I'm so international! Unfortunately, being international apparently doesn't necessarily mean being prepared, because I arrived at the Colosseum with only about 30 minutes to spare and about five Euros in my pocket. Guess what? It costs eleven Euro to get in.
Fuck!
I wasted a good ten minutes trying to decide whether or not I had the time to go withdraw some funds from a nearby ATM, then come running back to stand in line. This very cute tour guide with spiky blond hair and a pair of the bluest eyes I've ever seen overheard me asking for an ATM. He suggested the guided tour, as they accepted US dollars, and intimated that he could give me a tour of his apartment afterward. (Yeah, okay, I made up that last part.) Unfortunately, the tour was also 40 minutes long and I only had about 15 minutes left at this point. Spending $30 for a 15 minute tour was a bit too much for me to stomach, as Florence is still to come tomorrow and my trip funds are getting very short (damn you, Venetian masks!) Alas, with wrenching disappointment I had to walk away from my beautiful blue-eyed tour guide and any pictures of the Colosseum interior.
I'm still kicking myself for not withdrawing more Euros this morning. And buying that pizza. I refuse to regret the salt and pepper shakers.
The remainder of the day was largely unimpressive. It was a long, wet walk back to the Viale Washington, where our bus was waiting, and more than a few passengers expressed dissatisfaction with our Rome tour due to the rain. Jesus Christ people...I mean, really? You're going to complain to your travel agent about the fucking WEATHER? I'm so sorry that I didn't bring my rain-seeding cannons for the express purpose of making sure that Rome (which, by the way, had been in a fucking DROUGHT for the last three months) remained sunny for your visit. The sheer sense of entitlement some people get while they're on vacation simply astonishes me. Actually, scratch that - the sheer sense of entitlement some people get, period, simply astonishes me. I realize that you paid some obscene sum to come on this cruise, but I would take it as a kindness if you realized that $5,000 is a rather piddly sum for me to exercise powers of divine intervention. And I certainly hope you'll forgive me if I'm not so banal as to exercise them for something so asinine as good weather on a goddamn cruise.
Pardon me if cruise passengers tend to push my buttons.
Anyway, I retreated to the Silk Road again because I really just didn't want to deal with the passengers any more today, and because the notion of spending another three hours eating dinner just wearied me. Tomorrow is Florence, which I'm really, really, oh so very much looking forward to, at least partially because I don't have to involve myself in passenger affairs for a fair while now that Rome is finally over and done with. Yay! Wait for me, oh Firenze, oh center of art and Renaissance magnificence!
Alright, this has been an excessively huge entry. I'm going to go grab some horror movies from the ship library and fall asleep watching some really, really crappy B-rated shit. Come back tomorrow, same G-time, same G-channel, same G-spo...yeah, okay, even I think that joke sucks.
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