Guest Blog: Megan

In an attempt to provide a comprehensive description of my recent trip to Italy, I have asked my girlfriend, Megan, to contribute a journal entry describing her visit to Rome. What follows is her account of our first three days in Italy. It should be noted that despite my complete absence from the entry, I was in fact there for the entire time. Somehow, her recollection of our time there doesn’t include anything about spending Valentine’s Day with me. Meanwhile, a cop who said five words to her gets mentioned twice. In retaliation, I have taken the liberty of peppering her journal with my uninvited commentary. That’s amore.

I miei amici (Editor: what?), I packed for this trip envisioning the grand spectacle of a Roman Holiday (Editor: what, again?). I, of course, would be playing the Audrey Hepburn role: a gamine, madcap, princess breaking free of societal pressures to speed about on a Vespa and find love in the Eternal City (Editor: find love?). Of course, this being me, it ended up a bit more like National Lampoon’s European Vacation only with more pizza and less Chevy Chase (Editor: when he was still funny).

The trip commenced in Rome, though the best part of our brief stay there was the train ride in – specifically the food trolley. And only because it reminded me of the Hogwart’s Express (well, minus the Chocolate Frogs and British accents) (Editor: will the obscure references ever end?).

After a three hour train ride, we arrived at Termini Station in Rome where we transferred to the Metro to get to our B&B. In case you’re wondering, Termini Station is exactly like Times Square only shorter, indoors, and everything is in Italian (Editor: also, there are more people dressed like prostitutes).

Our B&B was appropriately named The Rainbow, which one can only assume was in response to the wild kaleidoscope of colors that graced the walls. We happened to get the Yellow room. Not the cheery bright yellow of a baby chick or the early morning rays of sunshine. No, more like the putrid acidity of stomach bile. (Editor: my eyes are still burning) Looking back on it, I suppose this was an omen.

I opened my purse to help pay for the room, and the empty depths of my purse stared back. No wallet. Like a tourist cliché, my wallet was stolen within 15 minutes of being in Rome. (Editor: I still believe this was a clever ploy not to pay for anything) After a bit of pocket searching (not unlike fishing for coins in the couch) we managed to scrape together the room fee, and I spent my first lovely hours in Rome canceling my credit and debit cards. There went my grand plans of upgrading my wardrobe with thigh high boots in the softest of Italian leather. (Editor: the pair she already has are sufficient)

I need to interject here with a plug for Midwestern small-town living. (Editor: Ugh!) Due to the time change, all of this drama was taking place in the middle of the night CST. But Midwesterners look after their own – the bank may not have been open, but someone would wake himself up out of a sound sleep to drive to work to cancel it ASAP. Just try finding customer service like that in Los Angeles, ha! (Editor: Ah, there is no place like Nebraska. Wait, you mean the rest of the country has something called the internet and can magically cancel cards remotely? What is this witchcraft you speak of?)

In retrospect, I have to say the thief/thieves were brilliant. I had my purse slung over the shoulder and cross my body in the manner of a seasoned traveler and they still managed to get the wallet out and zip-up the purse in a matter of seconds without my ever noticing it. (Editor: I was also there and did not notice) While it was inconvenient to lose my credit, debit, insurance, and AAA cards (And God-knows-what-else that may have been stashed in there. That wallet is where receipts go to die. It is probably the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa.), I think I was most upset about losing the driver’s license. (Editor: I was most upset about her losing her money) Anyone who has ever been to the DMV knows how insanely impossible it is to get a photo that doesn’t make them look like a crack addict on a bender – but in some bizarre twist, that picture was the best photo I have ever taken in my life. (Editor: Oddly, she is a crack addict and she was on a bender at the time of the picture) And now it’s gone. SOB. My new picture is standard-issue crack addict, but at least my eyes are open. (Editor: Damn rehab!)

After the frustration and headache of dealing with the Italian Carabinieri, I have a newfound appreciation for the “efficiency” and civility of American police officers. (Editor: Let’s not go nuts here) I never had any hope I would see the wallet again, but I thought I should report it anyway as a good citizen and to give me some closure. After a bit of arguing and a few hand gestures (Italians love that, you know), I think I fell in love with Roberto, the officer who actually let me fill out a police report. (Editor: huh?) And who said Paris was for lovers?

Of course, there is only one way to soothe a soul who has just lost the only photo that made her look like Gisele: Gelato. Not being fluent in Italian, I made a selection based on color. Hazelnut. Not bad.

Being the type-A planner that I am, I carried 3 different guidebooks with me (which the thieves shrewdly left in my bag) (Editor: for the record, I was carrying two of the guidebooks). Two of the trusty guidebooks suggested a walk to the Spanish Steps to watch the sunset, and gelato in hand, I determined I would have at least one Princess Ann moment! (Editor: apparently, I was just along for the ride) As we sat there catching the last rays of sun, squished shoulder-to-shoulder with the other tourists, choking on the cigarette-laden air, marveling at the dog poop and graffiti, watching trash blow by like confetti after a parade – we broke out the third guidebook. Skip the Spanish Steps at sunset. Lovely.

In the now not-so-trusty guidebooks, it stated there was the most “lavish” McDonald’s in all of Italy around the corner. This definitely lifted my spirits, because there is nothing quite like checking out a foreign Mickey D’s menu for sheer entertainment value. This was no ordinary corner fast food joint, though – the lobby was adorned in hand-painted frescos and decorative water fountains. There was even a coffee bar that served gelato. Mmmm. . . . gelato. (Editor: this was the first McDonald’s to open in Italy)

I wish I could write about all of the meals we ate in Rome, however, owing to what I now refer to as The Wallet Situation 2008, we rarely ate – and if we did it was roadside pizza and gelato. (Editor: To clarify, I did have money, but we were usually too lazy, too tired, and too cold to hunt down food) I don’t think I could ever get tired of gelato. Fat, yes. But tired, no.

We woke up very early to beat the crowds to St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican. At that hour, the courtyard is a respite from the crowds – you’re sharing the view with only a handful of early risers and nuns. The magnitude of the basilica itself was unbelievable, though we had no pope sighting as of yet. The Vatican proper was next. Even though it was still early, it was packed inside making it rather difficult to maneuver down the hallways and take in all the splendor, though the Sistine Chapel was beautiful. Then we took a tour bus which drove all over Rome. It was nice in sense that I was able to view many sites and contemplate what color gelato I was going to sample next.

But of course, we stopped at the Trevi fountain to make our wishes. I wished for the hawkers surrounding the site to stop trying to sell me little squishy cartoon heads, to no avail. (Does anyone really buy these things?) And since Rome loved me and I loved Rome, I was hit in the forehead by a wayward coin en route to the fountain. I don’t think that tourist’s wish came true. That, of course, constituted an occasion for gelato and more pizza. So fortified, we hit the deliciously creepy Capuchin Crypt, where the bones of over 4,000 Capuchin monks were made into elaborate art work – lampshades, moulding, clocks, you name it. Of course, we made a game of examining the arrangements and guessing what body parts it was composed of. I was particularly enamored of the arches made of only jaw bones and vertebrae flowers. I’m looking into decorating my apartment in the same style. (Editor: if I go missing, check the light fixtures)

Owing to The Wallet Situation 2008, we skipped pizza and gelato (whyyyyy???) and settled for old breakfast rolls and juice for dinner (Editor: we skipped dinner because we made the mistake of going back to the room and were too lazy / jetlagged to venture back into the cold).

Since it was such a success the day before, we got up early again, to avoid the lines at the Coliseum. It was not quite like Gladiator, seeing’s how there was a dearth of Russell Crowe, but still a “thumbs up.” (Oh, don’t groan. I know you were thinking of the same bad pun.) It seems that the Christian-hungry lions have all been changed into stray kitties lolling about in the sun (Editor: supposedly, the Coliseum was overrun with rats, so the cats keep the rodent population down). Then, after a quick check-in with the-love-of-my-life Roberto (Editor: WTF?), we caught the Hogwart’s Express back to Bologna.

Looking back, I am disappointed I never found a Pope keychain.

Oh, and my wallet was stolen. Ciao. (Editor: By the way, Aaron was also there)