When in Rome...

One word…Roberto! Roberto our man, who checked us into our “hotel” room (more accurately described as a rented room in an apartment building, a man who embraces all things Roman. Roberto was our welcoming committee upon arrival in Rome. And a much needed welcome from the troubles in Naples (which surprisingly occurred in a time span of about 1 hour).

I LOVE ROME! I have always had a romantic vision of Italy, the food, the people, the culture, but up until Rome, I was beginning to doubt my true feeling of the country. Rome turned everything around.

We spent Friday afternoon sightseeing which consisted of checking out the Coliseum (right by our hotel) walking past the Spanish Steps and embarking on a mission to find a McDonalds. After a week of Italian food, Kelly just wanted a fish filet. The mission turned into a 30 minute war path, where I got to check out more sights (like the Fountain de Trivoli) while Kelly asked everyone in her path where the closest McDonald’s was. The problem was that there were signs everywhere saying McDonalds 500m right or 10m straight ahead, but the exact location always evaded us. I must say, those chickens nuggets had the sweet taste of victory for finally locating one.

Friday night we decided to keep it mellow, especially since we were enjoying the post McDonalds high. So we had a mellow “SF night” with the tradition Pub Crawl which consisted of me, Kelly and drinks at the following bars, in order: Trinity College, Bulldog Inn, Big Apple, Abbey Theatre, Bar de Cruce, no name bar, and Jonathon’s Angels (with the weirdest bathroom I have ever seen – think bath tube behind gates with Christmas lights, mannequins and no toilet).

Somewhere along the pub crawl we (I mean Kelly) picked up another fellow American from DC named Bobert (or Robert as he likes to go by). While Bobert might have been originally stoked to hang out with two fun American girls, I am sure his thoughts quickly changed. With nothing in our stomach but the grease from McDonald’s, Kelly and I drank enough to satisfy the thirst of the Irish Rugby team. We ended up in Bobert’s hotel room after all of the bars closed, raided his mini bar, stole his magazines and I spent an entire hour taking artistic photos of the chandelier.

I woke the following morning at 8 (after we passed out at Boberts at 4) to Kelly suggesting we head directly to the Vatican City. Now while I am not the most religious person, I can pretty much guarantee you aren’t suppose to see the pope drunk wearing clothes from the previous evening. So I ignored the request and went back to bed. We finally stumbled home to our apartment at 10 and after trying three different buildings figured out exactly what apartment building was ours. Good thing we didn’t try to find it the previous night!

Saturday turned out to be worthless. We pulled ourselves together for lunch at an Indian restaurant, slept through the afternoon, missed the open hours of Vatican city, watched an organized protest parade that lasted three hours and went past our window and then headed out for dinner and Rugby World Cup. But then again, "when in Rome..." and I think we accomplished that, because really how often do the Romans go see the pope and all of the numerous statutes. I can tell you that the Romans drink, which is why we did is as well.

We left the following morning on different flights with fond but jaded memories of Italy and trying to figure out what had happened the entire previous week. I am not sure I ever have or ever will have again a trip quiet like this one, but I will always remember it with a smile and laugh.