3.45 a.m. is not my sister Paula’s favourite time of
day. Well, to be honest, anytime before
8.00 a.m. is pushing it. So, when her
phone alarm went off at that ungodly hour, she stabbed at it, fiercely and
repeatedly until it rendered itself disabled and would have nothing more to do
with her.
‘Time to get up?’ I ventured, leaping jauntily from my bed,
winding her up even further.
Rome awaits!
Four in the morning and Manchester Airport heaved with a
horde of humanity – some sleepy and sluggish, some sprightly and swift. Having only cabin-sized baggage, we were pleased
to be able to avoid the check-in serpent and make straight for security, where
we joined an even longer queue.
Much, much later, furious at having been relieved of one or
two bottles of essential toiletries, we emerged, just as the hungry headache
started to harass the temples.
Food! We scanned the outlets like scavengers in search
of scraps, and were disappointed to see each one utterly besieged by earlier
risers.
Sod it! We’ll eat on
the plane. Let’s have a gin and tonic.
It’s never too early.
In no time we were in the air. Despite our voracious hunger, we were quite
unable to conquer the pretence of a Panini and the lacklustre lump of goo
laughingly labelled ‘lasagne’. A word of
advice … when flying Ryanair, pack some
sarnies.
But it got us to Rome.
Our hotel embraced us like an Italian Mama, tempting us to a
perfectly palatable pizza as we perused our itinerary - two days of sightseeing
sandwiched between two days round the pool.
Great plan.
Day 1 – swim; read;
(check to see if Paula’s phone is
speaking to her); snooze; eat and … drink. The latter, we discovered, because we had
upgraded, was free in the Club
Lounge from 5 to 11 pm! Fantastico!
Not surprisingly, five minutes past five found us in said Lounge. Four hours sleep combined with one or two Pinots
soon loosened our tongues and we got chatting to a very nice couple that were determined
to indulge in a spot of ‘holiday Olympics’.
They had been simply everywhere and couldn’t wait to tell us all about
it. We couldn’t compete with these gold medallists,
so we headed for the patio, graciously accepting silver.
Day 2 – Sightseeing.
There wasn’t much hopping to be had on the ‘Hop on, hop off’
bus, as the heat was such that even Satan would have shrivelled.
Having ‘done’ the Coliseum some years before, we felt obliged
to visit the Vatican Museums and Sistine Chapel. Perhaps some almost forgotten tendril of
Catholic guilt tugged at our conscience?
Whatever our motives, we’d had the foresight to buy ‘Skip
the Line’ tickets and watched, as we sipped our G & T from our meeting
point, the many hundreds of dedicated tourists too tight to do the same. Consequently they would swelter in the
blistering queue for hours and hours. Stupido!
‘I see knees.’ I observed.
‘And shoulders.’
Both, strictly forbidden.
A team of enterprising street vendors hovered around the
queues selling scarves to those whose offensive bits were on display.
At our allotted time we were ushered to the front like
celebrities, but sadly, once inside, our celebrity status vanished, as we
became just two more sweaty bodies shuffling along the designated route amid a
teeming multitude of sweaty bodies.
It is difficult to fully appreciate the magnificence of
those awe-inspiring works of art when distracted by the sound of a thousand flapping
flip-flops and when battered by rucksack-bearing boors. And those ceilings – majestic as they are –
don’t do a thing for arthritic necks.
The Sistine Chapel, a holy place, we were told, where talking
is forbidden, throbbed with the buzz of a swarm of gabbing and unrepentant
sinners. The Guards’ insistent demand to ‘keep moving’
meant that Michelangelo’s ceiling was mostly missed. I did catch a glimpse of the ‘Creation of
Adam’ and, thankfully, managed to resist humming the theme tune to Melvin
Bragg’s South Bank Show - at least
until I got outside.
Oh well, never mind. We were back in the Club Lounge by seven.
Day 3 – More sightseeing.
Today’s plan - Piazza Navona – heralded by the Guidebook as
one of Rome’s loveliest squares.
Indeed it is. And,
furthermore, it loses none of its appeal when observed from the edges, having
been forced to shrink into the shade to escape the searing sun. We darted, no – plodded - up a lively alley
lined with restaurants for a late lunch.
A striking, Senegalese giant of a man approached us, with
skin like coal and teeth like pearls. He
smiled broadly as he told us about his two babies whom he hadn’t seen for three
months. He wished us long life and
happiness. We were to learn, to our
astonishment, that back in his country both the names Paula and Julie mean long
life and happiness. Imagine that! This
determined chap would ceaselessly and insistently wish us long life and
happiness until we pressed some Euros into his outstretched palm. Finally, we succumbed and were rewarded with
two symbols of long life – an elephant and a turtle. Oh, and a beaded bracelet that even the
lowliest Christmas cracker would shun.
It’s better than sticking a gun in your face I suppose.
Day 4 – Sunbathing
The grey clouds were welcome at first. Not so when they turned black. It poured down all day.
So … finished my book.
Club Lounge at five.
There is much to discover in Rome. And, on our second trip to this amazing city
we discovered a little more:
·
It’s very, very, very hot in August
·
Don’t make a plan
·
Sunbathe when it’s sunny
·
Pay extra for ‘Skip the Line’ everything
·
Avoid ruck-sacks
Oh, and most
importantly – upgrade to Club!
