Bella Roma (not belladonna)

This whole thing started months ago when my good friend Amy, who is in Afghanistan for her job right now (she is the queen), said she was going to Italy for Christmas to meet some of her friends there and why didn't we join forces in Rome right around the new year?

Uh, okay. I could do that. Of course Hannaford's might be having specials that week, they might even be saying "have a nice day," but somehow, I was able to break away.
Roma.

The Eternal City.

What would it be like?



First of all, we picked our hotel, the Hosianna Palace on the Via del Pillachia, or it could be Pinocchio; I can never get those right.
I was trepidatious about a hotel with the syllable "ho" in it, but what the heck.
We are worldly dames.

It was very charming, and a cardinal's residence hundreds of years ago. There is a plaque on the wall that commemorates its years as a hospice, which gave us pause as we waited for the elevator.
Still, no problemo, signori. You may notice my many jackets and coats, dear reader. It was an outerwear festival for moi. And what was my best purchase and naturally most unneeded? That's right--a chic Italian black jacket. Put me on one of those little motor scooters--ciao, baby!



Fashion!

Be a ho!

Be a dominatrix!




Wear colors that don't match!



Spend every cent you have and don't look back! I demurred daily over the purchase of blue boots. That's right, dear reader. It seemed like a good idea. I held back and now regret it.

Okay, so the ruins. They are everywhere. You walk around in them. It feels sometimes as though you're in a big excavation site. They are eerie and glorious and remind you of Caesar and brilliant engineering feats and people who wore and enjoyed togas.

But of course it isn't just the Forum and the Colloseum that get your attention.






In your own neighborhood there are ancient ruins that some committee is working on to excavate and share with the world. Look down and see the steps to some ancient temple or theatre or early branch of Roman Hannaford's.

The Colloseum is awe-inspiring. I don't let my students use the word "awesome," but if they were talking about Roman ruins, I would let them.




Can you imagine sitting here and watching a gladiator fight a lion? Or a crocodile? A what? That's right, a crocodile.
I will be honest.
This does not appeal to me, even if Russell Crowe were involved.

I told Amy that we could have fought as gladiatresses. She could have gone out first and distracted the crocodile by running around or maybe telling a few Afghani jokes. Or really any jokes, you know? The crowd would have loved it. Then I could have swept out in a pretty sexy toga--maybe something off-white with lots of folds-- twirled around a little, always staying modest (I wouldn't have been against getting the attention of some cute centurion or magistrate in the front row) and then when the crocodile almost had Amy in its jaws, cleverly speared it with my sword. It would have worked. And it goes without saying we would have worn stylish sandals. Women were not allowed in the Colloseum except sometimes in a tiny box way up in the nosebleed section. You know what? That would be fine with me.





This is the arch of Constantine across the street from the Colloseum. People walk by it and go to work, have their hair done, fall in love, and live life. It seems incredible. Also incredible was the little bar on the other cross street where I had my first "chocolat." Oy. You have to eat it with a spoon, my friend. Oh, just kill me now.


This is Gregory (hi Greg!) , our guide for the Palatine Hill, also across the street from the Forum. The rich people by and large lived up in that section and although I can't remember everything Gregory told us, I learned a lot.
If you're reading, Greg, your English is nearly perfect and the only thing you could change is to say "back in the day" instead of "back in the days." But then again, I am a little bit picky, so don't sweat it.



This is the view from the Palatine. See what I mean about all the stuff? That's what you start calling all the ruins and artifacts and priceless marble statuary. "Stuff."
And lots of it.

One night when we were not dining lavishly, we bought a DVD of Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck (coincidence that our tour guide had the same name? Hmmmm.). Amy was sure the movie would play on her computer, but it did not, at least not correctly. We watched it one night in slow motion, herky jerky, with no sound. It was a little like watching the Zapruder film--oh, watch him lean forward now, there he goes, ah yes! It was fine since we were drinking champagne and making smart remarks like "look at those dumb pajamas"--god, we were witty!

Anyway, all the "stuff" is there from 1953, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, Castel Saint Angelo. It kind of gives you a shiver to see it. The next night we watched it in correct motion with subtitles. Eddy Arnold is HOT in that movie. I only wish I could forget Green Acres.

I think I have gone on long enough for one blog post, so tune in next time--I don't know when that will be--and see what happened when I had my hair done in Rome!

A rivederci, dear reader.

love,

becky