As One Ewok Said To Another: "That Guy's Wise"

Saturday was the day for the Vatican. Not just for us, but for many others. As we are in the heart of spring break, and heading into Easter, Rome is packed. Not in a "it's a huge hassle and you can't really get around" kinda way, but more of a "wow, there are a lot of people at the main sights" kinda way.

After enjoying the family tour of Pompeii by Nello, we were hopeful for our family tour of the Vatican. It was definitely the right way to see it. In Italy, private guides are supposed to be licensed by each region. To become licensed, a person must spend an amount of time in training, and then pass what we're told is a fairly rigorous test. A guide who is licensed in Lazio (the region that includes Rome) can not guide in Tuscany.

Our guide was an older Italian woman named Grazia. Her English is very good, although she had the Italian speaking style of adding "a" onto many words and speaking almost in a sing-song voice. Every so often it took me a moment to translate her English into English. For example, she pronounced "Baroque" as "Barack," so the first time she said it I thought Senator Obama was so special he invented his own school of art (turns out that's true only according to the American media).

She was a great guide -- focused on showing us important art works, sharing historical facts, but not bludgeoning us with information or sights. She did a nice job of highlighting contrasting art styles for us (admittedly a sentence I never thought I would write), and she laughed at my irrelevant jokes. For example, one over the top monument to a Pope done by Bernini, I noted that the artist, "really went for Baroque on that one." She and Carol both laughed at my reach, whereas Julia did the teenage girl thing and was totally embarassed by her dad (which is important to raising her right). (On Grazia, it's hard not to like people who laugh at my jokes.)

As we drove up to the Vatican in the taxi, the 10am line stretched for the length of ten football fields. Our line (the guided line, which opens at 8am) stretched a long way as well -- maybe two football fiels. However, upon getting in the line, we found that it moved quite quickly, and we maybe had a 15 minute wait, moving closer all the time.

Inside, past security, the place was jammed with huge groups. She expertly threaded us past those groups, and we scooted upstairs to completely empty ticket windows. Then, we went further up (the visitor's center is new, completed for the turn of the century), where she proceeded to, using a large display, explain the various paintings (and styles) of the Sistine Chapel.

We had a scary moment when Maddy went pale and nearly passed out, but Carol got her to sit down with her head between her knees. Maddy improved. It was a bit hot in that part of the building, and Grazia's explanation, while interesting, went on a bit long for Maddy.

Off we went, going through courtyards and galleries of the Museum. At first we were very lucky, with hardly any one around in the areas Grazia was taking us, but after a bit we were caught up in the crowds making their way to the Sistine Chapel. Before that, however, she pointed out examples of the different art styles, including some ancient Greek sculptures that served as inspiration for Michelangelo.

After the sculptures, Roman art, tapestries,, and map galleries, we joined the line for the Sistine Chapel. It's hard to say what's more impressive -- whether it's the fact that Michelangelo had never done a painting before, or that it "only" took four years to do -- even though he was working on his back. That guy is pretty good.

I had seen the Sistine Chapel in 1984, but it's been restored since to more natural colors rather than the graying tones. Armed with information on what exactly is going on in the scenese on the ceiling, the sides, and the Judgement Day painting done later by Michelangelo (there he is again), I was able to appreciate the art far beyond where I was in 1984 (as a 21 year old college student).

After leaving the Sistine Chapel, we hoofed through Bernini-carved walkways, and down under the Cathedral to the crypt where the popes are buried. Walking past John Paul II's tomb was a reverential moment for Carol and I. Although we are not Catholic, we recognize what a great leader he was, particularly influential in helping provide faith and hope to many during the fall of Communism.

(A brief political interlude. . .Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, and Pope John Paul II deserve more recognition for providing the vision and leadership to both win the Cold War, and in the case of the first two, help the West get out of its economic doldrums. Talk to any older Eastern European, and they really credit Reagan and the Pope for providing them with inspiration and belief that they could be free. End of political interlude.)

It was also a little strange walking past John Paul's grave. Relatively simple by papal standards, there is an area set up a bit away from the grave for people who are essentially sitting shiva. However, there is an area right in front for people to walk past -- so we cut right in front of them (albeit quickly).

For Foodies Only. . .

So. . .picking up on the post of our trip to Sorrento, we ate lunch at a nice place near the water. Nello choose not to join us, but his assistant (not sure of her name, and Carol is asleep right now) did accept our invitation. She was born in Belgium of Sicilian parents, but is an Italian citizen. She lives in Sorrento now, because this is where her husband is from.

She speaks French, Dutch, English, Spanish, and Italian. We have a lot in common, because, of that list, I speak English. She understands English better than she speaks it, although I know too many Americans who speak English better than they understand it.

For starters, we both had the prosciutto and mozzarella. The downside is -- I will never want to eat American mozzarella again. I had Galahanni fish, which was a nicely prepared dish with tomatoes and finely sliced potatoes. Carol had xxxx, and we each had a glass of the local white wine, which is called Fiano D'avellino. I'm not a huge white wine fan, but it was quite nice. My experience tends to be that when you are in the local area, have the local wine. Outside of the local area, it's also possible that the local wine doesn't taste as good.

After that, we went to an in-laid furniture shop in Sorrento. The work is gorgeous, but it's not our thing. Given the prices, we weren't about to impluse buy something that doesn't really fit into our style. Impressive craftsmanship, but. . .

Given the rain and the lateness of the hour, I told Stefano to bag the trip to Positano. Someday we will get to Positano and the Amalfi Coast, but with the rain and Stefano's overly cautious driving, I wanted to get back to Rome before Easter.

On the return trip, for my sanity, I took a different approach. I sat so I could not see the speedometer, read, responded to emails on the bberry, read some more, played Brickbreaker on the blackberry, and generally tried not to look longingly at the cars flying past like we were standing still. We were the fenceposts on the highway of life.

I also handled the return trip better because I was more mellow from the enjoyment of Pompeii (in the big picture of life, going to Pompeii is far more important than losing two hours to Stefano's contrarian ways).

We got back at 7:30 (90 minutes later than planned), so we didn't have a lot of time before our 8pm dinner reservations.

Fortunately, dinner was just down the street (literally) at Agata e Romeo. The restaurant was listed as tops on one top ten list, second on another, and in a list of best dining bets, scored as "Best Nuova Cucina" -- We shared a nice Brunello from 2000 (although, surprisingly it didn't strike us as much as the Vino Nobilo the night before -- perhaps because we know we'll enjoy a Brunello.)

For a welcome plate from the chef (Agata -- her husband Romeo runs the dining areas), they brought us anchovies with olive oil and some nice spices. Even the girls liked it -- until they found out it was anchovies (well, they blanched a bit, but Julia and Maddy did like it). For the first course, I had the Bomboletti (sp?) -- a short pasta, with green beans and seafood (squid, shrimp, and clams) mixed in. Excellent preparation. Carol had the ravioli with pumpkin for her first course. . .again, quite tasty. For the main meal, I had braised veal cheeks, while Carol had. . . Even the breads were excellent, especially a round small piece that had mozzarela and tomato and tasted like a scrumptious mini-mini pizza.

We passed on dessert (which looked excellent) and took the girls for gelatto. It's cheaper, they are happy, and no one can complain!

Random Musings on Rome. . .

So, when I was running this morning, I went past a statue to Caesar Augustus. Within five yards was a statue to Caesar Nervae Avg. I wondered aloud -- "Nervae Avg? Was he known as 'Nervae the Average'" -- that's a historical name you don't hear much about (apparently for good reason). Ladies and gentlemen -- Alexander the Great, Richard the Lionhearted, and Nervae the Average!

Traffic is almost a disappointment on weekends. Jaywalking isn't as much fun when there is less of a threat to your life.

Italians may have us beat on greenhouse gas emissions, but they sure are litter kings. I saw at least two drivers throw major pieces of litter out their window on the A-1, and the piazzas are full of garbage.

Torie's nun count is up to 55 -- going to the Vatican today sure raised it (I didn't mention to her it's kind of like shooting fish in a barrel). On the other hand, a nun sighting is a nun sighting.

I'll bet the people working in Trajan's market had more experience than the people working on Wall Street.

Talk About Wake Up The Echoes. . .

Here's a little hint -- when you run from the Piazza Santa Maria Maggliore to the Colosseum in a personal best time, it's not just because you are running on adrenaline. It's because it is downhill. Eventually, you have to run back uphill. That takes longer.

But it was cool, running around the Colosseum as the sky lightened, past the Arch of Constantine, up towards the Roman Forum (until the gate blocks your way). Running on the huge blocks of stone was infused with a sense of history that far surpasses even running along the DC Mall. The stones were an interesting exercise -- I quickly and carefully picked my way along stones that had been set before the time of Jesus.

I also ran alongside the Forum to the Vittorio Emmanuel Memorial (sorry, it strikes me as having Fascist undertones. Grandiose, yes, but kinda out of place.

Eventually I turned around, taking a different way back -- not quite a loop, but not an out and back. I ran up Via Cavour until I knew roughly where I was, and then took side streets to make it back to the Hotel. Crossing the streets, even early on a Saturday, remains invigorating. There are fewer cars on the road, so the drivers can run you over at a much higher rate of speed. Experts say sprint work is good for runners, so I got in plenty while crossing the street.

Breakfast and Vatican on the agenda.

A Classic Blunder. . .Never Go In Against A Sicilian When Death Is On The Line.

Here at the Iron Tourist, we've taken four epic family trips (of longer than a week), and learned Iron Tourist Laws on each trip. Pompeii was the occasion for this year's classic Iron Tourist Blunder:

1. Spain 2001: Turn down your travel agent's advice when they suggest a bus tour upon arrival in Madrid to better acquaint ourselves with the city. Instead, apply hot poker repeatedly to own eyes. At least we left the tour part-way through when it stopped for lunch.

2. Ireland 2003: Don't go to Dublin. Nice enough city, but there is so much else to see and do in Ireland that Dublin is a disappointing appetizer in the Moveable Feast that is Eire.

3. Hawaii 2005: Don't expect to be allowed to go windsurfing when the wind is blowing straight out to sea. Yes, they close down WINDsurfing when there is TOO MUCH WIND! (OK, that seems like a lame Iron Tourist law, but our Hawaii trip was flawless otherwise and I had to come up with something.)

4. Italy 2005: Don't turn control of your day over to someone else.

Don't get me wrong -- Pompeii was great. Amazing. A definite can't miss. And, we enjoyed our lunch and "shopping" visit to Sorrento. It was the travel to and fro that drove me nuts. Nuts, nuts, nuts.

The internet has too much venting and not enough happy. This blog has tried to -- in it's own small, insignificant way -- turn down the vent quotient and increase the happy quotient. Well, it's my turn to vent. We'll get back to our previously scheduled happy in a bit.

At the advice of others, we hired a car/driver to take us down to Pompeii, at which point we would be met by a private tour guide. One person boasted that his driver took his family down in less than two hours, at record speeds. Given the Roman driving skills, I figured that was likely to happen again. What's that phrase I can never say? That's it -- I was wrong.

We met our driver, Stefano, at 8am. He had a nice Mercedes Benz van for us, comfortably seating eight people (five of us, plus him, so plenty of extra room). As we drove off in morning traffic (and there was a bunch even going out of the city), he noted in halting English that while some people drive to Pompeii in two hours, that's not safe and it would take three. I was only half listening, and I was fully confused at that point -- figuring that the traffic in Rome added time, but we would make it up on the highway.

No. Wrong assumption. He pretty much refused to go over 100 kph (62 mph). He was content at points to do 90 kph. Meanwhile, cars are streaming by at nearly twice the speed. Sheep in the nearby fields were racing us (and beating us) until the fence line. I couldn't take it any more, so I leaned forward and noted that he should drive faster. He claimed the wind was too much on this higher profile vehicle at higher speeds. Meanwhile, there were delivery trucks the same size shooting past us (admittedly, not as fast as the cars, but still. . .). He took it up to 110 kph, and once in a while hit 120 kph, but found plenty of reasons to slow it down.

I was fuming. If it was a cartoon, I'd have had steam coming out of my ears. At one point (as all men do), I fantasized about being James Bond, knocking him out, and taking over the wheel all while barreling down the A1 (I coulda done it, you know -- and I'd have been really suave and cool in the process). In real life, I leaned forward point out that we should really be going faster. Carol pretended to sleep as to let me stew in my own juices. Ah, well. With one stop to use the bathroom, it took us nearly 3.5 hours to get to Pompeii. I am not fond of Stefano.

I shoulda rented a car, but thought I would save on the hassle. Wrong, dogbreath.

Once we got to Pompeii, things got immensely better. Nello, our guide, was very interesting. After the Colosseum tour, Torie had not wanted to do any more tours, but this was one she loved. She's been wanting to go to Pompeii ever since reading about it in a book last year, so she was very excited. Maddy brought her video camera, so she shot a fair amount of film, repeating back to the camera pertinent facts and info that Nello had just shared with us.

The amount of information learned about Pompeii is staggering, and the details uncovered are quite interesting. The forum, the temple, the homes, the roads, the businesses, the "fast food" places, the baths, the theaters. A private guide is definitely the way to see Pompeii (just drive yourself, or use someone other than Stefano!).

The two hours for the tour flew by. Among the highlights -- the house of the world's oldest profession, which had been closed to children until five months ago. Couldn't figure out why, until we went in. Each of the five rooms has a bed, but up high, on the walls, were frescos of early scenes that are only on American TV on HBO, and only during the late night hour if you know what I mean and I think you do. Mercifully the girls were too busy looking at the beds (made of stone, mattresses would have been put on them) and never looked up at the "art" work.

Maddy and Torie both asked what the house was for. I noted it was for men to hang out with women who were not their wives. Torie said -- "Well, you would never do that." Well, she is more correct than she realizes.

The baths -- with their steam room, swimming pool, hot room, cold room -- and the theater complex were also highlights of a pretty incredible place.

Despite the forecast of rain for the entire time we are in Rome, Pompeii was the only place we've been rained on so far. And that was only intermittent and not so bad -- occasionally I needed sunglasses. Mt. Vesivius (sp?) was shrouded in clouds, but sometimes it would clear slightly and we could see just how close it is.

Afterwards, we all piled on the bus (including Nello and his assistant) and drove to Sorrento for lunch. Nello's a very interesting fellow -- he owns and runs the guide business (has 20 people working for him), and spends his winters in America (a month in Boston, and four months in Bradenton). He loves America. Says it is the best country and the best people in the world. He used to give tours of Salerno, Cassino, Anzio and other areas to WWII veterans -- which was very moving to him. "I tell my friends who think I like America too much -- it's because of these Americans that you are free today." Very interesting fellow.

We got good looks along the coastline of the cliffs of the peninsula, as well as being dazzled by the many lemon, orange, and olive trees in virtually every yard.

A bit more on the Pompeii trip in my next post, but it is 6:05 am Rome time and I've got to go for a run through the uncrowded streets. The chance to run past the Colosseum is too stirring to pass up.

Quick technical interlude. . .

I will be writing a long blog post tomorrow morning re our trip to Pompei. . .and I promise it will be well worth reading. But, before hitting the sack, a couple of notes:

* I've added some photos to recent blog posts -- kudos to my mom for noting that clicking on the photos enlarges them (only family members are likely to care about that. . .which is cool).

* Thanks for the nice emails. . .to quote Sally Fields, "you like me, you really like me!"

* A special thanks to Mollie Pazz for being the only person brave enough to post comments thus far. Mollie's blog was the inspiration for this blog (I reasoned, if an 8 year old can do a cool blog, I can blog too!). It's possible that I'm not posting them correctly, so if I've messed it up, it's only out of ignorance. I'm not trying to take away your First Amendment rights. I firmly believe in free speech -- trust me, I've given many of them (I DO prefer honoraria speeches!).

* The emails and comments asking Torie to smile have paid off. . .she is smiling now.

* Don't hesitate to post comments or email questions (glen@pos.org). . .grazie and enjoy!

The Glory That Is Rome

Currently, we are on the traffic-choked road to road to Pompeii. Our driver is very nice, but he's no Mario Andretti. So, I'm in the minivan with the laptop balanced on my lap (hence the name), and enjoying the wireless card (yes, I have also been working, not just blogging, so it's convenient to have the card and laptop).

Last night, we saw Rome in all it's glory -- a fine meal and a stroll back past a beautiful fountain and the lit up Santa Maria Maggliore.

Two years ago, Carol's cooking class was in Portico di Romagna, so when I saw a web write-up on the finest Roman restaurant on that region, we had to go. We weren't sure exactly where the street is -- and even the helpful staff at the hotel had no idea. We grabbed a cab. Our cabbie wasn't happy that we crammed five in -- but we wouldn't get out, so he gave up right away. He had to look up the street -- and when we got there, it was clear why. The street -- Via degli Avignonesi -- was a one lane cobblestone road -- narrower than most roads.

When we walked into the restaurant, Colline Emiliane -- is a trattoria on steriods, serving classic Bolognese cooking. Founded in 1931, it's not verty large, but it was packed. They must have turned away ten or 12 walk in groups (couples, or 3-4 people).

We ordered a Vino nobile di Montepulciano -- 2001 from Corte alla Flora. We'd heard of Vino nobile (and are going to Montepulciano on Sunday). It was excellent from the first sip. We've got a new Italian wine (new to us) to add to our famed repertoire.

The meal was excellent too -- a starter of prosciutto that is from a small town near Parma considered to provide the best in the world. I had the tortellini in cream sauce for the pasta course, while Carol had the risotto with mushrooms. The girls had various forms of pasta (tortellini soup for Maddy, while Torie and Julia each had spaghetti). For the meat course, I had veal bolognese, Carol had veal steak, Torie had the steak, and Julia had the braised beef -- which was amazing in a melt in your mouth kind of way.

The service was great, but our Wednesday night experience was reinforced -- the waiter disappears when it is time to get the check. Apparently this is some fun game they have in their culture. I love it!

At some point, I asked the waiter to point out to me on the map where we were -- it turns out we weren't that far from the hotel (the cabbie took many twists and turns to get us there), so we walked back to the hotel past many fountains (including an interscetion that had a fountain built-in to the buildings on every corner). Unfortunately, I had a 10 o'clock conference call, or we would have lingered longer at the fountains. As it was, I just made it back for the call.

Another random observation: Some of the most fun in Rome is crossing the street. Given the lack of traffic laws (as Julia keeps noting), it's a game of chicken -- use the children as human shields, and boldly go out when you think you can bluff the drivers into stopping. It should be on ESPN the Ocho as an extreme sport -- "Rrandom road crossing in Rome." It's also fun to get the motorcyclists muttering as you leave them no room between the peds and the cars. It's all good.

Warren Miller's next movie. . .

It occured to me as our driver zipped us back through the narrow streets of Rome that there are times in life when you need a head cam because it's capturing moments in life that words can't adequately describe. Although, I'd have to edit out the parts where he was leaning over, studying my map and suggesting additional sights WHILE HE WAS CAREENING THROUGH ROME'S TRAFFIC. That's the closest to a violent video game my life has ever come, and I was in the passenger seat. (If I had done that in the driver's seat -- in Rome mind you -- my normally calm wife would have issued an immediate verbal veto.)

Warren Miller should take his crew and just shoot from the front seat of cars racing around Rome. (The motorcyclists are like Star Wars "Tie Fighters" -- they come flying out of any direction, maneuvering with both ease and peril around the bigger Death Star, I mean cars.)

On a totally unrelated note, Torie's keeping count of the number of nuns she sees. Last I heard she's somewhere around the 22-25 mark. We saw three earlier in the day and I thought her head would explode in excitement.

Back to the trip info -- I got excited simply driving in the car down the Appian Way, pointing out that this was probably the most famous road of its day, sort of like a DC Beltway for its time. One road led to corruption, while the other encircles it. One road was built in 312 BC and extended in 190 BC. The other was built in the 1960 and under repair since.

It's not far to the catacombs, but there's no easy way to get there except by car or bus.

We went to two catacombs -- San Callisto and San Sebastiano. In San Callisto, there are 12 miles of tunnels and trails, and over 500,000 people were buried there on four levels. The bones are all gone, with the exception of two sarcopighi (I don't think my spelling is EVEN close!) that have non-bone remains. Ashes to ashes.

It's still an amazing experience. San Callisto is a slightly longer tour, but the smaller number of people on tour, combined with the quality of the tour guide made San Sebastiano more interesting. (The San Sebastiano tour guide is Indian, so I felt like I was on tour with a particularly helpful tech support person based in New Delhi). Frankly, both are well worth doing since they are not at all far apart.

Upon return, we hit the nearby Patisserie for well-earned Gelatto before a rest in the hotel room.

Living Dangerously. . .In a Cab. . .And At Church

Waiting now for the car and driver to take us to the catacombs. . .in 1984, I took public transportation to get there, but things have changed. Actually, it only cost six Euros to take a cab back from Piazza Navona (we paid five euros to take the Metro. . .but never got on it. . .see below).

Anyhow, after strapping myself in the front seat (and Torie was on Carol's lap in the back), I thought about asking for a second seat belt as we weaved in and out of traffic. All the while our Italian driver muttered to himself about the traffic. (Why? Beats me. Maybe today is the only day in Rome's history that cars weaved in and out of traffic, motorcycles all but went on the sidewalks, and pedestrians wandered whereever they damn well pleased. But probably not.)

Let's go back to the morning though -- I finally woke the jet lagged sleepyheads at 7:40 am (25 minutes later than planned). Despite the grumbling, all felt better after showers for the first time in nearly two days. After breakfast on the roof, we walked across to the Santa Maria di Maggiore church.

The church was built a long time ago (dates run together after a bit) and has some excellent paintings and sculptures. More interestingly, it must have been some special military service day, because there were Italian soldiers, sailors, and other armed forces personnel milling around, both inside and out. There were a bunch of lower ranking folks, but even some older gentlemen with fruit salad pinned to their chest. Carol was convinced they were looking for an excuse to shoot us for trying to walk through their ranks to go to church, but since you didn't get a CNN bulletin about the five Americans shot dead in Rome, she was incorrect.

Afterwards, we had a plan. Paraphrasing some American (or maybe Confederate) general, "plans are everything, and then, when the battle starts, plans are nothing." We walked over to the Termini station (Train station), where two Metro lines also cross. Chaos is a good word to describe things. It's like New York City rush hour, but without the polite, happy people of Manhatten.

There was an announcement about a problem on the subway, but the gentleman manning the subway gates asked where we were going. "Spagna" I replied. He said "working." We bought our tickets and headed on down, working to save the walk. That's were things went awry. After descending many, many levels, we hit a pack of people. The back-up wasn't moving, and it wasn't within sight of the tracks (so know, I have no idea how far we were from even seeing a subway rail. Possibly miles, but at least 30 yards -- which were massed with people.

We turned around and walked over hill and dale to the Spanish Steps. . .(I will add to this post later). (Back from the catacombs. . .but that will be in a separate posting). Unfortunately, pre-spring, the Spanish Steps are not in all their glory. We did a lengthy forced march for a so-so outcome. It's a beautiful view from below, but without the flowers and when the statue at the top is covered in scaffolding, the magic isn't quite there.

Fearing a massive rebellion in the ranks, I did what any great leader would do. . .I bought off the disgruntled masses by taking them to Babington's Tea Room at the base of the Steps. It's a classic British tea room, so they had tea and pastries. British-style, with Roma prices (think Manhatten prices, but at a really lousy exchange rate). It is 111 years old, and was founded by two British spinsters as a haven for English tourists at a time when England ran the world.

Fortunately, the other places we were going to were all much closer -- and more spectacular. We stopped by Saint Andrea delle Fratte, which has two 1669 Bernini angels that are spectacular. From there, it was a short walk along narrow cobblestone streets to the Trevi Fountain -- which remains a stunning sight. All four Bolger women were impressed, and we lingered for a while (despite the crowds).

Then, we wandered down random streets to the Pantheon, which is far grander than I had remembered. The sole surviving Roman building that is still entirely intact, it is far more massive outside and beautiful inside than I can recall from my 1984 trip.

I negotiated a stop at Piazza Navona prior to heading back to the area around the hotel for lunch. On the way, we stopped in at a 1589 church -- San Luigi dei Francesi, which has amazing red marble pillars (the girls jaws collectively dropped. . .which in yet another beautiful church takes a lot). More importantly, there are three large paintings by Caravaggio, with nearby analysis in English (and other languages) provided.

(That's something Italy lacks that Spain had in spades -- info fliers in multiple languages. . .heck, Italy doesn't have in any language. As a travelers aside, I like Lonely Planet for depth of info -- and some off-beaten path stuff to do/see. However, the DK Eyewitness Travel Guides are the one book to carry with to find your way around town and have in-depth info on too many places to see -- and no, that's not a paid ad, although my endorsement can be bought!).

From there we walked past the Italian Senate. The building is far more stable than the government, but Al Gore could build a snowman at his Tennessee mansion that would be more stable than the Italian government. Piazza Navona is reminiscent of Plaza Mayor in Madrid. . .except, of course, the Fontana del Quattro Fiumi is undergoing reconstruction and covered in scaffolding, and Sant Agnese in Agone is closed for renovation.

We easily caught a cab back to the Hotel. It's easy to tell people where the hotel is -- it's on Carlo Alberto, which I remember because of the great Brazilian defender, Carlos Alberto, who played for the NY Cosmos in the glory days of Pele, Franz Beckenbauer, and Giorgio Chinaglia (come on -- who reading this doesn't remember that team? Oh, nearly everyone? Never mind.)

We stopped into a pizzeria down the street, just to be quick and not need another bank loan to buy a meal for five people in Rome.

No, but his face sure rings a bell. . .

So, at 7am this morning, after sending out the email with the blog location, I was reminded of that punch line when the church bells rang loudly across the street. Everyone else in the family is so tired they slept right through it. Yesterday was cool with a mix of sun and clouds. Today looks to be cloudy with a chance of rain.

(The photo is of the church across the piazza -- where we have learned the bells ring at 7 and 8 am).

Early morning, March 29, Mecente Palace Hotel

I would have blogged last night, but our luggage still hadn't arrived, and the computer battery was all but dead. Yesterday was both a very good first day, and a frustrating day.

First (and more briefly), the frustrating part. . .our luggage did not arrive until around 11pm (so much for my cautious 3pm prediction), so we spent the entire day in the somewhat smelly clothes we had flown over in. So, everyone was tired, and no one wanted to shower and then put dirty socks, etc. back on.

That said, we were still in Rome, and we certainly made the best of it. . .so let me back track.

We had lunch at a nearby restaurant -- Tema. It was fine food (the pasta the girls had was quite good, and the mozzarella was excellent). Carol and I passed on the offer to order wine (that would have resulted in a nap right then and there). Oddly, the service was great until it came time for the check -- which we had to wait, and wait for. Remember, we're running on three-four hours of sleep, so we're all about more cranky than on the average day.

We then walked to the Colosseum. The kids were revived from the meal, and Julia quickly realized there are no actual traffic laws in Rome (she was asleep on the drive from airport, so she missed the highspeed game of dodgeball).

We made a tactical error -- we agreed to pay the money for a tour with a guide. The guide was both interesting and boring. His info was of interest, but he droned on and on (almost as though he was writing a blog), with no inflection to his voice and no sense of when to move on.

For example, his discussion of the building of the Colosseum was interesting, but could have been five minutes briefer. Also, we were all grossed out from learning that they would drain the blood of the slain gladiators, which would then be sold to spectators. They would drink the blood (looking for a Red Bull-esque energy boost). That's when I fully understood the Billy Joel line about "the good old days weren't always good."

Finally, we handed in our little radios (it wasn't a big group -- just hard to hear) and headed off on our own to explore the Colosseum. Torie captured the excitement best when she noted that "we're walking where the ancients walked."

From the there we wandered past the Arch of Constantine and around the Forum with a full and appropriate sense of wonder and appreciation. The kids were getting tired and hungry by this point (understandably so), so we skirted Capitoline Hill, went into a relatively new church (1635), walked past the Victor Emmanuel Monument (under reconstruction), and found an ATM and a gelatto shop. We then headed to Circus Maximos to walk on the ancient chariot grounds. By this point, I had a full scale rebellion on my hands -- it was late in the day, and everyone was exhausted.

We crammed onto the nearly full Metro. Or so I thought. Full wasn't the right word -- because at the next stop the rest of Rome crammed onto the car. Torie could hold onto anything, but it didn't matter -- she couldn't fall when the subway moved anyhow -- she was being held up by the crush of people. I was set to slam my way off the subway car at the next stop, acting as a human shield (actually, I was relishing the idea), but to my disappointment only a few were getting on, so it was easy to get out.

Back at the hotel (after one wrong turn) by 6:15pm, our bags still weren't there. Plans for a shower before dinner were dashed, so we turned on Eurosport and rested. Eurosport seems to be a much less self-reverential version of ESPN. They were showing the World Swimming Championships live from Australia, so both us and the girls had it on in their room (okay, we're some of the few Americans who believe that showing Olympic swimming once every four years is enough, but I write for a swim team website, so I'm different that way). Carol fell sound asleep, and I was dozing. I heard a buzzer, and woke up, wondering aloud if it was the starter mechanism for the swim meet, or the door. It was the door -- but not the luggage. Just Maddy with a question.

We got up at 7, and went to have dinner (meanwhile, the helpful front desk person was calling to track down our still-missing luggage). We just went to a "simple restaurant" nearby -- Scoglio di Frisio on Via Merulana, where we received excellent service and good enough food. They had a piano player AND an opera singer (who was fine to listen to from a distance, and we were happy he did NOT serenade our table). The musicians took turns.

I'm sure reality will come crashing in at some point, but so far the famous Italian indifference to service hasn't really reared its annoying head.

I had a conference call to do, so the girls got dessert at a patisserie on the corner at the hotel, where I joined at the end. By nine pm, we were all in bed. . .where I slept soundly till the luggage showed up (don't fret, I managed to fall quickly back asleep). Stone cold awake at 3:30, I killed some time, handled emails, and then wrote this lengthy post. It's now around 6:15 in the morning, and traffic is starting to stir.

I expected a lot more noise through the night (Manhatten-esque), but it was relatively quiet, with the exception of a group of drunks modestly loudly passing through the Piazza (frankly, they weren't that bad).

Today, it's off to see more of Rome. I brought running gear, but today's not the day. . .maybe tomorrow before breakfast and heading to Pompeii. More tonight. . .

Arrival in Rome -- March 28th

Well, we made the flight from Munich to Rome with no time to spare -- but United/Lufthansa did spare our luggage. C'est la vie. It should be here by three pm.

Our hotel room overlooks the plaza and the Santa Maria Maggiore bascilica (spelling?).

United had mechanical problems at Dulles, so we took off late. I watched "Rocky Balboa" on the flight (still get goosebumps during the training scenes when "Gonna Fly Now" is playing). Much better flick than expected. The girls watched Happy Feet, and Carol caught "Man of the Year." She describes it as "Robin Williams running amok," so that sounds good to me.

We all slept about 3-4 hours of restless, airplane sleep. When we landed in Munich, the Lufthansa agent gathered us all up and force marched us through the terminal, through customs, and then through security at a walking speed that would qualify for the Olympics. I got patted down at security with typical German efficiency, and we made the flight (the luggage for us and other Dulles to Rome via Munich passengers did not).

Crucially, when I realized the luggage didn't make the flight, I was first in line at the Lufthansa desk to fill out the paperwork (had to pull the agent out of her breakroom, but she was plenty nice about it all).

Our driver to the hotel (Mecenate Palace Hotel) was nice, but not very talkative (him lacking English skills, me lacking Italian skills, and all that). When we met him, we gestured for our bags. I shrugged and said, "Munich." He laughed. After a long drive, we did go past the Circo Massimo (chariot grounds. . .more later), the Colosseum (woke the girls up for the that), and the Roman Forum.

Random observations on the drive from the airport -- it's way out in the countryside. Italian cars mercifully don't have bumperstickers (no "my child is an average student at Benedict Arnold middle school" or "Shoot the illegally-elected President" missives). Graffiti is the same everywhere -- did it spread by osmosis, or just spring up naturally in Rome and New York? Lots of billboards. Being one of four cars squeezed into three lanes is helped keep this jetlagged tourist awake. American Volvo drivers could learn how to drive fast from Italian Volvo drivers.

At Dulles Airport -- March 27, 2007

Now we're just sitting in the gate area for the next hour before boarding -- I'm pretty casual about domestic flights, but take the admonition to get to the airport early for international departures.

The girls are playing Gameboy (Maddy and Torie), while Julia is reading a book. On the walkway to security, Torie turned to me and noted, "All roads lead to Rome." Couldn't be more right at this point.

We have the art of checking in down to a science. I drop off the rest of the family (except Torie) and the luggage in front, drive to the Economy lot, and they get in line. By the time Torie and I found parking (lot pretty full), took the shuttle, and reached the United International check-in, Carol and the others were right at the front of the check-in line. Typical Bolger family efficiency.

We had a momentary burst of excitement when the United counter worker woman said to us, "You can upgrade to business class for. . .(then she paused dramatically to get our hopes up) $2,750." Practicing for when Julia gets her license, I said "no" in record time. Our fleeting dreams of comfortable seats in business were dashed, but we will become stronger for the experience (that's written with a wink).

(Later. . .same location:) Well, Maddy has switched to reading (a while ago), everyone has eaten, and I've had no luck downloading a photo to the blog. I think the photos are too big, which means this might be a relatively dull looking blog. They should be ready to call seating soon (I bet you are very excited reading this now!).

March 26 - Getting Ready

Well, it's been a hectic day -- we're 15 hours away from heading to the airport, and 18+ from the flight -- which will head first to Munich on United, and then we'll bounce to Lufthansa for the trip to Rome. Not quite the same ease as a domestic trip.

We're mostly packed -- Carol made sure the girls got the job done, and I actually decided not to wait till the last minute. There's a whole bunch of details to wrap up tomorrow, with

This is my first blog post ever, so it's a modestly momentous occasion. Or not. (Recalled later -- I did live blog a swim meet on the swim team website, but I will let blogologists decide whether that counts as a "true" blog post.)