Greg Doesn't Speak Italian

If you've ever seen the movie "Roman Holiday", then read no further because that was pretty much my day. Only without Audrey Hepburn or any other love interest, which admittedly is a large part of the plot. Oh ya - and there was no plot. But given that I share my first name with the actor who played the main character, I was in Rome, and I went to the Colosseum, the similarities are striking and more than a little eerie. Oh yes; most people find me more dashing than Gregory Peck, although some people prefer to use the terms "ravishingly handsome" or simply, "yummy".

Warning: This was a big day, so this is going to be a big post. I spent a lot of time by myself today just thinking about stupid things that I can write about. Better cancel your next meeting.

I hate not being able to speak Italian. I try to say a couple of words, and when they immediately come back to me in English, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I just don't have the vocabulary to insist that I continue to butcher their language. However, of the thirty or so words I do know, I certainly do try to bandy them about. I just love dragging out that penultimate syllable. GRAzie. BuonGIORno. CappuCCIno. What a hoot. And who doesn't love to say, "Ciao"? I've been experimenting and it seems that a little knowledge of Spanish helps a lot. Change the B's to V's (although sometimes to a 'P'), ch to tt, and a couple of other little things and you're getting close. I haven't quite figured out verb conjugation yet (all the usual irregular ones are weird), but initial experiments are promising.

I started off by taking the metro to Circo Massimus where I was able to easily walk to the Colosseum and hopefully get some good views on the way. The Circus Maximus is now little more than a green area, although people walk and jog there. Maybe later in the week I'll do a couple of Ben Hur's around the loop. I'll have to see about fastening spikes to the sides of my running shoes.

I walked to the Colosseum, noshing on a panini with prosciutto (my jaw is still aching). When I got there, there was a long queue to get in, and Homey don't play that, so I didn't see the inside. I've heard that there's not actually that much to see there anyway. I took the obligatory pictures and moved on through the forum.

When it comes to batteries dying, I am like a prophet. As I left this morning, I thought to myself, "I really should have charged my camera batteries". Sure enough, they died while I was right in the middle of the forum far from any place that might sell batteries and surrounded by a million photo opportunities. I had to walk out of the forum, get batteries and walk back. This happens to me every single time I go out to take pictures somewhere interesting. Every. Single. Time.

For any single guys out there... When you travel and you see two cute girls taking pictures of each other, offer to take a picture of them together for them. Language doesn't matter. You're a tourist, they're tourists, all tourists want to meet people, and you're showing what a nice guy you are. If you're really too shy to offer, try to awkwardly take a picture of yourself in front of whatever site you're in front of. They will almost always offer to take your picture for you (and if not, they're probably nasty and you don't want to meet them anyway). It's so easy that it's almost not fair- you have no excuse. This is generally a good way to meet anybody when you travel.

Time for a little lunch. This time another panini and a big beer. The food for the body, and the beer to help prevent my brain from over-developing and making me too smart. I sat near Trajan's column and listened to the ubiquitous Ecuadorian pan flute band kicking out jams by Air Supply and Abba. You may know that Mormons are required to spend a year abroad preaching their faith. Many countries require mandatory military service. In a similar vein, I suspect that Ecuadorians are required to spend a year abroad playing the pan flutes at shopping malls and tourist attractions because man, they are everywhere.

There are quite a few beggars in Rome. A number of them are women who prostrate themselves in front of an icon of the virgin Mary and a small empty Pringles can (the can is present without exception). These women are part of a little-known sect called the Followers of Our Lady of Monosodium Glutemate. I also saw a man sitting in a doorway with the story of how he lost his house and family written on a large sheet of card paper and a can of change, weeping openly. A large crowd had gathered around. My heart was frosty; I've watched enough World Cup Football to know that an Italian man on the ground in anguish means nothing. I'm sure that if someone had shown a yellow card to one of the passersby he would have been fine (I hope none of my students this week read that). Besides; after this happened to him, he had the presence of mind to sit down and think up a plan, go out and buy card paper and a Sharpe, write out his story, get an empty coffee can, and find an empty doorway on a busy thouroughfare. This would have taken me at least two days to organise. After all that, the tears are still streaming down his face. Time to learn how to re-assess your priorities in dealing with major life issues, dude.

I hadn't really thought about it, but I got to knock another country off the list - Vatican City. Yes, it is a country. Yes, this is a cheap one, but it counts. I got a little lost on the way there, but all I had to do was follow the reverse direction of the groups of teenagers shouting, holding palm leaves (it's Palm Sunday today), and waving flags declaring their religion. It's as if they were an invading army. There were tons of these little armies of Euro-teens heading to Saint Peters. One particularly obnoxious group of Spanish kids was yelling and singing and blocking traffic, including a police car. When told to move by the polizia, he said something snippy to the cop (didn't hear what he said). Of course the other little soldiers in his little army thought this was hilarious. So did he until he got hauled off and chucked into the back of the police car. The little soldiers in the little army didn't sing or yell any more after that. Once again, karma at work. In fact, he's lucky that karma acted so quickly. If it hadn't, it might have built up and later in life he would have gotten chlamydia.

It was a longer walk than I expected to get to St. Peter's. It felt like I walked halfway across the country to get there (ha ha - I've been waiting all day to use that). There was a bit of a queue going into St. Peter's but for Michelangelo, I'll make a slight exception. I have to admit that the inside of the church was spectacular. I wandered around a bit and then went to the entrance to the Vatican museum. I, didn't go in since the Sistine Chapel was closed today (once again - Palm Sunday). This is where the Vatican houses many of the treasures purchased with the 2000 years of taxes, tithes and toil paid by my ancestors. The entrance fee was six Euro. I wonder how you say "irony" in Latin.

After leaving Vatican City, I walked along the Tiber River towards the Piazza del Popolo. I took a little side jaunt to see the Mausoleum of Augustus. Back in the day, if you were rich, powerful, good-looking, and cremated, this was the place to be seen. People were dying to get in there, but you really had to urn the privilege (I've been waiting all day to use those too. Sorry about the puns; I'm being a bit of an ash). There wasn't much to see, but I had a bit of a coughing attack while walking around the building. I think I might have inhaled a little Marcus Agrippa.

On to the Popolo; a nice little square with a lovely fountain in the middle. At this point, it was pretty hot and I'd been walking all day in the sun. A bit of a face wash with the cool water was just the thing. On to the Spanish steps. I totally overshot them and had to turn around and backtrack. As luck would have it, I stumbled into the Trevi Fountain. Legend says that if you throw a coin into this fountain, you will one day return to Rome. I was pretty tired by this time, and decided to wait on tossing the coin until I'd made up my mind for sure. By the way, calling it a mere fountain diminishes it in terms of size and grandeur.

I made it to the Spanish steps (which weren't as big as I was expecting) where I plunked my arse down for about an hour and a half and stared into space. There were tons of people there. I talked to a family from Tucson for a bit. I explained how to get to the Trevi fountain. No matter how many times I said the name or pointed to a sign or map that had it written on it, the father insisted on calling it the "Trivia" Fountain. I'm not sure if they ended up going, but I think his wife was keen on meeting Alex Trebec. Good people though.

After that, a bit more wandering (including another pass by Trevi where I chucked in a coin), dinner, wine and a walk back to the metro past the Colosseum. Got some good night shots.

I didn't write a thing about Mexico, so I still owe that one. Probably, you'll see that later this week.