Off to visit the Mayans – Day 5, Xcaret.

If any of you have traveled with a teenager, you probably know to give them a wide berth after waking them up early (very early) to catch a plane, bus or train. We woke Sahana up amidst whines and groans to catch our scheduled Easy Tour van at 8:30 am to go see Xcaret (eshcaret). Xcaret is one of Maya Riviera’s most popular destination – a ‘eco archaelogical’ theme park where one can go snorkeling in the part underground river, relax on their impossibly soft, yellow sandy beaches, swim with the fishes, pet dolphins, eat a 28 course buffet lunch, visit a mariposa (butterfly) garden, take pictures with macaw on one’s shoulders, see soft pink flamingos, tapirs, pumas, jaguars, turtles – all this at a high price. And yes, it does possess the ambience of a Disney theme park. You can have your adventure under well controlled environment.

After packing our bio-degradable sunscreen (only bio degradable are allowed since you get up close and personal with sea creatures), swim suits, change of clothes, hats, shades et all, we grandly exited our Adventure Experience Hotel after greeting the lovely receptionist a cheery, ‘Buenos Diaz’. Sahana just grumbled.

We had no time for a sit down breakfast so we ran to grab something from a nearby Starbucks. Cafe latte and chocolate croissant for me, chocolate croissants for Sahana and Ryan while Sean got something distasteful and healthy – egg white and cheese sandwich. We chomped on our breakfast while waiting for the van and slowly, like the rising sun, Sahana’s disposition became sunny with every bite of the croissant. It is funny what chocolate can do to a choco lover.

The van arrived promptly at 8:30 am and after stopping to pick up some other fellow Xcaret adventurers, it dropped us off in the expert hands of our guide, who then expounded upon the do’s and don’t’s of the theme park for the next 20 minutes – in Spanish! After 10 minutes or so, Ryan asked, “Can we please just go?”

Finally his very elaborate lecture ended, he extracted promises from us to meet him at the exact spot no later than 9:20 pm and after procuring that he let us loose and left us to our own mischief.

The plan was simple. Three of my family members would get on a boat with their rented snorkeling gear and get thrown off the boat mid-ocean to swim with fishes while I would find a lounge chair by the aqua marine water and update my journal.

Snorkeling in mid-ocean was not my idea of fun. As we waited for Sean, Sahana and Ryan to board their boat, we watched people getting kissed by dolphins, petting them, hugging them, playing with them – at a steep price. When Sahana heard how much it cost to touch a dolphin, she exclaimed, ‘Gosh, no!’

As the children and Sean waved goodbye to me and their boat turned a corner, I walked back to the beach, found a quiet spot under a beach umbrella and brought out my notebook and pen to retrace our steps with words. I realized a smile often formed at the corner of my lips as I recalled a particular incident in our journey together, a special moment of bonding as my notebook filled up in that hour and a half.

After an exuberant retelling of how exciting the snorkeling was, how fearless Ryan and Sahana were, how many fishes they saw and how they separated from the group to swim with a sea turtle, we went to an elaborate and sumptuous lunch in an international restaurant within the park (the price of the ticket included the buffet) which incorporated varied local delicacies along with dishes like pasta, fish and chips etc to accommodate all kinds of taste.

My plate. I went back for seconds and thirds.

The next adventure was snorkeling down a part underground river – along with the mother this time. The water in the river was about 6 feet deep and the mother had already asked the guide in very broken Spanish whether it was safe for someone who can not swim well to go down it. The guide had said, ‘Oh sure!’ The mother was not sure if something had gone lost in translation. Bravely donning my snorkeling gear I took my valiant husband’s hand as I flopped my flippers on the stairs going down to the river. The first touch of water sent shivers down my spine. It was a chilly 75 degree Fahrenheit. There were two options to go down the river – one way was outside, lit up by the sun and pleasant foliage overhead to form a lovely canopy over your head, or the dark, sinister tunnel through which the river flew secretly and where the rays of the sun were prohibited. Ryan chose the tunnels. And I unhappily complied. Mistake.

I have claustrophobia and I have a fear of water. An unhappy combination if you are about to float down a river that flows through pitch black tunnels. As soon as we entered the tunnels, floating and splashing, I knew I was in trouble. I felt panic rising in my throat. And for a few moments I thought I could not do this. The tunnels were pitch black, there was not a single glimmer of light to illuminate our way, we had to feel for the sides of the caverns through which we floated by or jutting rocks with our hand. While struggling with my fears of enclosed space and drowning, I felt something touch my legs.

“Sean, is that you? Did you just touch my legs?” I screamed.

“No, I am right here. Next to you. Here hold my hand.” He said.

“Oh my gosh, something touched my leg. Something living touched my leg. A rat touched my leg!” I was almost hyperventilating in panic.

“No rats, no rats. Rats will drown here!” He tried to pacify.

“Then it was a snake! We are swimming through sewage water with rats and snakes! Why did you agree to come through the tunnels? Why did we not go the other way? It is all your fault!” I was wailing.

“You are doing great! I am right next to you!” The good man consoled me as he pulled me along.

A man, trying to navigate his family around my thrashing legs, had touched my legs. Not rats, not snakes, I discovered in a few minutes, when he said a fearful sorry – fearing my madness!

Thankfully at regular intervals there was sunlight pouring in through holes above us. We found Sahana waiting there for us, waiting to see how her brave mother was faring. She too, did not like the dark and was complaining that Ryan always gets his way about everything. Floating down the river in the sunlight would have been so much more pleasant. After gulping down the sunshine at these breaks, I sorrowfully plunged in the murky dark waters again, just to get to the end of it. Those moments of light were such blissful ones. I truly appreciated the phrase ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ when the tunnels regurgitated us floaters into clear water and blinding sunlight. Surprisingly though, somewhere between starting the river journey and ending it I learnt to rely on my life vest and finally started believing I was not going to drown. Somewhere along the way, when we got out into those sporadic moments of sunshine, I put my snorkeling gear on and put my face in the water, I learnt to breathe through my mouth. Somewhere along the way, I pried loose my fingers and let my tightly held fear slip away. Instead I grasped on to the belief that I can do this. And that is when I started having fun. As I put my face in the water and opened my eyes, once the tunnels ended and we emerged onto the sunlight, I discovered a brilliant world underneath me. Fishes of different hues swimming along beneath me. It was a moment of wonder, a boon of sight – ‘I once was blind but now I can see’ moment.

The day ended with a truly spectacular show of the cultures of Mexico which dated from the cultural aspects of Ancient Mayans and ended with modern-day Mariachi music.

Ancient Mayans playing a game resembling field hockey with a ball of fire.

By the end of the show the people in the entire stadium, irrespective of their country of origin, were rocking, clapping and chanting “Mexico, Mexico” It was a moment of bonding with the beautiful, hospitable, very pleasant people of a truly enchanting country of rich cultural heritage.

We kept our promise and returned to the tour guide by 9:20 pm. We were dropped back at our hotel tired, hungry and very content. After a quick dinner of lousy pizza and a promise to Sahana that we will let her sleep in tomorrow, we turned the lights out.

Oh, and if you are worrying about my infected finger still….rest easy, the antibiotics are working. Both the swelling and the pain are down. Dreaming of the ruins of Tulum that we plan to see tomorrow…

Off to visit the Mayans….with a sore finger!

My eyes opened at 3:48 am and my brain registered the acute pain – the reason for my sudden wakefulness. We were about to leave the house to catch our flight to Yucatan, Mexico in a couple of hours and my right ring finger was throbbing with intense pain. Intense enough to wake me up from deep, exhausted-from-packing-and-organizing slumber. I knew I was in trouble. After weeks of planning where to go for spring break, what made sense financially, whether the children will be happy with our choice, we had decided upon the ancient Mayans. The Yucatan peninsula – the land of the Mayans, soft yellow sandy beaches, turquoise blue water and waving palm trees. The ruin-addict in me wanted my fill of ruins and my water loving family wanted beach fun.

My knowledge of Mayan civilization is sketchy at the best and garnered primarily from travel books and internet. But I knew that the Mayans were the most sophisticated culture of ancient America with their astounding knowledge of astronomy, science and a complete writing system. Their culture survived the ages and there is a thriving community of Mayans in the Yucatan peninsula. I was often mistaken for a Mayan woman and when told I hail from India, there were confusion and surprise on the face of the person who started a friendly chat with me in Spanish, thinking I was local.

According to the book ‘Yucatan and Mayan Mexico’ one of the most remarkable things about the Maya is that our image about them is not some fixed, established text, but has been transformed over the last 40 years, and is still developing.’ The Mayan civilization is fascinating, intricate, enigmatic, brutal. The sites and ruins made me wonder about their fascination with death, their thoughts of afterlife. One of the cardinal points in Mayan philosophy is to live the present moment – live it fully. I hoped to bring home that wisdom and incorporate in our lives.

Early morning did not see anyone in good spirits. Sahana and Ryan were tired, I was in pain and slightly worried about my finger, which, by the way, was caused by my foolishness. I tore away at an annoying cuticle on my ring finger with my teeth since there were no nail clippers to be found. And somehow, the finger got infected.

We finally reached the airport. Few bickerings were squashed with cliches like ‘it is more important to be kind than to be right’ etc. My expert husband, who travels around the world thirty percent of his time, got us to the gate in no time at all and even got one seat upgraded, much to the joy of Ryan (he always wanted to travel first class). There was not much question who was going to avail the upgrade 🙂 ! Sahana said she was going to listen to her six hour worth of music on her iTouch, she was oblivious of her surrounding and she did not truly care where she sat on the plane.

As I sat there guarding the luggage, while the family went in search of breakfast, I looked through the glass wall of the airport to take in a young, nascent, blood red sun getting ready to kiss each corner of the earth and make it blush crimson red. And just like that I was happy. A break from the usual, a few days of searching for the unusual. A few days of looking at the sun set and moon rise, a few days of eating ice cream for dinner, if we so wanted, a few days of trying something new perhaps. And for me, a few days of freedom from the wire. I had no phone, no tablet, no computer. I had my camera attached to my hip, my black and white composition book and a whole lot of pens. A few days of going wireless.

My elation lasted for a few hours till the finger started letting me know I had made a huge mistake over that cuticle. As the hours passed on the plane and in airports, I sadly kept looking at my ring finger, which started swelling up and changing color. After two painkillers, I could pick up a pen. ‘Tomorrow morning the swelling will be memory’ I thought to myself, staying positive.

We arrived in Merida and rented a little Matisse, which we named Escargot for it’s shape, and yes, speed too. As we were focussed on trying to find our Hotel Dolores Alba on Calle (street) 63, we did not see much of Merida. We had traveled the whole day and wanted two things – a shower and most importantly, BED! We found our hotel and were delighted as we stepped into the beautiful courtyard adorned with copies of Frieda Kahlo’s artwork and gorgeous mosaic floor. Very comfortable, clean rooms. Lovely showers with hot water, happy, smiling staff.

My eyes were closing as I jotted down my thoughts. Uxmal calling tomorrow….

Vacation

The act of getting my family out of the door is blog worthy in itself. Sean zooms around the house with an air of ‘oh I am so responsible for the security of this house’, closing a flap here, a door there. Ryan clutches on to his minuscule star war figure (please don’t ask me which one, because I am that kind of a human who confuses Star wars with Star Trek, causing fans to shudder) and lazes around with no sense of urgency, whatsoever. Sahana, dons her tattered boots and shoves her little journal and pen IN her boots, and settles down on the couch with a deep, thought provoking book like Inferno or Dr. Faustus. That kid is weird, and I like her. I purposefully walk into a room and promptly forget why I came in in the first place because mentally I am checking the mile long list of little things that can preempt any kind of disaster like sore throat or upset stomach or a 102 fever. Once we are ready to go, Sean runs in to do one more thing that needs to be done. When he comes out, I run in because I forgot my waterbottle. And when I come out, the kids run in, either to go the bathroom, or because the answer to ‘do you have your coat?’ was a subdued ‘nooooo!’ Yes, we are predictable! And if Jerome K. Jerome was alive, he would have written a wonderful short story about us.

That is exactly how it panned out before our car trip to Williamsburg, Virginia. Finally, the seatbelts were clicked, the ignition turned on, my shoes were off, feet on the dashboard and we were on our way. Right away, there was a major disagreement over the choice of music – Dixie Chicks or Veggie Tales, which I squelched with ‘You guys settle down….or else…’ threat. Peace prevailed for a couple of hours till:

‘I need to go to the bathroom, NOW!’ – Ryan’s plaintive voice.

At that moment, we were sitting in traffic on I 495 south with long serpentine line of cars ahead, moving at snail’s pace.

‘Daddyyyyyy, I need to go the BATHROOM!’

‘Ok, buddy! I will try to find one, as soon as I can!’

After some whimpering and crying and moaning and requesting his helpless parents, Ryan got angry and resentful. This is how he is going to take revenge on us for not helping him out in his present state of discomfort:

‘When I am older and you guys are too old to drive, I am going to drive you guys around and not stop at a bathroom when you guys need to go!’

Sean and I, looking desperately for a hole in traffic to get to an exit, exchanged glances, trying hard not to laugh out loud….fearing our fate in old age!

Long story short, we got off at the nearest exit after many more tears and oohs and ouches. We found a bathroom. Ryan emerged after doing his business with a huge toothless smile, the relief on his face was palpable. We got hopelessly lost and completed the 3 hour trip in 5 and a half hours.

There were some moments when I shook my head and wondered why we bothered. There were some fights, sibling rivalry, some shoves and pushes and temper tantrums. But those were few compared to the skipping, jumping, tinkling laughter, camaraderie and sibling love.

At Busch Gardens, I was dragged kicking and screaming to ride the Lochness monster so that we could tell posterity that we rode that horrendously scary ride as a family. I planned to be an observer of the jollity at the amusement park and use the excuse of my camera to get out of riding scary rides. The plan failed. A locker was found, our stuff was stuffed and I was, very unwillingly, dragged to the rides. I screamed myself hoarse – a happy scream. And felt very daring and brave afterwards as I stood there watching people go up high and get dashed to the ground…just about. I wondered who was having more fun going on the rides – Sean or Ryan. Sean tried to use the fearless Ryan as his pretext to get on each and every ride ‘A grown up must accompany Ry, so I have got to go, you see!’ When Ryan was barred from going on the scariest ride, the Griffon, due to his height, Sean’s ruse failed. He admitted, he would go on it by himself and would I care to join him….for love. I gave him a kiss and told him I loved him, but not enough to get on a ride that is described as such in Wikipedia:

Ride Elements

205-foot 90° drop
146-foot (45 m) Immelmann
130-foot 87° drop
100-foot (30 m) Immelmann
Splashdown finale
360° Climbing carousel turn

It takes one up 205 feet, goes over the edge for a few seconds so one can look straight down 90 degree drop, before it plummets down, 70 miles an hour. And that is the beginning of several twists and turns.

He went alone. And came back exhilarated.

Sahana made it a point to mention to me every time I wanted to take a picture that “You guys are such tourists. I hate tourists!” My response to that was “Be quiet and go stand next to your brother!” She went with a slight grin on her face and reiterated that she hated such touristy behavior. We did the tour of James Town, lunched by the beautiful York River, strolled the historic lanes of Williamsburg, went on a guided tour of “Ghosts among us” and heard stories of vampires, cannibals and ghosts that supposedly frequented and still haunt the streets and mansions of Williamsburg. We played mini golf and ate ice cream. We laughed and teased and hugged each other.

As the children ran ahead of us, excited at things they saw, chattering happily, Sean and I looked at them and realized a few things. First, they are growing up way too fast. Life is going by us and we aren’t making much of an effort to stop time to enjoy the moment, we are too caught up in meeting deadlines, working, taking them to structured activities, paying bills, worrying about their future. We sometimes forget to enjoy the present because we are doggedly focused on their future. A little time outside the structured life we lead, gives us the chance to really see them, as the little humans that they are becoming.

The vacation wasn’t perfect. We are not a perfect family with well behaved kids and smiling, patient parents like they show on television. There were moments, as I said, when I wonderer if going away is really worth it. Sahana’s temper flared, Ryan whined and whined to buy a toy gun. Sean almost made Ryan go to bed without dinner for bad behavior, I yelled at them to stop fighting. But those moments have already been shut down in a tiny, little compartment in my head. The moments that I will air out and smile upon are the brilliant, happy smile of my thirteen year old Sahana, constantly scribbling quotations in her little journal, toothless laughter of young Ryan after riding the Lochness monster, the beaming face of my husband, who posseses the ability to have most fun in any vacation. I can cope with my regular, google calendar dictated life for a while. The happy moments will see me through. When dark clouds start gathering in the horizon, I will need to pack up my little family, and get away again, to regroup and rejuvenate, to bond and to be part of some meaningful experience – together.

Going to the beach…

We drove down to the beach to expose my poor parents to some camping experience. We hyped up the trip, expounded on the ‘fun’ aspect of camping on the beach. The sun, the sand, the water, the blue sky, the roasting hot dogs on the fire, the camp fire songs and stories. My parents come from the congested city of Kolkata. In Kolkata, we don’t go camping – generally. In the pleasant winter, we go to the botanical gardens or the zoo for a picnic, at least we used to when I was little. So camping was going to be a completely new experience for my mom and dad. We conveniently forgot to mention the uncomfortable sleeping conditions, the bugs, the darkness, and the other negative stuff that non camping lovers highlight and true campers pooh pooh. I am somewhere in the middle. But this post is not about our camping experience. This post is about the stream of thoughts that I had on our way to the State park for our camping trip.

The back roads that led to the beach flashed some images of rural Bengal in my mind and how different the two settings are. What different emotions these two very different scenes evoke in me. Last year, Sean and I took a road trip to Shantiniketan, famous for the Viswa Bharati University that was founded by Rabindranath Tagore. Tagore envisioned a different kind of education for the young, malleable, open minds that children have. The minds with endless possibilities that can achieve great things only if they were set free to think outside the box. He created open air class rooms where classes were held under chateem trees, the teachers taught in the open air, under the sky, amidst nature. I had seen the university a few times but I wanted to show my American husband what my favorite poet, visionary and educator, Rabindranath Tagore had envisioned and created.

Our car sped through the controlled chaos – unplanned, haphazard greenery, chaos even amidst the resplendent green, mud huts, small plots of land being ploughed by man and oxen, brown-skinned people, scantily dressed children looking on at the passing cars, collecting water, playing marbles. Little ponds in between, women drawing water for household chores, the earthy smell mixed with the smell of cow dung and manure. Thin cows and water buffaloes grazing, stray, mangy dogs, squawking chicken, songs of Rabindranath Tagore playing in my mind – the familiar, soothing feeling of a scene from home, a feeling of belonging. It will be presumptuous of me to assume that the people that we saw in those surroundings were happy. I realize that thought would be naive and idealistic. But the aura was one of simplicity. I will also say this, it was easy for us to feel that way sitting in our air-conditioned car, looking out at the hard-working men and women and enjoying this feeling of being relaxed and carefree.

The contrast to here is stark. The planned stretches of farmland, picturesque houses far in between with white picket fences, healthy looking lonely, dappled horse flicking its tail, fattened cow grazing. An Amish gentleman trotting steadily on his horse-drawn buggy in his traditional Amish clothes; tall, shiny silos raising their proud heads high up proclaiming the prosperity of their owner, automatic, giant pivot irrigation systems irrigating the farmland, a farmer on a tractor – occasionally spotted. Images of apple pies and fried chicken flood my mind’s eye and make me desperate to taste some. It is neat, orderly, slightly clinical but a sense of peace and quiet, a sense of calm.

As I said earlier, the two scenes in two very different countries evoke two very different feelings in me, both positive, both peaceful in different ways.

Since I was already in a mood for comparing, the beaches brought out different feelings as well. The beaches here mostly have clean yellow sand, relatively less polluted water, lots of skin, umbrellas, beach chairs, sun lotions, beach toys and sand castles. Bathrooms and concession stands to make one’s beach experience pleasurable. I love to just get up and go for a long walk by the ocean feeling the spray on my face, the sand under my feet and the sun on my shoulders. People generally bring surf boards, go surfing, swim, eat their food, put more sunblock on, read or sleep. When I go to a beach in this country, I mainly look out at the horizon and try to fathom the expanse of the sea, and expand with it in my mind. I notice the changing colors of water more, I notice the blushing red sky at sunset, I look up at the full moon up in the sky, I notice the sand dunes and the shadows they cast as the sun changes position, I am more in tune with nature.

In India, nature for me takes a back seat since there is so much entertainment and people watching on the beach. Girls in their full traditional outfit, salwar kameezes, giggling at the edge of the water, daring each other to go in. Men in their underwear, a little deeper, in the water, maybe up to their knees, urging their respective wives to come to him. The young couple gets some sweet moments of shared intimacy in the water as the waves crash them against each other. The newly wed bride holds on to her young husband and laughs a happy, content laugh. The elders in the family, if present, look on with a bemused, indulgent smile on their faces, happy that the man is taking care of his woman. All this touching will be frowned upon as soon as they leave the safety of the water. A married woman of mature age wears a salwar kameez instead of her regular wear – a saree and revels in the guilty pleasure. The pictures will be her only memories of this change once she goes back to her regular life. She will never wear anything but a saree there. The hawkers sell their ware, photographers try to take pictures of you and make you buy them. Food sellers cook food right by the beach making the air aromatic with the heavenly smells from their smoky woks. People buy cheap shell jewellery, eat road side food, it is a carnival every night by the beach. In the midst of all this, the sun rises with the same splendor and casts brilliant light on the sea, the sea changes different hues of blue and aquamarine, the sun sets with resplendence. I sometimes get a glimpse, often times don’t, since my eyes are glued to the mass of humanity.

I am at a good place. I find my sense of balance by belonging to both these countries. I need my simplicity, and I need by orderliness, the beauty of nature refreshes my soul and my fellow humans make me feel a part of a huge plan. I need it all and lucky me, I get it all.

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day 6 and homeward bound.

Sean had the final day off. We were about to experience Rome for the day, together. After our usual breakfast of croissants, coffee, cereal in huge quantity (Sean) served by a sweet, smiling Italian lady at the hotel, we walked from our hotel to a vibrant, open air market place in Campo dei Fiori. Fruit and vegetable vendors lay their produce in an attractive array. The entire place looked lively and colorful with bright red tomatoes, shiny cherries, green leafy vegetables. Pasta sellers spread out their pastas in a colorful display. Trinket sellers had their earrings, necklaces, murano glass jewellery out attractively to lure customers to their stalls. And lure they certainly did, I couldn’t resist their charm, broke down and bought a charm bracelet. I wore it right away and looked at it admiringly from time to time as we walked towards the Basilica of St. Peter’s.

Sean is not the kind of guy to stand in line. For him, Rome is special for its ambiance – the narrow cobble-stoned alleys, the little quaint shops, the ancient feel of the city, the Jewish quarter, the mysterious stairways leading to gorgeous doors, ancient ruins dotted all over the city, the walks along river Tiber, the food and the romance in the air. He would rather walk indeterminately enjoying the sights and sounds of Rome than stand in line to enter the Colosseum, the Vatican or the Roman Forum (the line to get tickets to enter the forum can be pretty long). Since this was his only day off, I gave him the freedom to choose our destination. I was just happy to be with him! If he was writing the blog, however, he would strongly disagree to the ‘freedom to choose’ bit. I desperately wanted to see the Castel Sant’ Angel, so I couldn’t help interject such lines from time to time ‘You know, we should see the inside of Castel Sant’ Angel sometime, I haven’t been inside the castle yet!’ But then quickly qualified the statement with ‘I am not telling you what to do, it was just a suggestion!’

After a while, Sean played along with “So, what should I plan to do again? Should I plan to go see the inside of Castel Sant’ Angel?” You guessed it, we ended up in the Castle of Angels!

This was built on Tiber river by King Hadrian and then converted into a military fortress. It is named after the archangel Michael at the entrance to the museum.

A view of the Basilica from the terrace of the Castle.

In the evening, we decided to truly get lost in the interconnected narrow, mysterious, ancient looking alleyways of beautiful Rome. We walked the streets aimlessly, without a clue or purpose. We saw some treasures hidden in these little lanes, some unknown yet ornately decorated churches, back of a beaten up dilapidated house made beautiful by fragrant, bright flowers, old arch bridges, moss-covered steps leading to gorgeous doorways, little cafes and gelatarios.

At the cost of never getting an advertisement offer from McDonald’s for my blog site, I must admit that I shuddered at the sight of these golden arches in Rome. For me it was akin to blasphemy, the presence of the fast food chain in the land of leisurely dining and delicious cuisine. But soon, due to the dearth of public restrooms in Rome, my feeling changed from horror to reassurance at sighting of McDonald’s. It did wonders for my peace of mind. Enough of bathroom talk, moving on.

We bought some gifts at a souvenir shop for my parents and the children who were becoming very real to me with every passing minute. I was missing them. I was ready to go home. We went back to Trastevere area for a dinner of spaghetti alla amatriciana (spaghetti with bacon and tomato sauce) and ended the evening with canoli with chocolate chips. Our last gelato for a while.

I want to mention that I probably ate bacon almost every day during my stay in Rome, either in my pizza or my pasta. I don’t eat much bacon back home. The health freak in me makes me buy the leanest bacon possible. I find it tasteless. The bacon, in Rome, was the real deal with fat dripping off them on my shirt and probably clogging my artery as I write this journal! But I didn’t care. That was the joy of being on vacation. I knew this was short-term, I could afford to be indulgent, I could afford to eat fatty bacon, I could afford to eat dessert every day (one day even twice). That feeling made this Roman Holiday memorable, dream like.

Last night, I went to bed truly content. Amidst all the happy moments I have had in my life, my time in Rome just got included in the list. I had a happy time, carefree, stress free, free from the shackles of schedule. But I was ready to go back and take charge again. On the flight back home, between watching four movies back to back, I pondered a little bit about the ‘connected’ life I led. I honestly felt, I need to disconnect a bit to connect more with the people who matter to me the most. Between the schedules and running around, focusing on one particular thing was becoming rarer for me. While I read with Ryan, my mind was already planning where I had to be the next day and when. While listening to Sahana’s middle school woes, part of my focus was on the half filled milk jar and whether that would last till breakfast. Whatever little time I had in between, I spent it on the net chatting with friends so my mind didn’t wander on the mundane chores. The net, for the lack of better words, had become my escape from my busy, schedule filled life. I wanted to change that.

My Roman Holiday ended. But the feel of it stayed with me. I wrote these blogs so when the memory starts to fade and I need some sustenance and a breath of fresh air, I can come back to these and relive the days. Thank you all for reading and being a part of my holiday. Signing off!

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day five.

My plan for today was to cover the Basilica of St. Peter’s and Castel Sant’ Angelo. But the Castel Sant’ Angelo didn’t work out. I wanted to go up to the dome and cupola of St. Peter’s to see Rome, once again, from the top of the world. From my hotel, I leisurely walked towards the Vatican, arrived at the courtyard around 9:30 am and discovered that the line to enter was a mile long. First inclination was to turn away but then I thought of The Pieta. I was leaving Rome in a couple of days, I had to say my last goodbye to her. I have been inside the Basilica innumerable times. Our hotel during our last visit to Rome many moons ago, was a mere 10 minutes walk from the Basilica. I came whenever I felt overwhelmed or tired to escape into the cool interiors of this beautiful church. But it never grew old for me. I always seemed to find one sculpture or one mosaic that I had missed before. I am not knowledgeable enough to do full justice to this sacred monument of the Catholics, but I do love the architecture, the sculptures and the mosaics. I also love the feeling of stepping into an old world as I cross the threshold of the church. I simply have to will the crowd away and they fade away for me till a hard shove of a push bring me back to reality.

I waited in line for an hour and a half to gain entry. My love for people watching makes these long waits bearable and sometimes even enjoyable. Moreover, the wait was just means to an astounding, beautiful, simply fascinating end. That thought sustained me.

Once the security check was done and I was deemed safe enough to enter St. Peter’s, I made my way to the ticket counter to buy a ticket to go up to the dome. It was 7 euros to take the elevator and 5 euros to take the stairs. I am ashamed to admit that I opted for the elevator to go up to the cupola.

The interior of the dome from the top of the cupola in Basilica of St. Peters.

We had to climb 342 extremely narrow stairs up to the dome. I was very happy to discover that I could get up those stairs without breaking much of a sweat. All those harrowing hours at the gym had paid off.

The very narrow staircase going up to the top.

The view from up top was worth the effort.

Narcissism. There is a mirror up top to take your own picture with the background.

After paying homage to The Pieta and whispering my farewell, I swung my bags on my shoulders and started the long hike back home. It was getting late in the afternoon, so postponed the trip to Castel Sant’ Angel till the next day. As I walked back contemplating which kind of pizza to eat for lunch I heard a woman’s voice calling my name. I turned around surprised. Who could know me in the city of Rome! Took my shades off and saw the smiling face of a school friend from Kolkata, India, whom I hadn’t seen for the last twenty years! She was touring Europe with her husband and two girls. Meeting a friend from my girlhood days in the city of Roma!!! We squealed, we hugged, we talked at the same time, we squealed again, asked about each other, hugged again and said “Can you believe it? I can’t believe it!” fifty-nine times! My friend’s good-natured husband stood there with an indulgent smile, and occasionally looked around to give apologetic smiles to the pedestrians who stared at our display of emotions. The girls took pictures.

In the evening, Sean and I strolled down Via Del Cerechi and ended up at the Colosseum. The sun was setting, the last rays fell on the anicient amphitheater and illuminated the ruin to its full glory. Although part of the history of the Colosseum is full of blood and human suffering yet the magnificence of it does evoke respect and awe for the strength and power of the ancient Romans.

In front of the Colosseum in the evening of our 5th day.

We decided to explore the night life of Trastevere. Like a typical man, Sean claimed he knew a short cut from the Colosseum to Trastevere, but that involved climbing the thousand (exaggerating) steps of The Capitoline hill. Once we were up there, he realized there was no short cut, we needed to go back down and go the usual way. I had already climbed 342 steps in the morning to reach the cupola, I threw that fact in his face and demanded a double gelato right away as a reward for huffing and puffing up more steps to satisfy male vanity of not asking for directions.

Trastevere didn’t disappoint. After a delicious meal of spaghetti with tomato sauce, olives, capers, tuna and anchovies, we headed towards the Piazza of Santa Maria. Musicians and artists were getting ready to entertain tourists and diners at the open air pizzerias, restaurants and cafes. Sean’s colleague had shown him the best little dessert place, Churi Churi, to get cannolis (Sean’s favorite) and my gelato. Sean got a canoli with plain sweet ricotta cheese, I got a gelato called canolini with fresh cream on top. It was frozen sweet ricotta cheese with crushed canoli mixed in. It was one of the most delicious flavors I have ever tasted! I immediately planned to get the same the next evening, my last in Rome.

After roaming endlessly in the narrow alleyways and neighborhoods of Trastevere, enjoying the funky, artsy shops, innumerable open air restaurants, dessert and gelato places, artists, entertainers, dancers, musicians, we headed back to our dear old Hotel Arenula. While crossing Tiber, I caught this in my camera.

Back at the hotel, while I was looking through the pictures in my camera, Sean asked if I wanted to skype with the children.

Children??? What children???

Day six will be one of losing myself with Sean in the city of Rome, and maybe Castel Sant’ Angelo, if I can convince my husband!

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day four.

On my fourth morning in Rome, I was nervous. I had the map laid out on the hotel bed and was tracing my fingers across the unfamiliar sounding names of serpentine streets. The plan was to see the Basilica di San Clemente at Laterno and the Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli (St. Peter in chains)! I knew it was very close to the Colosseum so walked confidently towards the impressive amphitheater, standing proudly against a cobalt blue sky. I opened my map up in front of it. After giving myself five minutes of peering cluelessly at the streets on the map, folded it carefully, put it back in my pocketbook and went to the first policeman I found.

“Scuzi, senor, how get to Basilica di San Clemente?” I constantly spoke terrible English during my stay in Rome. For some reason, I felt if I dropped some words, I may be able to communicate better!!!

The policeman answered back in accented but perfect English, pointing me in the right direction. I stopped to look at the ruins of Ludus Magnus, a gym for training gladiators. Archaeologists believe there was a network of corridors that linked this structure to the Colosseum.

The Basilica di San Clemente at Laterno was tucked in a narrow lane. This basilica was dedicated to Saint Clement, the fourth pople, making this one of the oldest Roman basilicas. Ruined in 1084, it was rebuilt on the same site by Paschal II in 1108. I entered the Capella di Santa Caterina (St. Catherine’s Chapel) which has some decorative frescoes by Masolino de Panicale (1383 – 1447). This is a prime example of of a church piled atop a church piled atop a pagan temple. A 12th century church was built directly over a 4th century church, which was built directly over a 2nd century pagan temple. This kind of architecture is not unique in Rome since almost the entire city is built directly on top of the ancient one. In San Clemente, one can actually go down to the lower levels and get a glimpse of the city’s architecture in the 2nd century. 2nd century!!!! How incredible is that?

I had to buy a ticket (5 euros) to go into the lower basilica. The lower church was dated back to the 4th century and still has some relatively well-preserved frescoes. The base of the building dates thousands of years back in time. It corresponds to a 2nd century house in which a Mithraeum was created later, a grotto shaped room, devoted to the Persian god Mithra. I found the worship place of this ancient cult more interesting than the churches above it, so I read up on it further. Since photography was prohibited, the facts are all I have to fall back upon.

Mithras, or Mitra, is a very ancient deity. In the Vedic religions that preceded Hinduism, Mitra was a solar deity of oaths and treaties who was closely connected with the sky god Varuna. In Persian religion, he is the solar deity of friendship and honesty operating under the supreme god Ahura Mazda. The followers of Mithras, the Mithrans, met in caverns or in artificial enclosures made to look like caverns. Under the basilica too, the mithraeum had the grotto look. Along the walls there were stone benches where the sacred banquet was held. In the center of the room the alter with the god is visible. The god is slitting the throat of a bull. The blood from the bull symbolized the benevolent force and fertility. As part of their rituals, Mithraic priests sacrificed bulls until the blood flowed into troughs, which followers would then scoop out with their arms to bathe in. Next to the temples are the buried remains of a Roman palazzo of 1st century. We could hear the sound of rushing water as we walked around the rooms underground. I learnt that this water is from the ancient pipes and aqueducts between the walls.

After being transported completely to the 2nd century, walking along the dimly lit rooms and corridors, listening to the swish of the running water and imagining the worshippers of the pagan god congregating to worship in the Mithraeum, I made my way up to the lower basilica. It was fascinating because of its antiquity and how well some of the frescoes have survived the onslaught of time. But the annoying aspect for me was being stuck behind a French-speaking tour group, who blocked every single way, I tried to exit. They were listening to their tour guide in rapt attention, completely unaware of me, trying to duck under their arms, around their torso to find a leeway to exit the narrow hallways. I do have a touch of claustrophobia, roaming around the labyrinthine belly of the basilica for over half an hour was starting to stress me out a bit. One woman, finally, acknowledged my efforts to get by them, spoke to the others and the way parted for me. I walked between them, Moses-like, and climbed the ancient stairs to emerge in the 12th century chapel for Saint Caterina. Felt like I traveled through a time machine. As I sat on the pews to absorb the experience and write in my journal, real world donned on me again, and not in a nice way. I saw a young man standing at the door of the chapel, looking very important, official and confident, he had an money-box in his hand. As the tourists walked into the Basilica, he thrust the money-box confidently in front of them and saying something in Italian. It gave me the feeling that he was expecting them to pay to enter the church. Most of the folks, I observed, dug into their pockets and brought out euro notes to put into his box. I knew the entry to the chapel was free. As far as I know, churches don’t charge you to go in. But people were falling for his con man’s tricks. The ugly within the precincts of the beautiful. I gave him the white of my eye as I walked out past him. The restrooms in Rome are few and far between, hence it requires a little bit of planning. Within four days, I had checked out where some of the public bathrooms are, in case of an emergency. From the Basilica of San Clemente, I walked around aimlessly looking at ancient buildings, peeking inside them to see a beautiful courtyard and a fountain in the center and slowly made my way towards the public restroom at the back of the Colosseum, on Via Colosseo (note it down if you plan to visit Rome soon)! But the French group had beat me to it. Older women were standing in a long line to use the facilities. They turned, smiled and greeted me like an old friend and I did the same.

From San Clemente, I made my way to San Pietro in Vincoli (St. Peter in chains). This church houses the famous Moses by Michelangelo and the original chains that supposedly bound Saint Peter.

Supposedly, the original chains that bound St. Peter.

Mausoleo di Giulio II (Julius II’s Mausoleum)!

The constant walking with two bags with bricks in them was taking a toll on my back and hips. I sat down in front of the Colosseum and indulged in my favorite activity – people watching, while my weary body rested to build up enough energy to walk back. And I found this gentleman/lady looking at me.

And some Roman soldiers milling around, trying to earn some euros.

Luring tourists into taking pictures with them.

In my contemplative, people watching mood, I also realized a couple of eccentricities of the city of Rome. First is the psychological warfare that goes on daily between the pedestrians and the vehicles. Often, in many streets, there are crosswalks and no lights. The norm is for the vehicles to come to a complete stop to let the pedestrian cross. But I noticed the complete disregard for this rule, especially by the cab drivers. In fact, the vehicles somewhat accelerated threateningly as they came close to the crosswalks, the poor tourists, as a result, quickly stepped up back onto the curb, lacking the courage to boldly step off the sidewalk to face the audacious driver. I hail from Kolkata, where the traffic is synonymous to chaos, I should have been used to this, yet I just couldn’t jump in front of an aggressive cabbie expecting him to brake and let me cross the street. Sean’s suggestion was, not to look them in the eye, just get in front of the car and they will stop. I didn’t think a loving spouse should ask his better half to walk in front of a moving vehicle, but he was trying to be helpful, so I held my peace. On these particular occasions, I loved tour groups. They gave me the confidence to cross the street fearlessly, by being one among many. If there were no tour groups in sight, I sidled against a local who boldly stepped off the curb without giving the on-coming vehicles a second glance, and scurried across with him/her.

The other eccentricity probably applies to all the tourists across the globe. It is their propensity to stop suddenly to either take a picture or exclaim excitedly at a point of interest. I walk fast, I had to stop abruptly on several occasions to avoid a sure collision with my fellow explorer. The beauty of it was, they were completely unaware that they were about to be bumped by me. Most of the times, I smiled indulgently and passed by. Once in a while, when I was tired, hungry and hurting, I did a say a quiet ‘What the heck?’ as I walked by them.

It was almost 2 in the afternoon when I grabbed a lunch of an eggplant, buffalo cheese, sundried tomato and fresh basil pizza and came back to the hotel to rest for a while. I planned to go meet Sean in Trastevere and walk back to the hotel with him.

Piazza Santa Maria, where I waited for Sean. The church of Santa Maria is seen at the back.

A gorgeous mosaic of Jesus and Mary in Chiesa di Santa Maria.

Sean and I strolled along the famous Via Del Corso looking at the designer stores and ended up at the Spanish steps again. I had gone there without my husband, but the romance in the air made me want to go back with him. After all what is the point of being in Rome if one is not kissed on the Spanish steps by the beloved? We witnessed a man proposing to his lady-love and she accepting the proposal on the steps. We all clapped when the gentleman turned to the crowd and said, with tears in his eyes, ‘She said YES!’ We were thrilled to be part of a special and endearing moment. We walked around the steps and went to the Trevi fountains, had a nice dinner of spagghetti carbonara (me) and gnocchi sorrentino (Sean) at a trattoria and a ‘not so yummy’ gelato near Piazza Novona. Then we worked off the dessert by walking through narrow cobble stoned alleyways, which I absolutely loved, to Campo di Fiori – a piazza alive with musicians, diners, tourists and shops.

Pasta decoration in front of a restaurant.

Day four ended. I realized I still had the remnants of my country mouse syndrome as Sean had to pull me back on the sidewalk a couple of times as I exuberantly exclaimed at a frescoe or an ancient looking apartment, or flowers on the window sill of a dilapidated house, completely unaware that the person behind me was so close to colliding into ME!!!

Destination for Day 5 – the doma and cupola of the Basilica of St. Peters and maybe Castel Sant’ Angel, if I still had the energy.

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day three.

Sean dragged me out of bed at an ungodly hour of 7 am, made me gulp down my coffee and croissant and pushed me out of the door to go stand in line at the Vatican Museum while he went to work. I arrived at Musei Vaticani at 8:30 in the morning and stood in line in a very foul mood. It takes me a while to wake up and I can’t stand any chirpiness in the morning. Anyway, the museum opened at 9:00 am. I stood in line listening to the cacophony of traffic and various world languages, suddenly feeling very included in the huge mass of humanity and not so grumpy anymore. A guide from Kerala (India) tried to play the India card to get employed as my guide. It didn’t work since I like to do my own touring with a book in hand. I felt very inadequate to truly appreciate the beauty of the objects displayed there. So I won’t even attempt to go into explanations. Here are some pictures instead.

A gorgeous mural, despite a blonde Mary and little, blonde Jesus.

A very well-preserved mummy of the henna haired woman.

Sculpture of Lacoon, found on the Esquitine in Rome in 1506. Created sculptors Agesandros, Athanodoros and Polydoros of Rhodes.

I did pay my homage to the Sistine chapel but I had to contain the memory of it in my head and in my heart since photography was prohibited. Upon entering the museum I followed the signs to Sistine Chapel and arrived there first to avoid the crowd. I found a place to sit and wonder for a while. What I really wanted to do was lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling all day. There are so many stories up there, mere half an hour is simply not enough. In the chapel, there was a low hum of conversation in different languages. When people got a bit too exuberant in their emotions at the sight of the masterpiece, the custodians of the chapel raised their voices ‘Silence please’! The people quieted down, and the custodians resumed their loud conversation amongst themselves in Italian. I smiled at the paradox! They also lazily turned around, once in a while, to warn people against taking pictures. The people who were clicking pretended not to hear, took the picture anyway, and then, when reprimanded again, said, ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you!’ The prohibition of photography wasn’t implemented strictly, I must say. Yet, I didn’t take any pictures. That conscience, I tell you!!! Anyway, read this little piece of information which made Michelangelo very real for me – ‘When Julius II abandoned his project for a funerary sculpture, Michelangelo returned unhappily to Florence. In 1508, he was recalled to Rome by the pope, who asked him to paint the Twelve Apostles on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He had barely started, when he realised the work was going badly. The pope then gave him a free hand and instead of the blue star-spangled vault, he created a masterpiece filled with powerful movement. Julius II came regularly to ask Michelangelo when he would finish. From atop the scaffolding came the regular reply “when I can.” ‘

After being completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the museum, saturated by the grandeur of the Sistine Chapel, the statues, frescoes and painting by the masters of all times, I came out of the museum groggy eyed, somewhat disoriented and bone weary. The four hours I spent there had transported me to the world of Egyptian pharaohs, Roman Emperors, Christ and his disciples, popes and cardinals; so the sounds and sights of the traffic, beggars, hawkers, tour guides right outside the museum was a rude awakening to my world, the real world, and the long hike back to my hotel.

My camera bag and pocket-book were seriously getting heavier with each step I took, so I decided to pay a visit to my favorite woman The Pieta at the Basilica of St. Peter’s. I wanted to sit in the Basilica and surround myself with more objects of splendor and beauty before I trudged back to the hotel. Unfortunately, the pope was giving a Papal audience to the faithful at the courtyard, and the line to see ‘the papa’ was serpentine. Instead, I sat on one of the marble benches in Via Concilliazone and stared at the Basilica longingly. Rested my weary legs, at the same time, and again, listened to different languages all around me.

After a lunch of panini with mozzarella cheese and prosciutto, I took a well deserved Italian siesta for a couple of hours. Around six in the evening, I got my funky spring coat on to go back to the Trevi fountain for pictures and then go further to see the Spanish steps. The Piazza de Spagna is always vibrant and lively! Different languages, lot of laughter, lot of smoking, lot of loving and lot of panting as people climbed the steps to go to the top. Since my community work during the vacation had been pouncing on couples, mother/daughter, families etc, to ask if they wanted me to take any pictures of them so they all could be in it, I took quite a few pictures of happy strangers (with their own camera, of course)! Almost all families graciously (sometimes giddily) accepted my offer with profuse words of thanks. However, one family of four refused me with a pretty smile thinking I was one of those annoying professional photographers, who pester people to take their pictures. I don’t blame them, with my own camera around my neck and camera bag on my side, I looked the part. Language could have been an issue too.

The piazza Spagna around the Spanish steps are surrounded by ritzy stores – Dior, Dolce & Gabanna, Prada, Guess. I walked around window shopping. As I crossed an alleyway, I peeked in only to spot a gorgeous, majestic looking church with a decorated marble facade. Churches are like magnets for me, I feel a compulsive need to look into the most obscure church that one can find in Italy. But fortunately, I am yet to find an obscure, ordinary, plain-looking church in Rome. I am sure there are some, just not in my eye.

I digressed from my chalked out path and walked towards the white marble facade of the chiesa. I have already mentioned earlier that I am terrible at reading maps and even worse at directions. So when I go to a place I remember landmarks. Hansel and Gretel used rocks to find their way back to their mean parents’ house, I use Burger King, the mask store, the clock store, the gelataria to get back to where I came from.

So when I digressed from my path, I was apprehensive that I might get lost. But I looked at one end of the street and discovered to my joy the Victor Emanuele II building, standing white and tall in all its glory in the setting sunlight. I had that ‘once was lost, now I am found’ kind of feeling since my hotel was very near that building. Bolstered by my new-found confidence, I did a lot of window shopping on Via del Corsa which is probably comparable to the Fifth Avenue in New York City.

From Via del Corsa, I took the narrow alleyway towards Piazza Novona in search of a little pizzeria for dinner. Bought a pizza amatriciana (yes, more bacon) and headed towards the Pantheon to eat my dinner on the steps of the fountain at Piazza Della Rotonda. My interest was really the gelato store at one end of the piazza. I tried the cassatta flavor today, so far, that was my favorite.

The fountain at Piazza della Rotonda, where I ate my dinner.

Since I was walking at least one hundred miles (well, it felt that way with my heavy bags) each day, I made an executive decision to eat a different kind of gelato each day during my stay in Rome, and also try a different type of pizza. I ended up getting the particular kind which had the fattiest bacon on it. Anyway, I took my gelato and walked on to the crowded Piazza Novona to do some people watching and to look at the really good art work of the local artists.

Very content after my cassatta flavored gelato, I decided to call it a day and headed back to the hotel when it happened again – I spotted the gorgeous Chiesa del Jesu, the Church of Jesus. And it beckoned me to go in. Inside, I saw a flurry of activities, a bunch of college kids in tux and black dresses where doing vocal drills to get ready for a choir singing. These were the same kids who sat next to Sean and I on the plane as we flew into Rome. They were Chamber singers from Virginia Tech who had come to sing in three different cities in Italy! Their band master came over to me to say hello. I assured him I wasn’t really stalking him or following him around, since I had bumped into him at the Vatican museum as well. With a promise to come back to see them perform, I rushed back to the hotel to write in my journal and also to write a note to my husband where I would be. Poor Sean was in a meeting all day, which was to culminate in a working dinner. I didn’t want him to come back to the hotel and find his wife missing. When the show ended at 10 pm, and I turned around to leave, I saw my husband coming in to walk me back!

The Chamber singers from Virginia Tech performing at Chiesa del Jesu.

Another very full day came to an end and I loved every minute of it. I didn’t realize I could completely check out from my real life, I could completely let go. But I did it. I didn’t have my cell phone, my computer or my iPad. I was totally untraceable and unreachable. I was not connected to the internet and did not have the desire to be connected either. All I wanted to do was to connect with the vibrant, modern and ancient vibes of the beautiful city of Rome. I truly disconnected to connect with my spouse, myself and my surroundings. I was experiencing, thinking and ‘looking’. I felt I hadn’t done that for a while. Maybe, because it was only for a few days, I was so content being away from it all. Sean commented he had not seen me so carefree for a long time.

One of my friends had suggested I see the Basilica of San Clemente. The plan for day four is to go see this very ancient church and check out the original chains that bound St. Peters in San Pietro in Vincoli.

Amor! Some call her Roma! Day two.

The plan was to get up at the crack of dawn and see Roma in the early morning light. But when do things happen as planned? We slept in till 8:15 am and woke up when the sun was already shining brightly over the tiled roof tops and the innumerable domes and spires in the city.

After a breakfast of croissants, coffee, yogurt and cereal we walked towards the Roman Forum. Sean only had a few hours to explore with me before he had to go to his meeting, so we decided to visit the Capitolini. A stepped up ramp, the Cordonata, leads to a magnificent square designed by Michaelangelo, and to the oldest public museum in
the world, the Musei Capitolini. The Tabularium, which occupied the space between the temple of Jupiter on one side of the Capitolini Hill and the steps which led up past the Carcer to the Arx on the other, unfurls a stupendous view of the Roman Forum.

We took the the elevator up to the Dalla Terrazza Delle Quadrighe for a panoramic view of the tiled roof tops of the entire city of Rome on one side and the whole Roman forum on the other. The confluence of modern and ancient. I had worn a skirt up top on the terrace on a very windy morning. To prevent several Marilyn Monroe moments, I had to relinquish the camera to my esposo while I tightly held on to my billowing skirt. These are some pictures he took.

From the top of the world the tiled roofs of Rome. The Dome of the St. Peter’s can be seen.

Bird’s eye view of Foro Romano – The Roman Forum.

Sean, very unwillingly, left for work while I started walking towards my destination – the Colosseum. But this is Rome, one can’t purposefully walk towards one landmark, but simply has to make detours to do justice to the other gorgeous buldings, palazzos, chiesas (churches) strewn all across the city. I stopped to tour the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II. This huge monument by Guiseppe Sacconi was begun in 1885 and inaugurated in 1911. It honors King Victor Emanuele II who achieved unification of Italy in 1870 with Rome as the capital city. The dazzling white marble building is a sharp contrast to the warm tones of the city and looks jarring next to the ruins of the Roman forum. Although, this building is ridiculed as the Wedding Cake and Typewriter, I thought it was impressive if seen just by itself.

I walked with the crowds towards the Colosseum, smiling at the Bengali words I heard from the Bangladeshi hawkers selling their ware, the lost tourists scratching their heads while looking at the map, the excited voices and laughter of Italian teenagers, the grumpy parents trying to control the screaming toddlers because it was way past their naptime, the aggressive Italian drivers zooming past me and braking suddenly to let a clueless tourist cross the street. Most importantly, I was smiling at the blue sky and the bright, golden sun shining on my face.

When I arrived at the Colosseum, my smile disappeared. The line to get tickets was a mile long. The tour operators were luring people to skip the line and join their tour group at a steep price. I decided against waiting in line and wasting half my day, so took some outside shots of the Colosseum and went to Via Sacra (the Sacred road) flanked by pillars from the Roman era to look at the ruins of the Forum.

The ancient pillars flanking the Via Sacra, the sacred road.

Next to the Colosseum is the Arch of Constantine, built in 315 by the Senate and the Roman people three years after Constantine’s victory over his enemy Maxentius.

I walked by the Colosseum to say my goodbye as I headed back, only to find the line had shrunk. I promptly placed myself behind some Italian men and starting chatting up an American couple from upstate New York, on their first trip to Rome.

Much has been already written about gladiatorial fights, animals, prisoners of war being killed, Christian devouts being martyred. I won’t get into those. I found some interesting information on the spectator’s past time. Supposedly, the time spent by the spectators was animated and lively. The audience engaged in wide variety of occupations, gaming and betting. Games were played directly on the amphitheater steps where they created tabulae lusoriae, carving them into the stone (game boards or checker boards). The counters were made from varied matereials (bone, glass paste, pebbles, pottery). The rules of the games are not well known but tabulae lusoriae is even found on the road across the Colosseum, the Via Labicana.

The entertainment always wasn’t innocent. There was betting involved which was banned in general and only allowed on certain days like the Saturnalia, the birthday of Saturn. Saturnalia was later replaced by the festivities of Christmas. Then, as now, gifts and food were exchanged and games of chance like Bingo, were made lawful for the day.

It has also been known that players hid from officials on the steps of the amphitheater, a large number of knuckle bones were discovered on the steps of the Colosseum. There were also pictorial depictions of brawls and lovely epigraphic fund of insults. The love of the games was very common. There was no distinction of class or sex, uniting both common people and the nobility, men and women. I liked this part.

The seating was interesting and of course, predictable. The series of stepped seating areas, the cavea, highlighted the distinctions between the classes of the Roman society, in progression – from low to high – of five sections, starting with the privileged seats on the podium next to the arena, up to the wooden steps inside the colonnaded portico occupied by the plebians.

I cannot mention Colosseum without talking a little bit of blood and gore. The blood of the gladiators was sponged up and fed a thriving business. It was believed drinking human blood cured epilepsy and of course, the blood of the martyrs had healing properties.

Imagine the gladiators rushing out through these tunnels, the animals, the prisoners.

From the Colosseum, I walked back to the hotel without getting lost even once. I mention this simply because I don’t have a very good sense of direction and will never win any prizes as a map reader. Oh, and I always get lost! So when I saw the street of my hotel – it was a proud moment. A small pizzeria near my hotel was extremely crowded, thronged mainly by Italians, so I figured the pizza must be pretty authentic. Ordered a salami pizza and dealt with sweet Italian flirting by the pizzeria owner. If you want your pizza on the go, they cut the pizza up in two halves, make them into a sandwich and wrap them up for you. I took mine to the Area Sacra Di Largo Argentina (Sacred Area of Largo Argentina). This houses the remains of four temples, and is well known as well because it was used as the Senate and it was here that Julius Caeser was assassinated on March 15th, 44 BC. Now the ruins house stray cats.

The remains of a temple in Area Sacra Di Largo Argentia

Following the ‘when in Rome, act like Roman’ rule, went back to the hotel for a short siesta, and did some writing and editing pictures. Then headed out to the famous Piazza Novona for some music, artwork and people watching. It is always a lively place with musicians serenading the diners in the upscale restaurants surrounding the piazza, local artists selling their artwork, entertainers trying to entertain tourists with their acts. I sat there for a while just watching beautifully dressed men and women relaxing with drinks, dinner and cigarette. There is the beautiful Chiesa di S Agnese in Agone at one side of Piazza Novona. I went in. The architecture and frescoes were astounding but photography wasn’t allowed in there. There were some folks clicking away, but my rule follower self quickly put my camera in the camera bag to resist temptation. I sat in one of the pews instead and looked around. The common motif was suffering, agony and martyrdom in the mortal world while angels and cherubs waited with olive branches and garlands to welcome the suffering men and women to the eternal world. The ceiling was so exquisitely painted with vibrant blues and gold, I did feel a twinge of disappointment at not being able to capture it in my camera.

After a delicious dinner of crottchetta de pollo (dumpling made of rice, cheese and chicken – deep fried, of course) and this

The fluffiest strawberry cheesecake I have ever had.

I came back to the hotel to find Sean waiting for me. He succeeded in making me feel guilty about eating dinner without him, while he rushed back from work to have dinner with me, so I went out, again, to get him something to eat. We walked all the way to the Trevi fountain, bought a delicious biscuit flavored gelato (my second dessert for the night) and sat by the steps of the Trevi fountain marveling at the illuminated statue of the Ocean, which rides in a chariot drawn by two sea horses and two Tritons. I read ‘Tradition claims one coin (cast backward over the left shoulder) ensures a return to Rome, two bring love and three as wedding in the Eternal City.’ Whoever is cleaning out the fountain is making a fortune, methinks. But one is also alerted that this area is notorious for pickpockets as well.

I will end this long blog with a realization and a wonderful experience. First the realization. I realized that after a very long time, I was actually the master of my own schedule for seven whole days. I wasn’t accountable for anybody or anything. I was free of sport schedules, homework schedule, dinner, baths, disciplining et all. The whole day luxuriously stretched ahead of me to do whatever I pleased with it. This was a rare opportunity indeed and I planned to make the most of it. I was free…for seven days.

The beautiful experience was at Chiesa Santa Maria Maddalena, a church dedicated to Mary Magdalene. I left the bustling Della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon to explore the church of Maria Maddalena. I am attracted to the churches in Rome for their architecture, the ambiance, the sculptures, the ceilings and the frescoes and mosaics. This church, too, did not disappoint. It was ornate, beautiful, serene. But a mass was being celebrated. After overcoming my initial irritation at the wrong timing, I decided to sit at the last pew to wait for the mass to end. My legs were weary and my camera bag seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.

The sweet, calm voice of the priest and the musical notes of Latin did magic to my senses. The sound, completely incomprehensible, unbelievably sweet, washed over me, soothed my tired body and mind. I felt overwhelmed at my good fortune – sitting in Rome, in a beautiful church, listening to mass in Latin. I am not religious but the solemnity of the rituals of the communion moved me. There were no more than ten people in the church listening to mass yet the beauty of their faith was fascinating. The scene was surreal. I left when the mass ended, content, truly happy and without any pictures. I will go back.

Plan for day three is to pay homage to the Sistine Chapel at the Musei Vaticani. Hope the line isn’t too long.

AMOR! Some call her ROMA! Day one.

DAY 1

Rome….ephemeral, enigmatic, modern, ancient. Longfellow wrote: “Tis the centre to which all gravitates. One finds no rest elsewhere than here. There may be other cities that please us for a while, but Rome alone completely satisfies. It becomes to all a second native land by predilection, and not by accident of birth alone.” That sentiment holds true for me as well. Rome is like Janus, the two-faced ancient god of new beginnings and transitions, who looks forward while peering back. The main streets bustle with traffic and dazzle with Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbanas, yet the quiet narrow alleyways wind between warm, brick tones of houses to small piazzas, or to staircases descending to bubbling fountains.

Sean and I were headed to Rome for a week. My mother’s day/birthday gift from my husband. I left my electronic devices at home including the cell phone. Packed a notebook and lots of pens to take notes, write down streams of consciousness in the old-fashioned way.

As we started our descent to Rome after an almost nine-hour flight, I chanced to look out of the window to get a glimpse of this – the snow and cloud encrusted top of the Alps. I have rarely known such happiness at a sight.

After we disembarked the plane and cleared customs, I went looking for a ladies room along with some other women, only to discover that most of the restrooms in that particular terminal were blocked AT THE SAME TIME for cleaning. Some ladies tried to explain to the janitor in English why that may seem unreasonable to many. The janitor tried to explain to the ladies with a nonchalant shrug that he really didn’t care. One disgruntled female voice said ‘Welcome to Italy!’ We stood in a long line in front of one bathroom for the disabled to take care of our business while sharing commiserating smiles and shrugs with each other. I came back to the luggage area to find that Sean’s bag was missing along with a few others’. My joy at being in Rome started deflating a bit. Amidst utter confusion, we were told one of the conveyor belts was malfunctioning, more bags are on their way. Finally, Sean’s bag danced its way to us. All was good with the world again.

Our sweet cab driver did not speak a word of English. Sean tried his Spanish and fake Italian to give directions. It worked. We arrived at our Hotel Arenula on Via Arenula. I couldn’t be happier with its location, my favorite Pantheon was a mere seven minute walk!

After a refreshing shower and a two-hour nap, we were ready to take on Rome. I was so excited and awed at the same time to be in Rome after 10 long years I started suffering from my country mouse syndrome – stepping off curbs in the face of on coming traffic to click pictures, bumping into people and saying ‘scuzi’ a hundred times. Sean tells me he had to clutch my shirt twice to pull me out of the road while I was busy taking pictures but I don’t believe him for a minute! Before reaching the Pantheon we stopped for a bit of lunch at a small pizzeria. I had a hot dog (sorry) and Sean ordered a pizza with fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella. We shared a spinach dumpling, whose Italian name I completely forget.

Next stop was the Pantheon, which is now called Chiesa S Maria Ad Martyres. Originally, the Pantheon was a temple built by Agrippa in 27 B.C dedicated to all gods. Byzantine empire donated it to Pope Boniface IV around 608 Ad.

The mighty bronze door leads into a circular interior, which could contain 43m (142 ft) globe inside it.

The circular opening at the top of the dome.

For me, personally, the tomb of Raphael was meaningful. It is composed of a beautiful antique sarcophagus. He died in 1520 at age 37. Found an interesting information about the inscription written on the upper edge by Cardinal Pietro Bembo, poet and humanist (1470 – 1547). Supposedly, Alexander Pope translated the inscription without acknowledging the Cardinal for another epitaph.

“Living, great nature feared
he might outvie
Her works; and dying fears
herself to die.”

Piazza della Rotonda, surrounding the Pantheon is a vibrant place with restaurants, pizzerias, snack bars and gelato places. And a great place to people watch, if one is so inclined. The fountain in the center was designed in 1578 by Giacomo Della Porta and in 1711 Pope Clement XI stacked an obelisk on top which came from the temple of Isis.

Pantheon was my choice, I gave Sean the option to choose our next destination. He chose St. Peter’s Basilica. It is a long walk from the Pantheon but we were up for it. On our way, we stopped by to peer into the gorgeous Chiesa Luigi Dei Francessa. The beauty of the frescoes on the ceiling and the sculptures were completely overwhelming.

Back on our way to Basilica, we caught a glimpse of the Castel Sant’ Angelo and the Bridge of the Angels.

The Basilica, a humbling experience as always. Spent a few moments standing in front of The Pieta taking in the beauty and serenity in Mary’s face, holding her dead son in her lap.

The main alter at St. Peter’s with the sunlight streaming in.

We needed to get back to meet Sean’s colleagues for dinner at Trastevere so we did a quick, unsatisfactory tour of the Basilica and ran out. I didn’t mind since I had already planned a trip to the Basilica on my own one of the days during our stay. We rushed out but not before getting a snap of my favorite

The day ended with a lovely dinner of pasta with bacon and cream with some lovely people. Came back to the hotel to jot down notes, edit pictures and went to bed happy thinking of the six more days of exploring Rome that lay ahead of me.

The plan for Day 2 was to go to the Roman Forum, Colosseum, Church of San Clemente and Pantheon again.