Mountains and Moxie

I’ve had a rough trip so far. I’m sure its shown in my posts, but I just hadn’t clicked into the joy of travel on this trip. Until today.

We arrived in Cuzco yesterday. The flight from the Amazon was an interesting one. The plane takes off, gains altitude, and lands. It never really descends since Cuzco is so much higher. I began to feel the effects of the altitude before we were even off the plane, though I wasn’t sure if it was that or that I was still wobbly from the boat ride from Eco Amazonia.

My first glimpse of the Andes was through the plane window and it was breathtaking. Snow capped mountains with green valleys below. It is what I came to Peru to see.

Off the plane, I became very aware that of the altitude – a headache was creeping in and getting worse by the second, lifting my backpack made me pant, and I was rather convinced I might faint from light-headedness. I’ve been at this altitude before and never had effects, so I’m not sure if my cold is interfering with my ability to acclimatize, but I knew I was not going to be happy for the rest of the day.

We passed through the busy streets of Cuzco and into the Incan part of town. A few narrow cobblestone streets later, we were in a hotel that promised to have a good shower (alas, there was no showering to be done in the Amazon). First lunch with Graham, Richard, and Claire – at a restaurant near the square serving a very international menu, but also featured the Incan classic guinea pig. Then back to the hotel for a nap and a shower. 

We met Maggie and Irene, the missing members of our group with Juan that evening and then, as the others headed out for a bite, I went back to my room feeling sorry for myself, to take a bath and contemplate if I could ever feel well again. 

But I did. Today was a free day – Graham, Richard, and Claire headed off to white water raft, Irene and Maggie hit some museums and I stayed in.  The light-headedness had passed and every day my cold is a bit better, but I wanted to sleep in. 

Around noon I headed to the Plaza De Armes, the main square. They’d erected a statue in the middle of the square in front of which tourists and locals alike were posing for photos. I later found out that it was basically cardboard and only there for the independence holiday on July 28th. 

The square is lined with tourist shops selling Peruvian souvenirs, expensive silver jewelry, alpaca sweaters (I got one), and hiking gear. Also on hand were several cafes promising free wifi, nail salons, and  excursion outlets. 

Wandering a bit further I found the Central Market, a bustling marketplace, which I was thrilled to encounter. I love a marketplace, and most cities around the world have one that reflects the personality of the place. I haven’t found one in the US and the farmer’s markets I’ve visited in major cities have become extensions of the upper east side neighborhoods. Not so abroad and this market was a stunning example. 

Their were stalls of fruits and vegetables, meat stands with unknowable parts on display, with hovering flies, one stall featured baskets of something’s snout. There were dry goods and wooden kitchen utensils. And in the back, a maze of counters to order food. The smells all drifted together, along with the cries from the vendors and customers. It was a fully sensory experience and became more so when I sat down for the most delicious chicken soup of my life. It was peppery and full of lime and parsley with pickled carrots and onions and a quarter chicken just dropped in, not even cut up. And it was good! 

The market shoppers were a mix of photo taking tourists and traditionally dressed locals. The locals were doing most of the actual buying. I spent a good couple hours there and finally felt like I was really in Peru. 

After a briefing on tomorrow’s trek, our entire group set out for dinner. At Juan’s suggestion, we headed to a place called Fallen Angel. It featured many rooms with irreverent religious art and creative lighting. It would have been very popular in New York in the late 80s, but it was great fun and good food. 

I set out tomorrow at 5:30 for the trek to Machu Picchu and won’t be back online for a few days. Can’t wait to tell you about it! 

I’ve been thinking a lot about Christopher McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp. I’ve been thinking of a lot of my favorite lost in the wilderness stories, and of course about the fine, fine Jennerfer Lopez film Anaconda, but I’ve been thinking about McCandless the most.

His story was made famous by the Jon Krakauer book and Sean Penn film Into the Wild after he left civilization behind for the noble or foolish goal of living as one with nature. His body was found in the Alaskan wilderness where he starved to death.

I know it sounds morbid that I”m thinking about him (I’m thinking of asking my traveling friends to call me Kathleen Supertramp, though I suspect they’ll just roll their eyes. Juan has alternately called me Michelle or Kathleen, both of which I now answer to).

I was sick in the jungle. Not deathly ill and nothing to do with being there (no snake bite or exotic plant infection), just a really terrible cold that knocked me out. I’m still suffering a bit, but I’m better.  Being among strangers when you’re sick is a unique place of vulnerability and, at least for me, it got a lot worse when not able to call the folks that offer me comfort. And not even to put out a general call for a little Facebook love.

I’m pretty sure that even if McCandless had lived in the age of Facebook and ubiquitous cell phones he would have isolated himself. And I am of the school that his journey into the woods was less a romantic  quest for knowledge than a desperate call for help and a ultimately a rather elaborate suicide, but I do admire him in some ways. Still – my few days without being able to connect with loved ones left me a bit at odds. McCandless lived 113 days along in the wilderness.

He desperately needed the connections that he rejected. I, on the other hand, may need to learn to be a bit less connected. In the few days in the jungle, I’ve had to rely on myself and the strangers around me to get through both being sick and the day to day weariness of travel. And people will rise to help.

Where ever you are in the world, people want to connect, even for just that moment in time.I truly believe in the good in humankind as a universal truth and it was proved once again during these few days for me.  In addition to Juan and Graham, Julia and Ben from Boston and Liz and Ruben from Amsterdam offered sympathy, kindnesses and funny stories. They made sure I ate and was able to find humor in my misfortune. Juan has been  attentive, caring, and quite wise in offering suggestions for getting better.

I don’t know what McCandless was seeking, but I”m so sorry for him that he was never able to find it. I’m certain, even if he wasn’t, that it would have been more attainable if he’d been able to connecting with others.

Despite my whining and one very bad day,I did manage to experience and enjoy the jungle. Several jungle hikes, including one seven hour journey, brought us face to face with monkeys, tarantulas, caiman (a crocodile relative), and piranhas, as well as dozens of exotic birds and plant life. We also witness many species of ant at work including the fire ant, which a couple of the more adventurous among us allowed to sting them. It hurt.

There was an anaconda sighting by one of our guides as we paddled up a river, but Ruben’s need to get back to the lodge facilities kept him paddling quickly and the rest of us missed our chance on the one sight we were all eager for.

On a morning fishing, only one fish actually made it into the boat (caught by the German among us in what became an international competition as we were a group of Dutch, German, Brit, North, and South American.) The morning was leisurely and serene.

Our evenings were spent at the bar with Juan, Graham, and me joined by the perfectly match couples Julia and Ben and Liz and Ruben. Julia and Ben from Boston are both runners with lean, muscular physiques and extended features. They were happy and chatty and quick to laugh. Julia is a nutritionist, Ben a teacher. Liz and Ruben were perfect specimens from the Master Race. Ruben was 6’9, Liz well over 6 feet. Both were blond, blue eyed and stunning. Ruben is a economics professor, Liz a prison psychologist. They were traveling for three months through South America and charming strangers along the way.

Our actual group members faced more bad luck, after finally making it to Lima, minus one set of luggage, their flight to the jungle was cancelled delaying them another day. On our last night in the Amazon Claire and Richard arrived looking remarkably sprite, given the ordeal. Our other two companions decided to wait for us in Cusco, unable to bear the idea of another flight.

When I mentioned all the bad luck on the trip – their flight issues, my cold – Graham pointed out , with a smile that I would probably have a hard time generating sympathy.  Ah – another person to keep me in my place.

We’ve made it to Cusco to acclimatize for a could days and then we’re off to Machu Picchu – Richard and Claire, along with our two companions we’ve not yet met will be taking the Inca Trail. Graham and I will be on our own on the Moonstone Trek.  While Inca is the well known trek, it is also the well traveled one. I’m told that Graham and I may not see another person for the four days we’re hiking. I imagine I’ll be thinking a bit more about Alexander Supertramp during that time. And my Facebook feed.

It was an early start from Lima to the Amazon, which we actually later found out was the Madre de Dios (Mother of God) River. A branch of the Amazon, but not the big river itself. What I was reading as the Amazon River, was actually referring to the Amazon Rainforest. Still a pretty impressive sight.

We met for breakfast at 6 and learned that we’d been upgraded to first class. At the airport it seemed our luck had run out when our flight was delayed. We soon learned however that the flight’s scheduled first stop in Cusco had been canceled and we’d head directly to Puerto Maldonado, arriving a half hour earlier than expected. Graham and I had a moment of guilt thinking out our companions probably just then boarding in the UK, but we cheered our good luck.

At the airport we struck up a conversation with a man from Ottawa on his fifth visit to Peru. When we asked what brought him back year after year he said I come for ayahuasca, a shamanic drink. Oooooh kay….. we both said as he explained the benefits of the hallucinogen.

On the plane we chatted about the just announced Trayvon Martin verdict. An American man in the row ahead jumped in asking about riots. I don’t know, I said, I hope not. He replied, you know Jesse J and Reverend Al will be down their stirring them up” (sadly he didn’t mean her). I whispered to Graham, “he and I have different politics.”

We joined with a few other travelers to the Eco Amazonian Lodge at Puerto Maldonado. Julia and Ben from Boston quickly struck up a conversation and we compared notes on our shared home city. At the lodge, a cross between summer camp, Dirty Dancing, and a 5-star hotel (albeit one that only had electricity from 6-11pm every night), we met Liz and Ruben from Holland and they joined our merry band.

After a substantial lunch, we headed out on small river boats to Monkey Island, a monkey preserve, where, led by our guide Dave and his very impressive machete, we were swarmed by monkeys as well as macaws, vultures, and giant butterflies.

After a quick nap and another meal, we boarded the boats again in darkness to go crocodile spotting. Shining a light on the shore, our guide pointed them out as their eyes reflected back. After a long ride we let the boat drift downstream back to the lodge as we contemplated the Milky Way, Southern Cross, and other constellations to the lapping water and insect and animal symphony around us.

A 5 am start the next day, had us all in bed by 10 pm.

I’m going to get all my complaining for the trip out in this post. At least I hope I am.

Many folks know, I’m embarking with a broken toe. It’s far better than it was, its taped, not swollen, and it, along with the rest of my foot, fits in a boot without pain. But it does still hurt when I step slightly off-center, which I think most people know, I do quite often. On the plane, I seemed to pick up whatever bug was re-circulating through the air and I’ve had a cough and terrible scratchy throat for the past two days. Also – it seems that my good stomach luck that lasted all the way through Nepal despite drinking from just about every water source I came upon, has not traveled with me to Peru. In less than 24 hours, the water, or whatever, has hit my stomach with a vengeance. And we’re headed into the jungle tomorrow.

I know many before me have had the embarrassing need to explain diarrhea to a pharmacy attendant in a language they don’t speak and I know that the pharmacy is prepared for this humiliation, but it still daunted me.

Cough syrup and Immodium in hand, I’m better. And I have great hopes that after all this, my trip will be incident and accident free.

I, however, had it easy compared to the rest of the group due to arrive early this morning. When I joined Graham and our guide Juan in the hotel lobby at 1, they were without others. I asked about lunch and Juan said “it’ll just be the three of us.” Assuming the rest of the group had opted to nap, I jumped up and said “alright then, where are we going?”

Turns out, the 6 travelers meant to be joining us were coming from Heathrow Airport were stuck there because of a fire at the airport. One couple canceled their trip altogether, while the remaining 4 will join us in a couple of days in the Amazon. So for now, it’s just Graham and me.

We headed out to Kennedy Park, one of many parks in South America named for our former president and to a great lunch. Juan and I had ceviche, Graham had a sandwich with chicken, pork, bacon, cheese, pine nuts and god only knows what else in it, but he loved it. There was beer and good cheer all around.

From there we headed to the Larco Museum, which Juan promised us would be worth the cab ride. It was a long one and both Graham and I were getting skeptical as the city neighborhoods changed around us. We passed the rubble of several old pyramids, which pre-date those in Egypt and finally arrived at a stunning bougainvillea covered building. The collection housed a stunning amount of pre-Columbian pottery and art and showcased the many Peruvian cultures besides the Inca. And Juan was a brilliant guide through the art and information.

Heading down stairs Juan steered us to a metaphorically appropriate, welcoming doorway.

Inside housed a large collection of erotic pottery. Juan proudly showed us each piece and explained what was depicted, although in nearly every case, I understood. We dubbed it ‘porn pottery’, though Juan explained that it was a celebration of fertility. “It’s not all fertility,” piped Graham, pointing to a particularly graphic piece, “because that is not how babies are made!”

We headed back to the hotel and planned our 6 am rendezvous for tomorrow, when we shall head to the Amazon. I popped out for a bite from the grocery near by. My request for pollo apparently sounded like pig and I ended up with a delicious pork  sandwich.

Now I’m packing for the next leg. I will be out of touch for at least a few days and possibly as much as a week or so, but I’ll be back soon. Wish me luck!

I was in the very last row of the plane, next to two very chatty singers/students from LaGuardia High School (FAME’s Music and Art for the children of the 80s among us, for everyone else, it’s an arts focused high school in Manhattan). They were joining a group from performing arts camp in Lima. I loved Fame (I would watch it right now if I could) and I love artsy kids. I just don’t love it next to me on a plane for 8 hours – overnight. It’s probably my imagination, but every time I was able to find a magically comfortable angle to get a little sleep, they worked a little bit more on their harmonizing. Still – they were sweet and excited, and really – what have I got to complain about?

We landed about 7:30, I was in my room (and my bed) at the hotel before 9am. A note on the taxi, and again, I could be imagining it, but I think all taxis in third world countries play the same radio station and its AWESOME! I jammed all the way from the airport to Captain and Tenille, ABBA, Wham, and Culture Club. Along the way, I got my first glimpses of Lima and its shoreline. A few hearty surfers were braving the wintery (for Lima – rainy and about 50) weather.

After a bath, a nap, and a little work, I headed out to see the city. And to eat. I missed both plane meals – not much of a loss – and hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday so I was starving. A little cafe fit the bill with a refreshingly bright ceviche. It failed a bit with the pisco sour which was way too sweet for me. I’m assured that I should keep trying them, and never one to give up, I shall.

As I kept walking toward what folks said was something good, but I could never understand exactly what, exhaustion hit me. Hard. I was just about to turn around I saw what everyone was pointing me to – the ocean.

Actually , really big mall built above the ocean, but with great views – it was gray and angry water today, but beautiful. The mall had the usual L’Occitane and Nine Wests alongside some Peruvian souvenir shops. One alpaca shop went so far as to have women in native dress weaving in the window. For a dollar you could take their photo.

After a long wander and several foiled attempts to get down to the actual beach, I found a grocery store and picked up my travel supply kit – some prosciutto, cheese, bread, and Fanta (don’t judge) and headed back to the hotel for a bit more work (its only an hour time difference, so easy to connect with New Yorkers).

My guide called up and I met he and a fellow traveler in the lobby for a quick hello. Juan lives in Cuzco and is excited and charming. He was very eager to have someone who wanted to see a museum in Lima – he has a favorite. It’s not the one I’d picked out from the guidebooks, but I’m certain that his enthusiasm is enough to make it a better experience. Graham, my only traveling partner already here is a recent college grad, traveling to celebrate the achievement. He’s a Brit (again, I’m the only American) and will be my partner on the Moonstone trek as it seems the rest of the group were approved for the Inca Trail and only he and I will be on Moonstone. I promised many pisco sours on me if he puts up with my speed and grumpy demeanor on the way up the hill. He’s happy with the arrangement so far – lets hope he remains so when we are 4 days in and smelly.

I’m back in my room. Its early, but tomorrow the real excitement begins so I think I’m happy with another bath and, as soon as my extra blankets arrive (damn its cold here), an early night.

Tomorrow I’ll get my game face on. I will!

I am sitting at Kennedy Airport’s Terminal 8. I don’t think I’ve ever been in Terminal 8 before. I’ve been here for a very long time because I misread my ticket info and am actually leaving an hour later than I expected (totally not my fault – I hate a 24 hour clock – 23:55, 22:55 – they’re very confusing).

AS was the case when I headed to Nepal, I’m basically convinced I’ve made a mistake, I will be lonely the entire time and my friends in New York will forget about me and move on to new friends. But that isn’t how Nepal worked out, so I’m also aware that the odds are in my favor for this trip as well.

I was so organized for my last trip – I packed a week in advance and had started buying what I needed a month ahead of time. This trip I was packing my backpack in the hour before my cab was scheduled to arrive. I will be in summer and winter during this trip (today’s forecast is in the single digits in Patagonia, 60s in Peru and warmer still in Argentina) so packing was a challenge. Many things made it in and then out of the bag again.

I have brought no jewelry, no make-up, and no mirror. In a month, my gray roots will be very visible and my skin will be in a panic. My flight home lands at 7am and I’m already considering going to the salon before going home.

But for now, I’m fresh and excited and ready to get under way. I will miss my beloved friends and family like crazy and I hope they join me through this blog for part of the trip. The world is a beautiful place and I’m so energized and aware of my great good luck that I get to see another corner of it.

Off we go!

`Like so many of my love affairs, the one I’m having with Rome has ended before I was ready for it to. But like so many of the others, it’s probably for the best.

I have experienced Rome with all my senses and she’s exhausted and excited me. I am changed for knowing her and I can’t wait to see her again, but I don’t know when that will be. She on the other hand, will go on and forget about me. I’ve made very little impression on her, I fear.

But I know I”ll see her again, and I know it will be even better the next time. Like so many of my love affairs, I’m never gonna get over Rome.

Arrivederci, Roma. Til the next time.

OK – I realize that everyone knew but me, but I really didn’t know. I love it here. I’ve said this everyday, but this is my last one in Roma – so I’ll say it again. I love it here.

Today, I climbed. Up. According to my FitBit, I’ve climbed the equivalent of 126 flights of stairs so far today, and it’s not over yet. I hate going up (or down. I like flat). That may come as a surprise to people who see my choice of vacations, but it won’t shock anyone who’s had to endure me on a hike up a hill (or down one) – especially my family, my fellow Waukeela girls, and my friends from Nepal, all of whom were on my mind today. But the reason I do it, the reason everyone does it, is that it’s so worth it when you get to the top.

I got an early start today. A friend sent me a recommendation on for a Vatican tour guide. He wasn’t sure what it would cost (a pretty penny it turns out), but he was sure it would be worth it (and oh my god, it was). I was to meet my guide at the steps to the Vatican Museum at 7:45 am. Grabbing a croissant and cappuccino on the way, I found my bus and jumped on with time to spare. I mentioned yesterday, but I’ll say again, there are a lot of nuns in Rome. And for any travelers out there, if you happen to be in Rome on an early morning bus to the Vatican and an old nun gets on, give up your seat. Just do it, its good karma even if you don’t believe anything else, it’s the right thing to do. I couldn’t believe how many people didn’t though.

The bus took off and two stops before mine, the driver called out “last stop.” Of course, he said it in Italian so I just figured I was the only one going all the way to the church til he came back and told me to get off, pointing vaguely to the walls of Vatican City.  Turns out, I was about as far from the main entrance as one can get, as the Swiss Guards quite efficiently let me know and I had to run to meet Luigi in time.

I made it and we headed in. Luigi, a man in his late 60s or early 70s told me he’d worked at the Vatican since 1976 as a “supervisor of art.” I’m not sure what that meant, but he was passionate about the art. During the four and a half hour tour (a duration I thought would be torture, but really wasn’t’ enough, he gave me a graduate course in art. We spent a large amount of time in the Sistine Chapel and it was breathtaking. Also – it’s not just God and Adam touching fingers ET style. There are 300  figures depicted on the ceiling, 400 on one of the walls. It’s incredible. And silent. Guards hushed the growing crowd frequently.

We saw the museums and St. Peter’s Basilica (OMG) but what made Luigi worth every dime were the rooms we saw that one doesn’t get to see on the general tour. Having worked there as long as he did, and with his special charm, I was constantly having velvet ropes pulled back for me. Some of what I saw actually had me in tears. I promised not to talk about it on the internet, but I was allowed to take photos and if you want to know or see, I will happily share. What I can tell you in that among other things, I learned the answers to many of the most vexing mysteries of the Papal Conclaves. I will also pass Luigi’s number on to anyone heading this way. Seriously, worth every euro.

At the end of the tour he said to me, Katalina, are you feeling strong, can you go on? i said sure and he said, I have a surprise for you just through there. Through there led to a small staircase that was about 500 small winding steps with no going back options once you started. But when you stopped, The roof of St. Peter’s. The whole of Rome below us. Once I caught my breath, it was taken away again.

I left Luigi on a cloud and headed to the one sight I really wanted to hit and hadn’t yet, the  Campidoglio and Capitoline Hill. Another climb, and other soul-expanding sight. The museum there houses many, many Roman heads and jars. But before I did anything else there, I needed to find a bathroom. Following the signs I wound my way through exhibit rooms and rounded a corner and – oh my god – there she was. The Capitoline Wolf and her suckling twins Romulus and Remus (who, once they stopped suckling, built Rome). I had come looking for her, but hadn’t expected to find her like this. All of Rome has been the surprise of what is right around the corner!

I’m back in my room for a little work and a rest before spending my final night here wandering the dark streets. I may go throw a few more coins in Trevi, or I may just leave it to Rome to surprise me.

I was tired today. Its been a long time away from home and today it hit me. I slept late and did a little work before heading out. My Vatican visit got pushed to tomorrow in order to get a private tour, and I was thwarted in my desire to check out Capitoline Hill and the wolf therein because its closed on Mondays, but a slow day wouldn’t be the worst thing, thought I.

With a few stops in mind, I decided to only take small streets, no major roads. Map in hand I headed in the vague direction of Campo Di FIori. Along the way I came out at the piazza housing the Vittoriano. I had passed by yesterday, but wandered in and up up up today. After many flights, I came out to a terrace above the city that housed a great glass elevator to the roof. Zipping up, I was treated to the best views in the city and saw the building’s winged horses at eye level.

Making my way down, I wondered a bit of the Roman Forum, a labyrinth of ruins, for a while and then headed back on to the side streets. While there seems to be nowhere in Rome that you don’t run into tourists, I found some great little pockets of charming local flavor and art studios. Along one path, I found a little vegetarian restaurant, the only one I’ve seen here, and one that excited my taste buds desperately in need of some non-carb based foods. Alas, it wouldn’t open for an hour. I optimistically took their card, knowing  I wouldn’t make it back and on I traveled.

A little handmade jewelry store caught my eye and I ventured in. The plastic and enamel pieces were unusual and fun and as I tried one on, the woman manning the stored rushed over to adjust my approach. You will break it, she screamed. I quickly fixed what I was doing, but she stared suspiciously at me. I thought about assuring her I wouldn’t break it, but who am I kidding, I might well, so I just slunk out of the store instead.

Eventually I saw an impressive round building in the distance and discovered it was the Castel Sant’Angelo and I was WAY off course. I walked along the river for a while, and finally made it to Campo Di Fiori, and its bustling farmer’s market that just made me want veggies more. This is not a country for salads, I’ve found.

I nearly bought a bag, but restrained myself and headed off in search of food. My choice of places to eat has been directly related to my need for a bathroom and when the need became too great my food pickiness lessened tremendously. I found a place and hit the loo. Yesterday I bought some purell because I’ve had a terrible time making water come out of the sinks. Today I figured out that there is a lever on the floor that, foot controlled, turns on the tap. Finally – really clean hands. And a great lunch – the salad looked terrible – limp iceberg covered with olives and cheese, but the penne was divine).

Next stop – the Capuchin crypt. Housed below a church with some impressive Caravaggios, it contains the bones of 4000 friars. And they are all displayed in crazy patterns. It was a little ghoulish and totally great. But they watched me and my camera closely, so I have no stolen images, alas.

With a  little time to kill before I headed back to Brooklyn (Trastevere) for pizza, I set out in search of a green space in which to rest and read for a little while. The one closest to me was closed for renovations, and I realized I couldn’t find another without a long walk. I’m sure all of you who know Rome will have suggestions of tons of green spaces, but I’m telling you, they just aren’t readily available. I actually began to panic a bit looking for a little shade and grass. No green veggies and now no green lawns. I had a (brief) moment of absolutely hating the city.

I decided to bus my way over there, and headed back to the station. I waited among tourists, students, locals, and several nuns. There are lots of nuns in Rome. The two standing nearest to me had on panty hose with their habits, I noticed (nuns in Rome still wear habits which is so much better than our more liberated nuns). It makes me happy to think that they were spanx or similarly control top. I’m pretty certain that at least one of them was wearing lipstick as well. I liked these nuns.

My “marble slab” pizza opened at 7, so I killed a bit of time wandering in and out of stored. I played priest for a while, standing at the pulpit of a lovely church, until my guilt over the folks praying silently in the pews while I made up sermons in my head got the better of me. The pizza was thin and crisp and delicious. I was one of the first in the place, but in minutes it was nearly full. I added some rocket to my margarita pizza and embraced the green of it all.

I long walk back to my hotel as twilight descended on Rome, has made me love it again. For a while this afternoon I had zipped out of Roman Holiday into the Ripley movies, but I’m Audrey again and happy! Tomorrow the Vatican.

I love Rome. Like, ridiculously love it. Way more than I’d expected to. Paris never really did it for me. Its beautiful of course, and I wouldn’t turn down a visit, but that Paris reverence? I don’t have that. Maybe because everyone else does (I’m not so into Brad Pitt either). There are cities I love, of course, London, New Orleans, Barcelona, and, after this week, I’ve grown really fond of Prague, but nothing really says spiritual home to me the way New York does. And Rome doesn’t necessarily….yet,  but, man, I love it.

I love the narrow streets and ruins that are just there are you pass along; I love the attitudes of the people; I love that the whole city is a bit shabby; and of course there’s the food. The food is, as you know even if you’ve not been here, completely fab. It’s so good that I’ve taken photos of it which is very un-me (seriously, don’t take photos of your food. You just look like a douche bag). Everything about Rome is fantastic.

And romantic. What a city to be in love. All day I’ve been thinking about the men I’ve loved and what it would be like to be here with them – what I’d do with one or another (museums with this one, just a lot of eating with that one). They’d all find something to love. I’ve also been a bit bitter about the ones, even the ones I’ve long since stopped loving, who have been here without me, or worse, with someone else. I’m bitter about everyone at any time who came to Rome without me. How did it take me so long to get here?

Day one has been a whirlwind. I started out in Trastevere, the Brooklyn of Rome (even the guidebooks say, “its worth crossing the river for this hip neighborhood”). I took the bus, which was very easy and an exciting first look at Rome. There is a Sunday flea market that I wanted to see, which is like every other flea market in the world, but it got me over there. Leaving the market I explored the small streets in search of a pizza place that had been recommended with a vague description of marble slabs. I, of course, hadn’t looked it up before I left the hotel, assuming I’d find a cafe with wifi along the way. No such luck and after looking a bit like a bumbling American with the locals I asked for ideas, I actually found someone who knew what I was talking about. He led me to a pizzeria nicknamed “the mortuary” because of the marble slab tables and told me it was considered one of the best pizzas in Rome. And it was closed.

I will probably head back there for dinner tomorrow (everyone knows you always go to Brooklyn for the best food), but by that point I was hungry. And pissy. I really planned on this place for lunch and the rows of options were daunting me. I obstinately decided to walk til I found something else that would meet the bar of the marble slab place. Of course, I was alone, so the only one really punished by that was me. I finally found a random cafe, had a great sandwich and planned my day. Retracing my steps I walked along the river, risked my hand at the Mouth of Truth before heading up to Circus Maximus and the Palatino and Roman Forum. And then, there it was, the Colosseum. Just right there. Somehow I thought I’d have to get on a bus to get to it, but it was there in the middle of town. I wandered the outside for a while and then headed in. I scoped out which line I was meant to be and joined it. By the time I figured out that I’d cut the line by about an hour’s wait, I was buying my ticket. Ooops.

I’m a drive by sight-seer so I expected a quick in and out at the Colosseum, but I stayed for a long time. I loved it there. I sat on a marble slab (theme for the day) and watched people for a while; I went up and down levels; I even bought a t-shirt. I really did. Finally I left and walked the streets for a while longer until I popped into another cafe for coffee than beer and a caprese salad.

From there, the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, a square filled with artists selling their wares. Colleagues in Prague insisted I try the tartufo at Tre Scalini in the square. It is a dark truffle ice cream which was way too sweet for me, but try it I did. It was 5 euro to eat at the counter and 10 euro if I wanted to sit at a table square-side. Guess which one I chose.

On to my only disappointment for the day, and weirdly the thing I’d been most looking forward to – Trevi Fountain. It was jammed with tourists. I could barely get to it to throw in a coin, but I made it, ensuring my return to Rome. Moving on quickly I wandered the narrow streets towards the Spanish Steps. I arrived late in the afternoon at the top of the steps. The dome of St. Peter’s was nearly blocked by the bright, low sun and I decided immediately that I was going to watch the sunset over Rome from this spot. Since I had a little time, I walked down the steps, to the piazza below, looked in the stores and then headed back up the 135 steps (nothing, I tell you, compared to the 5000 in Nepal, but still no picnic).  There is a cafe at the top where I got a pizza and wine and waited for the sun show.

It did not disappoint. Nor did the meal. After dinner, I walked back to my hotel. I logged about 12 hours of walking (say 10 if you count dining time), and about as many miles. And every step was worth it.

I love Rome.