This morning was all about disembarking. We'll miss our shipmates, but I'm trying to focus on the positives. Right now I can only think of three: large bed, fast internet, full-sized bathroom. Hopefully we'll all be good about staying in touch.
The harbor outside Rome. Not exactly a picturesque village on the shore, is it.
These walls at the port have the vibe of antiquity to them. No clue if they're Roman in origin or Medieval or newer. Clearly they've been restored.
I skipped on the idea of highway pics, though it's always amusing to see how similar highways are throughout the world.
We entered Rome from the Vatican side, so I grabbed this pic of the people waiting in line to feel that Papal magic. We did the Vatican in 2006, and though someday we're sure to do it again it will not be this visit.
Via Veneto, our street. (Via Vittorio Veneto, to be exact.) I used google maps on the iPhone to find a laundry place around the corner from our hotel. 1 kg of laundry for 5 euros. Think of that as 2 lbs for $6.50. And figure that the laundry service at the hotel is $2.50 per piece. Now do you see how it easy it is to pack light even for two months?
The Excelsior Hotel. Our temporary Roman home. A Westin, which means two things; 1. Heavenly Bed. 2. Heavenly Shower. Those wankers at Westin are marketing geniuses.
We walked over to the Hard Rock for an American meal. A tradition of sorts.
Say the words, "Cica Cica Boom," to any Roman and they smile and laugh. Amazing how well known it is. I just love saying it. I already forgot about saying Fafi, but hopefully I'll remember to say CicaCicaBoom every time we're walking down the street and see someone I want to secretly point out to Barbie.
She dared me to go out in public unbuttoned. I heard Hugh Jackman say that all his chest hair in Wolverine was his own. I didn't see the movie, but I'm figuring the chest was pretty hairy. You think it'll come back? Are we poised for a revolution against the femininization of males? More on that in a minute.
Facebook accidental meet-up #2. You don't know #1, but that's not the issue. I twittered from the Hard Rock Cafe that the waitress came over to say, "There's a problem with the pig meat." (Meaning they were out of it and Barbie had to pass on the pulled pork.) This tweet went over to Facebook, where our friend Stacy (who was with us in South Africa last year) responded, "I'm in Rome, too!" So we arranged to have dinner over in Trastevere. For those who haven't visited Roma, Trastevere is the hip area where all the hip young people go out at night to look hip and be hip. Proof to follow.
We ate at Taverna Trilussa, which was amazingly good.
Look at my pasta, served in the cooking pan. Yes, I ate it out of there with a fork. Every bite. I would have licked it had we not been with others. You know, I think I'm willing to say it. The food in Italy is better than the food in France. There, I said it. France has more beautiful cities, as they regulate the hell out of them while the Italians let you throw a McDonald's in front of the Pantheon. But you cannot top Italy's food. In fact, as an American with a taste for chaos in his blood, I enjoy the hell out of Roma's utter lack of, say, uptightness.
But I digress.
After dinner we went for a walk with Stacy and her friend Stephanie (who, for the record guys, is delightful and cute) and it began to rain.
Graffiti in Trastevere. Call me Pipo and I'll smile. I'll never forget the "Drugati Lebowski" graffiti in Florence.
See, I told you this is where the hip young people of Roma go out at night. This is 11pm on the streets of Trastevere. We saw so many beautiful young girls wearing short denim shorts and boots you could not count them all. I expect to see that look in Santa Monica in a year or two.
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