Roma

 

   I've been milking our trip to Amsterdam and Italy for my Friday post for the past two months.  That's seven or eight posts for a trip that lasted sixteen days. To be fair, we left home back in late October and drove to Delaware and Maryland to see family then to Boston to see more family. 

  From Boston we flew to Europe and back, then drove home. We got home on December 4 which would have been my mother's 99th birthday. My mother preferred her home to travel. My father's greater world was the bays and islands south of Boston seen from the cockpit of his sailboat. 

  My parental predilections are coming to the fore in myself. Do I really need to uproot myself from my la-z-boy and fly rough to put myself in the Colosseum in Rome? The answer is no. It would be different if I could return to 100 AD and see the place in its glory, though I'd have to leave before the spilling of gore began. I would try the bread though.

  We do need to travel around the US if we want to see the kids in Massachusetts and other family around the country. I like that kind of travel, especially traversing the back roads of Anywhere, USA. You see all kinds of weird and wonderful things wandering down small town alleys.

  I realized recently that one reason I travel is to have a conversation gambit. The only thing some people know about me is that we take trips. They're not interested in the trip we just finished or the one coming up. They just want to tell me how happy they are to stay home. The bus tour they took to Nashville several years ago filled their travel bucket. I could simply make up an exotic place we're planning to visit and then not go there. Everyone wins. But if Teresa wants to go somewhere, so be it. I'll just get some stronger pills.

  I hope this doesn't sound like whining. I remember a story I heard during the Vietnam War. A village was being evacuated by helicopter. As they rose above the canopy the villagers were amazed to see the Pacific. None of them had ever been to the ocean. Their village was only five miles from the shore, but they had no need to leave home.

  When I was in my twenties a guy I'd bump into occasionally told me he was going to Rome for a few days. I envied him. That's when I should have gone. But I didn't need to. There was plenty to see in Minnesota and the Dakotas. Nebraska is greatly underrated. Even Iowa has its high points.

  We were finally inspired to travel overseas when our sons were doing post-graduation jaunts around Europe. We intended to meet Joe and Ned and Rome, but Pope John Paul II was dying at the time so to avoid the hubbub, we went to Paris instead. On a later trip we had a layover in Rome, but the airport doesn't count.

  My travel lust has been mostly sated. I'm no longer gobsmacked by new places like I used to be, but as they say, When in Rome, don’t pout. I'm glad I went. Teresa enjoyed it so there's that.

  Teresa enjoyed Rome partially because she found a yarn store and a couple of thrift stores. The thrift stores were disappointing. A European told me the best thrift stores are in the US. Finding the only yarn store in Rome was a mini-adventure. Facebook said it opened at three pm. But you know how reliable FB is. 

  When we arrived at 2:30, the shutter was down. Rome is a good place to wait because there are places to eat everywhere. Teresa got a lemon drink at a place that only sold lemon drinks. I went to a tiny coffee shop/bar and ordered a cappuccino. I never ordered cappuccinos at home because they're a ripoff. But in Italy they're cheap. La Dolce Vita and all that.

  There were two ancient guys in suit coats and ties running the shop. The bartender made my drink and said cioccolato? No one had asked me that before. Si, grazie, I replied. The chocolate powder he sprinkled on top represents the hoods of the Capuchin monks after whom the drink is named. 

  Back at the yarn store at three o'clock there was no sign of life. A guy selling posters across the way said they opened at three-thirty, but that Teresa should go to the clothing store up the street and let them know she was waiting. The yarn shop clerk showed up at 3:35. 

  Vatican City is surrounded by walls. Rome and Italy over the centuries have been at times as dangerous as Gaza or Somalia are today. As we waited to enter the Vatican Museum, we stood in line beside the Vatican's thirty foot tall wall. These few minutes brought to mind the ebb and flow of history that I feel today even here in the middle of nowhere. 

The Rome monkey got off my back and scampered over the wall. Ciao!