Rome

Ignorantly booking our Rome stay for the weekend of Easter without knowing it (we are such heathens), the only place we could find with beds was a hostel a 30-minute train ride outside of the city in Ostia, a beachside town. Although this may sound barf-worthy, it was actually nice to be able to escape to the less-crowded town and have the ocean nearby. It was also a huge, clean place with movies every night and a cafeteria-type place (with a bartender who translated the Italian MTV for us, where they basically just interviewed Italian teens about their sex lives... good times.)

The first day, we went to the Spanish steps, which were INFESTED with tourists. You could barely find a place to walk up them. The John Keats museum was right next door, so we popped into it (actually the location where he died at the ripe old age of 25). It was beautiful and touching, but also kind of creepy. In the room where he died, there were flowers sculpted on the ceiling and he liked to look at them and imagine that they were the flowers on his grave. CREEEEPY. Oh well, I guess you don't write world-changing poetry by being a well-adjusted person.

We then moseyed our way to the Trevi fountain via supposedly the best gelato in the world (according to the NY Times). The caramel flavor was delicious, but the gelato we had in Paris might have rivaled it. We then got to the Trevi fountain (again crawling with tourists), which was beautiful, despite the crowds and annoying street vendors (no, I do NOT want clacking balls or squishy toys. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.)

The second day, we woke up at 5:30 a.m. (those who know me know that this is like trying to forcefeed me celery--pretty much impossible) to go to the Sistine Chapel. Francie and I were pretty grumbly about it, but by the time we got there, it was a beautiful spring morning and we almost enjoyed lining up for two hours (almost). The paintings were nice, but the Vatican City grounds were the best part. The flora reminded me of San Mateo and made me miss the Bay Area. It was another place I wanted to get married (because, you know, the royal palace in Seville wasn't enough of a stretch).

We spent Easter in Ostia as we wanted to avoid the crowds the entire day. We just sat in the sun at the beach (finally!) and ate icecream and I spent about two hours collecting seaglass on the beach (there was a CRAPLOAD). There were even pieces of decorated tile, which made me wonder how old they were.

The next day, we went to the Colosseum (overcome with tourists), the Mouth of Truth (made famous in "Roman Holiday," with a line of tourists about 200 feet long) and finished our day at the Palantine Hill (filled with tourists, but that was OK because it was a big place). All of the ruins were beautiful and it was mind-boggling to think about how long they had been there.

I guess it's kind of hypocritical to get mad about tourists overrunning everything, but it was increasingly frustrating as time went on. There is the OK type of tourist (quiet, discreet, trying to blend in, nicely dressed, taking pictures but not like it was our last day on earth) and then there is the worst-nightmare tourist (ill-fitting shorts, fanny packs, baseball hats, saying "Oh, look at that big building!" with a Brooklyn accent, flashing cameras like the paparazzi). It was strange because I got mad at English people for their horribly stereotypical views of Americans, but most of the Americans we ran into on our trip were spitting images of the cliche. We were definitely in the minority for American tourists, which was so frightening.

In another smart move, Genevieve and I booked our flight to London at 6:30 in the morning. Not realizing Ostia was 30 minutes outside of Rome. Or that the airport was 45 minutes outside of Rome. And that the trains didn't run that early (or late, depending on how you look at it). So we had to catch a bus at 2 a.m., wait in the middle of Rome for an hour at 3 a.m. with a bum actually sleeping across the street from us, then catch a bus at 4 to actually get to the airport. Until this moment, I hadn't even told my parents about this, as there were so many sketchy characters out in the wee hours of the morning that I was scared we would get raped/stabbed/assaulted by a drunk homeless man/all three.

This may sound dramatic, but you try it and tell me if it's not scary as fuck. Waiting for two hours in the tiny airport on hard plastic benches was welcome after that.