Rome – the Eternal City.

Things can certainly take an eternity to get done, and can be eternally frustrating. It’s a bit of a tough call where the line falls between the Italian shoulder shrug and incompetence. Most of the annoyingly little hurdles of today were the former, but some of the latter, albeit small, did rather set a scene.

So we landed, did the usual stuffing around getting off the plane and found the train to Rome Termini (central rail station) pretty easily. We had the morning to kill, as we weren’t checking into our accom till after 2pm, so we put our bags in left luggage and set off for a look around.

Well, that was the plan. First we needed money – and after much research and messing around in Australia I’d decided the best way to get the biggish sum we’d need to check into our apartment (cash only) was to bring it in travelers cheques. So I did, after checking we’d be able to find an open bank to cash them at the station. Alas the only bank open didn’t do TCs and the commission at the money changers was about A$80! We looked and looked for the other branches the internetto had told me were in the station – but no. So we set off for a stroll towards the interesting bits of town anyway – hoping to find an open (Saturday morning) bank along the way.

Out the front door of the station, we met about 7000 protestors! That’s your colour and movement right there! Not sure what the protest was about (the Italians have something of a rep for civil comment in such manners) but there were lots of them and from all over the country – all wearing or carrying a lot of red. Communista was a common comment on the banners and balloons. Of course the little men at Aust. Foreign Affairs would have been running around screaming, “don’t go near them don’t go near them”… but they were everywhere. We followed their route for a few hundred meters, then they turned off and we wove through the procession and down a very quiet main st. All the main roads in the area had been closed and there were Police everywhere. Quite reassuring for the jetlagged tourist in the middle of civil disobedience!!

After much nashing of teeth I bit the bullet with the remaining bloody stumps and changed a heap of TC’s at a smaller cash bureau – at least at a better rate than at the station – they only reamed me $35 for the transaction. The good news was that, walking out the door, up a tiny street opposite there was a glimpse of an ancient arch – that immediately registered as a bit of the Colloseum!

That’s better! We made our way to the big monument taking in the surround aincient ruins as best we coulod among all the protestors – they were converging on the area as the main rally was to be in that neck of the woods – the Circus Maximus, judging from where the direction of the sound was coming from.

Just to make it clear – what we’d done was the equivalent of arrive at Canberra Parliament House for a look around - - on Sorry Day. It was mad.

Given we were on a bit of a time pressure, what with our bags racking up euro in the left luggage office and our jetlagged bodies threatening to give in on us, we chose not to do the tour-thing and made our way back to the station. No trip is easy in Rome. We couldn’t help but just walk a little further in the wrong direction as we spotted Trajan’s Column and the Victor Emmanuel monument – both so outrageously impressive in terms of their presence and their history that the odd letter on a page does very little justice – it was easy to be led further away from our destination. But return we did, footsore and weary, to embark on the next bit. Getting accommodated.

I’d sorted a SIM card in Australia, at some expense, because they need to be registered with a passport of foreign visitors and I wanted one that worked out of the box. Guess what? It didn’t work. I wasn’t happy, and cursing the American website that had very efficiently done all BUT register it. Grr. So we blew $12 on a phonecall to the apartment owner who said they’d meet us there in 30 minutes. We jumped in a taxi (official – no dodgy cab victims, us) and after a ride back much of the way we’d walked and then some he ended up taking us down a tiny tiny cobbled lane, dropping us at the entrance to an even narrower lane, with the correct address on the wall.

As we waited for our landlord we took it all in. the cobbled streets, the buildings rising to about five floors around us and seeming to overhang us, the tiny deli/supermarket in the bottom of our building that we’d use later – and the people, mostly tourists. Our man arrived and took us up a few floors into a tiny apartment that had been recently renovated. From that point of view it was pretty nice – but the fairly average job of assembling the Ikea renno did rather take the gloss off – as did the fact that, though it had been cleaned, the beds hadn’t been made nor towels and toilet paper replaced. “No problem,” our guy said – and after a quick impassioned call (there doesn’t appear to be any other kind) on his mobile, he said they’d be along and off he went.

So here we were. In Rome – jetlagged and tired – with no toilet paper. At least there was a bidet!

Time for some deep breaths. MIk and Indi took in the corner shop and provisioned us for a few days while Sasha and I did a bit of rearranging. Then Indi crashed, hard. Out like a light for 12 hours (save an enforced fuel break). Sasha was still good – little people sleep easier on planes – so she and I set of for a stroll. The gorgeous streets around us had transformed while we’d been indoors. It was only now that I’d realised we’d arrived during Siesta – most of the shops shut between 2 and 4 – and now they’d reopened what I’d assumed were just closed doorways were now transformed into tiny store fronts – selling everything from antiques to art supplies – food and wine – whatever they could wedge into the tiny spoaces. Sash and I justr followed our noses towards where I knew Piazza Navona was – and it opened up before us – a large open space among a jungle of serpentine cobblestoned streets. The Piazza was alive with diners in restaurants, buskers impressing the tourists, teenagers doing that eternal dance they do and – well, life really.

Those crazy Romans do the life thing rather well. I don’t think I really got the La Dolce Vita thing till just now. The gelato stores were tempting – but we’re here for a few days yet – so, in accordance with my lesson for the day, let’s not rush it. Even Sash didn’t seem to mind.