Monday, June 4
We were going to head to the beach this morning. The idea of
sitting and soaking in the water and soaking up the sun sounded very appealing
to me after the week of walking everywhere. Patrick, Arlene and I took the bus
to the Tram station, where we were to leave for the beach, when we stopped at a
little used bookstall. I found a few books in Italian that I am familiar with
in English, in hopes that I can continue to learn Italian by reading them. In
one book, I found this cool vintage photo of a fountain, so that is a cool
freebie souvenir. Unfortunately, it was a bit cold and windy and seemed to be
threatening rain so we (grudgingly) agreed to forgo our beach trip until a
sunnier day.
When Arlene and I were looking through the books (while
Patrick stood around looking bored) a young man approached us. I guess he had
heard us speaking English. Julian is 19 years old and from Washington state. He
has been traveling Europe, mostly couch surfing and staying in hostels, and has
sailed in every country where he was able. He was going to be in Rome for
another day before heading to Spain, where he was going to sail to Mallorca,
Menorca and eventually Turkey. He told us funny stories about staying with a
sheep-herder where he was allowed to live with the family for a few days in
exchange for help with the flock. We left the bookstall and grabbed some lunch
at a great little place, Aristocampo, near the Pyramid of Cestius … pizza or buffet, birra
& caffe for 7 euro, a great deal.
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| Patrick |
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| Arleen |
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| Julian |
After we ate we decided to head to the Fontana
di Trevi, where we checked out the vendor stalls, ate gelato and did our
obligatory coin toss and drank water from the fountain to ensure our return to
the Eternal City. I sat for a while, mesmerized by the fountain and the sound
of rushing water and murmur of the crowd. There are guards there, whose entire
job, it seems, is to blow whistles at those who deign to sit, stand or climb on
any part of the actual fountain, although sitting on the ledge of the pool
seemed to be acceptable.
Next stop was the Spanish Steps … by this time I was
in a good deal of pain, my ankle throbbing and swollen. I determined to sit at
the bottom while the others climbed to the top however my curiosity got the
best of me. I could not simply wait there and miss out on the purportedly spectacular
view. I made my way up slowly hobbling little by little to the top.
The steps
are flat and shallow, unlike those on the Palatine hill (or the Coliseum
apparently) so it could have been worse I suppose but by the time I reached the
top I was nearly dizzy with pain. I hate to be the one that slows everyone down
or holds them back so I trudged on, trying to ignore it. We were aggressively
approached by rose sellers, stopped to haggle with a vendor selling designer
knock-off bags and then made our way down the hill at the back to find a bus
stop. It was gorgeous and a fabulous experience but by this point the pain had
me in tears. We rode and changed buses, bidding farewell to our new friend, and
managed to return home where I promptly elevated and iced my ankle, which was
swollen up like a softball.
I really enjoyed the day for the most part but, of course,
the ankle problem really sucks. I cannot say for sure but I think that I have
walked well over 35 miles this week, often up stairs and along very uneven
cobblestone streets and sidewalks. This has not been very ankle friendly,
particularly on the one that had a torn ligament/tendon almost a decade ago. So
Tuesday I ended up missing out on the Capitoline Museum tour, instead staying
at the hotel where I slept, read and sketched for most of the day. I cried
during our little courtyard meeting because I wanted to go so badly but just
couldn’t do it.
I spent the day reading about what I missed at the Capitoline (although that was kind of depressing) and drawing/painting.
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