A Roman Holiday - Day 4 - One More Year

9/13/16, “One More Year”
Pisa, Italy

Today, this Tuesday, I turned twenty-nine in Tuscany.  Growing up, I spent various birthdays in New York at sporting events, zoos, and museums.  The past three birthdays I have spent at the Barcelona Olympic Stadium, Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe, and, today, Florence’s finest art galleries before making my way to this iconic tower.  While I have certainly stepped up my game in terms of birthday celebrations, those memories from my childhood still hold a special place.

I will not say that I remember all 29 of my birthday celebrations, but the earliest memory I have is from my 5^th Birthday.  I certainly don’t remember all of the 24 celebrations that followed, but I remember enough, and the ones that I do, I remember them well.  There is one more year left in this Travelogue.  A year from today, I will formally be closing out this blog in Honolulu, Hawaii.

The day before, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park will allow me to simultaneously complete the last three of my travel goals.  Five years, seventeen goals.  That is the URL of this blog.  The five years will come to a close one year from today, and, hopefully, the seventeen goals as well.  The Colosseum a few days ago allowed me to finish the fifth of my seventeen goals, and I am, on average, 80% done with the other twelve.  That is a good number, since there is now one year left in my five year mission.

I will reflect in much more detail later tonight and tomorrow about where the past 29 years have brought and what the next year (and beyond will entail), but suffice it to say that my life has taken a very different turn than I thought it would when I was celebrating those birthdays at sporting events, zoos, and museums.  This Travelogue is de facto evidence of that, that the kid who would shirk from doing the writing portion of any group project now has written a Travelogue that is 895,941 words.  That the person who never left the country on his own until he was 25 has now been to 66 countries, most of them on his own, is further testament to the different path my life has taken.

That aside, I am very happy with my life right now, and the dateline above demonstrates that.  I am in Pisa, the birthplace of Fibonacci and Galileo, the home of one of the world’s most iconic buildings, and a key city of the Italian Renaissance.  I spent most of the day in Florence, the very heart of the Italian Renaissance, and I will be going back to Rome for dinner.  Life is pretty good right now, and the next year promises to be just as good.

Okay, so how did my birthday play out?  Well, as the other days thus far on this trip, it was quite stressful.  I woke up at 6 AM, as planned, but knew that I would be way too tired to properly enjoy the day on 3 REM cycles.  I figured that I could still keep to my schedule if I grabbed an extra REM cycle and got to Florence by 10 AM.  I figured wrong.  Very wrong.  I had wanted to be at the cigar store in Rome before it closed at 7 PM.  I do not believe that I will finish this entry here in Pisa before 7 PM.

I got a cappuccino to go from my usual spot, and I walked to the train station, my wounds being sufficiently healed for the walk.  When I got there, I easily bought my ticket from the machine, a reasonable enough price for a first class ticket.  I got on the train, and the drink cart soon came.  I asked for prosecco and coffee, not that they went together, but I wanted to celebrate, and I also needed the caffeine.

We were soon in Florence, and I immediately walked to the Uffizi Gallery.  That was when I saw a site that broke my heart and made it clear that my plan was broken.  Even if I had left the hotel at 6 AM, the plan likely would have failed.  The lines were incredibly long and poorly managed.  I learned that, for an inflated price, I could pay for a group tour, which was starting soon, and then ditch the group as soon as we got inside.  That was what I did.  Even the group had trouble getting in, and, by the time I was in the gallery, it had been an hour since I arrived at the outside of the building.  I had figured I’d only need ten minutes inside.

I only wanted to see two paintings, Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” and Da Vinci’s “Annunciation”.  Well, lo and behold, there was a line to get into the Botticelli room.  I had my Grand Canyon moment, but I spent more time taking pictures and posting to social media than actually looking at the painting.  It is definitely one of my ten favorite paintings in the world.

I then saw the Da Vinci and rushed out of the gallery.  It was looking like a maybe, that it was barely possible to reclaim my original schedule, assuming everything went right.  I lit up a Toscano and walked to the Accademia Gallery, home of the most famous sculpture in the world, Michelangelo’s David.  All I cared about was seeing that statue.

I got to the Gallery, thinking the line would be shorter than at the larger and more famous Uffizi Gallery.  I thought wrong.  There was no way I would be able to make my plan.  Once again, I was offered a tour, but the tour wouldn’t start until 1 PM.  It was worth it for the expedited entry, but there was no way I could be in the museum at 1 PM and be back in Rome by 7 PM.  I grabbed a San Pellegrino and some chips and finished my Toscano before 1 PM.

As soon as we entered the museum, I ditched the group and headed straight to the David.  It was impressive.  I took my pictures, posted them to social media, and left, stopping at the gift shop to get replicas on the way out.  Meanwhile, birthday greetings were starting to pour in from my friends on Facebook, some much more thought out than others.  I got more replicas and more Toscanos from the Tabacchi outside and then walked to the plaza that would have a taxi stand.

I found a taxi before long, and I was shocked to see a very attractive female driver, which was definitely a first.  I wanted to visit the Medici Villa in Fiseole, about 6 klicks outside the city, but I knew it to be closed to the public, and I was unsure of the exact location.  I had an address, but I didn’t know if it was right.  I asked her if she would take me there, wait for me, and then drive me back.  All I had in Euros was one large banknote, and I knew it would need to last the rest of the day for everything I couldn’t put on a card, since the ATM issue still hadn’t resolved itself.  This was going to be the only significant cash expense of the day.

We got to the address, and, it turned out to be right.  There was a closed gate, a nameplate that said “MEDICI”, and a WHS Plaque.  She was confused.  I told her I just wanted to take pictures and that she should wait for me.  Did I mean that we needed to wait while someone let us in?  No, she should wait while I took pictures of the gated villa.  She needed assurance I wouldn’t walk away.  Hmm, I needed assurance she would leave without me.  What could I give her that would assure her of my return but would be an okay thing to risk?  I offered her my driver’s license, which was expiring today, anyway.  She accepted.

I walked up and down along the wall.  Clearly the inscription photo was taken from inside the gates, but this was close enough.  I lit up a Romeo y Julieta and took some ceremonial pictures.  I posted them to social media and got back in the car, letting the cigar go out from the wind as I hung it out the window.

I told her to take me to the main cathedral, where I knew the inscription photo for the City of Florence to have been taken.  When we got there, the fare had left me with just enough change so that I could get a replica of the cathedral and, later, one of the Tower of Pisa, but everything else would have to be on my card.  I found a restaurant in view of the cathedral and ordered a Florentine pasta dish and a glass of Chianti.  My plan was to take my ceremonial picture after lunch and then write an entry starting at my birth minute.  Well, sure enough, rain put pay to those plans.  My cigar was almost done, so I figured I would use it for my ceremonial picture at the cathedral, right at my birth moment, then go straight to Tuscany.

It was starting to drizzle, so I abandoned the rest of my wine and, right at my birth minute, started to take my ceremonial pictures at the cathedral.  However, at that minute, my oldest friend called me, the timing not being a coincidence.  I told him I’d call him back, since I needed to take the pictures before the rain picked up.  I took my ceremonial pictures, posted them to social media, got my replica and a keychain with cash, ditched the cigar, and then called him back as I walked to the train station.

The rain had stopped by the time I got there, and I took a train to Pisa, arriving there around 5 PM.  It would be a 20-minute walk to the Tower, and I knew it to close at 6 PM, whatever that meant.  I didn’t expect the plaza to close before dark, and I expected the gift shops to be open late, too.  I was right on both accounts.  I had no interest in entering the tower itself, anyway.

I got my souvenirs, thankfully on card, leaving me cash for gelato tonight, and then lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey, the same approximate cylindrical ratio as the Tower, and went back to the other side where the inscription photo was taken.  The plaza was filled with people pretending to hold up the tower, and I decided not to do it.  Instead, I just took my usual ceremonial picture at the spot of the inscription photo.  I then sat down in the plaza, in view of the Tower, where I proceed to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can make my way back to Rome for my birthday dinner.

Rome, Italy

It saddens me to have written those words for the last time in this Travelogue.  I will return to the Eternal City, of that I’m sure, but it will not be under the auspices of this Travelogue.  Whatever adventures I have for my 30s, they will be covered under some new format, not this document, which will end a year from today.  As I mentioned in my previous entry, five years, seventeen goals.  When both have come to a close, so, too, will this document.

I have written some pretty remarkable datelines in this Travelogue from Tehran, Iran to Orne Harbor, Antarctic to Havana, Cuba to Athens, Greece, and now I am glad to have added Rome, Italy to that mix.  It is an impressive dateline that is matched by this equally impressive city, and I will be sad to leave them behind tomorrow when it is time to say goodbye, but that will be theme of tomorrow’s entry, a full reflection of my time in Italy, the summer of travel, and the past 29 years in general.  Today is about looking forward, to the next 12 months that will close out this Travelogue.

I will start with the smaller parts that are forthcoming, weekend trips to North Carolina and Oklahoma to see some National Memorials, two trips to Mexico to close out that country, including a nine-day adventure in Baja, three more trips to Canada to say “Canada Complete”, and, of course, my annual trips to Maine and Florida, along with a trip with my mother to Texas next month.  Then there are the more adventurous trips, such as three trips to the Caribbean, including a four-day trip to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and four days in Hispaniola.  Those are the trips I will need to properly close out all of the West Indies for that matter.  That describes the trips that are relatively close to the North American mainland.

In addition, there are four extended trips, three of nine days each plus the eighteen-day trip that will close out this Travelogue.  The nine-day trips are my Thanksgiving trip this year, which I am only referring to as “Because It’s There: The Experience”, my New Year’s trip to Australia, which will mark my last continent, my last Olympic Stadiums, and the last of the Natural Wonders of the World, and my adventure to Iceland and Greenland, which will allow me to say that I have visited every country in North America.

Then comes the final trip, eighteen days in the South Pacific: Hawaii, Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, and American Samoa.  That trip will truly be something special, and it will complete the last six of my goals in one trip.  I can think of no better place than Honolulu to spend my 30^th Birthday.  It is a trip that has been part and parcel of my five-year mission.  The words that I write from Hawaii will be the result of five years of hard work.

The Iceland and Greenland trip is the one that promises to be the most fun.  No tight agendas, just spending an overnight stay in each of four different places.  How many people can say they’ve been to Nuuk?  How many tourists have ever taken their picture in front of the Greenland Parliament building?  Now that I have visited Rome, Greenland and Australia remain very firmly at the top of my travel list.  Australia also promises to be a great trip, starting in Melbourne on Christmas, seeing a cricket match at the iconic Melbourne Cricket Grounds, the home of the Games of the XVI Olympiad, snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef, and being to complete three more goals in total that trip, then ringing in 2017 in Sydney before stopping in San Francisco on my way back.  I cannot go into much detail about my Thanksgiving trip, but I am going with my friend Raymond, and I know we will have a great time together.

Even the little trips, such as the Alamo and the Virgin Islands will be fun.  In all, I have very exciting final year left for this Travelogue, and I hope my reader enjoys it as much as I do.  I would love to write more, but I need to wake up in five hours to go to the airport, and I have not even packed yet, so I will have to save more thorough reflections for tomorrow when the time comes to say goodbye.  Wow, I completely forgot about my beer, I was so wrapped up in recounting these plans.

Okay, so after I closed in Pisa, I headed to the train station, realizing it was too late to make the 7:11 PM train, which I would soon learn that it was the last express train back to Rome that would have allowed me to make dinner.  Fuck.  When I got to the train station, it was 7:15 PM, and I had learned that the train was delayed by 7:16 PM.  I scrambled to buy a ticket for the next train of the same service so that I could race and try to use it on the 7:11 PM train.  I was too late.  The train had left.  Crap.  I missed that departure by about two minutes.  I could have easily made up those two minutes at various points during my time in Pisa.  That was really annoying.  I would not be getting to have my birthday dinner at Rome’s oldest restaurant, not that I was relishing the idea of a 10:30 PM dinner anyway.  The next express train was at 8:51 PM, which meant I would need to get dinner there in Pisa.

I found a nice Tuscan restaurant that was by the train station, and old-school Italian joint.  I wasn’t particularly hungry, and the bread was good.  I got some sparkling water to start.  I chose for my dish Florentine steak (bistecca alla fiorentina), which meant Florence, but it was actually just a general Tuscan specialty.  Perfect.  There was no wine list.  It just said “vino” on the menu.  The price was cheap enough.  He asked if I wanted red or white.  That was my only option.  He brought me half a liter (four glasses) of red.  I didn’t think I could finish it.  I wondered if I would manage half of it.  The wine and bread were quite good together, and the steak (and fries) soon came out.  It was just standard Italian steak, but the fact that I was actually eating Tuscan steak in Tuscany was what made it so special.

When I was writing from Africa last year, I estimated that my dinner this year in Italy for my birthday would be about 10-20 times what my meal in Zambia cost.  It was actually only twice as much.  I still can’t get over how cheap the food is here.  I am very glad I followed the advice I was given and didn’t go to the Michelin restaurant.  After dinner, I broke in half a special edition Toscano and walked to the train station, finishing it outside.

The two-hour train ride back to Rome was entirely unadventurous, and I tried unsuccessfully to take a nap.  The only thing that was slightly adventurous was that I realized that I had miscalculated my pick-up for tomorrow and had requested that the car pick me up at 4:40 AM, five hours before my flight, instead of 5:40 AM, four hours before my flight.  I wanted to be at the airport three hours ahead of time, and that extra hour of sleep would make all the difference in the world.  I was able to change the time, and we were soon at Rome Termini.

As were walking through the terminal to the street, someone in front of my lit up a cigarette.  When in Rome, do as the Romans do.  I lit up the other half of my Toscana and walked with it to the first gelato place I found, using up the last of my Euros.  As I was walking to my hotel with my gelato, my parents called, and we chatted a bit.  I soon realized I was lost, and my phone was almost dead, so I excused myself and reoriented.  I was back on track and, a few minutes later, back at my hotel, almost 16 hours after I left.  I was quite relieved to be home.  I quickly settled in and charged my phone.

For tonight’s pipe, I chose a Castello Fiammiata Collecton pipe, the best that they make.  It is mostly regular straight shape, and the grain is good but not as good as the others I have smoked this trip.  However, Castello is considered the most prestigious of the Italian pipes, so the price point reflects that even if it isn’t as aesthetically pleasing as the previous pipes I have smoked.  I also am much more partial to the Ardor pipes, due to their unique designs.  I sat down in my usual spot, enjoying this view for the last time to my dismay, wrote Rome, Italy for the last time, lit up my Castello, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, pack, and hopefully, get two full REM cycles before I have to wake up for my flight tomorrow.

A Roman Holiday - Day 3 - Wishing and Praying

9/12/16, “Wishing and Praying”

Vatican City, Vatican City State (The Holy See)

What’s a nice Jewish boy doing spending the better part of a day inside the walls of Christendom’s holiest city?  What’s someone who doesn’t believe in superstitions doing throwing coins into a fountain?  What he’s not doing is wishing and praying, but that would be the seeming design of today’s activities.  Every site I visited today, including the Houses of Parliament, could be considered a place where one goes for wishes or prayers, but I did none of that.  I went for the history, to see the two thousand years of history embodied in these sites.  I went to be wowed by the artwork and architecture.

To that end, I succeeded at the highest level, but, for the people who surrounded me at these sites, surely for many of them the sites held different meaning.  One of the unique things about Rome is that it contains almost 2000 years of continuous history, and evidence can be found of every era throughout the Eternal City.  It is a name well-earned.  As I embarked on this trip, I said that, other than Athens and London, there is no city in the world like Rome.  Now, after having been here for three days, I am ready to remove that qualification.  There is no city in the world at all like Rome.

It is a cross between Athens, London, and, as I learned today, Jerusalem.  If you combine the ancient history of Athens, the early modern architecture of London, and the religious significance of Jerusalem, then, maybe, you get Rome.  On their own, each of three cities fails on its own against Rome.  Another thing that Rome has in common with London that Athens lacks is the history of global reach.  London used to control a worldwide empire, as did the Romans.  The same cannot be said of the Greeks, whose reach never expanded beyond the Hellenic world.

Okay, so that said, how did I spend my last full day in Rome?  If my reader believed my hopes from last night that today would be more relaxed and fun than yesterday, he or she would have been wrong.  Today consisted of about 8 or 9 miles of walking and climbing up (and later back down) over 500 steps.  It consisted of doing this not in the casual attire I had worn yesterday, but in my suit.  The weather was not, moderate as it was after the rain storm yesterday, but rather sweltering all day.  While, yes, it was fun seeing the sites I saw, nothing was relaxed about today.

After I closed last night, I got my gelato, but I was unable to figure out a way to watch the US Open online, and I smoked a Davidoff after the gelato.  Instead, I messaged back and forth with my friend, as he provided me with the color commentary of the match.  To my delight, it soon became clear that Djokovic would lose.  I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the guy.  Murray is, by far, my favorite player currently on tour, and I always root for him to win.  We wondered what this would mean for the future of Men’s tennis, the reign of the “Big Four” finally coming to an end with Djokovic losing to Wawrinka, Murray losing to Nishikori, Nadal suffering an early round upset, and Federer being out injured.  We also saw a potential for Del Porto to break his way into that crowd.  In other words, we had gone from four players dominating the tour to now having a wide open group of seven very strong players.

As soon as the match was over, it being past 2 AM here, I went to sleep.  I paid the price for staying up so late and, again, overslept.  My plan for the day was to walk from my hotel to the Vatican, stopping on the way at Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and the Houses of Parliament.  I figured I would be at the Vatican by 2 PM, at the latest, which would give me plenty of time to see the Museums, have a meal, go up to the top of the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, take a picture in front of the Vatican Parliament, and write this entry in front of St. Peter’s before dark.  In the end, I did have time for all of that, but as I will explain later, I did not properly figure in certain elements of the timing.  I got to say “Vatican City Complete,” and I saw all the paintings I wanted to see, so I guess that’s what counts.

I stopped for a cappuccino across from my hotel, which I wound up pairing with a small sandwich and a Toscano.  I realized that the Casa del Habano cigar shop was on the way, but they didn’t open until 3:30 PM, and they closed at 7 PM.  Those were very unusual hours.  In fact, those annoying hours have prevented me from visiting during the entire trip so far.  Hopefully I can go tomorrow, but there are some Twilight sites I want to see in Tuscany that would take precedence I think.

I stopped for another espresso on the way to the fountain, and I was soon there.  There was a huge crowd in front of it, and, not wanting to be an asshole, I left my cigar off to the side.  I took my pictures and, as is the tradition, threw three coins in the fountain.  I got a replica of the fountain from the nearest vendor and headed to the Pantheon.  The sun was directly overhead, making a picture difficult.

I hadn’t realized that the Pantheon was actually a temple, which meant it fit in quite nicely with today’s theme of wishing and praying.  I took my ceremonial pictures there, I believe finishing up the Toscanao at that point, and I got my replica of the Pantheon, from the nearest vendor, as is my wont.  All that was left before the Vatican was the Houses of Parliament.  Like most countries, it has two houses, but they are two separate buildings, so I had to take pictures at both spots.

At the first spot, I realized a big mistake I had made that had the potential to ruin the rest of the day.  I had left the cord to charge my phone off my laptop in the hotel.  That meant I was limited to the available battery on my phone, and, unless I seriously conserved battery power, it would risk dying before I took all my pictures for the day.  I took my pictures at the first house and then headed to the Senate, stopping on the way to get my flag pin.  It was a short enough walk to the Senate, and I took my picture there as well.

I then lit up a Don Carlos and made my way to the Vatican, which entailed walking across the Tiber River.  As I soon as I got to the bridge, I could see the dome of St. Peter’s off in the distance.  I stopped at a ticket office, which was selling a “Skip the Line” special pass for the Vatican Museums.  It was slightly less than double the price of the standard admission.  I had done my research ahead of time, and it was recommended to get one of those.  She said I could be in and out of the Museums in about 2 hours with it, which was perfect timing, since I wanted to go St. Peter’s afterwards, and that would close at 6 PM.  It was close to 3 PM by the time I got to the Museum.

That was when I realized what a rip-off the ticket was.  The only line I got to skip was the ticket line, but, it turned out, the line to pick up tickets was actually longer than the line to buy tickets.  It would have been cheaper and easier to just go the standard route.  It didn’t matter.  I was inside.  Once again, I found myself in a maze, the map not being much help.  Eventually, I figured it out, and the first place I went, after the gift shop that I had visited before getting my ticket, was the Pinacoteca, which had an original Da Vinci and a very famous Caravaggio.  Those were the only paintings I cared about, so I blitzed through that to just see those pictures.

From there, it would be a long and circuitous route to get the Raphael Rooms and the Sistine Chapel, which were all the way at the end.  I didn’t care about seeing anything else in between, though I was certainly impressed with the collection of art from different ages and cultures that I saw.  I also noted an outdoor sit-down restaurant, which would be perfect for my Official meal.  I assumed it was the only proper restaurant in the country open to the public.  My legs were almost ready to give out, and I was positively spent by the time I reached the Raphael Rooms.  To add insult to injury, the way the museum was laid out, instead of being able to briskly through the museum, I had to weave my way through throngs of tourist groups.  I didn’t care.

I soon found the painting I most wanted to see.  “The School of Athens” by Raphael.  To a philosopher, especially a travelling philosopher, this is THE painting to see.  I saw it.  I loved it.  I was wowed.  I took my pictures, posted them to social media, and left.  I didn’t need to spend more than a minute looking at it.  Then it was time for the big finale, the Sistine Chapel.

There were signs that said no photography.  Huh?  When I saw the huge crowd in the chapel, I wondered how they could possibly hope to enforce that.  I walked to be right underneath Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam” and took a picture of the ceiling from that spot.  That was when I learned how it was enforced, in the form of a sharp elbow to my side from the person standing next to me.  I gave him a sheepish look and put my phone away.  I didn’t care, I had snuck in my picture.  Again, I saw it.  I loved it.  I was wowed.  I left after two minutes.  It was my “Grand Canyon moment”, but, like the Grand Canyon, it gets boring after a few minutes.  That’s one of the reasons I like to write these entries at such iconic spots.  It allows me to stay in front of an iconic vista, enjoying the vista through my peripheral vision, without getting bored of it.

I headed to the restaurant, it being slightly after 4 PM, and my appetite starting to build up.  The restaurant was no longer serving food.  Fuck.  In fact, the only place to get food inside sovereign territory of the Vatican was a snack bar in the basement.  It was a dump.  I got a lemon Fanta and a salami and cheese sandwich.  That was hardly a proper meal, but it was the best I could do.  At this point, I was completely spent and soaked through from sweating so much.  I could barely walk.  Reader, bear this in mind as I recount what followed.

I knew that the inscription photo for the World Heritage Site of the Vatican City was taken from the dome of St Peter’s Basilica.  I couldn’t not take that picture.  There was a small admission fee to the dome, slightly higher if you wanted to take the elevator.  I opted for the elevator.  Soon enough, the elevator took us to the dome.  That was when I realized that it took us to the base of the dome, but the picture was taken from the top of the dome.  To get up there, I would have to walk up (and later back down) about 250 steps, the equivalent of approximately 20 flights of stairs.  I was in no condition to do that.  I couldn’t not do it.

I did it.  The stairs were of inconsistent height and width, the stairwell was constantly narrowing.  I was doing all this in my suit and with my heavy shoulder bag.  It was certainly an adventure.  Before long, I was at the top, and I found the spot where the photo was taken.  I recreated the photo and then headed back down.

Relieved to be back outside, I went in search of the legislative building.  No one knew what I meant.  I found three priests who spoke English.  They understood, but they didn’t recognize the name I had given.  They took me to some Swiss Guards, who knew exactly what it was and where.  “You can see it from the dome.”  NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!  I was not going back up that dome to take a picture of the legislature from the distance.  I asked if there was any way to walk over to take a picture.  No, not possible.  GRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Well, I figured that, seeing as the political structure of the Vatican is technically an absolute monarchy with the Pope as its head, I would have to count St. Peter’s Basilica as the government building.  I went on an unsuccessful search for my flag pin and then returned to the main square.

I lit up a Montecristo and took my ceremonial picture in front of St. Peter’s, announcing, “66.  Vatican City Complete.”  That was that.  I had done what I meant to do here, and it was still light out.  In fact, the sun has only just set.  I sat down along a fence at the outermost part of the square, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get back to me hotel and relax, tend to my wounds, and charge my phone before dinner.  All in all, it’s been a great day so far, and I have the perfect place chosen for dinner.  And, in a bit of fun, as I reenter the territory of Italy, I will be walking across an international border with my cigar, something I have only done maybe two or three times before in the past.

Rome, Italy

Before I continue, I would like to address the point that I made in closing the earlier entry.  I said that I thought I had previously walked over an international border with a cigar maybe two or three times.  I actually now think that walking from the Vatican City to Italy with a cigar marked a first.  For starters, it would have had to have been a Schengen crossing, and, best as I can recall, the only time I have walked across a Schengen border was from Germany to Poland at Muskauer Park.  Every other Schengen crossing I did was in a vehicle (car, boat, or plane).  I know have driven across numerous international borders while smoking in the car, but that is not the point under consideration.

Okay, correction, I actually found a recorded instance of me walking across an international border while smoking a cigar, and I love the fact that it was almost exactly a year ago today, on 9/13/15, as I walked across the Zambezi River from Zimbabwe to Zambia.

Alright, so that fun fact examined, I can continue on recounting my day.  It should come as no surprise that tonight contained yet another amazing dinner, but it’s Rome, and if you eat at the right kind of places, you can’t have bad meals.  I’m trying to think of an equivalent.  Again, Athens would be closest.  If you go to the old part of Athens and eat at any restaurant that’s not a chain and brings you cooked food, you can’t go wrong.  Rio, too, we had a similar experience, but I will also had the caveat that it only applies to restaurants that bring food out of the kitchen, as opposed to a display counter.

There really is no place like this in the world, and I am going to miss it when I leave, in a way that I usually don’t miss other places I have traveled.  I will reflect more tomorrow on what exactly I will miss, but this view and the sounds coming from the street below might be first on the list.  In terms of the great cities of the world, Rome was the biggest hole in my list, and I am so glad to have filled that hole.  I suppose that Madrid and Dublin will be the only such holes remaining after I have visited Sydney and Melbourne at the end of this year.  Madrid and Dublin are both on my list for trips to take in my 30s (yes, reader, that list exists and already has 21 trips on the list to take during that decade).

Okay, so after I closed, I could barely walk.  I hobbled out of the Vatican and into Italy and towards the piazza in search of a taxi.  Fortunately, I found one before I even had to make it all the way to the piazza.  I told him my hotel, and we were on our way.  My phone died as soon as I tried to use it.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted to get back to my hotel so that I could tend to my wounds and relax.  I made it up to my room and immediately plugged in my phone and changed out of my suit.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to wear tonight, not wanting to wear my dress shirt and the only extra shirt I had being a Rio 2016 shirt, which was not appropriate as I would not be doing any Olympic stuff tonight.  I decided I would shower tonight instead of in the morning and then just wear tomorrow’s shirt tonight as well.  I examined my wounds, and they were even worse than I expected.  I figured it was 50/50 if I would even be able to walk around Florence tomorrow.  Usually, blistered skin is quick to recover, but this was bad, real bad.  I showered and, upon getting my phone to about 50%, headed out.

As soon as I locked the door, I realized I had left my key in the room, in the energy saver slot.  Ugh.  I had to get a new key at the front desk, which was much less of a process than I had feared.  I then, still hobbling, walked down the street to the restaurant I had chosen for dinner.  They told me they were fully booked for the night.  I found a place that was just as good, according to the reviews on Google, another block down.  They had the same things I wanted to order anyway.

It was crowded and buzzing, both with locals and tourists.  I ordered a quarter liter of wine (two glasses), a pasta dished called fettuccini alla Romana, and a special Italian veal dish called saltimbocca.  I was starving.  I had probably burned close to 1500 calories from all of my walking and climbing today.  First came the bread and wine.  The price point on the wine was about half of what I would spend in New York at a decent restaurant for one glass of house red.  It, like everything else, was incredibly good.

The pasta came out almost immediately.  Despite its fancy name, it was simply the most classic type of pasta imaginable, topped with tomato and meat sauces.  It was as good as everything else.  I sopped up the remaining sauce with some bread, and the Korean tourist next to me remarked that I must have been hungry.  I was.

Then came the saltimbocca, which was the best part.  It was thinly sliced veal, topped with some type of sliced and cured meat, in sauce that was to die for.  It did not last long.  Again, I sopped up the sauce with bread.  I paid the check, which was less than I pay for my weekly Chinese meal on 28^th Street with no alcohol.  Afterwards, I asked if I could go outside to finish my wine, wanting to have my cigar.  I was told that I could but that I couldn’t go too far from the restaurant.  That was fine.

There were some chairs outside, and I had no intention of standing.  I was in heaven, smoking my special edition Toscana and drinking my wine, as I messaged some friends back home, well, one in NYC, one in NJ, one in Cali, one in Mexico.  It’s weird, actually, the people I talk to the most, only two of them live in NYC, two in NJ, one in Long Island, one in Cali, one in Oregon, one Mexico, and, now, Detroit has joined the mix, too.  I finished my wine and deposited the glass back inside and then finished my cigar as I walked to the gelato place where I went the first night.

This being my third visit there, I have now claimed the mayorship on social media.  The city is now dying down, earlier than it did on the weekend nights that began this trip, and my pipe is done, so I will wrap up.  I opted for a mix of tiramisu and chocolate hazelnut gelato, the smallest size they had.  I finished it on the walk back to my hotel.  When I got back to my room, my phone almost dead again, I fielded some early birthday wishes via telephone from my friends back home.

For my pipe tonight, I chose another Italian pipe, a Rinaldo this time, which is made not by the Roveras, but instead by the Rinaldo brothers.  This pipe, one of the best they ever made, is not quite up to the level of the previous two I smoked, which was reflected by a price point significantly cheaper, but it has a good grain, and it is a pretty standard shape, other than the cut tiers that make it look like a wedding cake.  I don’t smoke it as much, since I don’t quite love it the same way I love some of my other pipes.  I then lit up the pipe and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep.  Tomorrow, I turn twenty-nine in Tuscany.  I hope my reader likes that alliteration, which I will repeat to open tomorrow’s entry.  It promises to be a busy and interesting day.  It will also be the first time I have left the metropolitan area of Rome this trip.

A Roman Holiday - Day 2 - Rome 1960

9/11/16, “Rome 1960”

Rome, Italy

We all remember what we were doing 15 years ago when we learned the news that would forever change our lives.  We will never forget that day, nor the lessons we learned.  It is not my intention to politicize that point or dwell on it more than is appropriate to show the proper respect to this day.  To that end, I will observe a moment of silence before continuing to pay proper homage to the lives we lost on that day.

Now to continue, I would like to draw back to this day in history 56 years ago, to Rome 1960.  On 9/11/60, in this very Stadium, the Games of the XVII Olympiad came to a close.  It was a Games that saw one of the most famous Olympic medalists of all time win Gold, a boxer by the name of Cassius Clay, who would later become known to the world as Muhammed Ali.  On 9/10/16, an Ethiopian marathoner would make history by becoming the first black African to win a Gold medal.  He would establish a long string of dominance in that event by the Ethiopians and Kenyans.  He won the race without wearing shoes.

Like the other 23 Stadiums I have visited, this Stadium is practically dripping with history.  I only have 3 more left in my quest.  In November, I will at last visit the London 2012 Stadium.  Then, in December, I will close out my quest in Australia by visiting the Melbourne 1956 and Sydney 2000 Stadiums.  My true obsession with the Olympics began during the Sydney Games, so it will be the perfect place to close out my quest.  I have so many great memories from the Games and many equally great memories from the times I have set foot inside the Stadiums, but I will definitely be glad to close out the quest in about 10 weeks.  I received a complaint about my cigar, so I will relocate to finish it while I continue to write.

It looks like more dark skies are coming, and I will probably leave the Stadium as soon as I finish this entry.  In fact, I hope to leave before the second half, as I am seriously worried about my water bottle, and, frankly, I don’t care about this match in the slightest.  After I closed last night, I had a devil of time falling asleep, tossing and turning until around 3 AM.  It was close to 10 AM when I finally woke up, too late for breakfast at the hotel and not having an appetite for it anyway.  I would be visiting the two World Heritage Sites in Tivoli before I came here, so I timed it as tight as I could to allow myself a proper visit to those two sites and still get to the Stadium by the time the match began at 3 PM.  Recalling a scene from “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”, I decided to do what Clint Eastwood did and had a Toscano cigar in the bathtub.

Yep, it’s raining now.  Definitely raining.  This is annoying.  I just want to get out of here now.  I am surrounded by diehard soccer fans, and I don’t even care about this match.  All I care about is taking my picture inside the Olympic Stadium and writing this entry.  I needed some espresso, but it was actually also starting to get to lunchtime.  However, in Rome, lunch doesn’t start until noon, and that was too late.  I needed to be on the way to Tivoli by noon.

Yep, that’s thunder.  I hope this match doesn’t get called off before I finish writing this entry.  I went to the place where I got my gelato last night and sat outside, still smoking my Toscano.  I saw lightning.  This match really might get called off.  I ordered an espresso, followed by a cappuccino.  I still had not had a proper meal since my dinner last night.  After my cigar and drinks, I got a taxi that could take me to Tivoli.  I didn’t want to worry about the train or bus.  He got confused and took me to Villa Adriana, though I had asked him to take me to Villa d’Este.

He had no idea where Villa d’Este was, but it turned out he needed to drop me off in the main square, then I could walk to Villa d’Este.  I would be visiting both famous, historic villas, but I wanted to save Hadrian’s for last.  I paid the admission for Ville d’Este and asked about the inscription photo.  Crap, now my computer is getting wet, too.  This is as bad as yesterday.  I need to relocate again.

Okay, so I seem to be sheltered but the view of the Stadium is not quite is good now.  Anyway, Ville d’Este proved to be a veritable maze, and I knew where the inscription photo was taken but not quite how to get there.  As I walked around, I admired the rooms of the villa, lots of priceless artwork on the walls and beautiful furnishings. 

I then figured out how to get to the inscription photo spot, but it was a huge expanse, and I would have to walk down (and later up) a lot of steps and ramps.  That did not look fun.  Crap, the rain keeps getting worse, and I am no longer sheltered at all.  I’m just going to wrap this up as quickly as possible.

I found the inscription spot and soon took my ceremonial pictures, after waiting for a family to finish taking their pictures.  I had lit up a Montecristo for the occasion, and it came with me as I left, stopping for souvenirs on the way out.  Okay, I can’t risk any damage to my computer.  I need to get out of here.

I have moved up too far too keep smoking, and it is now halftime, but I am finally fully sheltered from the rain.  Actually, they might have just suspended play during stoppage time.  I’m not sure.  Either way, I just want to wrap this up so that I can get back to my hotel.  Nope, no good.  I’m going to have to close for now.

Okay, the hailstorm, yes, it was hail, seems to have abated, but not before I left the Stadium.  I have now found myself besides the Olympic Equestrian venue outside the Stadium, which, like the Stadium and the surrounding streets, was completely flooded.  Even the sidewalks were in water up to my ankles.  I am relatively protected from the remaining drizzles here, but I will still need to be as quick as possible.

Alright, so I found a taxi that would take me to Adrian’s Villa and, in turn, Rome.  He quoted a fair enough price and said he would wait for me or, rather, pick me up when I was done.  He left me at Hadrian’s Villa, and I told him to meet me at 2:15 PM.  This was impressive.  It was an assortment of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman architecture, built in the 2^nd Century by Hadrian, the same guy who built the Wall in Northern Britain.

I still had my Montecristo, so I lit that up and made my way to the spot of the inscription photo, taking my ceremonial picture there.  I immediately turned around and made my way back finding my driver waiting for me with a different vehicle.  I got my souvenir, and he took me straight to the Olympic Stadium.

I was so happy to see all the Olympic rings everywhere.  It hit me that I would only have three more to go (London 2012, Melbourne 1956, and Sydney 2000) after this.  That was when the drama began.  It was 2:45 PM, and the match did not begin until 3 PM, not that I cared about seeing the beginning of the match.  The ticket was just an entry ticket to the Stadium, as far I was concerned.  However, I had gone the south entrance, and I needed to go into the main entrance.  It was quite a process to circumnavigate the Stadium, but, eventually, I got there.

They searched me and pointed to my water bottle.  I had done my research.  The Stadium rules said no beverages in plastic bottles.  I took a sip and ceremonial picture and emptied my bottle.  No, they explained, I could not bring the bottle in the Stadium.  Wait, what?!?  They told me I needed to leave it in their security station, but that they could not watch it, though they assured me no one would touch it.  Crap.  Gone was my plan to watch the whole match.  I would just walk in, take my ceremonial picture, write my entry, and leave by halftime.  It seemed a simple plan.  No, of course not.  More drama ensued.

First, I got a beer and a hot dog, and then I headed inside to take my ceremonial picture with the beer in lieu of the water bottle.  So far, so good.  I sat down in spot with a great view of the field and noticed that people in front of me were smoking.  Beautiful.  I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey and proceeded to write this entry.  As I conveyed in the beginning of this entry, I wound up having to write that entry from four different spots before I finally left.

First, the guy behind me said the cigar was too stinky, not that he was complaining about the cigarettes.  Then, I moved to the side, where I would not be disturbed and could even stay as people got up at halftime.  Then, the rain began, so I moved up a bit.  The rain got worse, so I moved further up, too far up to keep smoking  Then, my laptop got hit by a piece of hail, and play had stopped anyway, so I called it.  Everyone was getting out of the stands, and I waited by the exit, finishing my cigar, until the hail abated.

Once it was relatively good, I left, thankful for my ACG sandals, which were more than a match for the flooded streets and sidewalks.  I retrieved my water bottle, and the rain had almost stopped.  I then looped around to the main entrance, which was right by the equestrian venue, of course suspended by the rain.  I found a spot in view of the Olympic Stadium, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get back to the hotel and, hopefully, have time to walk around the Colosseum before dinner.

Well, all in all, today has been a rather stressful day.  I suppose there is some irony to that, especially given that intentionally underplanned this trip to make it less stressful, so that I wasn’t racing from place, so that I would actually have time to enjoy my time here.  I have the utmost faith that I could have included both Tuscany and Campania in this trip if I had wanted to.  Instead, I chose to opt for just Tuscany, which gave me an extra day in Rome.  That is why it is so ironic that these past two days have become so stressful, but, if I was racing to place to place, it could have been a lot more stressful.  As it was, I had time to do everything I wanted to do, and I felt that I spent sufficient time at every place.

After I closed, the rain had finally stopped, and I made my way to the plaza where I was told I could find taxis.  Eventually, I found one.  He took me back to my hotel, and I dropped off my bag, being told yesterday that bags were not allowed inside the Colosseum.  I also knew that water was not allowed in but that water bottles were, though I had thought the same about the Olympic Stadium.  I only had a few sips of water left, anyway, just enough to take a couple of ceremonial pictures.

The sign at the entrance clearly said that no liquids were allowed inside, only empty water bottles.  However, there was nothing to be said about bags.  It also clearly said no smoking.  Ideally, I would have, at some point, written an entry inside the Colosseum while I smoked a cigar, but the ban on bags and smoking would have precluded that.  My ticket from yesterday was still good, and I made my way through the stairs to the viewing area.  There was a bookshop that sold replicas of the Colosseum, the exact same replicas sold by the street vendors, only these were almost six times the price.  It was inside the Colosseum, so I couldn’t resist buying one for myself.

I was finally in the viewing area.  As overwhelmed as I was by the view from outside yesterday, I was underwhelmed by the view from inside.  It was so disappointing that I could have cried.  This was not what I expected.  There were no seats to be seen, all of them having been eroded over the millennia.  Even the pitch was gone, leaving the tunnels beneath exposed to view.  What was this?  It was a skeleton of what I thought it would be.  I tried to imagine the gladiators at their posts, but it was not to be.

Unlike the many Olympic Stadiums I had visited, such as in Stockholm where I could imagine Jim Thorpe being told by King Gustav that he was the “greatest athlete in the world” or in Paris where I could hear Chariots of Fire playing in my head, this provided no such images.  That is not to say I felt nothing.  I knew that this building was the center of sports and entertainment for the Roman Empire.  I knew the history that once occurred here, but I just couldn’t see it in my head.  I took my ceremonial pictures and would later discover that there actually was a smoking area in view of the inside of the arena, but I was ready to go.

I headed back to the hotel and charged my phone a bit while I retrieved my bag.  I had pizza yesterday, tonight we would be pasta, and I had already picked out the restaurant across the street from yesterday’s restaurant.  I also wanted to get a Sunday paper, so I went to the “tabacchi.”  There, I got some more varieties of Toscano cigars but learned that they don’t stock Sunday papers past a certain time.  It was past that time.  I went to the restaurant for dinner, and I was told that only cigarette smoking was allowed, not cigar smoking.  That was annoying.

I considered going back to my restaurant for yesterday, where I knew I’d be allowed to smoke my Toscano, but I wanted to try some place new.  I sat down and ordered my dinner, spaghetti alla carbonara, a glass of Chianti, and a large bottle of sparkling San Pellegrino.  It was all quite good.  The pasta wasn’t like the pizza last night, merely being decent instead of amazing, but I was eating my favorite pasta dish, in Rome.  It couldn’t be that bad.

After my meal, I lit up a Toscanco Antico and went in search of the newspaper.  My reader should understand that one of the things I try to collect from a new city is a copy of their Sunday paper for wherever I am during a Sunday.  I have been woefully bad at it over the past few trips, but I didn’t want to miss it this time.  Of course, I forgot in the morning, and now it was looking too late.  I tried a bunch of other tabacchi shops and was told the same thing each time.  I made my way back to the hotel with my Toscano and asked at the front desk.  They didn’t have it either.  If I had asked at the tabacchi shop before heading to Tivoli, they would have had it.  I screwed up.

I went up to my room and checked in with a few people before having a video chat with my family, my brother still being with them in Westchester.  After that, I did some research on the Vatican and the Holy See, trying more than anything to figure out what the appropriate dateline would be for the entry for tomorrow’s entry.  It is considered a separate country from Italy, and the Vatican City is a distinct geographical area from Rome, but I couldn’t quite figure out if “Vatican City, Holy See” is the appropriate dateline in the format of “Rome, Italy”.

The Holy See is technically the religious organization that oversees the Diocese of Rome.  The Vatican City State is the political body that governs the Vatican City, where the Pope is located.  However, diplomatic relations are maintained with the Holy See on behalf of the Vatican City State, and that is how it is listed on the World Heritage City list, which, in turn, reflects the Holy See being a non-member observer state of the United Nations, despite the Vatican City State being more properly the name of the state.  It was all so confusing.  In the end, I suppose writing “Vatican City, Holy See” looks better than writing “Vatican City, Vatican City State” or even just “Vatican City”.

Anyway, for tonight’s pipe, a chose a Damiano Rovera Collection pipe, this one being carved by the son of the Rovera who carved my pipe from last night.  It has the same “ITALY FATTA A MANO” stamp, and the grain is just as straight.  It is probably one of the best pipes Damiano has ever made, but, as I explained last night, this is a freeform pipe, having an irregular shape, unlike the Ardor I smoked last night.  I sat in my chair by the window, lit up the pipe, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish as I finish my pipe and then maybe get some gelato before I try to figure out a way to watch the US Open final, which just started.  Tomorrow should be a more relaxed and fun day than these past two.