Wherever I may Rome

Emerging into Rome was a step into a madhouse. Everywhere around the bus stop at Tiburtina people were shouting, drivers were furiously beeping their horns or selling things from their market stands. So much noise and activity from every direction!

I was quite overwhelmed by it all. Fortunately all I needed to do was navigate the few hundred metres from bus to metro stop, so I steeled myself and, looking in fifty directions at once (for I was wary of potential pickpockets) I plunged through the madness. This was much, much worse than anything I’d experienced so far.

My accommodation was situated in an area that seemed to pretty much exclusively consist of hotels, and not even great ones at that — ones that you can tell by looking at the vertical sign attached to the side are probably going to be awful. Mine looked to be the tackiest I saw, but it had some pleasant Christmas lights around the entrance which was at least an attempt at joviality.

I don’t think I’ve done too badly at adjusting to staying in hostels, but this one I found disagreeable from the outset. Arriving in the early evening and still not quite over a headache I’d carried with me from Bologna I really wanted a nice, relaxing sleep so I checked in and paid the frankly absurd city tax (that you have to pay in cash) and went off for a nap.

I’ve never stayed anywhere that smelled so bad. I had this terrible pink quilt with flowery decorations that probably needed a wash about three years ago. I ended up kicking it off in disgust and using a sheet. The window was wide open and there was a constant cycle of electrical beep followed by a brief silence followed by beeping again. This didn’t stop day or night throughout my stay here.

Relaxing it was not.

I also had a room mate who put me in mind of a 1950s-esque schoolmarm. She basically controlled the room — the lights went on and off when she wanted them to, and woe betide you if you made any noise after lights out. One time a guy came back in at a not unreasonable time, and after putting his stuff in his locker stumbled into a chair in the dark. “WILL YOU KEEP IT DOWN PLEASE?” she thundered at him. It was all a bit surreal really. She didn’t even acknowledge my friendly greeting earlier on and to top it all gave me a C- on my maths homework.

The hostel was a bit like a school in other ways, in that it had so many weird rules and times for things. There was a communal kitchen but you could only use it between 1 and 10 in the evening (“actually I’m alright thanks, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be hungry enough to want to use it”), a bar but only between 6 and 11 that boasted an absentee bartender and a social lounge that was anything but.

Fortunately there is a lot to see and do in Rome, and I took some solace in that I could at least try and be in the hostel for as little time as possible.

To that end, I went to the Roman Forum which was really very good and I highly recommend it. It’s much better than a museum because you can walk around the ruins in their original setting and see how things must have been at the time. The sun was shining and it was fantastic to potter around the ruined buildings and columns and wonder what happened here, in this very spot, thousands of years ago. There were some fantastic views too, and handily the Roman era Coke vending machine was still working.

Included in the ticket price was entry to the Colosseum, and I thought I may as well go in. I wish I hadn’t bothered or had gone earlier though because it was really far too crowded. You couldn’t read any of the descriptions of the exhibits because there were too many people pushing past, and this was on a Monday morning towards the end of November. It must be unbearable at peak season.

Weirdly enough both had the most elaborate security for historic sites I’ve ever seen. It was very similar to airport scanners, in that you had to put your bag and electronic things in a tray and have it scanned. My things managed to distinguish themselves by appearing back from the machine upside down somehow, with the tray on top of my bag. I’ve never had to look disappointed at a bag before.

Now, before you get too excited, I didn’t go to the Vatican or St Peters. I’m sorry, but after the madness of the Colosseum I couldn’t face it. Instead, I went to the Capuchin crypt and museum, which was a fair trade in my book.

The museum was interesting enough, although the audio guide was a bit weird and took the form of a couple of people having a conversation that you were eavesdropping in. It was a bit like this:

“Didn’t I hear that the monks spend a large portion of their time playing the ukulele?”

“Oh, yes! As you can see in this exhibit here, this is a painting showing the monks learning ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’! Isn’t it something?”

They didn’t really do that, that was just an example of the style. In all fairness I should point out that the guide was informative, it’s just the style was a little grating after a while.

The crypt though was very strange. It had a load of rooms that were decorated with the bones of deceased monks, so you’d have a room which contains a hallway made of of real human skulls, among other bones (for structural integrity, I guess?). It was well worth a visit. I managed to time it to coincide with my birthday so as to be reminded of my own mortality.

Actually I didn’t really need reminding of death. Crossing a road in Rome is reminder enough. In the UK we’re told to wait until the green man lights up and then we can safely cross, but this is not a guarantee of anything in Rome. Even if you were nearly hit and point out the green man to the driver they will shrug as if it’s nothing at all to do with them that you nearly died, regrettable though it is.

Here’s how to cross a road in Rome:

1. Are you sure you need to? Is it definitely worth crossing? You know what they say about the grass looking greener on the other side; perhaps you’d be happier staying on this side after all.
2. Well, if you’re sure — you are sure? — is there anyone nearby who’s more responsible than you so that you can buddy up with and cross together? Like perhaps an elderly couple. See if they’ll let you hold hands for safety.
3. Whether solo or in a group, just don’t look at traffic. Keep your eyes on the point where you’ll be stepping off the road and walk as fast as you can.
4. On making it (hopefully), fall to your knees and thank God that you made it.

If you ever end up on a traffic island by yourself in the middle of a giant road I’d just give up. You’ll just have to live on the traffic island. I hope you picked a good one.

Bill Bryson (who’s become something of an invisible travel mentor) writes that:

“Even Roman drivers won’t hit a nun — you see groups of them breezing across eight-lane arteries with the most amazing impunity…”

I had the chance to test this, although it was just one nun instead of a group. She was a short distance ahead of me and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity so I set my sights on her and immediately stumbled over a bit of broken pavement, not quite falling to the ground but staying approximately vertical stole what little dignity I possess. Needless to say when I’d recovered she’d made it halfway across and I was far too late to catch up.

For me, Rome really was far too stressful to properly enjoy. The litter and particularly the air quality made it quite difficult for me to appreciate — I’d take a lengthy shower before heading out but before long I’d feel as if I hadn’t showered in days. I think a lot of it’s the exhaust fumes from the several million scooters that are in Rome. A lot of the time you’d pass people doing the little throat-clearing cough that indicates all isn’t necessarily well with the air, and cough yourself in sympathy.

Navigating anywhere became such a burden that it took the joy of exploring out of it. It’s really not a pedestrian friendly city, and I do enjoy walking around somewhat aimlessly. I feel a few more parks would improve Rome so much, and about 60% less vehicles on the roads.

Oh, and more people to collect the litter. The nicest, most pleasant street I walked down in Rome was one where a homeless man kept it litter-free, and well swept. He had a little collection box on either end of the street, and I thought this was a fantastic approach for him. I gave him a friendly smile and dropped a few coins in. It’s just a shame it needs a homeless man to make it look nice. That kind of summed up Rome for me. Written on November 30th, 2017 by David Seddon