Open Writing

I was 20 the first time I visited Rome. I was on a minibus tour with 11 other girls from New Zealand, Australia and Canada. Despite staying in the camping ground and sleeping in tents, we had wonderful time. We giggled when the gigolos that congregate around the Spanish Steps pinched our bottoms, swooned when the Italian boys told us we were ‘bella’ and we chatted up the soldiers in the Piazza Navona. We were impressed by the magnificent plumes that adorned their hats. “Can we stroke your feathers?” we would ask coyly. (As if they would say no!) Soon they were queuing up to have their feathers stroked! The magnificence and grandeur of Rome didn’t register. Getting it so wrong was something I always regretted.

I returned to Rome 30 years later with my husband. It was his retirement trip and we stayed in a hotel on the Via del Corso, recommended to us by our Travel Agent. This time, I vowed, I would get it right.

We stopped in Bangkok for a few days en route to Rome where I unfortunately came down with influenza. I felt terrible and for two pins would have gone back home. A sleepless 12 hour flight from Bangkok to Rome did nothing to improve my situation, so by the time we arrived at 7.30am I was craving a comfortable bed and a sleep.

After making our way through customs and emigration and waiting an interminably long time for our bags, we made our way to the taxi stand. Luckily we were hijacked by an airport official who found a taxi for us and negotiated a reasonable fare. Explaining to the taxi driver just where on the Via del Corso we wanted go proved tricky. It seemed the average tourist didn’t stay in the Plaza Hotel. This made us very apprehensive; perhaps we hadn’t got it right!

When at last our taxi pulled up outside the Plaza we were greeted by a gushy little Italian who ushered us into the hotel. I was only a few minutes away from sleep, I thought. How wrong could I be? “I’m afraid your room is not ready yet,” said the receptionist. “It will be 2 to 3 hours, but you can wait in the lounge.”

Perhaps I could kip on a couch, I thought. When we were shown through to the lounge I saw this was not the type of room where one kipped. The architecture was a mingling of late Baroque and early Rococo. Surrounding a magnificent stained glass ceiling dome were frescoes which would rival those in the Sistine Chapel. The room was lit with a festoon of crystal chandeliers and the antique furniture could quite happily have graced the salon of any palazzo. So rather than making a show of myself by kicking off my shoes and curling up on one of the couches, I opted for the offered cup of tea.

Finally, we were told our room was ready. What a contrast that was. It was a large room with a bare wooden floor. The only furniture was a tall, free standing wooden wardrobe, a desk and two old hospital style beds. Nevertheless, by that stage any bed would have looked good. To hell with getting it right. Rome could wait, a quick shower and I was hitting the sack for the rest of the day.

The large marble bathroom was very grand, but the plumbing was so antiquated it could have been designed by Julius Caesar. What is more, it proved impossible to get any water to come through the tap. My husband being more logically minded than me managed to sort out how it operated. To shower one had to sit in the bath and hold the shower over ones head. Very logical!

When at last I was showered, I closed the shutters took two aspirin and climbed into bed ready to slip into the pain relieving oblivion of sleep.

Unfortunately, that was not what fate had in store for me. I had no sooner shut my eyes when a band struck up a tune outside our window. My husband and I flew out of bed and opened the shutters. It was then we discovered our room was right above the Via del Corso and directly opposite a church where a religious function to celebrate Lent was in progress. We watched fascinated as a group of people dressed in white filed out of the church supporting an image of the crucifixion of Christ. This was followed by men in red capes carrying a large red banner, then a group in black carrying a blue banner. While the band played on a seemingly never ending assortment of groups dressed in various coloured robes exited the church, each carrying some piece of religious paraphernalia. We began to wonder how so many people could fit into such a seemingly small church. My husband suggested that perhaps some were running around the back and coming out again. Once when everybody had left the church the procession paraded down the Via del Corso until it was out of sight and we went back to bed.

Although the Via del Corso was now being used as a pedestrian mall and crowds of well attired Romans were engaging in a very noisy, ritualistic stroll up and down the street meeting and greeting friends, we managed to drift off.

When we woke it was evening, the street was reopened to traffic and our room was filled with the incessant buzz of motor scooters. Somewhat refreshed after our nap, we left the hotel in search of food and found it not far away in the form of a small pizza cafe. The waiter was unable to speak a word of English and our Italian was restricted to pizza Margharita and vino bianco. Even so, we had our doubts the waiter had understood us, as after taking our order he left the café and disappeared on his Vespa. Some time later he returned with our meal!

We returned to our hotel and settled down for the night. That was when we discovered at night the Via del Corso was the main thoroughfare to a local hospital. Until we departed Rome two days later, we had to contend with the shrill sirens of ambulances passing under our window until dawn.

As a result of sleep deprivation and my bout of influenza we didn’t see as much of Rome as we had hoped. Nevertheless, we thought, we would have another shot at getting it right in Rome, as we would be back in a few weeks as part of our grand tour of Europe.

One never knows what life has in store, as we never made it back to Rome. Part way around Europe my influenza returned with complications and this time my husband went down with it also. We were forced to return to England to recuperate and give up on Rome.

However we returned to Europe the following year and did a tour of Italy. This time we did get it right.