Wednesday & Thursday

Ms. Packratty does not want to leave. In all fairness, she knew this would happen, but it is still sad to know that she has less than 36 hours before her plane takes off.
Wednesday, she got up nice and early and made a fast breakfast before setting off for the Cavour Metro station. From there, she went to Termini and bought a 3 day BIT ticket for trains and buses, her 1 week ticket having expired at midnight Tuesday. Off to the Ottaviano Metro stop and from there about three quarters of a mile hike to the plaza in front of St. Peter’s, where she joined a long long line of people waiting to get cleared by the Swiss Guards and enter the audience hall. Let me tell you, it was not an intimate experience. There appeared to be about 5,000 people jammed into the very modern audience hall. The Pope arrived more or less on time and gave a lengthy address in Italian, of which Ms. Packratty caught about every 20th word. He then gave greetings to the throng in a short address in Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, English, German and Polish. Whatever else one might say about the incumbent, he certainly is a gifted linguist. The Papacy must be as wearing as the presidency though – Ratzinger looks 20 years older than he did at his election. I left the audience hall and purchased some small religious articles that had been blessed that I had been asked to bring back, then headed back to the Metro.
Fun Roman fact for the day – those bright Swiss guard uniforms? Designed by Michelangelo. Unchanged to the present day.
I did find a shop selling “popeners” - bottle openers adorned with an image of the Pope on one side and St. Peter’s on the other. I then took the subway to Piazza Spagna stop and made a serious tactical error in map reading – I walked about a mile plus to the Gallery Borghese. I was disappointed to see a sign up saying that all tickets for Wednesday were sold, but went in to see if I could purchase for Thursday only to find that there were indeed tickets available – apparently several groups had not shown up for their reservation to my good fortune.
The Gallery Borghese is almost too much eye candy. Unlike the Barberini, which I would like to visit many more times, the Borghese was amazing, but I did not find myself wishing I could come back. Possibly, because unlike the Barberini where there are chairs and benches in most of the rooms so that one can sit and really look at pieces, the Borghese is focused on moving people through and out. The chairs are all roped off and in only one room did they have long ottomans that one could sit on and look up to admire the ceilings. The other exceedingly annoying thing was a group of about 12 young male Germans who were sniggering at anything even slightly suggestive. I was behind them and had spoken briefly with a lady from Verona who had lovely English when they reached the room with the statues of the hermaphrodites. Even with my very limited German, it was clear that the boys ahead of us were making very, very nasty comments. The lady I had been speaking snapped at them in German which shut them up for a while, at least and then I was able to turn right while they went left and avoid them for the rest of the visit.
Leaving the museum, Ms. Packratty was really hungry, so she stopped at the museum restaurant for a panini and a mineral water and to rest her sad, tired feet.
Note about feet – Ms. Packratty wears a European 41 and the only shoes she has found in her size have been high heel platform shoes that look like hookerwear and make her toes ache just to look at. She finally spotted a pair of gorgeous flats, but there is no way in this lifetime that she is paying 450€ for a pair of flats. Besides, even those pinched a little and Ms. Packratty knows perfectly well what happens to uncomfortable shoes – they languish unworn in the back of the closet. She has also noted in the museums that “Morton’s foot” - wide at the ball with a longer second toe – was endemic among the various artist’s models, if not the general population – both ancient and Renaissance. Apparently not so much now, or else a lot of Roman are wearing shoes that don’t fit.
After the Borghese, she caught a cab back to Piazza Repubblica and got all the way into the bowels of the station only to have the next train come in and empty out with a message on the station loudspeakers that the track between Repubblica and Termini was closed. She climbed back out of the station and found the nearest bus stop and went back to Termini, stopping to check on what time the first Leonardo Express to the airport leaves – around 520 a.m. At this point it was about 430 p.m. and Ms. Packratty felt as though she was walking on glass, so she went back to Via Urbana and took a nap before her dinner at Cavour 313, an enoteca that had been recommended to her. Along with 2 glasses of a Brunello that was as close to wine perfection as she has ever had, she also had a cheese and salumi sampler and an arugula salad with shaved gran padano cheese dressed with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. She followed that with a lasagna that was about as far from the ragu-smothered American version as you can get. There was tomato, but not tomato sauce, a limited amount of very good ricotta and the meat was like a diced meat that had been broiled with a little olive oil before being added to the pasta. Unfortunately, this meal was the first in Rome to disagree with the Packratty digestion and she spent a good chunk of the night sitting up waiting for the distress to be over and hence, got a late start on Thursday.
One of the first orders of business was to go down to Mailboxes Etc. near the Cavour Metro and ship back most of her purchases. American non-Express once again screwed up and refused to let Ms. Packratty pay the shipping bill so she had to go to an ATM and get more cash, even though her available balance was nearly 3 times the amount she was trying to charge in Euro. Ms. Packratty will definitely be having a very definitive discussion with American Express when she returns and doesn’t have to pay 15 cents a minute to talk to them.
Shipping accomplished, Ms. Packratty set off to explore around the via Nazionale. Something was definitely going on in the government center because she spotted or heard 4 or 5 motorcades as she walked. There are the regular Rome police, then the carabinieri who wear very fancy uniforms with capes and carry submachine guns on guard duty – very swank. Then there are the financial police (see earlier comments about the Italian national sport of tax evasion) and in various parts of Rome you will also spot Army and Navy uniforms. Got to love a police force that drives Alfa Romeos …
Thursday night, Ms. Packratty dined at La Rosetta, which is noted for its seafood. She had a pair of prawns that had ambitions of becoming lobsters, served on a bed of insanely good risotto and a secondi that reminded her of her mother’s Lobster Newburg along with a half bottle of a slightly fizzy Frascati. Friday night, she intends to try Urbana 47 just down the block, which is famous for serving food sourced only in the Lazio region.
Friday she hopes to visit two of the National museums near her apartment and then take the 118 bus down the Via Appia Antica, although she doubts that she will have the opportunity to take any of the catacomb tours. Although she has done much of what she wanted to, including plenty of time just spent walking around experiencing the city, the list of things she wants to visit next time is now twice as long. And, as mentioned before, Ms. Packratty would like to spend about a week at the Vatican Museums alone. It's very entertaining just walking up and down Via Urbana and Via Panisperna and looking at all the little shops and businesses, which range from a couple of very blue collar metal and woodworking shops through high end glass and jewelry, an undertaker, various frutterias and alimentari, 4-5 coffee shops and Paneficio Monti, whose incredible breads I will miss terribly.
It is rather too bad that the Romans have not revived their public baths – after a week of using a tiny shower and with very beaten-up feet and legs, Ms. Packratty would love a swill in a really hot bath or three. As her bus has gone by the ruins of various baths, she has considered that a truly unfortunate thing – although I suppose most people wouldn’t behave well enough for something like that to be possible. She does suppose that someone who set up foot massage locations like the ones in New York’s Chinatown near some of the major tourist sites might be wildly successful.