Times Roman 2

Our second call in Rome was at no less delightful a hotel than our first visit. The Hotel Britannia is also centrally located, just off the Via Nazionale, a major central Rome boulevard that marched straight downhill from our hotel on the Via Napoli to the wing of Trajan’s Forum that is marked by his namesake column and, immediately beside it, the previously mentioned and still hideously garish “wedding cake” that is, officially, the Monument to King Victor Emmanuel II.

The hotel also offered a complimentary limo pick-up at the Rome airport but because it was so close to the train station – where we arrived in the city – we simply hopped a cab. (Leslie had previous secured a “no problem” message from a hotel representative when, before we even left Ottawa, she had asked if we could swap out the airport pick-up for a ride TO the airport when we checked out. As it turned out, that would figure as, whoops, NOT a “no problem” after all when we checked out, but more about that later.)

The Britannia is another of those properties where you have the distinct feeling of being welcomed by a family, rather than by whoever happens to be working the front desk when you arrive. (As it turns out, this is hardly surprising if you consider it began life as a lavish multi-storey private home.) And of course we were welcomed by another Francesca. (I think it may be a requirement that if you are a woman working in the hospitality industry in Italy, you pretty much have to be named Francesca.)

Not being a boor, I didn’t start snapping photos of the hotel’s wonderful self-described “neo-classical” public spaces, but their website provides a nice shot of the front desk lobby, among others. How could you not feel welcome stepping into this foyer? (Photo source: http://hotelbritannia.hotelinroma.com)

I confess that when I saw our room, I got the distinct feeling that Italians take “neo-classical” to mean “modern tribute to Pompeii’s brothel”, as this shot of our bed, its pillows and the room’s window coverings would seem to suggest. But it was wonderfully comfortable and came with a well-sheltered patio and a fridge stocked with Italian beer in addition to the usual contents you find in hotel room fridges of assorted soft drinks and mineral water – the difference being it was entirely complimentary.

Having begun the day in Paestum and now finishing it, it seemed, a bazillion hours later in Rome, we pretty much just collapsed. Day 2 would see me turned loose while Leslie attended Day 1 of the conference that was the “official” reason for this trip in the first place.

The Britannia’s breakfast – included in the price of the room – was among the best yet. In fact, I’m hard pressed to think of a breakfast item that wasn’t to be found somewhere among the offerings on either their hot or cold buffet. The carnivore in me was especially delighted because the variety of meat choices was astonishing – from the expected bacon through an array of traditional Italian cold cuts such as prosciutto, several salamis and capicollo, complimented each day with three or four different cheese options as well. By the time you added the baked goods, cereals and fresh fruit, we inevitably left so well-fuelled that we pretty much bypassed lunch each day.

For Day 1 on my own I opted for a lengthy morning walkabout and a planned afternoon visit to the inside of the “wedding cake”. I’d read that it included a military museum and Italy’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, exactly the sort of thing that the Air Force brat in me always finds interesting.

Early on in my walkabout, I grabbed what has to be one of my all-time favourite unplanned travel shots.

Rome’s tourist areas are stacked with sidewalk vendors who seem to want to sell you anything you may be dumb or naïve enough to buy.

In fact, as an aside, one of the most puzzlingly popular this visit was something I dubbed the “snotball” as soon as I saw it demonstrated. All around the Trevi Fountain, for example, literally every two or three metres some forlorn looking fellow (and it was always a fellow) would be standing with a shiny surface like a small whiteboard sitting atop a fruit crate. As you approached, he would listlessly make a Price-Is-Right style pose and then slam a golf-ball sized blob as hard as he could onto the whiteboard. It landed with a huge “splat” and, depending on how it was coloured, it briefly resembled a fried egg, or a bloodshot eye, or Jackson Pollack tribute before reforming into its spherical shape.

But not only that, it would also emit the most pathetic whine – like the sound of a stricken cat – as it reconfigured itself. At a slow walking pace, you could experience the questionable joy of three or four such splat / whines before you got beyond range.

But I never once saw money delivered up for one of these. Not by anyone. The whole time we were in Rome. Although we met a family from BC in Orvieto who confessed they bought a couple for their kids and, sure enough, they died (the snotballs’ whine, not the kids) the very next day. (*Phew* sure glad I resisted the siren call of a snotball as a souvenir of my Italian vacation!)

Hmmm… digression within a digression. This is getting almost Zen. How in the world did I get onto a dissertation about snotballs?

Oh yes – another of the odd things that Italians seem to think tourists will pay for is the opportunity to take your photo standing beside a “re-enactor” decked out like a gladiator or Roman Army centurion or simply someone’s interpretation of a Hollywood-ized version of either costume. And although less populous than the snotball vendors, they are numerous – even to the extent of assembling in groups around major attractions like the Colosseum. (The tourist is usually given a plumed helmet – if a man – and a curly wig with a tiara – if a woman – so that his Hawaiian shirt or her sundress would blend right in with the sweat-drenched faux leather of a Christian-killing competitor fresh from the arena.)

This guy was completely oblivious to the fact that he probably had more photos taken of him as he stood on the Spanish Steps engaged in a vigorous cellphone conversation than he likely would experience in a week of trying to cajole tourists into posing with him. Along with about ten other equally amused visitors to the Steps, I fired a couple quick distance shots and then we all pretty much realized he was so wrapped up in his conversation that short of actually bumping into him, we could get into perfect portrait range.

Leslie and I both agree it’s a classic.

Oh, and a snotball P.S. Apparently, they’re officially called “splat balls” (quelle surprise) and not surprisingly at all, the Internet actually has a short clip of one in action, in slow motion no less. Here it is, but you’ll have to imagine the pathetic death scene whine because the video is silent.

I also note that it’s offered for sale on a site called “Office Playground” in multiple colourings, including the fried egg and eyeball, which makes me fear for my former work colleagues. Because it’s just the sort of thing that could turn up in the loot bags at some future team-building exercise. Keep an eye out (Haw!) for snotballs, you guys! You’ve been warned. 

Back to the "wedding cake".

I actually have to temper my observations about the hourly changing of the guard that takes place at the exterior part of Italy’s Tomb of the Unknown at the top of the steps leading to the "wedding cake"'s front door, because I have seen one of the best – the US ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Washington’s Arlington National Cemetery. It is a masterpiece of precision, with not a single wasted or casual motion and drill movements so sharp and meticulous they seem robotic in their perfection.

But this shot pretty much tells you all you need to know about the Italian army’s adherence to ceremonial “precision”. The guard pair on the left is supposed to be precisely in synch with the pair on the right and clearly they are anything but. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. While waiting for the “ceremony” to begin, I noticed that one of the two guards let go with an unabashedly gape-mouthed yawn before his shift’s replacements arrived. That sort of thing would have made the national embarrassment news in the US.

(At Arlington, even the occasionally required guard order to a loud or laughing individual among the crowd of observers is a request to “assume an attitude of RESPECT” throughout the ceremony, delivered in tones ranging from a polite request to a fearsomely bellowed reprimand.)

In sharp contrast to its blinding white exterior fronting the rather gaudy Emmanuel Monument, Rome’s Unknown tomb, deep in the Monument’s interior, is sombrely understated and moving. Like such hallowed places everywhere (and I have also seen France’s and Canada’s, in addition to the US and Italian “Unknown” memorials), it always trips a feeling of respect and genuine grief over the millions of lost young lives they collectively honour. Nowhere in my own family – so far as I am aware – is there a military relative with no known grave, but my lifelong readings have referred time and time again to the sobering, indeed the staggering numbers of “no known grave” casualties in the histories of the world’s wars.

The Monument’s museum, in addition to the expected battlefield experiences of the past couple centuries, also pays tribute to Italy’s historical military role in disaster relief.

This shot, for example, is intended to illustrate a typical earthquake relief centre, where emergency supplies are distributed to survivors – in this case in the wake of two May 2012 earthquakes (magnitude 5.6 and 5.8 respectively) in the northern part of the country where relief was co-ordinated by the Army’s 6th Engineers.

Another highlight was an elevator ride to the Monument’s rooftop observation level, which offers sweeping views of the city, such as this one that includes the Dome of St Peter’s Basilica in the distant centre of the photo.

And continuing my policy of never passing up an opportunity to enter an ancient basilica, this is the view that greeted me when I went through the front doors of the Basilica di Santa Maria in Ara Coeli, whose entrance is atop a mighty climb of steps from the street, or a simple crossover from an upper level link of the "wedding cake".

Santa Maria in Ara Coeli (St Mary of the Altar of Heaven) is one of the oldest in Rome. Its foundation was laid down on what had been a Byzantine Abbey dating back to at least 550 A.D., although the church itself was completed in the mid-1200s.

And it is a survivor. Because when the Victor Emmanuel II Monument was built, you may recall from an earlier note in this trip diary that a vast section of the Capitolino Hill was hauled away before the construction began in the early 1900s,requiring the demolition of several other churches and mediaeval structures, something that countless classical Roman historians and archaeologists still consider to have been a travesty.

When I got back to the hotel for a mid-afternoon battery re-charging, Leslie had returned from her scintillating (sarcasm mode on – more about that later) conference and was ready to go just about anywhere else rather than back to it.

So off we went for a wander that took us past the Presidential Palace in the Piazza Quirinale, whose daily military honour guard could give lessons to the rather casual unit serving at the Tomb of the Unknown. The different branches of the service rotate the honour of augmenting the Palace’s permanent guards and, on this day, it was the Navy’s turn.

For beautiful military uniforms – and no, that’s not a contradiction in terms – you’d be hard pressed to beat or even match (although England’s Household Cavalry gives them a run) the ceremonial kit worn by the Presidential Palace permanent guard. Unfortunately, the few guards we spotted were tucked well back into the palace grounds safely out of public and camera reach, but the internet, once more, comes through very nicely.

Here’s a full mounted unit of them in ceremonial dress escorting the Pope. The cost of silver polish alone must have its own line in the Army’s annual budget!

After the late afternoon walkabout in what had been a scorchingly hot sun, Les and I decided that the day merited an early evening return to the cool shade of our hotel room’s patio and we decided to make a picnic dinner out of it after finding a fantastically well-stocked convenience just a block away on Via Nazionale. (In Italy, we also discovered that “convenience” means ready access to high quality gourmet foods, wines, beers and just about anything you can think of!)

There are worse ways to wind down a day in Rome than with a bottle of wine and an almost endless antipasto platter that included some outstanding olives, meats, cheeses and sinfully freshly baked crusty rolls.

Up next: the Vatican and the Villa Borghese.