After a three-hour nap, which followed flights from Boston to Toronto and Toronto to Rome, we grabbed some pizza and set off to begin our exploration of the Eternal City at dusk. The kids (and their parents) were in awe of the ruins we saw along the way.
Just after dusk, when the lights came on, we could see why Sarah used the materials she did for her fourth-grade Colosseum project: Cheez-Its crackers and peanut butter. The Colosseum is bathed in yellow-orange light, and the darker, time-worn spots really do look like peanut butter.
From there we wandered over to the Victor Emmanuel monument/monstrosity, which was clothed in scaffolding for a restoration project. It seems that some monument or other is at least partially covered in scaffolding, but such is the state of a modern city in constant battle with the antiquity on which it depends for survival.
Our next stop was the Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps, but we decided we were still too tired to tackle them, so we headed to the Trevi Fountain, which was even more garishly touristy than we could imagine: hawkers with tacky trinkets and crowds climbing over one another (politely, though) to do the coin-in-the-fountain thing. It was awful.
As with anyplace, you find the best experiences in the unexpected. Since we had to walk back to our hotel because Rome's Metro line A closes at 9, we took a stroll down the still elegant, if not particularly hip, Via Veneto, past the poshest hotels to have a chance meeting with a guitar player in a doorway, accompanied only by his music, a couple of dogs and a few rabbits.
Our walk continued up the Via Veneto, past the Hotel Anglo-Americano, where I had stayed with my parents when I visited Rome with them 42 years ago.
Just after dusk, when the lights came on, we could see why Sarah used the materials she did for her fourth-grade Colosseum project: Cheez-Its crackers and peanut butter. The Colosseum is bathed in yellow-orange light, and the darker, time-worn spots really do look like peanut butter.
From there we wandered over to the Victor Emmanuel monument/monstrosity, which was clothed in scaffolding for a restoration project. It seems that some monument or other is at least partially covered in scaffolding, but such is the state of a modern city in constant battle with the antiquity on which it depends for survival.
Our next stop was the Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps, but we decided we were still too tired to tackle them, so we headed to the Trevi Fountain, which was even more garishly touristy than we could imagine: hawkers with tacky trinkets and crowds climbing over one another (politely, though) to do the coin-in-the-fountain thing. It was awful.
As with anyplace, you find the best experiences in the unexpected. Since we had to walk back to our hotel because Rome's Metro line A closes at 9, we took a stroll down the still elegant, if not particularly hip, Via Veneto, past the poshest hotels to have a chance meeting with a guitar player in a doorway, accompanied only by his music, a couple of dogs and a few rabbits.
Our walk continued up the Via Veneto, past the Hotel Anglo-Americano, where I had stayed with my parents when I visited Rome with them 42 years ago.
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