Rome Day 1

3 06 2010

And so it was; I came in over Rome trying to get my first glance of this historic city but finding my view impeded by the happy, kissy, get a room couple in the seats between me and the airplane’s window. It would be another hour before I saw the city and then it would be at street level. When I finally rolled in on a Terravision coach my first impression was: Wow, look at all the graffiti. The route the coach took into the city managed to avoid all the sights and upon arrival at the train station we spent an entire day in a traffic jam (well maybe 20 minutes but I’m rather impatient). People had been warning me all week about the pickpockets in Rome and I was on the defensive in this, not very attractive, area of the city. After parading up and down via Vincenca with my luggage for a while I found my hostel.

First impressions? I liked it. Good clean place and friendly staff. Up to the room and I’m greeted with the sight of three Americans trying their best, but not very well, to hide the disappointment that I’m not hot or a chick. After a quick introduction I make my excuses and arrange to meet in the bar later for a beer.

Collosso (First view)

Armed with a map and holiday buzz that’s growing I decide to take a wander to the Colosseum. I don’t so much wander as run and then, turning the last corner, there it is. I stand in the road like some class of a gobshite staring at this fascination. It’s inspiring, even by the standards of stadia built today this building screams at you: I’m the nuts. I’m worried about getting too close because I know I’ll stay here for the three days when I recall the invite to drink wonderful beer with my roomies. So about turn and back to the hostel.

I came to Rome on my own with the intention of an educational holiday and a learning experience. The night that followed decided otherwise. The only thing I love more than beer is fun and when the two are combined, well that’s just awesome. And combine them I did. Within a few hours I’m discussing some of the most vulgar aspects of ex girlfriends and dabbling in some mild international joshing. “Oi Yank, you come to Rome to eat cheeseburgers and insist that all the locals speak to you in American?”

“No I came for the ice cream and to be as loud and obnoxious as possible”.

“Good man”.

As the evening progressed all the satellite travellers moved to our table and with a group of about ten we giggled, pissed, farted and drank the evening away.

Somebody had drunken fumbling with girl we would later nick name The Wildebeest and somebody else had some slap and tickle with an old bird that became known as Scabbie. I was one of those people but I’ll refrain from saying which. Those stragglers who joined our group assumed I was lifelong friends with the Americans after listening to the utter abuse we were giving each other. Somewhere in the back of my brain there are memories of walking some women home and doing things that would make a bishop turn his back on the cloth. After an hour of giggling I finally went to sleep. I had to go and see the pope in the morning.

The travellers