A Roman Holiday by Aileen Cleave

In November we went to Italy.  I had been twice before but, incredibly, nearly sixty years ago!  How could that be and how was I able to remember it so well when these days I forget why I’m standing in the middle of the sitting room!

Because we also wanted to see the ruins of Pompeii, we flew first to Naples from Alicante.  Alicante has expanded and its now possible to fly to virtually anywhere in Europe,  whereas previously it would have meant flying first to Gatwick.

The plan was to arrive in Naples and then take a 15 minute bus ride to Pompeii, where our Airbnb was very close to the Roman Ruins ;  we would stay there for two nights then return to Naples for the train to Rome.  I have to confess to a degree of nervousness at the thought of a bus trip.  My husband thinks he’s still capable of backpacking round Europe like our grandchildren. However in the event we took a taxi after being assured that Italian taxi drivers have a maximum fee they are allowed to charge from airports.  A very good idea, I think, and one which would benefit English airports enormously.

The taxi was a wise choice because we arrived at dusk, and while Naples is very brightly lit, Pompeii is not.  Our  Airbnb was in a very quiet, dimly lit street and our host wasn’t answering the door.  Here the taxi driver more than earned his fare.  He knew the proprietor and rang him.  I have to say here that our experience with Italians is that they are hugely friendly and helpful people.   

The best way to describe our Airbnb is to say it was very authentic of Southern Italy, a little shabby but charming and comfortable and run by a young married couple.  We had a very pleasant night’s sleep, followed by a delicious continental breakfast before we set out to meet with the  guide for our tour of the ruins.

My walking is not good these days, a source of much regret for me, because I love cities and John and I would always opt for the streets of Prague or Budapest over a beach style holiday.  But I now use a walking stick if I’m going anywhere challenging, and these ruins were certainly challenging - but fascinating.  To walk through the chariot ruts in the roads where people had gone about their everyday life 2000 years ago, before a malevolent Mount Vesuvius  erupted and suffocated them in six metres of molten lava, was, to say the least, thought provoking.   

The tour lasted some three hours and when  we finally limped our way towards a bar for a revitalising beverage, my phone showed I had walked 15000 steps.  I was elated!

The train journey from Naples to Rome was a little disappointing.  I’d expected 

Si ya a  streamlined train such as the Spanish AVE, given that it was a journey of some three and a half hours, but it was just like the English commuter trains and it stopped at about a half a dozen stations.   It is worth mentioning in case anyone is interested, that the trains, and indeed the buses, are very easily booked on line.

When we arrived in Rome, John was determined to experience an Italian bus.  We had our 7 euro tickets on our phones, the number of the bus that would take us to a stop some 500 metres from our Airbnb near the Vatican, and we were looking forward to spotting various sights en route through the city. Unfortunately, it must have been rush hour because every man and his wife wanted the number 40 bus.  We just had ‘carry’ on luggage but on a crowded bus, believe me, that is still a lot.  I managed to get a seat which was just as well because I would not have been able to keep my balance as the driver threw the bus around corners.  John clung perilously to a strap while trying to stop his case from rolling away.  We knew we had to get off at a stop called Something Espiritu Santo (I couldn’t remember the first bit) but the indicator board was obstructed by standing people.  My ever resourceful husband asked a lady next to him in his best Spanish if she knew of this stop and, smiling, she counted on her fingers and said 3 more.  I had a fleeting glimpse of the Coliseum  before we thankfully arrived at our stop and disembarked .  I gave my husband a look that clearly said “never again “ ,  we’d take a taxi back.

How wonderful is Google Maps!  We set off through the crowds, following clear instructions, passing under an archway in an ancient wall till we arrived at a delightful cobbled street with restaurant tables lining each side, in front of  tall eighteen century houses, one of which was ours.   The air was heavy with the smell of garlic, pizza and melting cheese.  Our spirits rose accordingly.  No problem searching out restaurant.

Our rooms were on the third floor but the lift was waiting.  A very nice kitchen greeted us, then a bathroom and the sitting room/cum bedroom.  The first thing I noticed were the tall casement windows opening up to witness the wonderful sights and sounds in the street below.  Magically, as I opened the window, someone was playing a piano and singing.  I was enchanted.

John meanwhile called me in to ask what I thought of the bed.   Oh my goodness! I came down to earth.   The listing on Airbnb had mentioned a mezzanine floor, it hadn’t said a mezzanine bed!   Above the dining table and perched on what looked like a scaffolding pole was a wooden base just fractionally bigger than the mattress, and leading to it was a steep, wooden ladder.

“There is no way in this sweet world I’m sleeping there”, I said,  having visions  of one or other of us falling off and hurtling to the floor.

”Don’t worry” said John, “we’ll sleep on the sofa bed”.

However, the sofa bed was one puzzle too far for us.  No matter how we tried we couldn’t work out how to open it up, and we didn’t want to break it.

We’ll have to bring the mattress down, says John.  Fortunately, it was more of a futon than a mattress,  so I moved the dining table while , with very little difficulty, John deposited the futon in its place.  

After a delicious pizza just outside our front door, we came back and sank thankfully onto the futon and slept soundly, until sometime in the early hours nature called, and I found myself hugging a steel pole  to help me up. Getting up from the floor is not easy after a certain age! 

We rested the following day, knowing we needed to recuperate,  and just wandered through the ancient, cobbled streets,  getting to know the area.  For the following day we had booked an online tour of the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, which we knew was again about  four hours, standing and walking.

But, my goodness, was it worth it.  The art, the wealth, the incredible beauty of it all.    

I wanted to go inside St Peter’s Basilica so I googled to see if it was open to the public that day.  I had a notification a little later saying it was, but at the moment was cordoned off to allow for  processions of penitents.  So it was that as we walked back down the Via della Conciliazione , we were rewarded with several processions passing us, singing the Kyrie Elison, a Latin chant from the Mass asking for forgiveness .  I found it quite moving

We were staying in Borgo Pio, parallel to the famous  Borgo San Angelo, and the old fort of San Angelo, older than Christianity, was on the River Tiber at the end of our road.   What a lovely evening stroll that made.

We certainly enjoyed those restaurants lining our street.  Delicious steaks, wafer thin pizzas, and very nice Chianti .   We made our way (by taxi!!) back to the airport, having thoroughly enjoyed our two centre week in Italy.  This is by no means an advert for Airbnb, simply a wish to share with you a way of visiting so many wonderful places more often without the impossible expense of an hotel.   Buen  viaje!!