Guided Tours of Rome and the Misery that Follows

After we left the ruins of ancient Rome we were off to observe more ruins, but the rubble we were off to see is a well-known star of Hollywood. The famous Hollywood star that has been reduced to rubble is not Joan Rivers-she doesn't even live in Rome, and I am pretty sure she isn't even Italian. The star that I am speaking about is none other than Gladiator's, Colosseum. This was the only tourist trap that I was looking forward to being caught in. Walking in the Colosseum's direction I was invigorated as I was hit with a fresh wave of energy. Finally something where I can explore a little, but again my expectations got the best of me.

We were not allowed to enter as a group since tours of the Colosseum were to be booked through the Colosseum only. As we individually entered the once glorious arena of battle, I noticed a lot of areas were fenced off. This hurt the aesthetics, but I still remained hopeful. That was before I had learned that during the fall of Rome to the Barbarians the Colosseum was not in use for entertainment purposes. It was actually being used for spare building parts, which reduced it to well, rubble. The once great site of bloody battles that thousands cheered for was now a bi-level track for fatties to run laps around. Apparently the Romans used it well because I did not see one overweight person during my time there. To add insult to injury the Colosseum had a fresh, hot steaming dung pile located on the second level.

Acquiring the wandering components of our group we made our way outside where we ran into Frida who resumed command. It took her awhile to explain what was going on next, not because it was a complicated set of instructions-it was far from that-but Frida had a knack for over-complicating things. All she had to say was, "Meet at this location at five o'clock, it is located down the street from Trevi Fountain." Instead she repeated the same idea over and over, but reworded it each time creating a confused bunch of world travelers. After everyone had given up on trying to understand what she was saying we nodded in agreement, and began following her. Of course what is an encounter with Frida without a Fridan head count? The Fridan head counts were occurring more and more as we stopped every ten feet for Frida to assure herself that no one had disappeared. This OCD like behavior caused what Frida had feared as a bunch of the girls noticed a group of actors dressed in similar fashion to the Roman warriors of day's past.

It was time for a photo shoot, but being a cheery Brit, Frida allowed it. As the Romans set up for a picture with Bevin I was contemplating running over to one of the street vendors located conveniently around the Colosseum, but I soon remembered my previous encounter with a street vendor. The thought that followed went something like this, Fuck those people. Hungry, and watching the girls in the group take photos with the hack Roman soldiers; I forced all previous expectations out of my head since it would only be for the better. The twins were up, and like true soldiers the red and gold clad Romans became quite friendly as they hoisted them up into the air probably in an attempt to cop a quick feel. I began to space out causing me to stare blankly in the direction that I was facing, which happened to be the location of the girls and soldiers.

My eyes were covered with a pair of brown tinted aviators that prevented anyone from seeing where exactly my eyes were focused. Showboating for the crowd one of the soldiers-who looked more Polish than Roman-made a comment suggesting that I was staring at his genitalia, but I was not. That son of bitch just happened to be in the vicinity of where my eyes were focused during my spaced out moment; cocky bastard.

We began our walk back towards Trevi Fountain (tourist and pick pocket paradise) and during the walk I saw what looked like a Pakistani man with one crutch limping around with his hand out asking for donations. You got to love the ingenuity these little scam artists possess. It seemed to be a common trend among all street performers to do absolutely nothing and expect money. That pseudo crippled bastard wasn't a street performer; he was a scam artist. However, due to my experience with Roman street performers I couldn't tell the difference.

As we approached the area around Trevi Fountain the group went their separate ways. I stuck with Laura and Chris as we looked for a nice place to eat. We ordered some chow after finding a small café located on the corner of a street only a short distance away from where we had to meet Frida at five. This was convenient since we could relax while we enjoyed a solid meal. Chris ordered a cappuccino and some mozzarella rice balls. I ordered up a nice square of lasagna along with the mozzarella rice balls. The rice balls were absolutely amazing, and acted as a huge morale boost. Laura disappeared soon after entering, but she emerged later from a hidden spiral staircase. She ordered up an Irish coffee. I remember it being too sweet, and as she notified the humble waiter he stumbled over the language barrier. He insisted cream would do the trick, but it did not. Laura did not want to hurt the feelings of the waiter who was trying hard to satisfy her so she just sipped it, and eventually handed it over to Chris. With a solid meal under our belts we headed towards the meeting point.

As we arrived we noticed various members of the group scattered about. Frida soon showed up to take us to where our prepaid dinner was scheduled. From my experience with reservations I had assumed we would be going to a semi-decent restaurant, but I was in for the dining experience of a lifetime. Of course, this was not a good thing. Walking one block while dodging numerous motorists who were in a hurry to some unknown destination, the group arrived at the terrible, god-forsaken establishment of Autogrill. Earlier in this tale of Rome I mentioned that Italy did a piss poor job of catering to American culture, and Autogrill was the embodiment of such an idea. As we grabbed a tray-yes a tray-and lined up to gather our prepaid meal, we were given the choice of pork chops (one of the few things I don't eat) and lasagna. I had just eaten lasagna only about an hour prior to our stop, and was certainly not going to eat it again. As I approached the man giving out the food I managed to talk him into giving me pasta.

I had grown sick of eating pasta by now, but it was the best of the worst so I was left with no other choice. Walking into the dining area I noticed all the seats had been taken so I sat down at an empty table close to the rest of the group. My back was to them, leaving me to eat alone. Taking two bites of the pasta, which also was over seasoned with pepper, I dropped my fork in a fit of anger and disappointment. After boredom set in I picked it up again and began shoving around the pasta in such a manner that it actually caused me to feel slightly depressed. Noticing the plastic wrapped piece of bread sitting on the corner of my tray, I decided it would be a good dining choice since I occasionally enjoy eating bread. Tearing open the plastic and cracking the bread in half to get to the delicious, doughy center I was shocked by the sight of a hollow middle. What kind of place is this? Terrible food and bread with no delicious, dough filled center! I had enough, and at that very moment my stomach also had enough as it forced me up from my chair. In a rigid speed walk I made my way towards the bathroom, which was at the top of a ridiculously long spiral staircase. Entering the bathroom that had deep puddles all over, I made my way into a stall, covering the seat in half a roll of toilet paper. It may seem a bit excessive, but I was not leaving anything to chance especially in a place like Autogrill.

The one nice thing about public restrooms, actually the only nice thing about public restrooms is the reading material you are provided with. However, the reading material provided by the patrons of Autogrill was a directory of transgender prostitutes, which not only disturbed me, but also made me glad that I had covered the toilet seat thoroughly. Finishing up, I found myself in yet another miserable situation. Stall doors in Europe were not the typical American stall doors. They used solid doors that could not be climbed over. Now I bet you are wondering, "Why would you need to climb over the stall door?" As I tried opening the door I realized it was locked and would not open. This was the miserable situation that I had come into. I was standing in a puddle of god knows what, facing a directory of transgender prostitutes, after nibbling on a terrible meal, all alone in a terrible mock American buffet. As this registered in my brain, a sudden gust of fury caused me to use all my might to knock the door open, freeing me from that vile place. It was not yet over as I slipped down a flight of stairs as I started to make my way back down the spiral staircase. Another thought comes to mind as I reflect on my experience with Autogrill, Fuck that place.

The group gathered by the door of Autogrill, and began obtaining whatever snacks and supplies they would need for the following day's bus rides and day trips. I did not buy anything because I felt it would be detrimental to society to contribute to such a god-awful establishment. One Fridan head count later, and we were off towards the Pantheon. The walk to the Pantheon was similar to the walk from economy through first class. I never understood why they would make people from economy walk through first class in order to get off a plane, and I sure didn't understand why Frida would take us to Autogrill then show us an area of Rome that was so elegant, so beautiful, so captivating that it almost seemed surreal. Cafes that appeared peaceful and calming lined the streets that were made up of the most perfectly placed cobblestones I had ever seen.

The street performers were not the typical Roman street performers...they actually did something. Most of the performers were musicians, and as I saw a man playing guitar accompanied by his buddy on the violin I felt obligated to give them some money for finally showing me that not all Roman street performers were talentless bums. As we came into the square where the Pantheon was located I was frozen in place as I noticed a festival type atmosphere with street musicians, children running about, and people enjoying drinks and conversation at the cafes surrounding the square. There was a man resembling the great Jerry Garcia playing the guitar, and it was in that moment that I knew something must be done. It was time to finally take a stand against the hellish tourist lifestyle that I had suffered through all day. Enough was enough; the tyranny of Frida and the EF Regime would no longer keep me a prisoner. It was freedom or death, but I would not settle for yet another tour surrounded by flash bulbs and dunderheaded, brainwashed prisoners. I went to Chris and explained, in secrecy, my plan to escape. He said, "Have fun," and I suddenly realized it was not hard to lose the manacles placed upon me by the Fridan faction. I found a seat at the café closest to the Italian version of Jerry Garcia and ordered a beer-a big beer.

As I waited for my beer I drew in a deep breath, and finally found what I had been looking for. The search for a peaceful, relaxing moment was over and as the euphoric feeling settled into my mind, the beer had arrived. To my surprise the waiter brought me some potato chips, which were covered in olive oil. This was even better because I had been meaning to try the olive oil chips, but did not have the chance to do so.

Sitting there sipping my beer, and listening to the Italian Jerry Garcia play a way on his acoustic guitar, I was overcome with a feeling of relief. It would've been nice to have someone to talk with, but I was glad to be free from the tourist hell. Sitting there for the twenty minutes I had, I did some reflecting on the trip and some reflection in general. For one I realized Rome was not as bad as I had previously assumed, just ninety percent of it. It was more a giant museum of a city than anything, but the square in which the Pantheon was located in was absolutely stunning. Maybe if we would've had free time to explore Rome on our own I might have left Rome with a better impression in my head. Instead the tourist aspect of Rome had tainted me in such a terrible way that it could be considered a form of brain rape. I was mentally raped by Rome and tourism.

As the group emerged from the Pantheon I sat trying to finish up my beer, but I was not going to chug it. Frida seemed flustered as she executed yet another Fridan head count, and I had assumed it was because the count was short due to my self-removal. This was dangerous; a panicking Brit was on the loose. Acting quickly I waved my hand, which caught Chris' attention, and he informed Frida of my whereabouts. I also made a suggestion that we should be allowed to have free time, but again Frida made it a complicated task so I decided to stick with the group. We made our way back to Trevi fountain, but thankfully it was nighttime, and most of the tourists were nestled in their hotel bed waiting to contaminate the streets on the following day. Trevi fountain was much nicer at night, which made it more enjoyable.

Maybe I was in a good mood because I avoided another tourist excursion or maybe it was the booze. It was probably a combo of both, but whatever it was, it did not matter since I was finally enjoying Rome. While this newly uncovered enjoyment set in, one of the members of the big group had gone missing. This had turned Frida's world upside down, and she quickly organized rescue squads to go seek out Phil, the lost member. I stood there cracking jokes and acting like a fool. While I was doing so, one of the annoying little scam artists came up to Laura and I, trying to sell us one of his crappy, wannabe stretch Armstrong toys.

He handed me it, and I knew he would ask for money as soon as I grabbed it, but feeling refreshed and in the mood to terrorize the little pest I snagged it from him. I then turned around, and went back to joking around and acting foolish. He was persistent in obtaining the two euros I "owed" him, but I kept thanking him for the nice gift. Apparently this tiny Hindu man was an Indian giver, and after a few minutes of being a pest to him I gave him his silly little toy back; it was the last I would see of the rat bastard. We waited fifth-teen minutes before we decided it was time to leave Phil behind. The rescue squad would meet the group back at Vatican City where Paulo would be waiting. Meanwhile Frida led us towards the Spanish steps, which was basically a set of marble stairs. Maybe some terrible tyrant had been beheaded on the steps or something interesting had happened there, but Frida did not explain why we were observing the steps. The beer I had acquired was gone, and I decided to go take a leak at a bar across from the Spanish steps. Walking into the bar I was shocked by how much marble and gold was used in the decoration. Even the toilet was marble, and this dedication to detail prompted me to a buy a beer from them. Grabbing the beer with the highest alcohol content, I made my way back towards the group who was being bothered by a line of street merchants selling light up rings.

These street merchants were less persistent than the parasites at Trevi fountain since they would leave after two times repeating the phrase "No I don't have money. Go away." Coming back to the group with a beer in hand was a weird feeling since I was the only one drinking. I felt like the black sheep, but it was not my fault that people were not thirsty. The metro was located a block away and it was the fastest way of getting to Vatican City. We entered the metro, and found out that the ticket machines were picky in regards to what euro they chose to accept. After about twenty minutes of screwing around with the practical jokers of ticket machines we began waiting for the train to the Vatican. The train had arrived, and we boarded in a hurry in order to keep Frida calm. The train jerked off, causing me to lose my balance, but being quick like a cat I avoided falling down. Chris and Angeline cracked jokes about me being drunk and how I would probably fall down before the train ride was over. They said this while holding on to the poles, which made balancing a much easier task. I chose to live on the edge not using anything, but my stance for balance; using such a technique makes it impossible to avoid the occasional wobble. I was far from plastered, and knew I would not fall down, but they insisted that the more the train stopped and started up again, the more the chances would increase-silly fools. The train reached Vatican station, and I had not fallen down. We all got off, and began our walk towards St. Peter's.

Frida seemed confused on which direction we had to go in, but she did not realize she was standing under a sign that had St. Peter's Cathedral written on it with an arrow pointing towards the location. I notified the people around me of the sign, and began walking in the direction. Frida eventually took notice and followed suit. Stopping at a Bancomat to acquire fifty euros, I lost the lead, but I did not care. We made it to Vatican City where we met back up with the rescue squad, which consisted of Marshall and another guy who I did not know. No sign of Phil, who could have been lying in some alley way incapacitated. He did in fact, have a lot of expensive camera equipment on him, and there are a good amount of shady bastards in Rome, but we had no time to worry so we boarded the bus after another goddamn Fridan head count.

Phil greeted us as we returned to Villa Maria in the depths of night. Apparently he had spent one hundred and thirty American dollars on a cab ride back to the hotel, but I was too tired to chat so I headed up to the room for sleep. That was the last day the group would set foot in the city of Rome and on that note, Nero had the right idea; When in Rome, Burn the place down.