Roamin' 'round Rome

October 8^th

(Midnight)

I kinda had a feeling the adventure wasn't going to be over for the day when I arrived into Rome. As usual, I was not let down by my intuition.

As I stepped off the train I noticed hundreds of backpackers and tourists roaming the streets with their luggage. I didn't think much of it until I found out that every single hotel, hostel, and hole in the wall was "completo" for the night. Full. No rooms.  I rode around the city late into the night, walking into over 30 hotels, all of which were completo and none of whom would offer me a solution. Then I found a Radisson. The guy at the front desk called every Radisson in town and their affiliates. And still, no dice. As I started walking out, my heart pounding with fear as I faced my options of riding in the dark for 20 or so kms to get out of the city and to a place I could pitch my tent, or sleeping in a very unsafe city park or bench, the front desk guy said "wait, you are so lovely and beautiful and young. There must be a solution" (this machismo part of the cuture isn't bad all the time after all)

The guy then magically found a reservation that had not yet arrived for a 300$ room he was going to give to me for 150$ (since that was as low as he could go in the computer) and he was going to just cancel the reservation 3 hours earlier than he should, so I could go up to the room and sleep. It turns out he is moving to Brazil in 3 days, and I guess wanted to  exercise whatever power someone in that job might have, prior to leaving. Well, good for me, anyways.

(noon)

even after 3 servings of the free breakfast and 2 cappuccinos, the room was definitely not worth 150$. Do you know I've not spent 150$ in the whole last 2 weeks for accommodation, all put together!?! Anyways, I checked out, and as I did, asked for directions to the Canadian embassy. When he gave them to me I thought it a bit strange because it was no where near where I thought it was supposed to be. But then he said, "Lady (putting me in my place in a machismo culture), I looked on the internet, and Madam (again, placing him above me, as a dumb woman who wouldn't possibly know) that is where it says it is."

I walked 3km underground with millions of other tourists to finally get to the subway that thousands of other tourists got onto, then got off at the stop where hundreds of other tourist got off at. The Vatican. Where a bizzillian locals then tried selling us dumb tourists anything from tours to tickets to tshirts.

I saw my first real nun. I wondered what those 900 people who work in the Vatican get paid. And what do they REALLY think?

At 11 am I found that the embassy  I had been sent to, was, in fact, the wrong place. And the section for visa's had been moved across town. I ran. I jumped on a bus. I sat on it in a panic. I watched the map. I barely saw any of the sights of Rome, though I surely passed them all. I jumped off. I ran some more. I took a moment and thanked myself for being healthy. I arrived at the Visa section 5 minutes before it was to close. (AND they will be closed Monday for thanksgiving so had I not gotten here on time it would have been absolute, mass disaster!)

The morning, in short, has sucked.

This city could be cool but the current situation, my mind set, and a zillion tourists buzzing around me is making the experience quite sour. Part of me wants to do the tourist thing. Another part wants to get outta Dodge. Everything is booked full until next week anyways, so I am tenting regardless. I might as well make it into a fun jaunt towards Naples....

 

(1:30pm)

 

While still contemplating what to do, I walked through the city a bit. At one point I passed the British Embassy, which had guards standing out in front of it with huge AK47s. Not comforting. Then into a music store which had it's music blaring and some pretty cool shirts. I looked around at the shirts a bit, but felt embarrassed for asking the price of them in English, so I said nothing, and left the store. As I was leaving the shop keeper turned down the music and started yelling to me in Italian. I whipped around, thinking he was reading my mind and wanted to tell me there was a great sale on for the shirts. But I soon realized he was yelling AT me. "Blah Blah, Blah ah!"

"Excuse me?" I replied.

"When youa comea into a storea, you say, Bon journo, anda when youa leavea a storea, you say Arrivaderci, that is whata we do herea! And ifa I goa outa, that isa what Ia do!"

He screamed, red in the face.

I stared for a moment in shock, thinking to myself he's had 5 too many espresso's this morning, and all I could muster as a reply was, "Wow." and chuckled at him as I left.

But it was all a front. I was hurt. I was so hurt by how he yelled at me, that it was the final straw, and I headed straight for my bike, and straight out of town.

Just me, and my bike, both a bit hurt.

(8pm)

k, maybe at this point in the day if I were offered a Radisson room with a free breakfast the next day for 150, I'd take it. If, for no other reason than fear. The fear of being caught and the fear of having stuff stolen.

I am camping by the sea now. I think I am pretty well hidden but I keep hearing people's voices! I am so paranoid someone is going to come by like that man from the other day and tell me I can't camp here and I have to go. And it is dark. And it will start raining soon. I try not to stress to much about it, since there's not much I can do at this point, but my heart is pounding in my throat.

For an hour as the sun was setting I looked. I went to 3 campgrounds in the area. And they were all closed. I didn't even know campgrounds closed, let alone when it is still warm outside. It's not like they require any upkeep. Just gimme a place to put my tent, please!

Sped out of Rome at about 3pm. I felt so stressed, nervous, and anxious there. Partly because of the passport and visa stuff, but also I believe that some places have a certain frequency that just does not agree with you. Other places might feel like home the second you arrive. Rome is one of those places that does not vibe with me. I'm not catchin' what she's throwin'.

So I rode South West, down to the ocean. About 10km from the ocean I had a moment. It was like when you first step into a hot shower on a cold, dark winter morning. It was as if something had just washed me clean of the previous 20 hours. There was a sudden shift, and I was myself again.

October 9th

(10am)

I'm writing this from a balcony overlooking  the sea. It's a bit windy so the waves are crashing. It's a bit cloudy so the sky is lit up only in spots. I'm drinking a cappuccino from heaven. I am in Netto. I don't know what it is about the clouds in Italy. But, they are different. They are always so fluffy and lined in silver. I've only seen clouds like this two other times: 1. painted onto the ceiling of the Venetian in Las Vegas, 2. Paintings by Michelangelo

I wish I knew the words for water and toilet in Italian. I need both right now. I wish I had a little Italian phrase book.

After having cycled for the seventh day in a row now, I should mention both my neck and and crotch are doing just fine (a miracle?). My legs were never in question; though, on occasion when I go to sit down, my knees ache as if I was 90. But, all in all, there is still pain, and it is always in my hands. The bones that are pressed on my handlebars 8 or more hours a day are badly bruised. In fact, my palms are quite swollen from it. I move them around my handle bars all day, trying to give each part a break. I wear gloves. And there is a point where the pain turns to numbness. But mornings are tough, if for no other reason than that first push on the bars or breaks.

I made soup on my stove for breakfast while I re-packed and unassembled everything this morning.  I always feel like a bit of a hero when I make food on that thing. Not sure why. It is like the epitome of roughing it. Speaking of which, I only spent a total of 3€ yesterday. Oh, no, wait, I bought a subway/bus ticket to get to the embassy so it was a total of 7€. Today, so far, only 1.60€ (I got 2 cappuccinos, one as I first started writing this entry and then another since then...you would have too, if heaven only cost 0.80 cents). I am aiming to only spend 15€ total over the next 3 days. That way I won't have to take any more money out on my visa until I return to Rome and spend another 100€ on my French Visa.

(12pm)

My Italian diet of pizza, cappuccinos, beer and French fries is definitely the way to go. In fact, I want to promote beer as one of the best nutritional supplements for endurance athletes. This is a scientist speaking! On this Italian diet, I am never too full; rarely too hungry; have lots of energy for the kms,, and get to experience the local culture while I am at it.

Speaking of experiencing local culture, Roberto, or Robbie, as he likes to be called, just entered and exited my life in a whirlwind of Italian, laughs, twinkling eyes, and espresso. He rode up behind me about 30 kilometers ago and proceeded to chat with me until he had to turn around and head for home. But not before he bought me an espresso, showed me where to go on the map, and squeezed my cheek goodbye.

I've already said, many times, how much I like Italians. They are so fun and forgiving. When Robbie first came up behind me on his bike he started speaking Italian and I was like, "Ciao, non Italiano, sorry." and he looked so disappointed so I suggested French but he could not speak it, so he just tried Italian again. And if he kept it simple, by asking me the usual questions I knew and could reply to (where are you from; where are you going; how many kilometers to do you do a day; what happens when you get a flat tire; where do you sleep????) and I was able to answer with my single word or mixed languages answers; likely mispronounced at that. Either way, it worked.

I feel as though I have a kinship with both this language and these people.

I do have to say though, there are some things I'm not too keen on. Currently, they are: motorcyclists, the price of wine, and machismo.

The motorcyclists in and around Rome have a death wish. What's worse, they seem also not to care about any other lives either. Now, I am anti-motorcyclist to begin with. I've always thought that the only people in developed countries who drive motorbikes are either too lazy to ride a bicycle; too poor to buy a car; and have serious size issues they want to make up for, if you know what I mean.  What makes the motorcyclists even worse in Italy, is they think the side lane, strictly for bikes and pedestrians, can also be used by them when it is more convenient to do so. So they come up behind you going 60km/hr, race by 2cms from your arm, and usually even have the audacity to yell something mean to you. The thing is, in those instances in a country where organ donation were assumed, such as you have to opt out rather than opt in, I'd be totally fine with this behavior and simply thank them for in the ensuing weeks, likely saving several other people's lives by killing themselves. However, it seems in countries with high religious 'values', logic tends to be low on the law makers list of skills. Therefore, I am guessing Italians don't want to part with their organs. And therefore, their behavior bothers me.

Secondly, wine is about 2€ per bottle. That was not a typo. And you can buy it anywhere, at any time. I don't want to complain about something so magnificent. But it does have it's downfalls.  From punk teenagers to retired seniors, there is nothing stopping these people from drinking one, two or even more bottles of wine a day. This must have repercussions within society. And I think I have found it. They are lazy. In fact, Italians are some of the laziest people I've ever seen. If it weren't for the Indian, African and Chinese immigrants, I'd bet there wouldn't be an economy at all. For if ever I need or want something, in particular early in the morning, mid afternoon, or late at night (during which times Italians are all drinking, eating or sleeping or doing all three) I find the nearest Indian. Why? They always are able to speak English, they are always looking for opportunities to make money, and they tend to bargain, and help, if they know there is something in it for them. Italians, on the other hand, at one point at 5:55 told me they would not make me pizza as it does not open until 6, told me I could not put my tent up for 20€ as the tenting season is over, and there were many other instances where I was like, 'do these people not want to make any money?' And then I'd realize, I guess you don't need to make money when all you need is a few bottles of wine and espresso, both of which cost less than a few bucks.

Lastly, machismo. I know I mentioned earlier how I feel uncomfortable with all the male attention. Them telling me I am beautiful and giving me free things like pizza and bike stuff. I feel uncomfortable because I don't ask for this. I am wearing my bike gear and usually haven't showered for days, for gods' sakes. Let alone the fact that I walk in wanting to pay for something. I feel like in an exchange where they place me into a category of pretty and give me something for free, they are doing two things, 1. immediately demeaning me as nothing more than a pretty girl, and thus, putting them above me, and 2. immediately treating me as if I need them by them giving me things for free, as if I were some prostitute or something. Aside from obviously over-thinking the way men treat me here, it is also the way they look at me or other women. The way they hold their girlfriends hand and at the same time look another girl up and down slowly undressing her with their eyes. They way they blatantly use women, and more importantly, the way women except that as their fate. More on this later, I am sure....

(8pm)

All in all, a very successful day. Tried, and loved, my first proper Italian spaghetti as well as gelato. Never going back to the American stuff. Not for lack of trying to pay for a camp site, I got my tent up in the dark on the beach. And I am feeling much more confident about this spot than last night's. Having said that all, I did suffer multiple lacerations and puncture wounds whilst finding this spot and setting up my tent, thanks to some massive relative to an aloe vera plant.

Other success's today involved getting a free tire - a sympathy gratis, or maybe the machismo part of the culture. Either way I had brought it in with three band-aids on it. The band-aids were protecting the out tube from collecting stuff into the big gashes from the glass on the streets of Rome.

I rode another 110kms today. And I might have even gotten a sun tan. It was at least 30C this afternoon.

Yes. I should have just gone straight to Italy.

 

10-10-10

(10am)

Is it just me or was it just 08-08-08? Time flies.

Trains are by far my favorite way to travel. AS the sun rose this morning I packed up and set off. I stopped for a quick nutella filled donut and cappuccino (Italian breakfast of champions) and hit some serious hills, tunnels, and views of the sea, before arriving in Formia, where I would take the train to return to Rome. My legs were definitely feeling the miles this morning. Not burning sore but tired; heavy tired like every time I would turn the pedal with one legs, I'd think, 'can I do this again?'; like about the 35km mark of a marathon.

On the train to Rome we are passing vineyards, olive orchards, and eggplant trees (!?). For a big city like Rome, the best option while cycle touring is definitely to take public transit into the middle of the city (if you must go) that way you don't risk life and limb for two hours of traffic and muddling your way through the maze.

(11am)

Ok, I am pissed. I didn't validate (stick my ticket into a machine before getting on the train) my ticket because the validating machine was broken on my platform. And the last time I took a train here and didn't validate it (because I hadn't known I was supposed to) the lady on board just did it for me. Well, here's some 'machismo' for you. The a-hole ticket guy finally got to me at the back of the train, and hour through the ride. As soon as he looked at my ticket he started going on and on about a "big, big, really big problemo". And since I hadn't validated the ticket (though I told him the machine was broken and he told me the other machines weren't and it was just the one on my platform... ok, yeah, I'll carry bike bike down 20 stairs and up 20 stairs and go over to the other platform when my train is due to arrive in 3 minutes, see if the other machine works, and carry bike bike down 20 stairs and up 20 stairs again. Good idea.) I had to get off the train. I had to get off the train immediately, and validate my ticket and get on the next train. And he mentioned several times how he was doing me a huge favor because he should be charging me 50€ for traveling with an unvalidated ticket. I asked, sweetly, if there was anything he could do, knowing full well there was, and he started yelling about how he was helping me already. Ass.

SO I got off at the next stop. Which just so happened to be in the middle of nowhere. To wait for the next train which apparently comes in an hour.  When I got off the train, three punk loser hick boys (like 17, come one, I am old enough to be your mother!) started hitting on me, making kissing noises (!!!) and saying stuff I don't understand. I was fuming. Would they have ever gotten a piece of my mind if only I could speak Italian!

I really don't like the way men disrespect women here. And as if that wasn't enough, all the validating machines at this stop are broken! SO now I need to wait an hour while these homos across the tracks talk to and about me, get on the next train, and risk another 50€ fine since my ticket still isn't valid.

(1230pm)

Update. The 1130 train did not come. Some sort of mechanicalismo problemo. SO I wait. For the next train to come. In 2 hours.

4pm

I arrive to Rome and go straight to the Coliseum. Just to get it over with.

(7pm)

I love Italians. Yes, I've had a few run-ins with unhappy men and sexually frustrated women. But as I sit here in a little restaurant that I found in a corner of Rome, chatting with the owner and his Bangladeshi waiter, I fall in love with Italians again.

It wasn't an easy day. When I finally got onto the train, not a soul  came to see my ticket. After all that. Then getting into Rome, finding the hostel, and all that all over again was not something I had wanted to repeat. But this time it was easier. And now I am having crazy conversations with the Bangladeshi about how Bush and Bin Laden are best friends. And how all the current hype about the likely terrorist attacks here in Europe is just a political cover up for something else going on. In these moments when I know that there is so much out there, bigger than me, I just thank Buddha I am just a regular person - who might understand much more than I should - but at least I am allowed to live a relatively normal life.

Getting back to the day, I saw the coliseum and a bunch of ruins and mostly just a zillion tourists. I had a large beer while I walked and really tried to get into it. But I just couldn't. Rome just doesn't do it for me. I mean, yeah, 1000's of years of history, Western civilization, old buildings, etc. But c'mon, China invented paper, money, ceramics, metal work!!! Gimme something new, Rome, aside from a horrible fear based religion and gladiators.

(10pm)

After some excellent lubrication involving good company, my dinner (the Bangladeshi's concoction for a special Canadian vegetarian) and a ½ bottle of wine, I tried yet again to be one with Rome. And as I walked up towards the National Museum, then over towards the Coliseum, this time lit for the night; with crowds thinning and the air clean and crisp, I started feeling it. Rome and I started to jive. I started thinking, yeah this place is pretty cool. The buildings are pretty spectacular. The history is quite impressive. I walked closer and closer to the Coliseum and then, I began to feel a bit odd. Every lamp post had a Chinese lantern on it. The Coliseum was lit in red light. Further on I noticed the lanterns all read (Zhong guo wen hua nian) The Year of Chinese Culture. And this was even written on the side of the Coliseum! In that moment of realization, I lost what little love I had for Rome. The universe gave me a message. China is the best.

October 11^th

(8am)

Hostels are a great place to meet fun, adventurous, like-minded people from all over the world. Every four days or so they have been an oasis for me. A place to shower, wash clothes, charge my phone and camera, dry off, and feel secure that I won't be attacked in the middle of the night. Or at least if I am, there are people around to hear it.

But hostels also have their downfalls, some of which were made very clear during last night's snoring match; where, 6 out of 10 bunks in my room held some of the loudest sleepers I have yet to come across. Furthermore, they were, unconsciously or not, reverberating throughout the night, and creating possibly the world's first, six piece, nose orchestra.

I am in the breakfast room now, watching U2's New Years Day video. That was unexpected. And drinking coffee. I promised myself I would not drink coffee today. It makes me nervous and anxious. Two things I do not need on the day where I fight for  my right to get into France. The trouble is, at these places, is it's free. And much like sugary pastries that I'd never buy, when coffee is free, how can one say no?

(4pm)

I just got off the phone with Bastian. And I am not complaining here because it is fun to solicit information and advice from him. It helps us keep connected. But it is becoming a daily occurrence for me to need him to look something up online for me while I am on the road. Distances, weather, hostels, train schedules, the nearest bike shop and how to get there, etc. All of which could be avoided if I just had a smart phone. It's the only thing I've wished I had on a daily basis this entire trip. It would make my life about a billion times easier.

Now I am sitting on a train to Pisa. As in the leaning tower, yes. To my left is my camel back, in which, contains my new passport AND my new 3 year French Visa. I am happy and relieved but now feeling mixed feelings about continuing my journey. I won't go into detail but it mainly involves some fear and anxiety about both moving to France and moving in with Bastian.

With these mixed feelings I am both fueled to get to Bordeaux ASAP, and digging my heels in at the same time. So we'll take this one day at a time. Today? Leaning Tower of Pisa!

(8pm)

Arrived. Found hostel. Checked in. Threw stuff on to bed. Got a map. Speed walked through Pisa. Arrived at the Leaning Tower as the sun set. Took pictures. Laughed at such a ridiculous thing (who honors a faulty, poorly built building?) Mosied back. Got Pizza on the way (gotta have Pizza in Pisa). Had some wine. Watched people. Locals, tourists, and bums, in 1:1:1 ratios. Back to my room. Started planning. Promised Bastian I'd be there by the weekend.

(The good news is, I woke up with the sun the next day and was able to get a proper pic of TLTOP for the blog:)