I was to have three more marvelous days in La Cita Eterna before going back to Northern California.
Having been in Rome only a few weeks before, I knew the immense amount of effort it would take to get from Fiumicino to Rome proper, and what it would cost. I also knew that this time I would be staying nowhere near Termini stazione (The main Train station) and lugging my large framepack around the city on the buses was not a good idea (They are generally quite crowded with very passionate Italians... who don't appreciate tourists taking up extra space with large backpacks. I've been told off before.) Plus, I was on the ragged side of being a traveler, being nearer the end of my journey than the beginning.
Did you know that there isn't a metro line that runs through the heart of ancient Rome? There's not. They're trying to build one, but it's proceeding ridiculously slowly because every few feet they drill they find another archaeological something or other and have to stop and let the historians come in and excavate, etc. So don't expect to see that metro line within the next ten years.
Anyhoo. I found the answer after leaving the baggage claim at the airport: Private car. Or, a shared private car. Less expensive than a taxi and much more comfortable. Much faster than the train/bus route. I paid 35 Euro (negotiated down from 45) and shared the back seat of a beautiful Mercedes with another American woman, who is the exact opposite of who I want to be when I grow up. (She was nice enough, but all in all a very narrow-minded person who I was surprised to find traveling at all... instead of sitting at home with her cats.) About halfway into the ride, our driver turned and tried to ask who wanted to be dropped off first, but she spoke verrrrrrrrry little English.
One semester of Italian to the rescue again! I translated for my fellow passenger and told the driver (a very fashionable bleached-blonde Italian woman) to drop me off last. We launched into as much conversation as my bad Italian and her bad English would allow, much to the disdain of the cat lady next to me. After dropping off cat lady, my driver and I laughed and chatted freely and then, out of the blue, she pulled the cab over to the side of a narrow, cobblestoned Roman road and motioned for me to hop out of the cab.
"Andiamo! A Surprise... per te!" (Let's go, a surprise for you.) So I hopped out and we walked into... a pasticeria (a Pastry bakery). She told the lady at the counter what she wanted and then motioned to the case and said "Pick something." It was a marvel of baked Italian goodies, that cold case. Sugared cookies and colored pastry, cremes whipped into delightful frenzies and stuffed into shells. I picked a Cannoli, because I hadn't had one in Italy yet. I went to my purse to pay and the driver said to me "No, no, no! Io pagare!... Because-a you are-a so sweet-a!"
I mean, really, if I didn't love Italians before, how could I help but love them now? Seriously?
She dropped me at the door of the tiny hotel I would be staying at, a Maison, got out, kissed me on both cheeks and wished me a wonderful stay in Roma.
Could you wish for a better beginning to a stay than that? I don't think so. (Well, if it had been a drop-dead hunka Italian man who had done it... that could have been a smidge better. ;)
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