Prior to coming to Rome, many people had warned me about the prevalence of theft and the special care that needed to be taken around the central transportation hub, Termini. I arrived at Termini on the first day, eyes darting, valuables secured by locks upon locks upon zippered compartments, vigilant and ready for anything. And then I promptly left my wallet on the train from the airport.
It was really cool to see Gaddafi's speech. He kept on pumping his fist, no matter what the crowd reaction was.
A nun laughed at me today. Not with me, but decidedly at me. I was visiting the Church of Santi Quattro Coronati, which is an interesting sight that acted as a fortress to protect visiting clergy and statesmen as well as Catholic officials from Rome, because of its strategic position atop the hill. Huge walls surround the church, which has a great little chapel off the main courtyard. But I digress. To get into this small chapel, you have to ring the bell of the cloister, and then a nun comes to the grate next to the bell, requests an offering, and opens the door of the chapel. Things were going well after I rang the bell and gave the nun a cheerful “buongiorno,” but then my Italian failed. She didn't prompt me at all, so I had to ask if I could enter the chapel, which is a big deal when you can't say your name in Italian. You may think that's an exaggeration, but a hostel receptionist did correct me on the pronunciation of my last name.
For the past week and a half, I've been researching (among other neighborhoods) the area around Stazione Termini, which is backpacker hostel heaven. Going into the good ones always makes me incredibly jealous, as I'll find, without exception, a group of people from all over the world who have recently met each other, laughing and enjoying each other's company as if they're old friends. People cook, watch movies, and go out together, while swapping stories that are unique to their respective upbringings and cultures. It is as if the hostel creates a unique culture in itself, like it's a sovereign nation where the custom is to be interested in and open to others. Hostels are some of the only places I've ever been where people let their guard down and just accept, without the usual anonymity and stand-offish behavior characteristic of any big city like Rome. Young or old, one-time tourist or world traveler, differences become unimportant, even as they turn every account and experience into an exploration of another place and time.
I recently visited the Museo Centrale Montemartini, which is a space for the Capitoline Museums' overflow sculptures from antiquity. The building used to house Rome's very first power plant, and the enormous machinery and generators have been maintained, providing an interesting background for the gods carved out of marble. This arrangement is generally presented as one of stark contrast, but it got me thinking (weird, I know) about whether it's less of a contrast than a representation of Romans' evolving conceptions of the forces that endow life and let there be light.
Fresh from his college graduation, Justin is spending his summer as an intrepid Let's Go Researcher in Rome.
It looks like Justin hasn’t made any quotes yet.
For 50 years, we have published the world’s favorite budget travel guides, written entirely by students and updated every year. With pen and notebook in hand and a few changes of underwear stuffed in our backpacks, we spend months roaming the globe in search of travel bargains.