NOTE: All posts and pictures have been updated, so you can go back and look to see what you've missedJune 7
Today was another of those travel days, which are quickly becoming my least favorite. We took a taxi to the train station, our next stop Rome. We situated ourselves in front of the station information board so we could see as soon as our train pulled up. Nanny realized that the train didn’t leave until an hour after we had thought it would, so we found ourselves with two hours to kill. I read my book, depressed as I realized I was getting close to the end of it. When our train finally did show up, we hustled to it. Our ticket placed us on car number one, which made me happy until I realized that car one was a the very end of the train. All the way to that end we dragged our despised luggage behind us, only to find that the door on this particular side of the train refused to open. So back to the beginning of the train we went, Nanny exclaiming “I’m not gonna make it!” I turned around and shouted “Oh yes you can, common you old woman!” To the front we went. When I found myself back at the first (or, technically last) car I made the decision to keep going and let Nanny catch up. I had planned to go back and help her. Cars 4, 3, 2, I was almost there when I heard chatter come over the station loud speaker, first in undecipherable Italian and then again in accented English. “Train to Roma ready to leave from platform number eleven” My seconds were numbered. I ran the last few feet to the door, my feet screaming in protest against my new black plastic flats. I hopped on board and pulled with all my might at my luggage behind me, trying to drag it up the three or so steps. A man in the green jacket designated for station employees gave the bottom half of the bag a push, and I tried to communicate to him that my grandmother, whom I hadn’t spotted since I rounded the front of the train, would need his help more than I did. I don’t think he got the message. After I got my bags situated, I leaned back out of the door, somewhat worried that it might slide shut on my pretty little neck, and searched for Nanny. There she was, some ways away. “Just get on the train!” I yelled in her direction, not sure at all that she would hear me. She seemed to understand because she began to direct another green jacketed man in the heaving of her luggage. I watched until I was sure that she and all of her bags were on board, and then went to find a seat. The conductors came not long after that to inform me that Nanny was back on car 7, which was fine with me. I didn’t think I would be able to move for the next half hour or so, come wind or rain or fire. I checked the damage my blasted shoes had wreaked and found that they had caused some minor skin removal from the backs of my heels, but nothing a band aid wouldn’t fix.
An hour or so later the train stopped and everyone rushed to bottleneck the tiny exit door. I waited and got off last, dragging my luggage behind me. Nanny was waiting there with a little old man and a luggage cart. Without saying more than a word or so, the little man grabbed up my bags and tugged them onto the cart. He pushed the cart which had to contain more than three or four times his body weight towards the exit, Nanny and I following close behind.
Outside we were lured to a taxi by two Italian men. 60 euro was their price. Nanny made a few exclamations about that and the little old man did some jabbering with them in Italian but they had begun loading our bags into the back of their cab. Nanny did a little more complaining and they lowered to 50. She decided she had had it with these people, and instructed them to just remove our bags from their vehicle. One Italian slammed the side door of the car shut and began a commotion, Nanny bickering along with him in English. He threw our bags out of the back of the car, where our little old saint loaded them more carefully back onto the cart. We went for the official taxi line and found a much more friendly cabbie who loaded our bags in and agreed to take us to the hotel for 35 Euro (which we learned later was still too much). He had to let us out about a block away from the hotel, as the streets were narrow and crowed with people. We walked the rough cobblestone (or is it flagstone?) road, my luggage bouncing along behind me, threatening to wrench the handle from my death grip. I passed the hotel up twice in my search, following a map someone had given me. We found it at last, the Teatropace. It is a quaint seventeenth century building with low ceilings and stone entryway. The receptionist behind a desk in what would be the lobby, if the hotel had one, is very nice and extremely helpful, I have found. I think our room must have been an office at one point in time, as you have to climb a spiral staircase to get to the door that holds a gold plate that says Private. All the other rooms are on the ground floor or up a larger staircase in another part of the building. Breakfast will be served in our room, an experience we have yet to have.
After settling in and recovering from our train station mishaps, we went out for a look around. After circling part of the square close to our hotel, hunger pains set in and I decided it was dinnertime. We went back a few streets and ate outside at a small café (as seems to be the pattern). I had gnocchi which was a dish of doughy pasta balls in a creamy white sauce, and Nanny had some

eggplant something or other. We began to hear loud music coming from the square we had recently exited and went to discover the reason behind it. Apparently, Rome is having some sort of gay pride parade. The square was full of people as well as a mardi gras type float that blasted music such as “I will survive” and “Let’s get it started”. The street artists that had been set up were fleeing the scene and people entered and exited the masses dancing, singing, waving flags, and holding balloons and rainbow co
lored accessories. After a little while of standing and watching the scene before us, we decided that we were ready to go back to the peace and serenity of our hotel.