Not Mama's Little Girl, Anymore

Five

Growing up, I watched Audrey Hepburn traipsing around Rome with the debonair, Gregory Peck. She was a princess hiding from her boring royal duties and he was a reporter looking to land a story to beat all stories.

This is how I envisioned Rome and I couldn't wait to dance with a dashing reporter and ride on the back of a Vespa all day. Chances of this happening to me — zilch, nada, niente (as they say in Italian). A girl can hope for excitement and adventures like the movies, and then that very same girl can have a boatload of different adventures.

Claudia and I start our morning with a cappuccino with a double shot of espresso and an almond biscotto. Italians are not big on breakfast and lunchtime is the largest meal of the day followed by riposo, which is the Italian version of an afternoon nap. I'm all in as far as afternoon naps are concerned, but this riposo thing has put a bit of a crimp in our plans. Shops close from around twelve-thirty until three or four pm, so we have a heavy agenda of touring to do in a few hours.

First stop is the Trevi Fountain. I toss my coin over my shoulder and make a wish. And no, I didn't wish for Gregory Peck. He's dead and I'm so not into zombie hookups. Eww. My wish is to find the biggest, baddest sale of designer clothing in Rome today. I want to look like a fashion plate when I'm here. Shallow, yup, but it's my wish.

Out comes the selfie stick with some radical photos of the Fountain. Once we exhaust the myriad of options for photos at the Fountain, we pull out our cell phone and click on an online map of the route to the Pantheon.

Before coming to Rome, I would look at photos of The Pantheon and would be underwhelmed. Okay, there is a hole in the roof. Whoop-ti-doodle. I mean, so freaking what? When I walk in, I'm mesmerized by the sight of the light streaming into the darkness inside, highlighting the architectural details of the dome. Everyone's faces are turned upward. It's so quiet within, even the footsteps of the people inside seem to quiet as they enter. No lie, I feel the elevation of my soul at the serene beauty before me.

The stream of light is reminiscent of how movies represent God or an angelic presence with a ray of light bisecting the darkness with its brilliance. I'm so inspired, I could write a poem about this place. A thousand photos later, we leave for the nearby Piazza Navona.

The large open area is a change from the quiet reflection in the Pantheon. Three fountains, hundreds of people and lots of pigeons. It was a fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot, and I wanted nothing more than to wade into the fountains and cool off kind of La Dulce Vita-style, except in a different fountain. The Spanish Steps will be our final destination for today before returning to the hotel. We follow the tourist map through the narrow streets soaking in the scenery around us.

The streets are narrow and the front doors of the apartments and residences along the way open right out onto the street. I bet they have to look both ways before stepping out of the houses. Above us, metal balconies are filled with clay flower pots with thousands of colorful blooms, or millefiori as they say in Italian. Attached to the metal rails, clotheslines wave with banners of colored shirts or white sheets flapping in the sultry breeze. Everywhere we walk the undercurrent of conversations hum as we pass by. Straight back chairs line the balconies or sit in a row by the buildings where there is room. Older ladies in black with scarves covering their heads sit together chatting or nodding to passersby.

Time passes swiftly with so much to see, and we find ourselves at the base of the legendary Spanish steps which stretch up from the Piazzo Spagno to the Trinita dei Monti church at the top. One-hundred-thirty-five steps peppered with artists sketching, gelato vendors, and tourists taking a break on the steps as they enjoy the activities. Claudia and I sit eating our gelato and debating the merits of Keats, Shelley, Byron, and Browning.