A postcard from Rome or Why did it have to happen to me?

One Sunday morning in January 2005, I was having a cup of coffee with an aunt and uncle of mine and we were discussing holiday plans. My uncle and I decided Rome would be a good place to visit for a long weekend. We decided to go away for the Easter weekend. When I informed the churchwarden that the organist would not be available to play for Easter Day, a look of horror came over his face. I told him I had played for fifteen Easters on the trot and this next one was not going to be number sixteen. After that he took it remarkably well.

We departed the UK on Good Friday evening and landed at Rome Ciampano airport. Ryanair never take you to main airport, do they? It took almost an hour for our luggage to arrive, so by the time we got out of the airport it was midnight. I wasn’t worried, however, because I had already booked a taxi to the hotel and I had confirmed our booking by e-mail earlier that day. So you can guess what’s coming next! Due to a remarkable piece of serendipity we were transported to the hotel by the original firm I had booked with, not because they came to pick us up – they didn’t seem to know about the reservation – but because the couple they had come to meet didn’t turn up! All’s well that ends well? No, because the fun really started when we arrived at the hotel.

I was told by the night porter that Rome was very popular this time of year with the English. I could have been forgiven for thinking it was Christmas rather than Easter as there was no room in the inn. Oh dear! It’s now gone 1.00am. I was told not to worry as there was room at a better hotel; a four star hotel, and what is more we wouldn’t have to pay for the taxi. He told me that about five times, as if this was going to make me feel better. Arriving at the next hotel, two things struck me. Firstly, there are not too many four star hotels located down a dark alley way. Secondly, I have never seen a four star hotel that hides its light under a bushel and only displays one star outside its front door. I wasn’t in the mood to argue and the taxi had already gone. The night porter in this hotel was friendly, although he didn’t seem to be expecting us. His English was virtually non-existent and my Italian isn’t that much better. It was either charades or shout louder in English. I opted for charades. He did, however, have a room and he was very generous with his whisky measures. I can’t remember what time we eventually went to bed; obvious reasons.

The next day – after sleeping in – we enjoyed the Coliseum and a general potter around the eternal city; pretty uneventful and very pleasing for that. After dinner we went to the taxi rank and got a taxi back to the hotel. Now, I can’t recall the name of the taxi driver; Ferrari perhaps? It was the taxi ride from hell. Cutting everyone up, not stopping at a roundabout and driving down a tramline to take some form of shortcut; and of course he wasn’t doing this strictly within the speed limits. The fare cost 8 euros and I gave him 10 saying, ‘Keep the change. I’m just glad to alive.’

On the Sunday morning I was pick pocketed by an Albanian woman on a metro station. Thankfully – due to my quick thinking and raising the alarm – I managed to retrieve my wallet without anything being taken out. A close shave! I was wondering after that incident if anything more could go wrong and thankfully it didn’t. St Peter’s and the Vatican looked as wonderful as ever and I had to laugh as sunglasses salesmen instantly became umbrella salesman as soon as it rained.

Rome is a beautiful city. Go throw a coin in the Trevi fountain and make a wish. See where the Christians were fed to the lions. See the Roman Catholic HQ, and have coffee in endless cafes in what seem like endless piazzas. I just hope your hotel isn’t full when you get there!