BUDAPEST PART TWO

Thursday morning saw us up early because we planned to go out of Budapest to the old town of Szentendre (St Andrew), about a thirty minute train ride away.
After breakfast we walked down to the embankment and along the road towards the Margaret Bridge where buses trams, the underground and above ground trains meet.
After some initial wandering about, we worked out that the station itself was underground. Then we had to negotiate tickets in Hungarian, but fortunately the ticket lady knew the English for “Return” plus our destination.
Our train was like any suburban train, in this case green, and it rattled along between stations past suburban blocks of apartments and further out, long back yard gardens with vegetable beds and fruit trees.
The houses could just as well have been in Austria or the Czech Republic all with steep gabled roofs and just a touch of that cuckoo clock look, but painted in brighter colours.
When we alighted at Szentendre, we saw in front of us, cobbled streets with charming eighteenth century houses on either side, and shady vines and trees and down to our right, the broad Danube.
Szentendre is a town rather than a village and it goes back to the eleventh century, but after the departure of the occupying Turks some centuries later it became almost deserted. It was repopulated by refugees from Pest who then decided it was worth staying. There are virtually no buildings later than the eighteenth century. A lot of the buildings are now museums, and the rest are either churches or shops with apartments upstairs. There are lots of narrow stepped alleyways leading up and down from the river. And of course there are lots of little cafes and restaurants.
It was another hot day and Barbara and I stepped into the courtyard of one cafe, the Dorothea where we ordered beer and lemonade. It was very pleasant to sit in the shade of a spreading leafy old tree, sipping our drinks and watching life pass by.
The many little shops offered every kind of souvenir as well as clothing, liquor, ceramics, prints and lacework. And there were stalls selling great strings of red chillie peppers and bunches of garlic.
In the centre of the main square (Fo ter) stood the Cross of the Merchants, a pink marble column decorated with Orthodox icons and topped with an iron crucifix in the Serbian style. Although Hungary is 75 per cent Catholic, this area was home to many former Serbs and near the Merchants Cross stands the Serbian Orthodox church of Blagovestenszka, its bell tower crowned with the familiar black squat steeple.
We climbed the steps of one of those narrow alleys to emerge onto another open square, the Castle Hill, where stood the parish church of Szentendre, St John the Baptist’s, a cream and white edifice with a square bell tower at one end and spreading green trees providing shade around its walls. There’s been a church here since the Middle Ages and this one was built on the original walls in the eighteenth century.
Inside the furnishings were baroque with a richly ornamented rococo altar.
This place was also once used as a fortress, and from the outer wall we could look out over brightly tiled rooftops all the way to the Danube below.
We walked back down into the town passing a cheery crowd of young people all dressed up for a wedding at the town hall, returning to the Dorothea Cafe where we lunched on crunchy bread rolls with cheese and tomato, washed down with tall glasses of homemade lemonade.
It was approaching mid afternoon when we reached the railway station again, and took the train back to Budapest. We had planned to visit the Parliament House but having traipsed across the Margaret Bridge in the hot sun and along the embankment to the entrance to the building we were told by an armed guard that the last tour had ended an hour earlier. We could tour the building tomorrow at ten am.
So we sat under the trees for a while before heading back to our hotel, this time using the tram as far as the entrance to the Chain Bridge.
We decided to get a bit of a nap at the hotel before getting up and going to a free concert at the St Andrew Basilica at 7pm.
But once again, age caught up with us and we didn’t wake up again until six thirty. We would never make it.
So we watched some of the UEFA Cup on TV before going out for our last dinner in Budapest.
This we wanted to be special, so we took the funicular up to the Castle Hill again, and there found a delightful outdoor restaurant called Apetito. For the next couple of hours we watched the passing parade while sharing a bottle of good Hungarian Merlot, beautifully fresh olive bread, mushroom soup something truffle flavored and a creamy veal dish served with fluffy gnocchi. We couldn’t have managed dessert, and settled for coffee, before strolling around the promenade one more time.
Then we wandered down a softly lit street past darkened courtyards and doorways with the trees of the park on the other side until we reached our own little lane and the hotel.
We still had a few hours of Saturday morning before we headed for the airport, so we set off again for the Parliament House and arrived in plenty of time to get tickets. On the way we discovered that the Chain Bridge and the surrounds had been blocked off for the day. This was because the day was designated the Chain Bridge Summer Festival, and the whole bridge was lined with stalls and novelty shops, and street performers.
So we walked down the middle of the bridge and along the riverside to the Parliament House to spend an hour or so as part of a conducted tour of an amazing building.
This nineteenth century structure stands on the Pest side of the Danube and is partly modelled on the British Houses of Parliament. It is dominated by a red ornamental dome which connects the Upper and Lower Houses. The system now has only a single Lower House, the Upper House being used for receptions and so on.
We were taken inside and up a grand staircase gaping at the rich ornamentation all around. The entrances to the various chambers were arched with finely carved oak with red marble columns and filigrees of white and gold leafed plaster. The walls and ceilings were decorated with frescos and paintings and all kinds of statuary.
When we reached the centre of the building we looked up again at the ceiling of that cupola finely decorated in gold leaf, and directly below it in a glass case, the Royal Crown of Hungary, the orb and sceptre once carried by King Stephen centuries ago.
There are guards in traditional Hungarian uniform and every fifteen minutes they come to attention, draw their ceremonial swords and salute the crown. (Of course there is no monarchy in Hungary now.)
We visited the Lower House or Council Chamber which is also very ornate, laid out in a horseshoe of wooden seats, each with its microphone, speaker and electronic voting panel. There are nearly four hundred members who meet here in two long sessions each year.
We left Parliament House and crossed the square to an imposing building which houses the Ethnographic Museum. There was an exhibition of photographs of what were called the “forgotten Europeans”.
These are peoples who have been over the centuries, displaced from their original homes and those who are left, live within other communities and countries. We had never heard of “The Sorbs” or the Szips”, although we were aware of the Assyrians and the Romany people. A fascinating story.
But time was rolling on and we decided to get some lunch and head back to the hotel. As we rounded the corner from the square we could hear music.
On a temporary stage there was a traditional Hungarian orchestra and young men and women in brightly coloured traditional clothes were whirling and spinning to lively folk music.
So we bought ourselves some plates of hot paprika sauced chicken cooked in huge pans in the open air, and settled down on a bench to watch the show. It was fabulous. As well as Hungarian dancing there were singers and dancers from Slovakia, and other countries including one act which appeared to be Moroccan. There was a great deal of foot stamping and clapping at which we both joined in with gusto.
The sun was shining, the performers were wonderful, the beer was flowing and we could have stayed all day.
But alas we had to tear ourselves away, and head back to a waiting bus and a flight back to England.
Where of course, it was raining!

BUDAPEST FIRST DAY

FIRST DAY IN BUDAPEST
Last Wednesday we set off to visit once more, the beautiful city of Budapest. Our flight from Gatwick was uneventful and we arrived in Budapest late in the afternoon (one hour ahead of London time).
To get to our hotel, we booked a mini-bus and were driven through homeward bound traffic and some rain, until we reached our destination a little before dinner time.
Our hotel, the Carlton was a perfectly located modern building tucked away in a quiet street a hundred metres or so from the river front on the Buda side of Budapest.
Once checked in, we set out to explore the nearby streets in search of a restaurant. As I said, our hotel was set in a little side street with a set of steps leading down towards the River Danube, at the top end of the steps we could look up towards the Castle Hill dominated by the bulk of the former Royal Palace, and down towards the splendid Chain Bridge, one of the bridges which connects Buda to Pest. There was a funicular railway leading up to the old part of the city, which we decided to take in the morning. In the meantime we found a nice little restaurant called the Gong (a boxing reference apparently), and enjoyed a bottle of Hungarian white wine, with spicy goulash soup, and veal with almonds and a dessert of apricot sauced pastries.
The next day dawned warm and sunny and we were off again, firstly by funicular to the top of Castle Hill, looking back towards the Danube and city spread out below us. We had a book of recommended walks which we decided to follow to some extent, so for the next few hours we wandered around the tree lined Castle Promenade, the Alexander Palace, and across the cobbled Parade Square and along charming old world streets where Beethoven once walked and Mozart visited. There were rows of baroque houses, many of them painted cream and yellow with geranium boxes and greenery lining little courtyards and alleyways. We stopped for coffee in a shady park across the square from the old church of St Matthias where many of Hungary’s kings were crowned. It was first built in the early Middle Ages, and rebuilt in 1896. The place is being restored right now but looking up you can see a beautiful variegated ceramic tiled roof. Beside that, a great statue of St Stephen, Hungary’s first king, looks back from his horse, in the shadow of a group of turreted walls and parapets known as the Fishermen’s Bastion.
As we headed towards the path leading down to the river we walked by an elaborate sculpture with a hunting theme, called the Matthias Well, with coppery green figures of the king and his bowmen and a slaughtered deer, and all with streams of water cascading down.
On the way out we crossed the courtyard of what is now the Budapest History Museum, part of the old palace. And then past a fourteenth century round stone bastion and the Mace Tower, also a Middle Ages defence structure.
Down at river level again we enjoyed a quick lunch at a little bar across the lane from our hotel. This was followed by an hour’s nap. (God we are getting old!)
Refreshed and with the afternoon wearing on, we walked across the Chain Bridge, with its huge stone lions guarding each end, and into Pest. This is by far the busier, more hectic part of the city. To our left we could see the ornate red dome of the Parliament House, which we would visit on our final day here. Around us traffic moved fast and furiously in all directions. There are zebra crossings but until you learn to trust the drivers to stop, they are a bit daunting. However we did pluck up the courage and plonked a foot on the first line. Sure enough the cars stopped and we skipped across the road, waiting only for the yellow trams to go by, and then onto the green lawns of Roosevelt Square. Passing lots of smart hotels and fashionable shops, we plunged on up a long wide street towards the imposing dome of the St Stephen Basilica. We emerged into the bright sunshine of the Basilica Square and climbed a wide flight of steps into the cool of the interior.
The building of this enormous edifice was commenced in 1851 and was not completed until 1905.
Inside is a panorama of frescos and murals and gilt and plaster. The building is laid out in the shape of a Greek cross and the paintings are the work of many of the finest artists Hungary has produced.

Our next stop was the State Opera House, a neo renaissance style building built with help from the Emperor Franz Joseph at the height of the Austro Hungarian Empire. We walked up a grand royal staircase past elaborately carved statues and entrances to the various boxes. From the auditorium we could look up at a magnificent and gorgeously decorated dome with a chandelier, and back at rows and rows of red velvet and gold decorated boxes stacked up to the ceiling.
Having paid tribute to Hungary’s Christian tradition, we then wandered through a network of streets wide and narrow in search of the great synagogue of Budapest. Our guidebook told us this is the biggest synagogue in Europe but it took us a while to find it, having paid several hundred Forints to inspect the restoration work in another synagogue a few streets away. (The wrong one).
But we did find it and it was worth the effort. We were shown around by a guide who told us that only one other synagogue in the world is bigger. Guess where?
New York of course!
But this building is magnificent. It is able to hold upwards of three thousand people and its design, both inside and out is influenced by a mixture of architectural influences. Its twin domes are decidedly Moorish with walls in alternating stripes of yellow and red brick. The book says Byzantine-Moorish and oriental.
Inside, while it follows the requirements of separating the faithful by gender, there is much in common with a Christian church. The area of what we might call the sanctuary, where the texts of the Torah are kept, is a rich velvet curtain and a flickering red lamp surrounded by white marble and gilt, almost in Christian orthodox style. Apparently the architect who came from Vienna, was not Jewish and his only experience was in the building of churches.
This building was the centre of the Jewish ghetto during WW2 and part of it was used as HQ for the SS at one time. Around the outside in the grounds there is a mass grave of those thousands who died here mostly from illness and malnutrition. Every gravestone has a death date of 1945.
The place was left in very bad condition at the end of the war, but has now been totally restored.
We were interested to learn that this was due in large part to the support of the film star (of Hungarian Jewish background) Tony Curtis.
Also in the grounds outside is a large sculpture of a silvery willow tree, each leaf inscribed with the name of a Jewish citizen of Budapest who died in the Holocaust.
It was now late in the afternoon and we stopped for coffees and cake at a nearby sidewalk cafe, and watched the passing crowds. There were office workers, jumping for trams or buses, old men out for a walk, teenagers talking and smoking and ogling passing young women; mothers and kids with prams and middle aged women gossiping over coffee (and more smoking). We bought ice creams and headed slowly back to our hotel, across one of the oldest parts of Pest known as a Vorosmarty Square. This is the hub of this part of the city, and a very popular meeting and strolling (and smoking) spot.
Barbara and I found another restaurant close to our hotel and enjoyed another Hungarian dinner. This time saddle of hare, and chicken paprika were on the menu, along with white wine and in my case beer. This place offered all sorts of beer, mostly Belgian, including apple beer and flavoured beers like strawberry, pear, peach and even passion fruit. So I asked for a Stella. This was the only beer they did not sell, so I settled for a Pils.
After that we strolled by the river and looked at the lights across the water. They floodlight many of the public buildings and bridges.
Tomorrow we planned to chance our hand on public transport and head out of the city to an old town called Szentendre (St Andrew) More of that in the next blog!

CHATSWORTH, EYAM AND CASTLETON

The past week has been a hectic one. Having returned from Venice, I developed a viral infection which kept me in and out of bed for several days. Having spent Saturday afternoon at the village fete (see last posting), this bug just got worse. It’s been over a week now and I’m only just starting to recover. Now of course, Barbara has got it but at least she had the sense to go to the doctor and get some penicillin pills.
Last Tuesday, regardless of viral infections we set out for the village of Eyam (pron Eem) in Derbyshire. If you’ve ever read a book called A Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brookes, you’ll know about Eyam. It is famous as the “plague village”.
We’d booked a night at a B and B and set out on a hundred mile drive into the beautiful Peak District of Derbyshire.
About half an hour before we reached our goal we rounded a bend to be surprised by another great English House, the seat of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, Chatsworth.
We spend a few hours wandering through great halls and reception rooms and glorious gardens. The place was built in the 1550’s and boasts an amazing collection collection of art and sculpture which has been added to over the centuries. I’ve included some samples here.
We reached Eyam itself late in the afternoon and checked into a cosy room above the Eyam Tea Rooms. As this is a pretty small village of stone cottages and houses, we set out to find a few of the plague landmarks. Read the book if you are interested in the bigger picture. Briefly this is the story. In 1665, the village tailor received a parcel of cloth from London. It was damp and the tailor’s wife asked his assistant George Viccars to dry it in front of the fire. He did and thereby released plague infested fleas. A few days later George was dead of a raging fever and terrible sores. Over the next 14 months 260 villagers died of plague. It would have been far worse except that the village rector William Mompesson persuaded the villagers to quarantine themselves from the outside world, thus stopping the spread to the whole region. He organised food to be left by a border stone outside the village, and you can still see it, with holes where money to pay for food was left in vinegar, to stop the spread of germs. Many of the houses are marked as plague houses where whole families perished. And their graves still stand in fields outside the village. William Mompesson’s wife Catherine is also buried in Eyam. There is a place called the Cucklett Church in the Delf, the Delf being a deep valley with an arching open cave half way down. This is where they held open air church services, because people wouldn’t get too close to their fellows lest they catch the pestilence.
All of this Barbara and I explored in what we thought was our limited time in Eyam. Then I drove the car down a lane which ended in a narrow track going nowhere. In reversing back up the track I managed to burn out the clutch. The end result was a one night stay became a three night stay.
People were very helpful however, and despite our raging colds, we managed to do more sightseeing, and the man from the B and B drove us to another village called Castleton, where there is an old castle (Peveril),built in 1086,and huge caverns where they one mined lead. The scenery too was spectacular, with very steep green covered dales and peaks, and dark leafy forests. They also mined a beautiful crystalline rock called Blue John. It’s almost like opal but mainly blue and yellow in colour, hence the name, which comes from the French Bleu/Jaune.
Finally on Friday, our car was ready to collect, and we had an uneventful drive home. Today we are both trying to recover from this bug before we set off for Budapest on Wednesday.

The Village Fete

Just a short post this time, to tell you about our attendance at the Ascott Under Wychwood Village Fete.

Another pleasant spring day and we found our way to the local sports ground, by following the colorfully dressed scarecrows in people's gardens. Apparently scarecrows are a tradition at village fete time.

There were all the usual things, beer, cider and Pimms, strawberries and cream, a white elephant stall, raffles and all. But the highlights were performances by the Chipping Norton Brass Band, and a team of Morris dancers. As well there was a Punch and Judy show with all the kids joining in. Öh no it wasn't ", said Mr Punch.

"Oh yes is was" yelled the kids.

I haven't seen a Punch and Judy show since I was about six, but very little had changed.

This was the most English of afternoons.

AHHH VENICE

Ahhh Venice!!!
After our wonderful couple of days with Pam and John in Rome, Barbara and I were up early on Saturday morning and finding our way by Metro back to Roma Termini. We’d booked seats on the train to Venice and actually managed to find them without any serious problems. Right on time the train pulled out and we settled down for three hours. This was a long weekend and the train was full of Italian families heading off for a spring break, with lots of beautifully dressed and animated little kids with toys and crayons and games provided by their parents in the hope of occupying them on the journey. Also on board, were tourists like us and lots of American and English backpackers. We chatted to a young American student who came from New York and had never been abroad before. Believe it or not she was part of a college tour engaged in “Vatican Studies”. We assumed her professor had figured out a way to holiday in Italy once a year.
Outside we could see orange tiled towns flying by, interspersed with olive groves and vineyards. We passed through Bologna, Florence, Verona and Padua and finally Mestre where we alighted, only to find we should have gone on one more stop. Still the next train was only five minutes away, and soon we were pulling into the Venice station. A minute later we emerged into bright sunshine, with sparkling waters and boats of every kind. Being old Venice hands (this was our fourth visit) we headed straight to the Vaporetto ticket office and bought a 48 hour pass. Then we were disembarking at Santa Maria Del Giglio and hugging Fritha and Anthony who were waiting on the jetty. It took no time at all to find our way down a couple of narrow alleyways to the Hotel Torino, to check in, shower and change into summery clothes. Then it was out again and looking for a place for a late lunch of bruschetta, panini and sandwiches, washed down with Italian beer or Pinot Grigio.
We spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering about, across the beautiful, and tourist packed Piazza San Marco, then plunging into that network of tiny streets, across canals with gondoliers plying their trade, drooling outside shop windows offering Gucci and Vuitton, Boss and all the other fashionable brand names of clothing and leather bags and Venetian masks and delicious ice cream, old books and smart shoes. You could spend a fortune here, but it costs nothing to look. We emerged onto the Grand Canal and walked across the beautiful arch of the Rialto, looking at more shops, and Anthony photographing everything that moved. Below the bridge, gondolas, motor boats, water taxis and vaporetti hurried up and down the canal, carrying passengers to the cafes and bars and restaurants lining the Grand Canal.Late in the afternoon we stopped at a bar on the edge of a little square, with a hotel and an old church opposite. There we enjoyed more wine and beer, and were entertained by a group of strolling musicians who played “Somewhere My Love “and more romantic Broadway numbers. It was quite delightful, but in the end we had to pay them a couple of Euros to go away.
That was just in time for the bells of that nearby church to peal six o clock, and every other church in the city joined in.
We wandered off down more laneways and alleys to a restaurant that our friend Pam had recommended called Goldoni’s. The walls were covered in photographs of stage and film stars, Italian and others, including our Nicole.
Dinner was pasta and pizza and fruit salad.
We saved coffee for later on, walking back to the Piazza San Marco where the sidewalk cafes were starting to fill up, and their orchestras were tuning up.
On one side of the Piazza, the famous Cafe Florien still does business after some hundreds of years, but tonight we chose Quadri’s on the opposite side. A waiter in an immaculate white tux and white tie, served coffee on a silver tray, and we settled in to listen to the orchestra playing classical pieces, and some Broadway pieces.
As the evening progressed, and the orchestras on either side of the piazza took turns at entertaining us, we moved on to more Pinot Grigio or beer, and finally a bottle of chilled Prosecco, (Italian champagne) which was served in tall v shaped flutes on the silver platter.
We danced and watched other people dance, until around midnight, then wearily strolled back to our hotel, pursued by African street sellers intent on selling us cheap handbags.
On Sunday morning we slept late. Fritha and Antony slept even later so Barbara and I set out alone to explore the city on the other side of the Grand Canal . We wanted to see the church of San Giorgio Maggiore, and the adjacent Fondazione Giorgio Cini, a very old Benedictine monastery, now restored and containing some amazing paintings and the biggest library on art in Europe. The building is one of the earliest in the Palladian style, with colonnades and arched windows all around the cloisters.
A guide showed us around the place, including the gardens, the refectory dominated by an huge painting of the Marriage Feast of Cana, and the old library, with its distinctive smell of old books.
The church of San Giorgio Maggiore, also designed by Palladio, is best seen from San Marco, right across the water. Its huge dome and adjoining bell tower, dominates the horizon. Inside there are three aisles and many chapels and great paintings by Tintoretto among others.
Later on we walked to the area called the Giudecca, which is where Venice’s Jewish community once lived.
Then back late in the afternoon to meet up with Fritha and Anthony for drinks and dinner. They had been exploring the canals on a gondola. We found a lovely little outdoor bar with vines and herbs growing everywhere. Then on to dinner at a nearby trattoria. After that we enjoyed coffee at the Cafe Florien and watched the crowds in the Piazza San Marco. We decided on an early night and went to bed at around eleven.
We spent our last day in Venice doing the tourist classics. A visit to the church of San Marco and stood craning our necks up at the gold leafed domes with their biblical stories picked out in mosaic tiles. Outside, the Piazza was jam packed with tourists and holidaying Italians, almost crowding out the pigeons. This was Italy’s national day and part of the piazza was blocked off for a parade. The main players were arrayed in uniforms of all the services, including Alpine troops in feathered caps and mountain climbing backpacks. There were also men in ceremonial uniforms from the past, three cornered hats and plumes. Above the piazza they raised the flags of Italy, Venezia and the European Union.
We fought our way through the crowd and went inside the magnificent palace of the Doges, the Ducal Palace.
Once again we gazed in awe at the grand staircases with gilt painted plasterwork above us, and great salons with paintings adorning every wall. We passed through ante rooms and senate rooms and council chambers, each one more spectacular than the last.
Then, all too soon, it was time to collect our luggage and check out of our hotel. We had to be at Marco Polo Airport by mid afternoon, so we said goodbye to Fritha and Anthony and took a fast boat on a forty minute ride away from this beautiful timeless city. As I said, this was our fourth visit to Venice, and we count ourselves so fortunate to have been able to do this again. It would be greedy to wish we could go back again, but there is no harm in dreaming is there?

BRING BACK TRANSPORTATION

You might remember some weeks ago I told you about Barbara running foul of a local woman who caught her picking daffodils in the churchyard. Well the Spring edition of "The Ascott Grapevine" has just come out and contains the following snippet:-

AND another thing..........
Maggie was looking out over the churchyard recently when a well dressed middle aged woman emerged into Church View holding a large bunch of daffodils that she had picked in the churchyard and then proceeded to collect more as she walked along the road. When Maggie pounced the woman claimed that she "Didn't realise that she couldn't pick them". Well believe me she does now.

If you doubt the veracity of this story, you can check it out on the Ascott Grapevine website on http://www.ascott-under-wychwood.org.uk/
Naturally I have sent the mag a reply:....
Sir; I write in response to a disturbing report in your Spring edition, detailing a shocking case of daffodil theft in the Ascott churchyard.
The culprit in this matter is my wife, and I feel that certain relevant facts should be drawn to your reader’s attention.
Firstly my wife and I, at the time of this offence, had been in England a matter of a few weeks, and were completely unaware that daffodil picking was “verboten”. I must say that in the time that we have been here, we have on the whole, been welcomed into the community on every side, which only makes this incident more regrettable.
I can assure you that neither I nor my wife will offend again, and earnestly beg forgiveness. Should any transgression of this nature be inadvertently committed again, we would quite understand if we were to be dealt with severely at the local Assizes, and transported back to Botany Bay forthwith. Of course this would follow a good flogging and a period in the local stocks.
Yours humbly
Damien Ryan

PS The Venice story is coming up soon.
Cheers Damien

ROME

We’re now back in our Cotswold cottage after a wonderful few days in Rome and Venice, and I’m writing this from my sickbed.
Not really! I’ve just got a strep throat, so let’s talk about enjoyable memories of the past few days.
Our journey, first to Rome, began last Thursday with a tedious train and bus ride, first to Oxford, then Milton Keynes (one of England’s more depressing places, along with Slough and Staines), and finally to Luton Airport, where we stayed in an airport hotel.
Up a little after five am and to the terminal to join our Ryanair flight to Rome. We had the right to carry two bags of 15kg weight. We had only one bag with 21kgs weight. Not allowed said the desk. You can’t pool luggage so take out some stuff and put them into another bag.
But we didn’t have another bag.
“Then it’ll cost you sixty pounds” says the desk.
So we brought another bag for 20 quid and checked in.
Three hours later we stepped into bright sunshine at Rome’s Ciampino Airport lining up for the transfer bus.
The bus took us as far as Roma Termini, the main rail station, where we stopped off at a cafe for a lunch of pasta and coffee. We could say things like “dooay pasta” and “dooay espresso”and “grazie”.
We had planned to get a taxi to our hotel where we were to meet our old friends from Port Douglas, Pam and John. Then in a mad attack of daring, I suggested we take the Metro underground.
And we did. It took a bit of tracking about to find the ticket place and to get the hang of the system, but half an hour later we found ourselves at the top end of the Via Veneto, at the posh end of Rome. Across the road we picked out the gates to the Villa Borghese, and on our right a long stretch of ancient Roman wall. We walked a few more blocks past lovely outdoor cafes and people drinking wine at white linen covered tables, then around into the Via Liguria and there was our hotel.
Our friends were out atlunch so once checked in, we showered and changed into lighter clothing, then took a stroll on the Via Veneto past very fashionable shops and hotels and more of those cafes.
At the piazza Barbarini we stopped at one of them and shared a bottle of chilled Frascati while watching the passing parade. All around us people were enjoying wine or coffee and chatting animatedly, the women looking cool and so smartly dressed, and the men too. The roads were busy with buses and cars and the ubiquitous motor scooters whizzing by in every direction.
After an hour we walked back around the surrounding streets window shopping and buying delicious ice cream. Then on to the hotel for a joyful reunion with Pam and John! They were about to begin a cruise around the Mediterranean and Rome was their starting point. That evening we enjoyed drinks in a busy little street cafe. It was very warm, and a tall beer was very welcome before dinner.
We found a modest restaurant, and had a simple but very Italian meal with more wine. As the twilight faded we strolled across the piazza near the famous Spanish Steps, being pursued by street sellers of flowers and souvenirs and all sorts of rubbish. And there was a lot of laughter all the way back to our hotel.
The next morning saw us up and breakfasting on fresh pastries and milky coffee. We had all agreed to join one of those open topped bus tours where you can get on and off at various stops. The bus took us by all the famous landmarks of this wonderful city; the Colisseum, the Tiber river, the Circus Maximus, The Castel SantÁngelo (once the Mausoleum of Hadrian), and of course, St Peter’s. ‘
Then we endured crowds of tourists (like us) to throw coins into the beautiful Trevi Fountain. The last time we had seen this lavish monument it was under repair, and dry. But today all the founts were cascading down the marble statuary.
We’d already stopped once for cold drinks at a cafe. Then we wandered on past beautiful churches, and ancient monuments, obelisks taken from Egypt by Roman invaders long ago.
When we felt like lunch we found another restaurant and chose a selection of pizza slices, tomato and creamy mushroom on crunchy hot pizza bread.
We came out on another piazza where we marvelled at the oldest intact ancient building in Rome, the Pantheon, so named because it was dedicated to ”all the gods”.
After the first temple was destroyed by fire and rebuilt in the second decade of the second century AD.
Outside the curving walls was a portico of sixteen monolithic columns of granite.
We stepped inside to stare upwards at a perfectly circular dome which seemed to tower far above us. And all of the building is just about the same as it was all those centuries ago. Gilt bronze and marble still adorn the walls.
Coming back outside again, the sunshine was almost blinding, and Rome 2008 came back into focus.
We took a mad taxi ride to the Capitoline Hill to see the ruins of the Domus Augustana, or house of Augustus, i.e. of the emperor. Walls and wells and cellars of those narrow Roman bricks still used today. And above them those beautiful pencil pine trees, and all looking back at the city below.
From there we walked through the sunken ruins of the Roman Fora, with their ancient columns and temples dedicated to Castor and Pollux and others. This is where Julius Caesar was said to have been murdered. The ancient Roman senate building still stands here too. We climbed a long flight of steps rising up to the level of modern Rome. We stopped to admire a huge monument to the emperor Marcus Aurelius, mounted on a magnificent bronze horse.
It was starting to get late so we descended to the Victor Emmanual monument, a somewhat flamboyant building of white marble with frills and curlicues and long flights of steps.
There, after a bit of a wait we picked up the bus again, and looked down on the crazy homeward bound traffic. Earlier we had braved this phenomenon having had to use a number of zebra crossings which were apparently invisible to the Roman drivers.
That evening we went out together one last time and enjoyed drinks followed by a pleasant meal in a nearby trattoria; antipasto ,prosciutto and melon, pasta with tomato and fish ,fresh fruit desserts and coffee.
At around eleven we headed back through the warm Roman evening to our hotel to make our reluctant farewells. Pam and John had one more day in Rome, but Barbara and I would be leaving for Venice in the morning.