Fred arrives back from Puglia with the three chiwahwahs at eleven a.m., just when I have finished the letters to Sophie and Iolanda. He looks a bit frustrated, but then four days away with three barking dogs isn't easy. I tell him that I am not staying the night, (he hadn't been told by Iolanda), but he is always without expression, which is unusual for an Italian! But I know he is probably happy to be home, and alone, except for three dogs and a cat.
I say goodbye to Electra and set out for the Piazza del Popolo to see the two Caravaggio and two Bernini sculptures I was told are in the church at the entrance to the Piazza. It is a beautiful day, the sort of spring day the Romans have been waiting for. I decide to have a macchiato to celebrate, and to try yet another coffee order. This time it's different, again. I ask the waitress if the church opposite is that of the Caravaggio fame. Yes, she says it is, but closed from12 to 4 every day. As it is now just turning twelve, it looks like I'll have another four hour wait for the the Caravaggios, but this is Rome's story, always waiting, but not complaining. The Australian Aboriginals would be at home here, time is not important and you can always do it later.
I will have to find something for the next four hours which doesn't involve too much walking as I have all my luggage to drag, but it's not to heavy. Thank God for light travelling, perhaps I will write my final blog, Impressions of Rome, while I wait.
I will have to find something for the next four hours which doesn't involve too much walking as I have all my luggage to drag, but it's not to heavy. Thank God for light travelling, perhaps I will write my final blog, Impressions of Rome, while I wait.
I cannot believe my trip is nearly over, but I have to get to Fiumicino before I can really relax. Travelling is not the best tranquilliser! I decide to take a walk down a street I haven't tried before, sort of parallel to via del Corso, the main drag. I look at the various caffes, all very tourist driven. I see a couple emerge from one, less than happy with the maitre d', surely overcharged for something.
You can't help feeling a bit sorry for these business people who are suffering in an Italy, which is surely the next Greece. The only way to survive at all, is to get as much from the tourists as possible, but the restaurants are quite empty. I buy a paninno for three euros fifty and it satisfies me enough to continue my walk. A soup in one these restaurants is the equivalent of thirty six Aussie dollars. Not worth it I'm afraid.
I continue walking and discover a map. I now know I have been here before, not exactly here, but from the other end when I visited the Pantheon the other week. I pass by an interesting restaurant called Alfredo's. Inside is a photo of every international star you could think of, the 'Harry's Bar' of Roma Centrale, but it is completely empty on this beautiful spring day. They must be hurting a lot. I resist the temptation to walk in but find a gelateria right next door, so I order an small gelato and sit and take a photo myself, of the near empty once-famous restaurant.
You can't help feeling a bit sorry for these business people who are suffering in an Italy, which is surely the next Greece. The only way to survive at all, is to get as much from the tourists as possible, but the restaurants are quite empty. I buy a paninno for three euros fifty and it satisfies me enough to continue my walk. A soup in one these restaurants is the equivalent of thirty six Aussie dollars. Not worth it I'm afraid.
I continue walking and discover a map. I now know I have been here before, not exactly here, but from the other end when I visited the Pantheon the other week. I pass by an interesting restaurant called Alfredo's. Inside is a photo of every international star you could think of, the 'Harry's Bar' of Roma Centrale, but it is completely empty on this beautiful spring day. They must be hurting a lot. I resist the temptation to walk in but find a gelateria right next door, so I order an small gelato and sit and take a photo myself, of the near empty once-famous restaurant.
An American with an enormous camera hanging from his neck emerges with his wife from Alfredo's. I feel better, at least they have had one lunch to help out, and the couple has had the satisfaction of sitting in the seats of Gina Lollobrigida or Cary Grant.
By the way, what one must realise is that although it seems the Aussie dollar brings 65 cents, in reality it is exactly two dollars to one euro, much the same with the English pound. That's the REAL exchange rate when travelling.
So four o'clock comes and I am on the door of the Iglesia, it opens miraculously the moment I arrive and I am first in, which is good. For a brief moment I am alone in another amazing Baroque church with Bernini sculptures, paintings by Raphael and Michelangelo and also two by Caravaggio. Soon it is full of tourists with their cameras and the spell is broken. Yet I'm glad I came and waited, as always, for another Art experience in Rome. As it is now nearly five I will take the metro to Palasport and wait for Walter after I ring him. I decide to walk to viale Europa where we met the other day and have a chinotto and ring him about five thirty.
It's less hectic here, quite normal really, and I find a seat outside opposite Banco Popolare at a place which is called Danny's Bar. But there is no service, perhaps because I am a lonely tourist wearing a cap. I give up and leave, Silvana might be early, but, in fact, she isn't.
Down at the Metro Silvana arrives in her Citroen, (Walter has a Mercedes), and she takes me to the beach at Ostia, not far away, where Marco had had plans to make lot of money that summer, selling fried potato rings to the beach goers, as he had discovered they were doing in Melbourne. But sadly it won't be him doing it this year. Silvana is always close to tears when she speaks of Marco. I can only listen.
We go back to their home for a 'brodo', a soup with noodles, and I decide to have an early night. We have talked enough.
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