In August 2002 we were back. Me, the missus and the kid (and one of his mates) was back in Amalfi. This time though we'd decided that we was going to spend a few days in the Città Eterna at the end of the holiday so we booked our return flights to Rome (Fiumicino).
We'd taken an apartment (not a flat mind you) but, if I'm honest, I have to say we didn't do much self-catering. We were still getting €1.50 to the £1 and life in Euroland was good. We went to Pompeii and Herculaneum again for my lad's mate's benefit ... and because I just love them.
Maria loved my lad's mate because he'd eat 'til he burst. No matter how much she put in front of him, he'd eat it. He's not a big lad either. Bit of a belly but nothing particularly worrying. He was only about 15 and full of energy. Not surprising really.
After two weeks in Amalfi, we got the bus to Salerno station and got the train to Roma Termini - sort of like Roma Euston if you like, or Roma Victoria. We arrived at Salerno station with about half an hour to spare and I went up to the little ticket window to buy a ticket. "Two adults and two kids to Roma Termini please." The ticket-man says there's no second class tickets left; only first class tickets. How much are they then? €36 each! £24 for a single first class ticket for a journey that's the equivalent of Liverpool or Manchester to London!! Unreal!
When we got to Rome, we checked into a hotel that had been booked for us by a mate of mine who was a member of the military wing of the Finance Ministry in Italy - the Guardia di Finanze. Nice Hotel and dead central. Can't rememer for the life of me what it was called but it had a name that alluded to ancient Rome.
Having checked in we went out to do the tourist bit. I love Rome. There's something about it that is irresistible. The atmosphere. The people. The city itself. I love it. We went to the Flavian Amphitheatre, the Circus Maximus (the Roman equivalent of Royal Ascot but every day) and, after some discussion, St Peter's Square. My wife, having been permanently psychologically scarred by the nuns, was very reluctant to go at all.
There was a curious thing though. As you approach the Basilica, from whatever direction, there are a legion of souvenir shops selling all sorts of religious artifacts from small statues of the Madonna to massive pictures of the Sacred Heart. The curious thing was they all sold busts of Mussolini! Bizarre. I was tempted but good sense got the better of me.
That evening we met up with my mate from the military wing of the Finance Ministry and he and his wife took us for dinner in a very nice restaurant. After dinner I was taught about the Italian obsession with good coffee and good ice cream. There is no room for compromise in either case.
He asked us whether we wanted a coffee and when we said yes, he put us in the car and drove us half way across Rome. The coffee was stunning of course and the journey had clearly been worth it. After that he asked the two boys if they would like an ice cream. When he got an energetic yes, he herded us all back into the car and drove us back across Rome to another place to the only place where one can enjoy Italian ice cream at its best in Rome.
I did learn the taste of a decent coffee from that though and, to this day, I remain incredibly particular about the standard of my espresso (caffé in God's own language). The only chain that even comes close is Costa and that is bettered by a country mile by a little place on Theobald's Road in London called Sfizio. Brilliant place! I'm told that the Bar Italia in Frith Street in Soho is at least as good.
No comments:
Post a Comment