Day 5: Casa di Crap

After the evening strategy of figuring out how the hell to get all the way to Beauvias airport at 6am to catch our flight to Rome, we hauled our crap out to a cab and caught a shuttle bus to take us on the 70 minute drive up to the airport. Even the dumpy airport coffee is better than here in the USA. I waited to use the ladies figuring the actual toilet would beat whatever they had on the bus. I think whoever was in before me must have been dead inside because I've never experienced a smell as fucking tragic as that. Sorry to be gross, but Jesus Christ! And what do you say to the next chump in line after you-uhh, I SWEAR it wasn't me! Gak!

We navigated public transportation with ease from Ciampino airport in Italy to the amazing historic (and tourist haven) Rome. We found our apartment the Casa di Crispi, or Casa di Crap. G to-the hetto! Well, I've been in worse and at least it motivated us to stay out as much as possible. Nicknaming it "The Cave" we ventured out. Having read that pedestrians need to be aggressive in France and make their move, trusting that the driver is timing their pace, I foolishly thought the same of the drivers in Rome and strode out in front of an oncoming car. Apparently, they don't give a fuck if you are walking and my ass was almost grass.

It seemed quiet for such a bustling city, but as we tried not to twist our ankles on the cobblestone walking the 2 blocks to the Spanish Steps, I heard a soft murmur, then realized where all the people are in Rome. They congregate around the historic sites, or at one of the 8 million Fendi shops.

We made our rounds, hitting many a Piazza and the Trevi Fountain. It was too dark for me to get a picture, but it's beautiful in a massive, dramatic almost gaudy kind of way. The Pantheon is gorgeous and well restored. The ancients were pretty astute about their aqueduct systems and architectural resourcefulness.

I loved the energy of Italy. The men were hot and so were the women. Men stare hard at you while their arm is wrapped around the shoulders of their lady, who is always in the following uniform: 1) Big, dark designer sunglasses (with a purse that is similar), 2) skin-tight jeans tucked into kitten-heel boots, 3) Talking a mile a minute on their cell phone, waving their free had around dramatically. Seriously. It's very glam, like a happy marriage between Mission Hipster and Snob Hill chic.

I sampled my first Italian gellato. Never a huge fan, I conformed, eating it everynight in Rome. Hey, it helped ease the foot pain ok?