Label Whore, naked Men in the Fountains and La Dolce Vita

We take a taxi back to the hotel. Let me say right now that I really like the Euros. They spend just like $$$ except they are much prettier. Last time I was Italy, they were still using lira and it was like monopoly money, I never knew what anything cost. The Euro exchanges pretty much 1:1 to the dollar.

I pop some pain pills and it is decided by my personal physcian that I am going to rest for awhile. Ray indulges me in a game of �rationalize this� and �let�s pretend�. We pretend that everything is all right and I am going to be fine within the hour. We rationalize that Italy is a one of those temperate countries where everything shuts down in the afternoon, so when in Rome, etc.

This is one of the things I love about Ray; he knows when to tell me the truth and when to play along with my delusions. We smile at each other and say we are excited about the �Rome after Dark tour� Ray says he is going to find someplace �wonderful� for dinner while I rest and �maybe wander around a little� He�s got one of those little computerized pocket translators and I know he�s itching to try it out on the local shopkeepers.

I sleep; Ray wanders and discovers shopping Italian style. Have I ever mentioned that Ray is a bit of a label whore? I�m a Target/Old Navy kinda guy, but Ray knows his way around the pages of GQ. I blame Richard Gere in �American Gigolo�. He looked so damn good in those Armani suits. Ray comes back to the room all excited. He�s babbling names like Valentino, Missoni, D&G, Gucci. He�s picked up �a few things� including a beautiful blue striped sweater for me at Missoni and some sexy underwear. He�s even found knock-off Prada shoes for the B-gurlz, �Only $15 on the street� he says. They will probably come unglued the first time it rains, but they gurlz never take care of their stuff anyway. I tease him that he is going to have to buy some new Gucci luggage for all his finds and he doesn�t see the joke.

I�m feeling better and it�s getting to be the golden part of the late afternoon. The hotel has a rooftop bar we decide that might be a pleasant place to spend some time.

And it was.

The �Rome by Night� tour is strange. We climb aboard a big ass touring bus and are given headphones so we can listen to a pre recorded guide in our own language. You learn a lot but it�s an isolated experience. No other sound, no smells, plenty of air-conditioned comfort and it�s easy on the knees, but it�s sterile watching the city whiz past through the glass. Still it�s a good orientation for places we might want to visit tomorrow.

The bus makes a few stops at various piazzas and the fountains look incredible with night lighting. Hometown pride demands that I mention that Kansas City labels itself the �City if Fountains� and has the bragging rights of �more fountains than Rome�. KC does have some pretty fountains too, but the KC chamber of Commerce is deluding itself it it thinks more fountains means better. For one thing, the KC fountains have very few naked marble men carved by Bernini.

The KC fountains have had on occasion naked, splashing homosexuals late at night, but that�s another story for another time.

The bus stops at the ruins of the Forum which look really dramatic at night. We get out and stroll around, although we are warned not to go beyond the lighted areas. There might be thieves. We don�t have a lot of ruins or thieves in Kansas, so I am totally impressed. Just to make things fun for the tourists, Roman senators are wandering around conferring with each other and posing for pictures, Roman soldiers too, lovely Roman noble women and maybe even a vestal virgin or two.

One of the senators climbs the stairs, a spotlight hits him and he recites the �Friends, Romans, Countrymen� speech from �Julius Caesar��in English. I don�t know why I am not surprised. He doesn�t look a thing like Richard Burton, I complain to Ray. 10 minutes later, a Japanese Roman Senator recites what I assume is the same speech in Japanese. Flashbulbs start popping. We�re hustled back on to the bus, whizzing by more ancient/arty/holy things. Look but don�t touch. The bus stops at the famous Trevi Fountain, and Ray and I both decide we�ve had enough of bus life.

It�s happening at the fountain, which is HUGE and makes about as much noise as Niagara Falls. This Fountain is simply jawdroppingly beautiful. It is a writhing mish-mash of rocks with an ornate renaissance palace as a backdrop. A gigantic white titan stands over all armed with a poised trident and straddling writhing sea-horses. All around him sea-nymph's play tunes on conch-shells and hang onto the manes of sea-horses and water gushes over the rocks and statues into an aquamarine pool. You have probably seen this fountain in the movies. I think Anita Eckberg frolicks in it in 'La Dolce Vita'

People, music and interesting smells fill the air. Me and Ol' Doc Hawk are hungry and we find an outdoor cafe and order up a feast fit for an emperor.

Between the romantic setting and the wine and Vicodoin and my handsome companion, I am feeling 'La Dolce Vita' too.

Tomorrow, we go to the colosseum and look for Russell Crowe

Roaming Thru Roma

8-9-2002

Friday morning and we are up early because that is just the kind of queers we are. We have a whole lot of holy/arty/historic/ruins on our check list, plus there�s all that gelato and Gucci shoes just waiting for our attention.

Still, Hawk announces seriously, we, meaning me, are not going to be sightseeing thru the pain. This is a vacation, not a marathon. I�m well medicated and well rested, armed with my cane, so I am hot to go.

Our hotel has a charming little courtyard where the owners serve breakfast. There are unidentified pastries still warm from the oven and hot, strong espresso or cappuccino. The courtyard is a riot of flowers, with a tinkling little fountain and a genuine Italian cat. I could stay here all day if it wasn�t for the check list.

We chat with some fellow travelers from the Netherlands who recommend the get on/get off trolley. It goes to all the touristy places without being hermitically sealed, like the �Rome by Night� bus. We mention that we are going to the Coliseum today. Our host urges us to �go early to beat the heat� and �avoid gypsy women�

Just to be safe, we plan on avoiding all Italian women

I had been to the Coliseum before, but that was before I saw Russell Crowe in �Gladiator�. Actually, I saw the movie twice�what a testosterone fest! Having seen the film, it�s easy to visual all the strange and decadent things that went on here�throwing Christians to the lions and all that. Good thing I am not psychic, because I bet this place has some bad residual energy.

After you notice that il Colloseo is BIG and OLD you can�t help but notice how much it looks like every big sport�s stadium back home. I can imagine the Chiefs playing the Denver Broncos in here. Instead of gladiators fighting wild beasts, we laugh about monster truck rallies.

Tour Groups are starting to swarm all over the place, darting this way and that. Some of the tour guides have microphones and are giving commentary in different languages, so it�s getting chaotic. Hawk and I climb up to the sky box area to watch this particular show and grumble about the fact that there is no beer man. It�s pretty up on the higher level and there�s a great view of the Forum where we were last night. They say that once giant sails could be rigged over the coliseum to provide shade for the good citizens of Roma. Too bad the sails are gone now, because it�s getting HOT. We both agree, it�s not too early for gelato or maybe a nice Italian ice�.this is the stroll and snack tour, remember.

Back out on the street, it�s a freak show of tourists and hustlers selling shake-�em-up plastic snow-globes of the Coliseum and plastic swords. You can get you picture taken with a gladiator or Roman soldier or even a cardboard cut out of Russell Crowe. Bottled water is available for 6 Euros! I don�t THINK so. We are on the look out for gypsy women.

We have a little hazelnut gelato and get back on the trolley. We ride around for awhile, waving at the Pope when we pass St Pete�s. Next place we decide to get off is the Pantheon which looks like a giant bank or a lot of the buildings in Washington DC. Of course, the DC buildings were inspired by the Romans, who borrowed ideas from the Greeks. I am all for the Pantheon because even the name means �all the gods� Out front is one of those odd mythological fountains, with one of Cleopatra�s Egyptian obelisks, topped by a cross. The Christians took over the building eventually. You know those Christians, always ripping off the best of Pagan ideas�like Christmas trees. We go inside, the building is in really good shape for being 2,000 years old and the dome is amazing, but there are too damn many tourists inside. All the camera flashes and different languages are giving me a headache. Spoiled American Brat that I am, I notice that the place isn�t air conditioned.

Back on the trolley, we agree we are going to ride around until something tickles are fancy. Frankly, all the holy/sacred/arty/gotta see ruins are starting to look alike. We come to a large open air market that used to be the site of torture during the Inquisition. Ray decides that the chance of knock off Armani is a good enough reason to get off the trolley.

What an amazing collection of colors and smells and interesting people! Fruits and veggies and slimy octopi. Gory cuts of meat and glassy eyed fish. Bead vendors from Africa and silky fabrics from India�and knock off Armani. I love these kinds of places. We gobble down fresh artichokes with butter. Ray buys a t-shirt featuring Romulus and Remus and their she-wolf Mama. I buy some Sorrento lemons and cookies and some oversized painted cappuccino mugs that look purely Italian. We buy the ladies some gauzy Hindu scarves. I buy a string of Malachite beads. Hawk digs into a pile of knock-off designer underwear and comes up with a few silky treasures. Yeah, I know we ought to be at the Vatican, looking at the Michelangelos, but Damn It, we are having fun. We buy so much stuff that we have to buy a string market bag to carry it all.

Before a leisurely lunch and a siesta back at the hotel, there is one more place that I have heard about that I really want to see. The Cripta dei Cappuccini, or Cappuchin Crypt, houses the remains of exhumed 4,000 Cappuchin monks.

The place is close to the hotel and it�s just plain creepy.

The concept of having bones in a chapel isn't unique - for centuries it was common to have a bone or lock of hair of a venerated person as a relic in a church. What distinguishes the Cappuchin crypt is the unabashed and flamboyant manner in which the bones are displayed.

Yeah, it�s weird and spooky. The bones and skulls, and there�s a LOT of them adorn the walls and ceilings and form intricate designs.

The bones are intended to convey a message of hope and resurrection but the sign hanging over a row of skulls reads: "What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you will be."

Oh great! Thanks for the reminder guys. Time to get back out into the sunshine and grab life by the balls. If looking at the remains of 4,000 dead monks won�t put you in the mood to have a nice leisurely lunch and then get it on all afternoon with the man you love, nothing will

Celebrate kids, life is short.August 10, 2002

August 10

After birthday breakfast, the little red Fiat is delivered to us at our hotel, but parked nearby is a lethal looking black Ferrari. I point to it and say �Happy Birthday, Dude� Ray gets pale and gives me the �tell me you haven�t done anything completely stupid� look, because we both have bought new cars already this year and he�s already having anxiety attacks about that.

�Gotcha!� I say and he seemed relieved. Well, I thought it was funny. The Fiat is about the size of a rollerskate and not meant for 6ft Americans and their golf clubs.

Neither of us is really sorry to be leaving Rome, it�s beautiful, of course and worth seeing, but not in August.

The plan for the day is that we are driving to a golf club about 20km south of Rome, play a round, have some lunch then drive on to Amalfi coast. The map says that is about a 2hour drive with incredible scenery.

Nice golf course, it�s a Robert Trent Jones design built on the grounds of what used to be a Papal summer palace. Remains of old Roman aqueducts line the edges of the fairways and there are giant black swans swimming in the ponds. It certainly is different than Indian Hills Country Club back home. I don�t even break 100, but it�s a beautiful day and good to be out of the air pollution in Rome.

Lunch is a work of art and seriously one of the best meals I have ever had; a seafood linguini. TiraMisu for dessert. OMG! I even eat the cold calamari salad. Totally Delish!

The 2 hour drive to the coast turns out to take about 4 1/2 hours because of the traffic. Yes, the scenery is postcard lovely, what you can see of it through the tour buses and trucks. John Steinbeck said of this road that 'it was carefully designed to be a little narrower than 2 cars, side by side' We�re on a winding 2-lane road with hairpin turns that comes so close to the edge that it seems we are defying gravity and are going to plummet 500 ft straight down into the sea at any minute. There�s no way 2 buses can pass each other on this road, so sometimes traffic comes to a complete standstill. The Italians take this opportunity to all get out of their cars, smoke and slap each other on the back. Enterprising local folks are strolling up and down the lanes of traffic selling bottled water and limoncello. The vendors are walking faster than we are driving, but I like the limoncello. We remind ourselves of the importance of living in the moment and try to enjoy where we are right now, instead of where we wish we were, which is anywhere but stuck in traffic.

Of course, eventually we get there, and my goodness. I have no words to describe how pretty it is except maybe'it's fucking gorgeous!' Mario was right, the most bee-u-tee-full 30 miles I have ever seen. It�s getting to be that golden sunset time when the clouds get a little pink around the edges and the sea is a sapphire blue. �This is it� I tell Ramon, �The reason we have come so far�

The local people say that on Judgement daym when Amalfitans go to heaven it wil be a day like any other.

The little town of Amalfi is amazing. Why the whole damn thing doesn�t slide down the hill and tumble into the sea is beyond me. The town is completely vertical. You can bet that there are no need for aerobic classes, because you can�t get anywhere without climbing 100s of steps. the locals must be part mountain goat. We locate the parking area for �the villa� and discover that our actual front door is 113 steps straight downhill. Ouch, my knees don�t do so well on ancient stone stairs. I am such a flatlander!

The �villa� turns on to be a small apartment that is part of a larger, almost medieval complex that is carved right into the cliffs. It is decorated in a style that is best described as medieval Italian Bordello, red, gold and hideous. Of course, what do I know about decorating, our house is done in a style best described as Albuquerque garage sale.But the bedroom does have large windows that open on to the terrace and there�s an unobstructed postcard perfect view of the sea, and the harbor...and there's my lemon tree. Actually there is a small grove. Olive trees, figs and a riot of bougainvillea too. I tell Ray, once I have my ass parked on the chaise lounge on the terrace, I am never moving again.

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