By 7:00 am, I have devoured a delectable breakfast of prosciutto, fresh fruit, and brioche on the rooftop terrace of my hotel. I’m off to explore the city before anyone else is awake–my favorite time of day to walk and wander. 

Unlike last night, the Spanish Steps are completely deserted this morning except for a young bride and her groom posing for wedding photos by the fountain.  She is blond and willowy, he dark and handsome.  They call out in Italian to the photographer and as I watch them for a few minutes, I am struck by how young love is both capricious and endearing.

I head up the hill through the Villa Borghese gardens where there is a lovely overlook towards St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican.  A view Galileo might have had while imprisoned in the nearby Villa Medici for daring to think the world revolved around the sun.  The filtered sunlight dapples the stone busts of Archimedes, Hadrian, and Aristotle along the garden paths.  I wonder what would they think of us in this 21st Century? 

Next, I wind past the Piazza del Popolo, then down the Via Del Corso where the famous designer shops of Gucci and Fendi are still shuttered. I’m following the old Roman Way on narrow side streets to the Pantheon. 

The ancient Roman temple is open and deserted, so I take advantage of the chance to take pictures of this engineering marvel without dozens of onlookers in the foreground, especially with a rare sunspot from the oculus highlighting the sculptural recesses in the dome. The Pantheon’s dome has survived nearly 2000 years due to the “secret sauce” of volcanic ash in the cement — the pumice mixture becomes lighter in each of the higher concourses of the dome.

I take more photos outside of the fanciful fountain, known for its grotesque masques and menacing dolphins. This morning the water is a glassy mirror except for the trickling spray. 

Most people take pictures of these creatures, but the real treasure is the Egyptian obelisk of Ramses II with its carved hieroglyphics in the center pedestal.  Not original to the fountain, it was moved here in the early 1700s by a zealous Pope who also installed an oversized gold cross atop the obelisk. Poor Ramses probably rolled over in his grave. Although, if there is an afterlife, Ramses and Galileo would undoubtedly have lively conversations about the sun.

Next, I explore a warren of twisting streets which open onto the spectacular Piazza Navona.  Sidewalk vendors—mostly artists—are setting up their tables and umbrellas. I find a sundrenched table at one of the sidewalk cafés, order a cappuccino, and spend a pleasant hour watching the Piazza come to life.

© Copyright 2012-2023. Lisa Scattaregia. All rights reserved.

From the window, I watch the shadow of our plane as it undulates across the rolling hills on our descent into Leonardo da Vinci Airport. It’s been decades since I touched down anywhere in Europe.  I expect it will have changed a bit; I certainly have.  Of course, at the end of my junior semester student teaching at the American Community School in Athens, I thought I would be back to Greece and Europe often. The future I imagined then is very different from the life I have now—yet I am unexpectedly content.

There were no such things as rolling suitcases, or carry-ons, or TSA Precheck on my first flight to Europe via Icelandic Air to Luxembourg.  That flight was a far cry from the creature comforts in Business Class on a new Boeing 767.  The Flight Attendant passes by with hot towels (for the third time during our 9-hour nonstop flight) and collects my empty water bottle.  I unplug my cellphone from the built-in charger with its Wi-Fi connection and smile—neither existed when I was in college. The world around me has been accelerating at the speed of light.

Once though customs, I collect my suitcase in baggage claim, and follow the crowds to the Leonardo Express—the light rail connection to the main train station in Rome. It’s 36-degrees Celsius today and arriving at Roma Termini, one is immediately assaulted by a cacophony of dialects, aromas, and confusion. I find the taxi stand and soon have been deposited at the Hotel Scalinata di Spagna at the top of the Spanish Steps—a place I had found online. 

I remember pouring through travel guidebooks in college which now seem antiquated when compared to instantaneous reviews on Trip Advisor and Expedia and those 360-degree birds-eye views and satellite pictures. My deep turquoise room with its fanciful crystal chandelier, gilt mirrors and gold brocade draperies is refreshingly European. The only slightly Westernized intrusion is the small refrigerator honor bar.

As enticing as the crisp white sheets are, I’m too excited to sleep.  After a quick shower, I change into a summer dress and sandals and I’m off to find dinner and wander the narrow streets near the Spanish Steps.

At the Ristorante Al 34 on Via Mario de’ Fiori, a bustling side street, my plate of lamb and asparagus risotto arrives quickly, replete with a bowl of freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese. I savor a second glass of house red wine as I watch the waiters juggle taking orders, clearing tables, uncorking wine bottles, and joking with the regulars. A “dance” Italian waiters seem to have mastered without missing a beat. 

Walking back to my hotel, I mentally record the sounds of the city on this sweltering summer night: throaty Vespa motors, Frank Sinatra music drifting from one restaurant, the laughter of people dining al fresco. Climbing the Spanish Steps, I hear dozens of languages as I pick my way carefully through tourists who form a solid carpet on the well-worn marble steps. If only Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn might magically appear and transport us to a more innocent time in this Eternal City.

The heavenly sheets and duvet waiting in my room are the perfect ending to my own “Roman Holiday.”

© Copyright 2012-2023. Lisa Scattaregia. All rights reserved.