Travel

I figured in the vein of my last unfortunate European altercation with the prostitute in Paris, I would share a story from the eternal city, Rome. I often travel with my cousin and a good friend from Houston….of course they’re from Texas! Two short, busty girls…petite….a blonde and a brunette with big personalities and typically with too much whine…I mean wine. On this particular trip, which was a few years ago, we had another friend with us, and it was our last stop on a long sojourn, and long before we had learned to pack light. But that is a another story for another time. This story is about flashers…wankers…in Rome. Segaiolo. It is a story I have verbally shared many times, but I figure I need to write it down for posterity and hopefully for your entertainment.  Again, always have your camera at the ready, because you never know what you are going to miss.  You would think after these photo op misses, I would have learned something when I got to Paris, but, alas, apparently I am a slow learner.

There are amazing things to see in Rome. I remember the first time I was in Rome with my daughter, then 16, and my cousin. You just walk around a corner and there is the Colosseum, like right in the middle of the city. A landmark you have read about and seen in pictures your entire life, just right there in the middle of everything with no one paying much attention. I was awestruck, and continued to be awestruck for days seeing all those ancient buildings and ruins that I had been entranced by my whole life.  Look up sites in Rome and the list goes on forever. From an early age all my reports were about some archeological site. I considered it as an avocation, but a professor in my freshman year steered me clear, and I will forever be in his debt.  In any event, Rome has ancient sites peppered throughout the city, and I do love sitting in a piazza ristorante people watching, with a 2000-year-old fountain splashing within earshot, and eating some really great Italian food.

Back to the story: The first night on this particular trip, we were just girls out for a stroll around the city and came upon the Largo di Torre Argentina. When Mussolini was working on Rome in the late 1920s, this archaeological wonder was excavated, revealing extensive multi-level temples that lie 20 feet below the present-day street level. Besides several different temples, Torre Argentina also contains part of the famous Theater of Pompey. This is where Julius Caesar was betrayed and killed in 44 BCE. Today, volunteers at Torre Argentina care for approximately 250 cats, some of Rome’s feral cats of which it seems there are around 300,000 total. Every afternoon people gather to watch the cats on the ancient pillars and steps. If you start to really look into the square you notice the furry, wild felines everywhere. If you are so inclined you can admire the cats and their ruins from street level, volunteer, and even adopt cats (you can’t really take them, but they will take your money to care for them–that kind of adoption; kind of like adopting a kid on TV for 26 cents a day), and I love cats.

We arrived there around dusk and did our tour around the perimeter of the square, up and down the stairs, seeing what we could of the ruins and the cats. As we gathered at the corner of the square, seems like we were on something that elevated us steps above the sidewalk, we were looking down the street alongside the square. At about halfway down the block/square there was a guy looking directly back toward us wagging his Italian sausage for all to see (I just had to throw that terminology in – a friend of mine said it was almost obligatory).  Anyway, I thought I couldn’t be seeing correctly…I mean it was, uh, sizeable.  We all just stared at him in abject astonishment…and he just kept at it. Our friend, who was a first-time traveler with us , was appalled.  I think I was just thinking “wow, what a great story.” I don’t even remember if we left first or he turned to wave at someone else. I don’t even remember what else we did that night. Italians…hey whatev.

So our trip continued, we saw amazing things and ate amazing food and even stayed in an amazing place. We consistently photobombed in the background of many a photo….don’t judge us. A great week, and we ended it spending Sunday traipsing from church to church…I mean there are over 900 churches in Rome. Probably near 100 of them are over 1000 years old, especially if you take into account buildings/temples that were converted to Catholic churches.  What do we have in America that old?  Well, the sequoia, but even the cliff dwellings in New Mexico are not quite that old.  So I am impressed with the splendor that was Rome.  I am not Catholic, but I truly love these old churches.  The Capuchin church and a few other churches have extensive catacombs and tunnels which are creepy and cool all at the same time. The art, the history, the antiquities, the architecture…the churches here have it all. I could spend days going through them, literally.

This particular Sunday,  we had crisscrossed Rome tracking down the churches we had on our list and some we didn’t. Again, it was getting dusk and we were beat. We walked into the foyer of a small corner church, but people were gathering for a meeting and I decided not to go in. One of the B’s lingered a bit longer just inside the doors, and a little old man in there puckered up and leered at her. She quickly scooted out the door, getting our attention but us not understanding what she was mouthing at us thumbing backwards. But with the way she was moving let us know that something had happened. As we were looking toward her, the old guy saunters out just behind her onto the upper step…of the church…another wanker. Seriously! This guy had to be 70 if he was a day…and we ran. Just like silly schoolgirls, ducking into the first large doorway we see and peeking around it to watch. Can you believe we were tittering, giggling, and he was just slowly moving forward bopping the baloney. And, yea, it was impressive, too. And all those people milling around and going to church? Not even acting like they saw him, totally ignoring the fact that there is an old man playing with his genitalia on the church steps. It was like we were the only ones who saw him. Do you think they sell those big things for unemployed Italian men to waggle at tourists to engender some type of Italian tirly-whirly mystique. Wave them at the ladies so they will go home and spread some urban legend of the Italian version of Wun Hung-lo? We will never know for certain, but on that same trip we saw a couple of fully clothed Italians, in full daylight on the sidewalk, playing with their own private amusement park. Wish I had photos. You just never seem to have to time to get the camera out at a time like that, so if this ever happens to you in Rome could you try to find out for me?  I apologize if this story is a bit off-color, but it is a true story, every single word, and it needed to be told.