Borgo

I am rushed off the ship this morning. Bombarded with announcements from the cruise director Aisha. Elisha. Alannah. I don't really care to recall her name as she made no lasting impression other than her fake performances undone by her complete lack of engagement with any cruisers. I think I've also woken on the wrong side of the bed, in the right city. Right country.

I wished I'd booked a hotel transfer, though I do eventually manage to sardine myself in the middle bucket seat of a mini van en route to Rome after being evacuated without consult from the first taxi I was allocated. I arrive at my hotel. I was delighted to find a room located near the Vatican for the balance of my trip for the princely sum of $320 AUD. For 3 nights.

I'm perhaps lucky it's not worse given how little I've paid. Though. It's very. Very. Purple. Shower in the room. I think it's really a porn set. Shower in main room and a very uncomfortable bed. I diligently inspect for bed bugs. No evidence yet and I am hopeful.

I venture out for coffee. Intravenously preferred. And pizza. The four formaggio is my pizza of choice. It is. Exquisite. I have never tasted a pizza so delicious. Over the course of the afternoon, I consume the entire pizza. I console myself with reminders of its thin crust, reducing the net carbs and planned long run tomorrow.

I siesta. Then shop. I purchase the Italian leather boots I'd promised myself. Lucky me, they're 20% off if you buy 2 pairs. I cannot refuse a deal like that. An Italian cashmere coat. More caffeine. A quaint vegan Cafe. More food.

I promised myself to enjoy every bite when in the food Mecca of the world. And I intend to.

I connect with Ian. Without question, the best tour guide I've ever encountered, and one of the most wonderful human beings I've met on the planet. We explore Rome together at night on foot. St Peter's square. Italian Parliament. We find a merry go round and engage our inner children. We visit the fountain of Trevi and throw our coins as is custom. Each coin, tossed one at a time, right hand throwing over left shoulder. The first guarantees a repeat visit to the city; the second means a love affair, and the third means a wedding.

Our wishes made. Our hearts full after our first day in Rome, we fill our bellies with Italian pasta. Spag Bol for me. It is delicious. I arrogantly add, not as good as mine. I do set a high standard, though.

I'm off to tour the Vatican tomorrow. Hoping for a perve at the statue of David. Italy is full of phallic references.Read more