It took one day to realize that Rome might be a lot more quickly accessible than we had previously thought. In less than one full day, we had already covered one and a half days of attractions, at least based on our original schedule. At this rate, we could easily do everything we wanted to do in Rome in three days instead of four. With this in mind, I decided we might very well combine the original plan for today with desired visits on Saturday and leave our last day in Rome for casual strolling, exploration, and of course, shopping.

This day, however, began with a long walk--two of them, to be exact. Andrea and Jill had to make their actual EuroRail reservations for their long-distance train rides to Florence, Venice, Milan, Bern, Paris, Amsterdam, and Brussels, and with the knowledge that Rome Termini was actually not as far from our hostels as we had originally thought, we decided to walk to the Italian Rail office that was located there, rather than take the Metro.

Unfortunately, when we arrived, the ladies realized they had neglected to bring their actual EuroRail passes that enabled them to reserve multiple tickets, so it was fifteen minutes back to their hostel to pick those up, then another fifteen minutes back to Rome Termini to take care of the important transportation matter.

By the time we were done, it was well after ten, making us effectively two hours behind our starting point yesterday. No worries, though; we were still ahead of the overal schedule.

Our first stop was a quick swing-by at Santa Maria Maggiore, said to be Rome's first church. Located just a short saunter from the train station, it was the logical destination to begin the day.

Not caring to actually enter this particular cathedral (that and we couldn't find a discernible entrance, and admission didn't seem to be free, based on my research), we simply stopped and admired the Baroque architecture. More pressing to Andrea, however, was finding a post office--an uficcio postale--to buy stamps so that she could mail post cards to friends. I ducked into a nearby tourist office to ask if there was one nearby, but no luck. They didn't know. This would mark the start of a day full of looking for post offices and mail boxes and not finding any... until we finally did (but that story will come at the end of this journal).

Looking at the map, I decided we could actually do a wider counterclockwise arc around the northern and western sides of central Rome and hit a series of destinations. Once properly oriented, our walking tour commenced in earnest.

Our first stop was the Piazza della Repubblica, a large square that probably appealed more to my architecture and urbanism interests than to the girls'... tourist interests. Still, I figured it would at least be pretty, and since it was nearby, why not visit it?

We arrived to discover some fantastic Baroque buildings curving around one side of the plaza, a beautifully prominent fountain with all sorts of equine sculptures, and the centerpoint of a taxi cab protest.

Hundreds of taxis were parked on the streets, and someone on a temporary stage was rallying a host of taxi drivers around some cause. I didn't pay too much attention to the strike itself, since there were way too many people to make getting a closer look worthwhile. However, I do assume they were demanding the usual "higher wages" and "better hours."

After ducking into a nearby church that happened to be there (Santa Maria degli Angeli), we continued on our way up the streets of Rome, threading our way in the general direction of the Trevi Fountain.

Here's where I strike up a bit of another tangent: the streets of Rome (and of Europe, for that matter). Last year, I was constantly engrossed with the space created by the streets of Paris. Richly articulated buildings anchored corridors narrow and wide, bookending them with rows upon rows of retail and dining on the ground floor while shifting into the repetitive shutter-clad window motif of apartments on the stories above.

Rome is quite similar, only I noticed a lot more greenery on the upper floors. There always seems to be sinewy hanging vines or lush shrubbery or even adolescant trees perched on high above the street, softening what might otherwise be a hard, defined street edge. I found this to be a wonderful addition to the urban space that added depth and richness to the already beautifully colored buildings. Jill seemed to agree, constantly pointing in excitement every time we approached a building with a garden on it.

On the other hand, not everything we saw could be gorgeous. Case in point...

Whatever camouflage this car was going for, it didn't work, because we could still see it. This was most likely because the vehicle was not surrounded by dairy cows. Oh well, not all Europeans can have immaculate taste. The Law of Averages has to come down somewhere, and apparently, when it does, it comes down hard.

It didn't take too long to reach our next destination, the world-famous and absurdly spectacular Trevi Fountain, which was every bit as illustrious, detailed, romantic, and magnificent as advertised.

We approached the famous landmark from the south, taking the narrow, back-alley streets that wound and twisted their way around, revealing each next bend only in segments, heightening the anticipation. The succulent, roasty aromas of food from several bars and cafes beckoned to us (and our stomachs) as we passed by, but we tuned them out, focused on our prize. On the final bend, the stone backdrop of the fountain peaked behind the vertical edge of a cornerfront boutique, beckoning us seductively. And suddenly, we were admist a throng of people, all gathered in a relatively tight and intimate city glen, all hustling toward the fountain.

Having experienced it firsthand, I think the Trevi Fountain might very well be the most beautiful fountain in the world. At the very least, I would be hard pressed to name a more impressive and glamorous looking waterpiece. In front of a stunning Baroque backdrop of smooth, massive Corinthian columns and cleanly chiseled friezes and reliefs, with beautifully sculpted statues of gods and heroes looking on, a shimmering sheet of aqua-blue water lapped playfully against the rounded embankments, fed by the thunderous drizzle of miniature geisers and showering cascades. It's crisp, revitalizing water, to be sure; I heard from someone that it's actually fed by a Roman aqueduct that originates from a virgin well far outside the city. Light research seems to indicate that this is true, but the point is that there was an aura of freshness around here that most of the city lacked--a characteristic that made the Trevi Fountain larger than life, but in a comfortable way. It was grand and familiar at the same time--a statement in monumentality that invited you to be a part of it.

Naturally, Jill, Andrea, and I took turns throwing coins into the fountain while standing backwards, to ensure a future return to Rome. Then we simply sat down, relaxed, and unwound, enjoying the setting. I even got a bit of sketching done. Sitting near the fountain, amongst hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, taking everything in, I felt like I was enjoying a miniscule slice of heaven. In the presence of such beauty, I was in bliss.

Sooner or later, though, we would have to coninue on, and the decision to finally leave was marked by the grumbles of my stomach, which seemed to be demanding substinence. We decided to walk toward the Pantheon and see if we could find relatively inexpensive food along the way.

This decision helped me experience the first authentic Roman pizza ordering routine of my life. Some may know that in Rome (and perhaps the rest of Italy?), pizza is traditionally made in large rectangular sheets and cut according to how much a person orders. There is no pre-slicing of wedges involved, and people simply enter a pizza deli and ask for the weight of how much pizza they'd like.

The pizza that caught my eye as I entered the deli was a ridiculously fattening-looking shrimp, potatoes, and parsley confection drizzled with a rich mayonaise-based cream sauce. Such an oily treat might wreck havoc upon my digestive system later, but at the moment, it was looking mightily delicious, and I was willing to take the chance. The price shown was given in kilograms, which was the first thing that confused me. I had an idea of how much a pound of food (or a tad under half a kilogram) could be, but I had no idea how this translated into pizza. Thus began a brief attempt at asking the very kind and patient young lady behind the counter "how heavy would 'this much' pizza be?" pantomining an approximate size. The fact that the conversation was conducted in a half-English, half-Italian hybrid may not have helped matters either. Ultimately, however, I decided to ask for a quarter kilo of pizza, figuring that half a pound made for a decent lunch.

She cut off a rectangle of delicious, creamy, shrimp-and-potato-topped crust and placed it on a nearby scale. 235 grams was the calculated report. I signalled a thumbs up, gave her four euros (from which I received a bit of change), and was soon enjoying my delicious shrimp, potato, and parsley pizza. Scrumptious!

The girls had achieved less luck than I. Wisely opting for a healthier fare, they had stopped at a sandwich deli to order a sandwich, only to find that they had absolutely no idea how to order a sandwich, since this was more of the "choose your ingredients" type than a bar that had pre-made paninis. So they marched on toward the Pantheon, stomachs growling, but willing to tough it out until they found another inexpensive place to eat.

When we reached Villa della Rotunda, the streets opened up into yet another square, and there stood the Pantheon in all her domed and columned... well, glory wasn't really quite the word to use. The building was actually rather dirty. But she certainly looked similar to all the photos I'd ever seen. So right there was another moment of euphoria--the kind only an architecture major can experience when seeing a building he has studied for years finally stand in front of his eyes.

Before we could go inside, I had to finish my pizza. So I sat down at the steps of the fountain and merrily muched on my lunch while Andrea and Jill searched around to see if there was anything wallet-friendly dining establishments nearby. Ten minutes later, with no luck and no more pizza in my hands, we decided to enter what was once the longest-spanning free standing dome in the world.

There's something unspeakably amazing about entering a bonafied architectural gem. You read about a building for years. You see photographs of how it looks like. You hear about how ingenius the designers were. You are related the feeling of being in such wonderful space. And yet, when you finally arrive and experince it yourself, nothing in the world can prepare you for it.

The charged feeling of carefree shock and giddy excitement I felt when entering the Pantheon was quite like the emotions I experienced when I visted the Salk Institute for the first time, or the Sagrada Familia, or Villa Savoye. "Oly sh!t I'm actually here!! Oly sh!t this is incredible!!" There's always a certain sense of doubt about these things, as though other people might have played things up too much. No piece of architecture can be this hyped, can it? But then you enter; you're awed; and you believe.

With the Pantheon, of course, it all starts with the dome and the interior space. The outside is nice, of course, but as mentioned before, it's kind of dirty... the antithesis of grandoise. Plus, the only real facade is the front facade.  The side and back walls are simple brick and stone and look worse than the regular shops and apartments around them.

Inside, however, it's a whole different story. I had seen photos before that conveyed a sense of what it might feel like to be inside, but I had always dismissed them as manipulated pictures, shots that had to have been touched up at least slightly in Photoshop. But if you look at the photos on this page, that's how it really is! A blazing swath of light filters down from a large hole at the top of the dome--the oculus--and illuminates the entire cavernous space below. The coffered insets in the dome take on a fantastic chiseled texture, shadows enunciating the depth cuts, creating a delightful pattern of indentation. The floor, so richly ornamented, catches the heavenly rays, and the base of the incoming light forms the target of a magnificent natural spotlight that seems to controlled by God.

It is, without doubt, one of the most incredible interiors anyone will ever experience. Art fans may go goo-goo at the Louvre. Musicians may regale at Carnegie Hall. I was going crazy here at the Pantheon. It was one of the few times in my life where I was genuinely overwhelmed. In a good, fuzzy, I-can't-get-enough-of-this-space way.

The ladies and I decided that I would spend some quality time inside the Pantheon taking in the space and sketching. Meanwhile, they would walk around and find something to eat. That would comfortably take care of the next hour, which was fine by me. So with that, they set off for nourishment while I just walked around and satisfied my architectural hunger.

I learned that the oculus is, indeed, open air, which means rain can definitely enter the Pantheon when Mother Nature is feeling a little depressed. I learned that there are two dozen drains on the floor inside that catch any incoming water and prevent the interior from flooding. And I saw that even when the light is indirect (because clouds are obscurring the sun), the interior space is still pretty stupendous. It's only a slight dip in the spectacul-o-meter.

By 2:30, the girls were back (having enjoyed an apparently delectibly cheap lunch of pasta), and it was time to move on. Our city sojourn continued, and we wound our way through more narrow streets toward Piazza Navona.

There was a quick stop at Campo dei Fiori, simply because it had been mentioned in one of my guidebooks, and because it was apparently a hub for nightlife. We arrived to find the remnants of an earlier farmer's market, and we browsed around some of the remaining merchants and admired the flowers that the floral vendors were selling. Then, it was off to our last stop of the day: the Spanish Steps.

Our walk took us up Via del Corso, which turned out to be one of the main retail streets of the city (tons of clothing boutiques, gelato shops, and book stores to wet our shopping appetites). A couple of turns off several side streets led us to Piazza de Spagna, home to yet another wildly successful public space, the Spanish Steps.

Here's an interesting story that connects Rome with Los Angeles. In Rome, the Spanish Steps are known as a buzzing gathering space filled with people taking a rest from shopping or just enjoying the day. They are a series of stairs that connect the lower urban level with a small bluff edging an uplift in landscape just to the east of the immediate area. Day and night, it is always filled with people, because people tend to gather at steps and sit down, relax, or chat. It's some part of human nature--some pyschological inclination.

In Los Angeles, there are the Bunker Hill Steps, which are a similar set of stairs that connects a lower part of the Downtown area to a more elevated part right at the U.S. Bank Tower, at the base of which sits the L.A. Central Library. The difference in these Steps? They're deserted. They're a stark contrast to the bustling livelihood of the real Spanish Steps in Rome.

Urbanists have been trying to revitalize Downtown Los Angeles for decades, ever since the 1950s, when the I-5, I-110, I-10, and 101 freeways literally cut it off form the rest of city. Since then, Downtown has turned into an 8-5 city. From 8:00 in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon, the area is somewhat lively, because people work there. But once the workday ends, the local population empties back out of the suburbs, and Downtown becomes Desolation.

Well, one of the ideas to fix this was to create a Spanish Steps in Los Angeles, under the theory that if people love to congregate at big, wide stairs, people would flock to the Bunker Hill Steps and spark a revitalization. Unfortunately, those idealists forgot a very important social rule: a place won't attract people if there's nothing to do there, no matter how many inviting steps there are. In Rome, the Spanish Steps are surrounded by a throng of boutiques and restaurants, many of which appeal to tourists, and invite pedestrians to walk the streets and add to the livelihood of the city. In Downtown Los Angeles... there's not much except offices. Ergo, Bunker Hill Steps do not equal Spanish Steps.

Anyway, we climbed the steps and enjoyed the view from the top, overlooking much of the city. By late afternoon, we felt we had accomplished as much tourism as we could for the day. Besides, it was rather warm, and a nap sounded quite appealing. We decided to take the Metro back home, during which I saw this interesting warning sign:

Apparently, you're not allowed to rub your rear on the train or get caught in a way that could smash your crotch. That would sound pretty painful anyway. Fortunately, none of us found ourselves in the predicament of the figure on the lower right.

When we returned to Termini, we set about trying to find a nearby post office, so that Andrea could mail her postcards. That proved to be a little more difficult than expected, due to the language barrier, but we finally found the post office by going down a long corridor, turning into another corridor, then going through an arcade. There was an initial bit of confusion over which line to stand in (turned out to be the shorter one; that almost never happens in the U.S.; you always have to stand in the longest line), and finally, Andrea had her stamps. Fortunately, this particular office allowed us to mail the postcards then and there, but apparently, this is not the case at all Italian post offices. In most cases, people simply put their letters in a red (red? Why red?) mailbox on the street. We noted we hadn't seen any and were promptly told that they were everywhere.

It turns out that in the upcoming days, we would see more post offices and post boxes when we could ever expect. So I made sure to point each and every one out to Andrea, just to see the wrinkled up look of indignance she would shoot back at me in return. It's like the saying goes... you can never find something until you're not looking for it.

Tomorrow, our Italian vacation would receive an infusion of religion!

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For more photos of Rome, check out my Facebook photo albums:
ROME [PART 1]
ROME [PART 2]
ROME [PART 3]