Day 101
Location 18: Rome
Feb. 9, 2023
Today, my high school best friend Nick and I did the opposite of a Bob Dylan concert—we played only the hits: The Coliseum, The Roman Garden, and Drinks with Italians.
The Coliseum
Fighting as a Gladiator back in ancient Rome was like having a hyper friend constantly hiding around a corner to scare you. Except instead a friend, it was a full-blown lion. And instead of laughing it off, you two then had to fight to the death.
To clarify, during Gladiator matches, trap doors and secret pulley-elevators lifted wild animals up onto the arena floor. As you'll see in the video below, the Coliseum's CAT (Committee of Animal Tolerance) provides a home to the few remaining living descendants of the arena's lions for tourist observation.
After leaving the coliseum, we immediately felt drawn back to it, like a recent ex-girlfriend. But instead of stalking our ex from behind the glass screen of a cellphone, we did it from the colorful rubber floor of basketball court.
"You must be bored of the view, having grown up here." I accuse a young local, suspicious of his desensitization to the incredible backdrop. "No" he responds, "we know it's sick".
The Roman Garden
Still reeling from our breakup with the Coliseum, we rebounded with a stroll through the Roman Garden. Instead of flowers, we found something better: a tour guide.
This tour guide spoke endlessly about the garden's history into a microphone, allowing us to eavesdrop from nearby. As we listened, it seemed impossible for so much information to be contained in a single brain, like those Pringles cans hiding a spring-loaded snake inside. But Nick and I retained none of what he said. We were too entranced by his smooth, melodic voice. We'd discovered the Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra of tour guides.
Every word was decorated with an exceptionally Italian accent, and ended with "–ah".
Forum–ah. Location–ah. Outside–ah.
It was wonderful and hilarious and perfectly cliché. Enjoy—ah.
Drinks with Italians
Still struggling to put our breakup behind us, we resorted to our last option: the bottle. Or in our case, Italian red wine and cocktails.
Below are some highlights from our night out:
A not-so-welcoming hostess at the bar we stumbled into.
I grew up on Long Island, New York. So when I spotted this bar's sign, I assumed the owner was a fellow Long Islander. The lack of delicious bagels, arrogant pizzerias, and endless Lexus dealerships, however, immediately refuted my supposition.
Recruiters who encouraged me to join an Italian gang. After discovering they weren't great conversationalists, I ultimately declined their invitation.
This bar introduces their live musicians the same way The Coliseum introduced lions to a gladiator battle. I don't know how long he was down there.