Roma, you suck, but you coulda been cool

So I neglected to rant about my April trip to Rome.  This is probably because I’d returned to Barcelona and successfully washed Rome off of me in the Catalan city I call “where my heart is.” Pardon the euphemism.

After I arrive in the slut I call Rome, I take a loudly-squeaking, graffiti-covered train  – think of an old lady in metal form – and then get ripped off by a seemingly warm-hearted taxi driver. “Oh, your first time in Rome, eh?” – which in Italian means “I am going to rape your wallet, but with a huge smile on my face.” He even asked what I was doing so far on the other side of the city, when in actuality the train station and my hostel were on the same side and it was a mere five-minute drive from the station. The meter he was using was very odd – no decimals – and was completely different from any other meter I saw for the rest of my trip.

I pay the damned 20 euros – though it should have been about 8 – because I just want to get to my hotel, dammit. So, bye, a-hole. Hello, f-ing Rome.

My hotel, Hotel Lodi, is an oasis in the grime-ridden, tourist-ridden, old-crap-ridden, noodle-ridden hole I call Rome. The hosts are friendly, it has a lovely courtyard, one of the staff just out of the blue cooks lunch for a few of us, and it is outside of the touristy areas.

The rest of my Roman experience is pretty much crap. The spirit that I thought was the core of the Italian existence is missing. It is as if the tourists have sucked the life out of the city. The city is in ruins, not just its old buildings. Because my guy in Barcelona requested it, I take various pictures of famous sights, but I am unimpressed. I had gone there to live like a Roman, but Romans are no fun anymore. Clubs are small – bars are more the norm – and other than the weekend and a few random clubs on a Monday – namely, an American-filled, hip-hop meat market – I’d say the nightlife, not so great. Roman guys are weird-looking in general – kind of Neanderthal or nondescript, and there’s very little variety in food. And guess what? Carbonara is not good for you. Oh, how it hurts!

I had only booked 4.5 days there, but 3 is enough. I frantically Skype–> fail – -> internet –> fail –> call, to get my flight changed so that I can get back to my beloved Barcelona 1.5 days earlier. I pay 100 euros for the favor – more than my original ticket – and escape!

Of course, my experience could have been a lot better had I remembered to contact people via couchsurfing.org, before my laptop started spazzing. After the fact, I saw that there were an impressive % of good-looking Roman couchsurfers who could have made the trip bearable.

ACTUAL GOOD THINGS ABOUT ROME:

1) A drink called a Spritz, which is Campari, sparkling white wine and sparkling mineral water and twist of orange. My first I had at the Caffe Ducati, which on a late Saturday night was sadly one-tenth full. But the drink was nice. Note: Campari by itself is disgusting!

2) Shopping - not the best I’ve seen but I bought a unique leather purse for 40 euros and a comfy, pretty tiered top. Rome had a Fornarina and Stuary Weitzman shop, plus a lovely billboard of Marion Cotillard, one of my top three fave actresses in the world. She’s a mix of gutsy and vulnerable.

3) Amazing starving artists - do you see this dude doing a masterpiece in chalk? Crazy, eh? Here’s a link to him and his fellow artists: http://madonnaripugliesi.blogspot.com/