I breakfasted with Harsh at a nearby café called Mato. Cost me 9 euros but my sandwich really was delicious, full of salami and cheese and topped off with spinach. The server didn’t seem to know what a latte was so I settled for a cappuccino. Emmanuel joined us and told us about all the things we needed to do in Rome and what order we needed to do them in. He raved about the FIFA world cup. I couldn’t relate, but he was so passionate and enthusiastic, I began to understand what made football so exciting for him – even though I’ll never feel that excitement myself. Harsh and I finished our cappuccinos and bid him goodbye, shaking hands in the process. Then we set off for the Colosseum.
The Colosseum is grand on the outside, much less so within. It’s full of scaffolding, construction work, ticket desks, roped off walkways and selfie-obsessed tourists. It was also swarming with petty scammers. I have always wished to see the Colosseum and I am glad I went, but I was also glad to get the hell out.
Traveling around with Harsh, I saw infinitely more than I would have traveling alone. We ventured straight on to Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum, and after that, the Pantheon – which was rather forgettable in my opinion. Along the way, Harsh told me all about India and warned me against going there for 6 months as I plan to do. He says 6 months will be too much for me and I won’t be able to handle it. Maybe he’s right. But I hope he’s wrong.
Misfortune had us slip into a tourist trap, a hack-job of fine dining falsely posing as an authentic Italian restaurant. We weren’t even coerced; hunger pulled our wits from us. I ordered the spaghetti carbonara and it was gone in a few mouthfuls. That was following the piss-take of a starter: a half-piece of ciabatta with some chopped tomatoes and crisps. The happy hour deal of starter + drink had fooled me. The wine was completely forgettable. After going most of the day without food, I could feel my anger and agitation rising.
Harsh wanted gelato. I’m no fan of ice-cream but I went along with it. Salted caramel and fig and hazelnut. It was tasty. But I craved piles and piles of pasta, or pizza rolled into fat greasy wraps. I eventually did get a slab of pizza from a pizzeria; it was more bread than pizza, but for 2 euros I had nothing to complain about.
Our final stop was the Trevi Fountain, but I was too exhausted to appreciate it’s obvious beauty. I was knackered and craving alone-time. Constant walking and socialising had drained every drop of my energy; I felt apathetic about doing anything. Harsh loves taking photos and I’m extremely grateful that I had someone to get good shots of me in the Colosseum, because I’m never ever going back. Tomorrow we head to Vatican City, and I hope to feel at least partially recovered, because right now I want to stay in bed for a week.
