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"It's pouring rain", Paul said. He looked disappointed and slightly distracted, glancing over my shoulder at the downpour outside. "It's raining harder", he said as the slapping on the clear plastic roof of the cafe got much louder. We hadn't packed umbrellas and even my waterproof jacket wasn't going to make sightseeing any less unpleasant. We couldn't do much today, which was fine by me. I was exhausted from a restless night on Monday followed by a night in one of the worst hotels near Heathrow on Tuesday, and only really cared about getting some hot food in me and taking a nap afterwards. We sat in a sidewalk café near our hotel eating thin crispy pizzas and watching people dash from shelter to shelter in the pouring rain. Our first real Italian pizza, and it's lovely.
Back to our room to get a bit of rest, resigned to the fact that we weren't going to do any tours today. The Aleph hotel is beautifully designed, modern and elegant. Anywhere from one to three people greet us and hold doors open for us every time we come and go. The receptionist shows us to our room personally, and the reason why there are no irons in the room is because they will iron your clothes for you. The bed is so comfortable, and I quickly sink into a deep sleep for a couple of hours.
Paul made reservations for us in the hotel's restaurant this evening. We head down to the bar and have a drink before dinner, and nibble on crackers and crisps served to us in little rectangular white ceramic dishes. Time for dinner; the restaurant is completely empty, and we discover that Italians don't go out to dinner until much later than 8pm. Glasses of champagne are already on our table, as is a card with Paul's handwriting on it. It says "Happy Birthday to my fiancée" on the front. I gasp and start to giggle as I open the card: "Hold out your left hand and close your eyes" Paul has written inside. I feel the ring on my finger and Paul asks me if I will marry him. Yes, I blurt and then the tears start falling. Seconds later, I am fanning myself with my hands and giggling and saying things like "look at my ring!" to the man who gave it to me. My ring is incredibly special; it was made by a jeweller friend of Paul's family especially to Paul's specifications. We both can't stop looking at it, watching it sparkle as it moves from side to side.
We are both still tired from the night before and slightly distracted by the fact that we had just become engaged, so we are grateful for our waiter who selects our three courses for us. Another waiter comes to take our wine order, and suggests one that's "numero uno". At 450 euros, we decide against his suggestion and go for a Chianti Classico that turns out to be spectacular. We aren't entirely convinced by the suggestion of a seafood carpaccio (raw) to start, so an alternative is suggested. An enormous plate of perfectly cooked sardines, scallops, prawns, langoustines, and other fish sat atop a silver metal holder. We share the second course, al dente spaghetti coated in a light sauce of olive oil and seafood. Finally, I desperately make room for our main course - grilled snapper with grilled sweet fennel, zucchini, and aubergine. After each course, the waiter asks me if it was to my satisfaction, and I feel like a princess. A luscious looking chocolate torte appears with a single candle, and the waiter bows slightly and says "happy birthday". I blow out the candle noting that I really didn't have anything to wish for, then the waiter offers to take our picture and relights the candle.
I'm giddy and light-headed, and we've eaten one of the best meals we've ever had with the best service we've ever encountered. The hotel has a library area with PCs set up, so I drop a quick note to my Mom and Dad to tell them the news. Back in our room, I send a picture message to my mates with phones that can view images, and send text messages to everyone else. No one is surprised, but everyone's happy for us. It's been perfect. Absolutely perfect.
The rain has stopped, but it's still a bit grey. We ask the concierge about tours and she looks at my short sleeved shirt and remarks with slight concern that "Madame, you will be cold". It's 14C outside which to my Canadian blood, is warm enough to open your outdoor swimming pool for the summer. We decide to tour Rome by foot, as most of the bus tours have left already. The Italians are bundled up in winter coats and scarves, and Paul and I remove our jackets and tie them around our waists.
Our first stop is Trevi Fountain, and I cannot get the music from "La Dolce Vita" out of my head. It surprises us as it's just suddenly there as we round the corner. It's massive, ornate, and impressive. I throw a coin over my right shoulder with my right hand (to ensure another visit to Rome), but Paul throws it over his left. We're not entirely sure what that'll mean. It's a very short journey to the Pantheon, a temple completed in around 27 BC, since redesigned by Emperor Hadrian (I've seen his wall, now I've seen his temple) in 125 AD, and subsequently consecrated as a Christian site in 609 AD. Inside, its diameter is equal to its height (43m) and contains the tomb of Raphael. We stop for lunch at the Piazza Navona, one of Rome's most famous piazzas. It's lined with cafes, contains three fountains, and is a fantastic spot to people watch. The waiters stand outside of the cafes and practically bring tables over to you while you're just trying to read the menu and decide if you want to eat there. The food is average and undoubtedly not very authentic, but you are really there for the scenery.
We make our way over to the Colosseum via the Roman Forum, which is simply mind boggling. For someone coming from a relatively new country, anything more than 200 years old is astounding. Having only seen Roman artefacts around England, the size and visual impact of the Forum is remarkable and surreal. There are hundreds of crumbling buildings, bits of fallen pillars and carvings scattered along the way. It's like a national park filled with things they only find fragments of on the Time Team. The Colosseum is also impressive, designed to seat 70,000 people in a matter of minutes. The queue to get in is fairly long, and we don't have much time left in the day to continue our tour. We settle for an outside view of the Colosseum, with the added bonus of some light entertainment from two (what we decided were) Russian hookers on holiday. Two ladies, heavily made up with hair that's been bleached three times too many, teetered on the cobblestone paths on Patten leather stilettos. They wore what can only be described as the most sightseeing-unfriendly apparel we've ever seen, donning leather miniskirts and bright red tights. Carrying video cameras and clutching audio tours, they must have been tourists. Or perhaps on an extended work break.
The advantage to touring a city by foot is discovering things you would probably miss on a guided bus tour. We hadn't heard of the Vittorio Emanuele Monument until we stumbled across it. It's a marble monster, erected at the beginning of the 20th century to commemorate Italian Unification. You can climb the 246 steps to the top, and enjoy the best views in Rome. At the top of the first set of stairs is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, flanked by eternal flames and a permanent guard of honour. The statue of King Vittorio himself is massive, to say the least. It is claimed to be the world's largest equestrian statue. While not the nicest example of Italian design you can see in Rome, it's hard to avoid and does provide a breathtaking view of the city.
We wind our way back through narrow streets, up hills, dashing out of the way of oncoming cars and scooters. There doesn't seem to be many lane markings on the roads here, nor do drivers seem to follow road rules of any sort. The trick to crossing the roads here is to keep moving; cars and scooters aim for the spot you were last in when they started to accelerate, so standing still can be harmful to your health. Dinner tonight is at a hotel restaurant with a glassed-in sidewalk eating area. The precedence set by last night's meal will make almost anything that follows a bit disappointing, but the food at this restaurant is decent. It's hard to determine if we are eating anything remotely resembling authentic Roman cuisine (we think not as almost all restaurants we encounter are filled with tourists, not locals), but you really can't go wrong if you order pizza and pasta in Rome. We have a nice bottle of Barolo with dinner, ending with a delicious piece of tiramisu. I really could eat pasta every day.
We only have half the day to look around before we need to leave for the airport. It's a beautiful day, full of sunshine and warmth. We want to do some shopping and see the Spanish Steps. The steps lead down to the Spanish Embassy and used to be the hangout for young hopefuls waiting to be chosen as artists' models. At the bottom is the Barcaccia fountain, the Keats-Shelley Memorial House, and Babington's Tea Room (supposedly the meeting place for the literary crowds). We're on a quest to find a good deli/supermarket to stock up on food items for us and treats to bring back for others. I'm not sure where the Romans do their grocery shopping, but it isn't anywhere apparent to tourists (which is probably deliberate and is certainly understandable). We headed for a place listed in one of the travel guides that was supposed to stock an interesting array of food items that you can also sample. After a brief mishap with a confusing numbering system, we finally found the shop but were sorely disappointed. It mostly stocked wine and a few other items, but there wasn't any sign of tastings. I buy a few bags of biscuits and we head off. I spot a small chocolate shop and buy some goodies for friends and family. Otherwise, it's been a disappointing shopping day. If we wanted designer clothes, we would have been set - we came across dozens and dozens of shops like Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, and Prada. No such luck with good places to buy olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and parmesan.
We stopped for food and more people watching in the Piazza del Popolo. Another decent pasta lunch (you must watch for places that bring bread to the table - you sometimes get charged extra for it) and we wander back to our hotel after a brief stop for some more gift shopping at a wine bar/cafe. The car takes us back to Leonardo da Vinci airport (aka Fiumicino), which we decide is one of the nicest airports we've been in. Terminal C is spotless, new, bright, and full of shops. Rather amusingly, it also contains the best stocked food shop we've seen so far. We pick up a few more bits and grab a bite to eat (the airport cafe is not recommended by this tourist), and wait for our plane to come in.
"Would you like another daughter-in-law?" I ask Paul's Dad when he picks us up. We arrive back at his parent's house greeted by a barking, furiously wagging Jasper and receive our very first engagement card. Paul's Mum has spread the good news while we were gone; one cousin is so excited for us (and thrilled at the idea of getting a new outfit - she is 14, after all) and her little brother is also excited and wants to know if we're going to have babies. I open the rest of my birthday presents that have been waiting for me while we were gone.
Best birthday. Ever.