Aventura italiana

ABOUT THIS ARTICLE: I was definitely pleased to see this had made the front of the newspaper's travel section. I had so much fun writing this very personal piece that allowed me to exercise my creativity with little restraint. Would love to make a living traveling and writing about it...

SUN-SENTINEL
July 30, 2006
Roman holiday
The question was how to best explore this Italian city. The answer came on a Vespa, and his name was Constantino.
By Ana Ribeiro

The Vespa sped through the winding streets of Rome, high and low, on cobblestone and pavement. It squeezed between cars and competed against them for space, along with a multitude of other scooters.

A cold wind lashed my hair, bumps on the road nearly knocked me off the back. I held tightly to the rider.

"Ooh hoo!" I yelled, while tightening my grip around his waist.

"Having fun?" he asked me through the engine's noise.

"Yeeees," I replied loudly. "Thank you!"

I had met the scooter's owner only a few hours earlier, when he had checked me into my hostel. (I was in the middle of a solo, post-college backpacking tour of Europe.) After his shift he had bought me a drink in a little jazz bar that could have been in South Beach. He seemed a nice guy and spoke pretty good English. After half an hour, I asked him to take me for a ride on his Vespa.

It was now past 2 a.m. I had forgotten I was exhausted

"Hang on tight," he said, pressing my arms against his belly.

His name was Constantino, after the Roman emperor who freed Christians from the fangs of Colosseum lions by legalizing their religion in his domain. As for me, I was just glad to be saved from a potentially boring night at the hostel.

"Holy ..." I suddenly gasped.

We had stopped at an intersection below a huge white structure with imposing columns. Halfway up the marble steps rose the statue of a horseman; winged creatures perched at both ends. "This is Piazza Venezia," he said. "It's my favorite spot in Rome."

I could see why. Lights illuminated the immaculately white Vittorio Emanuele Monument, giving it a powerful aura. The mythical creatures, which looked as if they could set out flying or galloping at any time, watched over the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a representative of all of those who'd fought and fallen in World War I. Two guards stood on either side of the tomb, day and night. (Also day and night, I would later find out, the piazza could be seen from several different spots in Rome and would keep appearing in my pictures, as if it were haunting me.)

This particular night, the sky was pitch black, contrasting sharply with the shining lights. Night birds circled the piazza and I stared up at them, open-mouthed, almost letting my helmet slide off.

By the time I left Rome, I'd have a bad case of whiplash.

"OK," Constantino said. "Let's go."

We sped away. My pulse quickened in anticipation for the next spot on the tour.

The Spanish Steps. We stopped briefly at the top; they were bathed in a yellow light, as was the Piazza di Spagna. From here we zoomed on to the Piazza del Popolo, admiring it from atop a hill.

As we got off the scooter, Constantino offered to carry my helmet, and I obliged. I pranced in front of him to the edge of the hill and held my breath as I gazed at the obelisk in the center of Piazza del Popolo and tried to make out the buildings beyond it, as they lay eclipsed by the piazza's golden light.

"It's beautiful," I finally exhaled.

Constantino smiled and came closer, leaning next to me on the wall that separated us from a painful (or fatally painless) drop onto the piazza.

"Where do you wanna go now?" he asked.

"You know where ..."

He smiled mischievously.

"I do? Hmmm ... Where?"

"I wanna go to the Colosseum ," I replied.

"All right."

We jumped back on the Vespa and rode across town once again, to the heart of Rome. I looked all around and kept seeing a number of pedestrians and policemen. Rome seemed like a safe city.

I inched closer to Constantino and his body shielded me from the cold gusts of wind (which I would miss the next day, caught in the oppressive heat of the Roman ruins). In no time, we were facing the ancient, eroded lair of beasts and gladiators. It glowed yellow and blue against the night sky.

The Colosseum was a heavy, imposing, stern, overwhelming sight to me, for both its massive size and history.

"I can't believe I'm here," I sighed as an irresistible force pulled me away from the scooter and toward the structure.

"Wait," Constantino urged. "Look at that." He pointed to a big arch on the side.

"That's my arch. Arco di Constantino."

I smiled and nodded. Constantino was not Roman, but rather Romanian. He had come to the city five years earlier, at age 19, looking for work. Now he couldn't tear himself away.

At this moment, neither could I. Like a stupefied zombie, or a person madly in love, I started to circle the Colosseum.

Constantino walked by me and reached for my hand.

"I should hold your hand so you won't fall over," he said.

I didn't argue. Later he held my hand through the ruins of Pompeii, then aboard the waterbuses in Venice…

Until it was time to leave Italy and travel on -- but not quite move on -- to my next destination.