The Aly

Everyone is happy in Rome. My Mom pointed out to me how nice it was to be among such happiness all the time. Everyone is delighted to be on their Roman ruin scavenger hunt, negotiating with gypsy cabs and street vendors. No one is thinking about the next calorie when they eat gelato after gelato and then top it off with a slice of tiramisu. They get up early to see the world and stay up late sipping wine. It’s perhaps as close to a utopian life these happy tourists might approach. But, tourists aren’t happy everywhere. On Cape Cod, for example, I encountered these not-so-happy-actually-quite-miserable-tourists all the time. Why aren’t tourists happy everywhere? I’d like to take some of the happy tourists home with me. Maybe, with the limited stem cell knowledge I have I could duplicate the happy tourists. Then, I would maybe be able to flip the bird a few times less going around the rotary on a rainy day in July. Although, I do enjoy that…

and the inside is AMAZING too!

Vatican City is nothing short of magnificent. I would like to start my own city one day, so it was good for me to spend a lot of time there to see how much one can fit in 110 acres. My friend Brooklyn invited my Mom and I to join their tour to the Vatican. It was the most thorough tour I’ve ever been on. I mean, the guide could tell you the significance of the markings on a door hinge. I probably learned more in that 2 ½ hours than I did in a semester of Art History in college; not to mention, I have never seen so many busts in my life! I did hit my capacity though, so by the time we made it to the Sistine Chapel, Adam came right down from the ceiling and sat next to me and then the flood came and I realized I should drink some more water. It was pretty unreal sitting in there. The Sistine Chapel had always been on my life list of things to see. It’s wonderful to be able to cross something off your life list, you feel like you can slack off the rest of your life and it won’t matter.

my tripod for the Basilica shot

Brooklyn, her Mom, my Mom and myself went out to dinner that night and that’s when I realized Clowns are scary in other countries too. We were walking down a perfectly quaint Italian alley lined with restaurants and outdoor seating filled with all the happy tourists. There was a street clown in between two of the restaurants and usually I have better sense and I avoid eye contact but this one time I smiled at him – I smiled at a street clown. So stupid! He immediately grabbed my wrist and yelled, “I love you!” At which point my Mom, feeling a wee bit protective grabbed my other wrist and yelled, “I’m her Mother!” At which point the hundreds of happy tourists turned in their seats to watch as the two Americans were getting haggled by the clown. The clown’s grip on me tightened harder, “But, I looove her!” And as I’m standing there while the true elasticity of my arms (and organs) is being tested I’m thinking someone should be putting a few euros in my pocket for this highly entertaining street act. We finally broke away and I swear I heard a faint applause from the happy tourists.

lots of busts

After we tucked the Moms in bed for the night at the hotel, Brooklyn and I went out in search of some much-needed libations. As we turned down one of the alleys, I saw a man leaning against the side. Figuring he was embracing the art of public urination we continued walking completely unfazed. At closer observation, however, this man seemed to be wearing all black and was not in fact using the street as a toilet…rather, he was taking advantage of the absence of light and people to put on a black ski mask. I immediately grabbed Brooklyn and turned us around to head back to the piazza. Being a typical New Yorker, Brooklyn was still completely unfazed by this man. Sometimes my country bumpkin roots really shine through…or was that common sense shining through? I guess the difference is that the New Yorker would walk down the alley perfectly aware of the threat of being mugged, but would be carrying mace.

documenting the busts

After a delightful drink on the town we headed back and decided we would have a drink at the hotel before calling it quits. Unfortunately, the hotel bar had closed hours before but the man at the front desk took no hesitation to offer opening the bar back up and serving us as well as opening the outdoor patio. So, while Brooklyn and I sipped our Italian beers in the beautiful patio adjacent to the Pantheon I thought clowns and muggers aside – it could not get any better than this.