A Surreal Roman Holiday
Nadia
Kabir Barb
The
scene was almost surreal. Six women running through the streets
of Rome at one in the morning through torrential rain. Our raucous
laughter would have woken even the deepest of sleepers had it
not been for the rain drowning out all other sounds. Despite
getting soaked to the bone, avoiding one giant puddle to walk
straight into another and looking less than glamorous, the feeling
was exhilarating and liberating. There we were in Piazza del
Quirinale at an ungodly hour making our way back to the hotel
after an exquisite meal.
How I got to be there was really a matter of
chance. A half serious comment made by my cousin who was visiting
us from the States suggesting that we should go away for a couple
of days to somewhere in Europe seemed a rather tantalising proposition.
Normally this would have been dismissed off hand as juggling
three children, school runs, homework etc. would have made actually
going almost impossible but as fate would have it, the children's
half-term holiday was almost upon us and when my husband kindly
offered to take a day off work to look after them, it all started
to look viable and I wasted no time in booking my ticket. Destination
- Rome. Thus you find me and five of my rain sodden companions
hot footing it to the warmth of our hotel in Rome aptly named
the Eternal city.
We only had two days and three nights to try
and absorb as much of the sights and sounds of Rome as we could,
so we decided to be military in our use of our time. We booked
ourselves on various guided tours rather than wandering around
aimlessly achieving very little at the end of it all. Our first
tour was to the Vatican Museum, the Sistine Chapel and St. Paul's
Basilica (Cathedral). When we arrived at the Vatican Museum,
the queue was daunting, snaking its way down the road and stretching
over a mile. However, it took less time to enter than we had
feared and we were now eager to start our tour.
The tour guide requested us to follow the "yellow
umbrella" and would stop every now and then to point out
paintings of greater importance or give us a brief history of
the rooms we were in. The information she was imparting was
in itself fascinating but I was almost mesmerised by her she
had a set of rather discoloured teeth with numerous silver teeth
interspersed amongst them and the more I tried to avoid staring,
the more my eyes were drawn to the unpleasant sight. However,
when we reached the Sistine Chapel painted by Michael Angelo,
nothing could draw my gaze from the masterpiece above me. The
second guide was just as fascinating as our first. Her face
was stretched so tautly across her face that we were concerned
as to how she would actually move her lips without permanent
injury to her face! In fact I ended up having to try and lip
read as she had a very strong German accent and it was rather
difficult understanding much of what she said. But we walked
through the ruins of the Roman Forum and stood in front of the
Colosseum just awestruck by the architectural brilliance of
the Romans as many of these remaining sites were almost two
and a half thousand years old. Last but not least was our guide
who took us inside the Colosseum. Her appearance was totally
non-descript but the moment she opened her mouth, it was as
if she were in an auditorium performing for the audience. It
was wonderful listening to her taking us back to the time of
emperors, gods and gladiators, a time where people were so advanced
in so many respects yet so barbaric in others such as their
love for blood sport.
In
spite of being my third time in Rome, I find that no matter
how many times you go back, Rome is as charming and fascinating
each and every time. History seems to ooze from every corner
of the city you could almost close your eyes and imagine Julius
Caesar walking through the Roman Forum or the Roman Emperors
watching charioteers hurtling around the Circus Maximus. But
oddly enough every time I opened my eyes I was greeted not by
Russell Crowesque men in gladiator costume, but Bangladeshi
men selling their wares on the cobbled streets of Rome! It was
like being transported back to Newmarket. The man selling the
roasted chestnuts on the corner of the street was a deshi
bhai, the men producing umbrellas at the faintest hint
of rain or even the costume jewellery sellers were deshi.
In fact when we went to restaurants and the waiters asked where
we were from, they cheerfully informed us that the chef was
called Bulbul or Kamal! The irony of it all sitting in an authentic
Italian restaurant in the middle of Rome being served the most
amazing Italian food cooked by a Bangladeshi! At one point,
while we were ambling across the Spanish Steps being typically
"touristi", my 18 year old cousin wanted to have a
look at some of the jewellery on offer by one of our fellow
countrymen, who having established our nationality asked us
suspiciously whether his wife had sent us to check up on him!
We had to convince him that we were in fact random tourists
on a holiday from London.
Having decided to pack as many things into two
days as humanly possible, we even squeezed in an opera on our
last night. The hotel had suggested La Traviata by Giuseppe
Verdi and we took them up on their advice and booked tickets
for the evening performance. We decided to have a coffee (tea
in my case) before the show and found a cute little café
very close to the opera. Of course the gentleman at the counter
was Sylheti. While serving us he kept giving us extra large
slices of cake and not charging for this or that when we objected
politely, he said that he would be very sad if we did not accept
his hospitality as in his words "ador kore dichchi".
The opera was enjoyed by the six of us in varying degrees. There
seemed to be a direct correlation between level of enjoyment
and age the younger the person the lower the level of enjoyment
and the older the person the greater the pleasure. As we left
the building, discussing our various takes on the story, singing
etc, we were dismayed to find that the heavens had opened up
in the mean time and it was pouring with rain. Finding a taxi
became a task of utmost importance. We managed to find one and
three of our six got in (taxis only take a maximum of 5 people)
and I was one of the remaining three. As everyone else coming
out of the opera had the same idea as us, we realised that standing
in one place waiting for a taxi was probably a bad idea so we
began walking down the road. After half an hour we were still
on our hunt for a cab. By this stage it was midnight and we
were once again getting soaked to the bone but this time irritation
had replaced exhilaration. Finally we saw a taxi making its
way towards us and as we were about to get in, two Italian women
came over and started shouting that they had seen it first.
We disagreed but the two women gave the poor cab driver such
an earful that he decided to drive off without any of us. We
eyed the women with great hostility and they glared back at
us. Soon we saw another taxi approaching and from their body
language; it was obvious that the two ladies were going to pounce
on the cab as soon as it drew up. Luckily there was another
taxi right behind and just before I got in, I told the two women
exactly what I thought of them (very politely of course). Having
got that off my chest, we headed for the restaurant where we
were supposed to meet the rest of our group. It did not take
long for Kamal Bhai's pasta Arabiata to make us forget the taxi
fiasco.
The next morning when I got back home I was
almost knocked over by my three children, hugs and kisses being
lavished upon me and the thought that I should do this more
often did cross my mind. But even though Rome was great, being
home was even better.