Rome: At the airport

We booked our tickets late, and so we had to take a long haul flight with two stops to Rome. At the airport, we wonder if the ride our travel agent had arranged is there to pick us up. Indeed, he is, holding up a sign with our names on it.

On the way out of baggage claim, we wonder if we have to go through passport control. We ask an officer, and in his broken English, he explains that we already did that at our first port of entry, which was Amsterdam.

Outside, it is hot and Wife quickly sheds her jacket. On the two lane highway, our driver drives like a maniac, shoving any traffic in front of him to the side. He seems to be in a hurry to get elsewhere; wife and I think it must be the World Cup football game that is starting in 30 minutes. 25 minutes later, he drops us next to the hotel and whizzes off.

I knock on the side door, but nobody responds. I peer in and can see an abandoned front desk with furniture strewn around and building material on the floor. What? Did our agent book us a hotel that has been abandoned? I press a bell that is next to the door and still nobody responds. Wife asks me to check the side of the building and I do. Nothing there. It is 4:30 in the afternoon, and I have heard that Italians often take the afternoon off for a long siesta. Is that the case here?

Fortunately a bell-boy sees us and comes to fetch us. We were at the wrong door. The main entrance is further ahead.

We are checked in and showered. At the front desk, I am handed a map of the city. Peering at it, I find that our hotel is walking distance from all the main attractions.

Right next to our hotel is Trevi Fountain or Fontana di Trevi as the locals call it. It is alive, with hordes of people chucking coins into the fountain, with their backs to it, and over their left shoulder. That action according to legend guarantees a return trip to Rome. Wife does it and so do I.

We decide against a sit-down dinner and instead grab some pizza for dinner. On the way, we find a crowd watching the England-Portugal World Cup match on a large screen TV. The game has gone to a penalty shootout and we watch as England falter. The crowd groans everytime Portugal misses and cheers when England scores. But that seems strange to me for quite a few in the crowd are dressed in Portugal colors. I wonder if the Italians are cheering on the English, so that they can avoid playing Portugal in the semis.

We wander around some more. France plays Brazil later in the night and wife wants to watch that on the telly. So we head to the hotel. Tonight will be our first night in the Eternal City of Rome.