The plan for Saturday was to get up nice and early and get on the train to go to the seaside town of Nettuno to visit some of X's friends. We didn't exactly get home early the previous night, however, and once again managed to miss the best of the morning sun. During the hour train ride the weather turned cloudy and even threatened to rain, but miraculously we passed through a tunnel and out into glorious sunshine.
On arrival we met X's friends and the group of five of us headed straight for the beach where we proceeded to work on our tans. Everything went well until a mad Bulgarian came over and started talking to us. It appeared (from the way he acted, and from the empty bottle of rum where he had been sitting) that he had drunk an entire bottle of rum. Despite our not entirely successful attempts to ignore him, it took us at least half an hour to get rid of him. He eventually staggered off and proceeded to join in with a game of football that was underway further up the beach. This provided some entertainment as he repeatedly kicked the ball in a random direction and fell over.
We had a leisurely dinner back at the apartment before setting out into town for the evening just when we felt like it. This is not something I get to do at home in the UK, thanks to our ridiculous licensing laws. Some time back in history, for a reason no-one can remember, it was decided that all drinking establishments should close at half past eleven. What this means is that British drinking culture consists mostly of rushing down the pub straight after an early dinner to get in as many beverages as possible before last orders. At which point all the people stumble out, try to get taxis (which they can't because everyone else has the same idea) and often end up having drunken brawls outside the pub. Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly, but it does happen. Either way, you can't take your time and have a nice relaxing evening, and if you do want to stay out late the only option is a club. So it was good to sample things European style for a change.
We walked into town along the seafront. Apparently there was a festival of some saint or other going on, and sure enough, just as we reached the sea, the fireworks started. It was a spectacular display that went on for twenty minutes, building into climactic crescendo. The explosions echoed along the buildings of the street behind us in a way that gave them a kind of metallic surround sound effect. Maybe I was caught up in the wonder of the moment, but I reckon they were the best fireworks I've seen: Non-stop, quick fire, 3D, overlapping, detonations of colour. And all this from a sleepy seaside town. After the display we continued into town through a fairground of food stalls and games crowded with people. It was great to be in amongst the party atmosphere.
We turned up a steep, narrow, cobbled street, around a corner and up some steps to our chosen destination, a Jamaican themed bar. We found a long cusion and sat on it looking down the steps. We were in a tiny square, mostly filled by the patrons of the bar, their talking, and the reggae music in the background. It was a perfect setting for relaxing in the warm evening air. After the bar, there was a club, walking home along the beach (not all of us wearing appropriate footwear), and late night snacks. It was a very fun night!
The following day was Sunday, and we all staggered out of the apartment in time for mid-morning coffee, lunch, and a whole day on the beach. In the late afternoon it emerged that the football team Lazio had won the league, and the streets were filled with cars beeping their horns and people shouting and partying. In the evening we had dinner out on the balcony before heading back for Rome on the train. We grabbed supper from a take-away pizzeria and got on a tram, the safety from which one brave man was shouting the praises of Roma at rival Lazio fans, much to the scorn of his girlfriend. People were still tooting their car horns late into the early hours.