Prologue

This is love story, a true story, one of sorcery, bravery and adventure. It is also an authentic travel guide. Take it to Rome, the city of fountains, and follow the footsteps of R and B.

Richard and I had just came back from 5 days in Rome in September of 1991. What a trip. I'm exhausted and super-saturated with culture--2,000 years worth. Rome is the easiest city we ever visited. All we had to do was walk out of our hotel and "wa la" a famous church, statue or fountain. We would look on the map, have a goal in mind but along the way other stuff like apostles relics, Roman ruins or the Pantheon would lure us off our goal. The hard part comes now that we're home and I'm recapturing the adventure on paper, "and" at the same time, acknowledging my critics by adding a more personal touch so that my letters don't sound like they're plagiarized tour books. I also heard you when you so politely suggested that my letters might be a "teeny weeny" bit long.

But I can't see any way around that because I'm writing them for three reasons. One reason is the reinforcement I get from writing about all the places we've visited. The second is to be able to recall the places, events and feelings years later. So to accomplish all this, and still send you manageable letters, (instead of manuscripts), I'll break the letters up into... hum, let's call them chapters. The third reason, (ha, you thought I forgot the third) I'm writing as many details as possible is so that maybe, just maybe, someone else can enjoy Rome from their cozy over-stuffed chair. So with out anymore preface here we go...

1. Plans in the Making

Our journey started when I went to the German tourist offices to gather information. "Mallorca, an island off Spain. That's where all the German tourists go to relax on the beach. I could book a room at the Mallorca Hilton." That evening I told R. what the travel agent had said and while we searched the map for the Spanish islands, we both ignored the growing divination that began to raise the tiny hairs on the back of our necks.

"Resting on the beach sounds fun, but we've done that in San Diego lots of times," I said.

"Let's collect another country on our passport," R. suggested. "I've been fascinated by foreign places ever since I was about ten years old and father come home from work with a bag of exotic stamps. I use to look at the designs under a magnifying glass, and pretend all sorts of Sir Galahad adventures."

I put my hand over my mouth but a small giggle escaped anyway.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just that I can't see you slaying monsters and saving damsels in distress."

"Hump, not so impossible," he mumbled, readjusting his glasses.

We both sipped our evening wine silently looking at the map of Europe that hung on the kitchen wall.

"You've a limited number of holidays in Europe, I began, more to the map then my kitchen companion, I don't ever want to hear myself say, "I wish I had". I don't want to say it to my loved ones on my death bed, I don't want to say it after I die and look down on earth, and I particularly don't want to say it when we have to go back to the States."

Without acknowledging my soliloquy, R. slowly ran his thick fingers over the map as if smoothing out wrinkles. When his hand rested still and flat, the map and the room began to spin, all the waters of the world joined together. The waters clashed and foamed as if they were waging a universal war of the Seas. Then...slowly at first, the waters agreed; they merged forces and started spinning East to West. Around and around they whirled sucking in mountains, factories, Genghis Kahn and the stone age man into it's cosmic whirlpool. The roar of water thundered in our ears as we too were sucked down into the dark watery funnel whose depths lead to the birth place of European civilization-the focal point that has engulfed historian, artist, religious pilgrim and thief for centuries...the city, the country... ROME.

R. pulled his hand off the map; the room solidified, but I was still in a daze, when I heard in a whisper, "How about Rome?"

I quickly snapped out of my lassitude "Rome? Oh no, no no, no, I'll never survive all those churches and crucifixes. What about the pickpockets, we'll get lost and wonder the crooked streets like ghosts the rest of our lives. The heat will soften our brains, we'll argue and end up hating each other."

"Rome is one of the most famous cities in the world, we have to go, you know."

I was frightened and excited both at the same time. Next was how to get there. Wow, 17 hours, one way on the train. don't bother to ask how many hours it would take by bus over the German, Swiss and Italian Alps. We agreed for a few dollars more, a 1 1/2 hour airplane ride with Air Italia was the method of choice. We hopped on our local train, arrived at the Frankfurt airport in time for coffee; leisurely strolled to the gate, boarded a small bus and were driven onto the air field to the green tailed plane and an olive skinned, doe-eyed, chiseled- featured steward. From that moment on I was in love, "amore de Roma".

After Italian customs check, we found the tourist information office, booked a room, was given a detailed map and pushed in the direction of the train that we had to ride from Leonardo de Vinci airport to Italy's capital city. In Rome, we lugged our bags only four blocks from the metro station to the Millrose hotel and our room (with it's own shower and toilet). We unpacked and were ready to see the sights by 1pm.

The coffin size, five foot by three foot elevator, took us down the seven floors of our hotel to "via Cavour". The heat rose from the narrow car lined street. If we squinted against the glaring sun, we saw Roman-type pillars just up the way, within reach. Tossing our tour book aside, like abandoned utensils, we just stuck our faces right down into the middle of Rome and began to slurp up it's sights and smells like it was a big plate of pasta and we were starving tourists.

"Rock and Roll. Let's go for it!"

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