At Vatican Musuem, St. Peter's dome in background (left); Trevi Fountain (below)

Rome
By Stan Morse
March 19, 1998

Paris was cold and overcast during the two hour layover between Bangkok and Rome. It was a relief to leave. Paris was for April. I was headed south, where spring had arrived.

Above the Italian Alps the clouds finally disappeared. From 30,000 feet, I was gazing at the jagged white peaks which Julius Caesar had crossed with his legions over 2,000 years ago. They looked similar to the Cascades back home, but their historical significance literally sent chills down my spine.

The cab ride from the airport was surreal. We kept passing things I had seen pictures of. The Colosseum. The dome of St. Peter's at the Vatican. The ancient wall built to protect the city from invading Germanic tribes. I was on history overload.

I still am, after five days in Rome. I've seen so many works by Michelangelo and Bernini they now seem commonplace. Millennia-old busts and statues of emperors and senators turn up everywhere -- atop buildings, in niches along the old wall, on pedestals and in fountains. You enter a plaza and see an obelisk at the center, then realize you are looking at an Egyptian artifact, already ancient when it was taken by the Romans.

I'm told that on the outskirts of the city there is a huge pile of ancient debris -- broken amphora, pots, . . . you name it. Items that would be on museum display in other parts of the world. Here, too common to bother with.

And who cares about pot shards when you can walk in the original Pantheon? Dating from the second century AD, its massive dome and marbled interior are relatively intact and perfectly functional. The massive original bronze front doors, which must weigh hundreds of tons, still hang in place.

Nearby, the Trevi Fountain gushes water beneath a host of marble statuary. People line the edge of the pool, throwing coins over their shoulders to ensure a return to Rome.

I was warned that the old sections were not wheelchair-friendly. Cobblestones abound, and sidewalks are often narrow and lack curb cuts. But I think the inaccessibility factor is overrated. I found most cobbles worn smooth. Most curbs were low and easily jumped (after Bangkok and Singapore, they seemed little more than speed-bumps).

Besides, this is Rome. Much of it is ancient. You can't sanitize everything. I didn't mind taking a little extra time and being patient negotiating the streets and alleys. And if I ran into steps, there always seemed to be someone willing to help. I was carried into St. Peter's up the front steps by a young French couple, who, when they learned of my project, gave me a name and phone number and invited me to call them when I reached Paris. How can I complain about that?!

The real problem was the traffic. Roman drivers are perpetually in a hurry. No one wants to stop. You always assume a vehicle will come screaming around a blind corner, the driver unconcerned that someone might be in the way, and you are usually right.

I've made many new friends here. One extended an invitation to come to Sicily. Tomorrow, I take a train south, and by dusk, I should be in the town of Catania.