which--pre-adjustment--it was.) Let the games begin!! To connect with our next flight (lots of folks were doing this), we had to walk to another terminal. No shuttle buses or vans or scooters. I swear it was easily 3/4 of a mile. When we finally got to the next gate area, we needed to go through passport check. Only one airport employee was there to do this for the 300+ folks trying to make flight connections. Well, it was 6:00 in the morning. An ungodly hour to be at work in Paris. All but a handful of folks missed their flights. Including me. So we raced each other to the nearest counter. No airport personnel had arrived there either. It's now 7:30 a.m. local time. All the suits in the line whipped out cell phones and made outraged phone calls. An attendant finally showed up; I convinced her to get me a seat on the 9:45 to Rome. She did. I think I was quite pathetic. I took another valium and flew to Rome. At the airport in Rome: it seemed my suitcase had been misplaced. We call it lost when we are panicked, which I was. A couple of hours later, my suitcase showed up. ??? I made it to the station connected to the airport to take the train to Roma Termini -- the center of the city. Appearing a bit confused, this tall, red-headed American girl said follow me, I'm going there. I did. She of course went first, and purchased an array of tickets that resembled a tour. The train was in the station. She, of course, made that train. Myself and the ten folks behind me in queue, waited another half hour for the next one. I was at this point a bit unnerved. However, I was in Rome. With no idea how to get to the hotel -- the directions given were useless. Wandering around the general vicinity, trying NOT to cry, a gentleman (really!) stopped and asked in Italian if I needed help. I told him yes, but in English. He was instantly delighted and in a charming British accent, directed me to my hotel. 
A nice hotel. A nice room. It was around 3:30p.m. I dropped my things, washed up a bit, grabbed my camera, and headed for the Metro. As I exited the subway facing the remarkable Colosseum -- I was appalled at the litter, and hundreds of people partying and a general mess. It was the day of the Rome Marathon!! 
In New York City, we'd say "Go know!" I stood in the middle of the chaos and laughed and laughed! Then I began my own marathon: snapping pictures, racing from landmark to monument; arriving at the Spanish steps after dark. And the Trevi Fountain after that. It was around 8:00p.m. I'd had it. I found my way back to my hotel, changed clothes, wandered into a little trattoria next door. Ordered a glass of vino rosso, insalata mista, pasta pomedoro. I don't like to eat alone. The place was very small, so I was practically sitting at the same table as a pleasant British couple who- it turned out -- were at the same hotel. We chatted happily through the meal. I thanked them for their good company, returned to the hotel, sent an email to my kids (my iPod Touch wasn't doing its expected thing so I used the hotel computer.) In my room I showered, laid down on the bed, and not feeling tired I was watching Italian TV. The next thing I knew it was 8:30 a.m. Why was I surprised? I hadn't been to bed since Friday night. It was Monday morning. It was my birthday. I was in Rome.
In New York City, we'd say "Go know!" I stood in the middle of the chaos and laughed and laughed! Then I began my own marathon: snapping pictures, racing from landmark to monument; arriving at the Spanish steps after dark. And the Trevi Fountain after that. It was around 8:00p.m. I'd had it. I found my way back to my hotel, changed clothes, wandered into a little trattoria next door. Ordered a glass of vino rosso, insalata mista, pasta pomedoro. I don't like to eat alone. The place was very small, so I was practically sitting at the same table as a pleasant British couple who- it turned out -- were at the same hotel. We chatted happily through the meal. I thanked them for their good company, returned to the hotel, sent an email to my kids (my iPod Touch wasn't doing its expected thing so I used the hotel computer.) In my room I showered, laid down on the bed, and not feeling tired I was watching Italian TV. The next thing I knew it was 8:30 a.m. Why was I surprised? I hadn't been to bed since Friday night. It was Monday morning. It was my birthday. I was in Rome.
Lesson #4: I knew there'd be more lessons. Don't plan to move on to the next city at mid-day, believing you could get some sight-seeing in before leaving. Either beat it early so you have more time in the next city, or leave later so you can actually sight-see before heading out. I of course hadn't done either. I spent an inordinate amount of time at the Termini; not boring -- people watching; tons of shops; like a mall with a train inside. When I saw my train number appear on the board, I went to it. It said it was going to Venezia. I was going to Firenze. Yet another tall, red-headed American girl with enough luggage to have been moving her residence, looked at my ticket and pointed me to the Florence regional train. I got there; I got on it. Yuk! Fortunately, an attendant looked at my ticket and pointed me back to the Venice train. The Euro Rail. Verrry nice. The first stop would be Florence. I got to it just in time to get on board, find my seat, look out the window as we left Rome and inform the universe that there would be no more shit flying on this trip. It was my birthday. I was on my way to Florence. (That will be my next entry!)
