Italian antics: from Rome to Sorrento
An action packed holiday in Italy? Yes please! Charlotte Carpenter reports
After an intense week of mocks, a gentle start to the Easter holidays is what you think is rightly deserved. Instead, you’re woken up at an ungodly hour by your father reminding the family that you only have a short eight hours to drive the two-hour journey to London Heathrow.
Following a morning of incessant queueing and many a ’sorry for running over your foot with my suitcase’ you settle into seat 35B, excited to get your teeth into a delightful murder mystery book and an equally delightful bar of Milka chocolate. Unfortunately, your flight is delayed for an hour, but the pilot decides to play the sweet tones of classical music at an obnoxiously high volume to get you through it and, by the time the plane is ready to take off, you’re quite wishing that it’s you in the murder mystery you’re reading.
For the somewhat horrendous ordeal that travelling is, you expect to be rewarded and no place can do that better than Rome. Mamma Mia! To say that it’s a beautiful city is to understate it. Dazzling in its architectural beauty, the city sits, a myriad of pillars, arches and columns, telling its history through stone. After a near-death experience in the taxi to your hotel (never has the phrase ‘road rage’ been more fitting) you enthusiastically strap your bum bag on, smother your pale arms and legs in factor 50 and set out to the heart of Rome. First stop: Circus Maximus. An ancient entertainment venue, you and your sister bring it to life, executing a moving performance of slow-motion chariot racing while mum pretends not to know who you are.
You visit the Trevi Fountain, a masterpiece framed by a brilliant blue sky. An 18th century work of art designed by Nicola Salvi, it’s adorned with marble sea horses, flowers, and statues crowned with laurel wreaths. A quaint little museum underneath the fountain hides the aqueduct that feeds water into it as well as a collection of inscribed stone tablets. Or in other words, an archaeological wonder.
The next day, you slip on a floral maxi skirt and swish your way downstairs to the breakfast room. Everything in Italy is built by an artist’s hand and this buffet is no exception. Platters of prosciutto and towers of buttery croissants greet you like an edible welcome mat. For a minute you wonder if that cab ride had gone worse than you remember and this is actually heaven.
You spend the morning at the colosseum. Once home to brutal gladiator fights and now haloed by tourists, the elliptical amphitheatre poses for art students. Once inside, you’re transported back to Ancient Roman times and can almost see a ghost gladiator raising its ghostly sword and, a moment later, the ghostly head of a fellow gladiator rolling across the dust. While this is indeed a family holiday, your dad elects himself as tour guide and consequently strides at least three metres in front of you, whilst shouting at the map on his phone. Gelato-fuelled, yet hungry for more famous landmarks, a quick march to the Vatican City leads you to stare open-mouthed at the many Renaissance paintings that line St Peter’s Basilica. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it certainly wasn’t walked in a day either. Three days of trekking around the city centre and you’re about ready to hitch a ride with a hunky Italian man crammed into his three wheeled Vespa car. Dining in a pizzeria in a gorgeous ‘piazza’ at sunset you watch the restaurant opposite turn various shades of gold and whilst butchering the language, ask the waiter if you could ‘per favore’ have that mouth-watering lasagne he just handed to the lady at the table next to you.
The second half of your trip consists of being chased down a lemon laden hillside by a dog whose land you’re apparently trespassing on, Sorrento’s charming side streets bustling with overheated tourists, impatient Italians and bottles of limoncello threatening to topple onto the cobblestones and a boat ride to the island of Capri where Giovanni the tour guide serenades you with his rendition of Frank Sinatra as salt spray politely spits at your hair. You search for stray dogs in the city of Pompeii, brave public transport to see the town of Positano with its idyllic cluster of pastel cottages looking like they’re straight out of Balamory and, having stolen a piece of Vesuvius, feel a heat of guilt going through Rome airport as though a hench Italian security guard is going to tackle you for sneaking a pebble out of the country.
With its street musicians, rich red wine and achingly pretty landscapes, it’s safe to say that Italy will always have a pizza your heart.
Charlotte Carpenter, Year 12
After an intense week of mocks, a gentle start to the Easter holidays is what you think is rightly deserved. Instead, you’re woken up at an ungodly hour by your father reminding the family that you only have a short eight hours to drive the two-hour journey to London Heathrow.
Following a morning of incessant queueing and many a ’sorry for running over your foot with my suitcase’ you settle into seat 35B, excited to get your teeth into a delightful murder mystery book and an equally delightful bar of Milka chocolate. Unfortunately, your flight is delayed for an hour, but the pilot decides to play the sweet tones of classical music at an obnoxiously high volume to get you through it and, by the time the plane is ready to take off, you’re quite wishing that it’s you in the murder mystery you’re reading.
For the somewhat horrendous ordeal that travelling is, you expect to be rewarded and no place can do that better than Rome. Mamma Mia! To say that it’s a beautiful city is to understate it. Dazzling in its architectural beauty, the city sits, a myriad of pillars, arches and columns, telling its history through stone. After a near-death experience in the taxi to your hotel (never has the phrase ‘road rage’ been more fitting) you enthusiastically strap your bum bag on, smother your pale arms and legs in factor 50 and set out to the heart of Rome. First stop: Circus Maximus. An ancient entertainment venue, you and your sister bring it to life, executing a moving performance of slow-motion chariot racing while mum pretends not to know who you are.
You visit the Trevi Fountain, a masterpiece framed by a brilliant blue sky. An 18th century work of art designed by Nicola Salvi, it’s adorned with marble sea horses, flowers, and statues crowned with laurel wreaths. A quaint little museum underneath the fountain hides the aqueduct that feeds water into it as well as a collection of inscribed stone tablets. Or in other words, an archaeological wonder.
The next day, you slip on a floral maxi skirt and swish your way downstairs to the breakfast room. Everything in Italy is built by an artist’s hand and this buffet is no exception. Platters of prosciutto and towers of buttery croissants greet you like an edible welcome mat. For a minute you wonder if that cab ride had gone worse than you remember and this is actually heaven.
You spend the morning at the colosseum. Once home to brutal gladiator fights and now haloed by tourists, the elliptical amphitheatre poses for art students. Once inside, you’re transported back to Ancient Roman times and can almost see a ghost gladiator raising its ghostly sword and, a moment later, the ghostly head of a fellow gladiator rolling across the dust. While this is indeed a family holiday, your dad elects himself as tour guide and consequently strides at least three metres in front of you, whilst shouting at the map on his phone. Gelato-fuelled, yet hungry for more famous landmarks, a quick march to the Vatican City leads you to stare open-mouthed at the many Renaissance paintings that line St Peter’s Basilica. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it certainly wasn’t walked in a day either. Three days of trekking around the city centre and you’re about ready to hitch a ride with a hunky Italian man crammed into his three wheeled Vespa car. Dining in a pizzeria in a gorgeous ‘piazza’ at sunset you watch the restaurant opposite turn various shades of gold and whilst butchering the language, ask the waiter if you could ‘per favore’ have that mouth-watering lasagne he just handed to the lady at the table next to you.
The second half of your trip consists of being chased down a lemon laden hillside by a dog whose land you’re apparently trespassing on, Sorrento’s charming side streets bustling with overheated tourists, impatient Italians and bottles of limoncello threatening to topple onto the cobblestones and a boat ride to the island of Capri where Giovanni the tour guide serenades you with his rendition of Frank Sinatra as salt spray politely spits at your hair. You search for stray dogs in the city of Pompeii, brave public transport to see the town of Positano with its idyllic cluster of pastel cottages looking like they’re straight out of Balamory and, having stolen a piece of Vesuvius, feel a heat of guilt going through Rome airport as though a hench Italian security guard is going to tackle you for sneaking a pebble out of the country.
With its street musicians, rich red wine and achingly pretty landscapes, it’s safe to say that Italy will always have a pizza your heart.
Charlotte Carpenter, Year 12
