Rome: Day 2

Mission of the Day : Caravaggio Tour.
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I think it’s safe to say that, although Migros does offer a compatible quality with its line of Budget products, I will never again buy their batteries. After one single day of picture-taking, the camera was kaput. Crying in disbelief, I re-oriented the batteries and turned the camera on and off multiple times, only to find the annoying « battery empty » screen. Fortunately, we managed to find some over-priced Duracells in a tacky souvenir shop near the French church.
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I should also add my observation of amazement at the amount of free culture Rome has to offer. For example, we were able to see a good deal of Caravaggio’s most famous works witout paying a dime; and even so, the lines weren’t too epic and the paintings were situated in beautiful churches in quaint neighborhoods around Rome. Definitely no complaints there.
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The complaints immediately follow, however. Why would there be room to complain, you say? Especially in a city full of breath-taking architecture, artwork, and scenery? Well, the bus system is frankly the biggest pain in the ass imaginable. See yourself arriving at the bus stop – everything goes well the first time. The first bus arrives in 15 minutes – no problem. The transfer, however, is another question entirely. Bus 118, in particular, is sure to give problems. Bus 628, the other bus on the route, arrived THREE times before our bus arrived an hour later. After 55 minutes, we decided to forget our plans to visit the catacombs, only to find the bus barrelling down the road to our stop. We were not going to throw away that valuable time spent playing hopscotch and singing camp songs only to miss this transfer, so we sprinted to catch the 118 before it was too late.
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After a few minutes on the bus, it was evident the impossiblility of walking to our desired destination. My dear friend Katherine had previously encountered the death street with her mom a few weeks prior. The street was narrow and devoid of sidewalks or any sort of pedestrian passage, which is rather frightening when you have cars honking and passing each other from every direction and swerving abruptly to avoid imminent collisions. Our bus ride was a bumpy, crowded, stiflin 40 or 50 minutes of heaven. Grateful to finally reach fresh air (notably next to a group of strategically-placed dumpsters), we stopped at the Catacombe di San Sebastiano. And no, we didn’t see skeletons, only really small stone caskets. There were two American girls in short shorts and black t-shirts (on a rather chilly spring day, no less) that decided to follow our French-speaking tour and take pictures even though a) they obviously did not speak any sort of foreign language and b) they chose to ignore the tour guide when she reprimanded them in French, Italian, and finally English in regard to their prohibited photography. It was just as well, because when the group finally ascended from the depths of the catacomb at the end of the tour, the girls slinked back "unnoticed" to probably wreak havoc on the dead. I'm pretty sure I was the only one who took note. It would be cool if they got arrested. Alas, we unfortunately had to leave before the girls resurfaced and met their fate with the authorities.
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And then came the rain. And it rained. And rained. And...yeah. For two days. Nonstop. For those of you who think it is always beautiful in Rome, maybe you only saw the city in postcards. No matter, because we took our trusty old Bus 118 and waited another hour in the downpour. And this time, one of our group members did almost die on the street because of the lack of sidewalks and the speedy traffic. Little seven-year-old Sophia's Coke Zero was completely dead, but she thankfully got out with all of her fingers and toes intact, if only incredibly shocked and upset. This is when I decided how grateful I was for the frequent pedestrian sidewalks and conscientious drivers. I will never live in Rome.
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Julia then took us to the pre-school where she sent Sophia during her residence in Rome - Celio Azzurro - and the family welcomed our drenched group with a steaming platter of pasta with spicy tomato sauce, apples, fresh mozzarella, parmaggiano, peccorino, raw green beans, and red wine. We shared some beautiful stories despite the language barrier and spent a wonderful evening with our generous hosts.
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The husband, wife, and two sons served us piping hot espresso and explained a bit about their philosophies - teaching 50 3-6 year olds how to respect one another, be grateful for the one who cooked their meal (whether it be male or female), share household responsibilities between genders, grow their own vegetables (everyone eats salad at this school, thanks to their effort in raising their own garden), and, most importantly, to respect people of all cultures and religions. They are taught how to argue in a polite way and how to manage disputes the way that adults are supposed to. The love of this family for each other and their students really touched me, and it is encouraging to know people who still have good morals and share them with young people.
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In general, I have been very impressed with the Romans I have met on this trip, maybe because Julia simply knows a lot of good people. Earlier in the day, we also met a man who writes for Confronti, a daily journal that focuses on immigrant rights, confrontation of political and religious extremisim, and daily prejudices in the city of Rome. He told us the story of the difficulties in finding residency - being originally from Morocco himself - and gaining work permits as an immigrant.