Innocent (Rome - Florence)

What wonders a good night's sleep can accomplish, dear reader. Generally, I judge the time by the light, but in a different country, it's not so easy. What I thought was around 6am, judging by the light creeping under the curtains, was actually 8am and it would be another hour before Jayne stirred. When I pulled back the blockout curtains the light was devastatingly, eye-shielding bright.

The view from balcony by day.

Our two nights in Rome were meant as a recovery period from the flights. Transit time from Sydney to Rome was about 40 hours. As a result we had planned only one excursion, a visit to the Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a palace about a 20 minute walk from the hotel. It is still a family 'home' as such but they have opened the gardens and some of the rooms to the public. It has a interesting history dating back to the days of Pope Innocent X, one of the Pamphilj family members whose power and position cemented the family's place in the Roman aristocracy well beyond his death in 1655.

And that brings us to today's title dear reader, Innocent by Taylor Swift from her 2010 album Speak Now.

Armed with her trusty paper map, Jayne steered us there through the hoards of people. Apparently shoulder season doesn't exist anymore and I am beginning to question if there are any Americans left in the US. I mean, I get why they would want to be anywhere else, but still.

A random church doorway.

The idea was to find somewhere to have a coffee and a pastry on the way to the Palace. Great theory. Possibly the roads we travelled were well worn tourists paths but there were precious few cafés that weren't in the full blast of the Roman sun. Before we realised, we were standing outside the gates of the palace, an hour early. Plan adjusted, we would eat afterwards, something light and have dinner near the hotel in a trattoria.

The courtyard.

We wandered through a courtyard garden, past an elegant (read expensive) eatery and along a corridor to ascend a flight of stairs. Here we found a turnstile which marked the entrance to the palazzo proper. We checked if our entry, an hour early, was permissible - it was. So in we went, armed with our audioguides to tour the palazzo. 

A door latch on the velvet wall paper.

Since the palace is still a family home, only particular sections are open to the public. A walk through the rooms reveals of the opulence and wealth of the ruling classes from the 1600s through till today. The ballroom with the parquetry floor and orchestra stand, the chandeliers, the velvet wallpaper, the frescos on the ceilings, leave you in doubt about the wealth of this family.

The ballroom looking towards the art wings.

The four wings of the private art collection are the crowning glory. They have works of Titian, Caravaggio, Garofalo, and Lavinia Fontana the first self-funded female artist in Europe. Her biggest claim to fame was painting the first female nude.

Each wing had a ceiling fresco and there was a hall of mirrors wing, like a mini Versailles. Pretty cool to have in a family home.

The hall of mirrors.

There were numerous paintings and busts of Pope Innocent X. The most remarkable was by Velázquez and is famous not for the subject matter, but for the realism of the portrait. It went against the usual stylised portraiture of the period. And it is a cracker, capturing the sneering arrogance and impatience of man of power, privilege and position. If looks could kill. Apparently the Pope did not like his portrait, remarking, "it's too real".

Pope (not so) Innocent X

There were so many artworks and fortunately only a few had corresponding information on the audio guide, otherwise we would still be there. The halls were decorated with marble busts and sculptures as well. In the centre was a typical Roman courtyard resplendent with orange trees and cooled by a fountain. A lovely respite from the outside world today, let alone the politics of the Renaissance period.

Beyond the art wings was a museum style hall with more art work, marble sarcophagi and other object d'art collected by family members. It is was well worth the visit for the art works alone, but to put it into perspective in terms of position, privilege and power.

The chapel.

I'm sure the proximity of the palace to the Trevi Fountain was of some use 500 years ago. Not so much today. The crowds! The narrow pavement. It was not fun dodging people and mindless sheep following a rag on a stick. 

We had spent over two hours in the palace. It was beer o'clock and time for a light snack before we went back to the hotel. There were plenty of places and most of them were busy or were serving bain marie food. No, no, no. This is Italy. I wanted proper food. Fortunately we stumbled across a small café with tables in a side street in the shade. In the end we sat inside and had a pizza and a beer. I ordered 'grande' for the bira because we'd been walking all morning and on our feet in the palace, expecting a 500cl glass of Moretti. Instead we scored 1 litre. My bad. Or good. it's a perspective thing.

Refreshing.

The capricciosa pizza was very tasty, but lacking olives and artichoke. I know these things are regional, but the olives are a must. Also, I'm a purist. There is only one true style of pizza, Napoli. If you have an hour to kill, I'll bore you with the stylistic differences.

Someone is getting married.

On the way back to the hotel we checked out Roma Termini for a café for breakfast in the morning while we await the train to Florence. As the afternoon disappeared, we contemplated a trattoria for dinner, but ultimately found it unnecessary. We adjourned to the bar for a glass of wine. It was happy hour (of course it goes for two hours) and it was quiet. The staff decided we should eat the bruschetta and pizza slices that would normally be shared with the other patrons. Dinner sorted!

Another day ends.

Early to bed to pack and be fully rested for a transit day.

Roma - Firenze

Once again I slept late. I'll blame the time change. We were packed and out of the hotel by 10:30am for a train at 12:10pm. The walk to Termini is about 5 minutes and when we arrived, we were shocked. There were people everywhere. It was a seething mass of humanity, some of it more seething than others. We witnessed a number of frayed tempers in the heat and chaos (no, it wasn't Brad).

The pre-chosen café was a zoo. There were people and bags jumbled everywhere - no vacant tables and people occupying tables that hadn't been cleaned for a while. The queue to order food for take-away was out the door. Hmmm. Not such a good choice, like thinking Pauline Hanson is the answer.

Downstairs we went because there were other options there. None, however, offered anywhere to sit and eat. In an effort to gouge every cent out of the real estate, available space was given to stores like Sephora and Mango. There were no seats or benches anywhere. The result was hundreds of people, milling around with luggage, hoping to find some respite.

The take away shop we selected had bench space and six stools and we scored. So we sat there and had a light brunch before we ascended to the departure level and waited for our train. PSA: do not turn up to the station more than 20 minutes before your train is due to arrive.

In an interesting manoeuvre, our train was arriving early and departing 5 minutes earlier than our ticketed time. Cheeky. We made it on board, stowed our suitcase above our seats and Jayne was almost wiped out by an ignorant American woman who couldn't wait and pushed past her while she trying to put her backpack in the rack. I mumbled words of insult loud enough for her husband to hear as he followed her down the aisle. Something I'm sure he regrets now.

The Frecciarossa move at speed. The fastest I noted was 248kmh and we were in Firenze at the scheduled time of 1:46pm. Santa Maria Novella was also crowded but not like Rome. We wheeled our bags down the platform, I lost another tyre, and then we were out into the Firenze sunshine.

The hotel is a mere 4 minute walk from the station on via Nazionale. With a grand name like that, you'd think the footpath would be wide, but no. Barely enough room for two people. Tour groups with their long straggling lines made it difficult to get into (and later out of) the hotel.

At check-in, they apologised for not upgrading me but assured me they had provided some extras. Whatever. The room is plenty large enough with a lounge area and desk. We unpacked as much as we intended; living out of packing cells, as I have often remarked, is a game changer. After a brief rest, it was time to brave again the Florentine sun and reacquaint ourselves with the local area. We are not far from where we stayed last time we visited, almost 10 years ago.

Where we stayed last visit is circled.

Jayne had researched places to eat so we went for a wander around to see where the Medici Palazzo was located so we could go straight there after breakfast tomorrow. The restaurants are all very close by, one that is famed for its paninis. I'm not sure I'll be attempting their signature Florentine panini. The 'hero' of the roll is meat. Allegedly. The second stomach of the cow.

It was still warm and we hadn't had a hydrating beer so we did the Florentine thing and opted for a limoncello spritz in the shade.

Limoncello spritz anyone?

After that, it was back to the hotel and then off to dinner, 300 metres away at Osteria Dei Medici, where we dined al fresco on bruschetta, topped with creamy burrata, followed by pici cacio e pepe. It's a hard life but someone has to live it ...

Alla prossima.

Man Oh Man (Manila-Muscat-Rome)

Let's begin with today's title, Man Oh Man by Amma. We are trying to be contemporary. And no, dear reader, you are correct - I have no idea who Amma is. It's Jayne's sense of humour: we are flying to Oman, like in the title, O(h) Man. Like an ICAC witness in Operation Rosny, I have no further comment. Except there are a couple of random photos to break up the text.

It was a fitful night’s sleep. Who sleeps well when you know you have to wake to an alarm at a ridiculous time. Jayne often remarks that the best thing about retirement is not having an alarm to control our sleep. Not sure I agree but I was well awake before the 4am alarm. Mind you, at home that is the time I often get up to go for a ride. The world slumbers, the traffic is minimal and the early morning cyclists and joggers inhabit the streets.

Mark, our driver on Grab, arrived at 4:15am. Unlike Uber at home, they are not permitted to wait for you. Jayne headed to the car as I returned our door swipes and checked out. The roads were deserted by comparison with the previous evening and it had been raining again. The temperature was already in the high 20s with humidity at 91%, not a lot of difference from when we arrived.

Despite the early hour, we were at the terminal just after 4:30am, and it was very crowded. We were directed to the Oman Air counter. The queue snaked through the sheep-run from the desks to the very end of the barriers. My heart sank until I spotted one lane that was devoid of life: the Business Class line. I could feel the eyes of those in the endless queue as we walked straight to the desk to check in. Five minutes later we were negotiating the much calmer security clearance and immigration. Another bonus, an exit stamp to partner the arrival one. Still no request to see the QR code. Also, as expected, our Qantas issued boarding passes were taken and new Oman Air passes were provided for the next two legs of the journey.

A Seal Rocks, NSW, sunrise.

The Lounge was crowded initially but soon thinned and we organised some seats and food. There was no time for breakfast at the hotel for obvious reasons, although they do offer a ‘grab and go’ service for the crazies like us who fly at ludicrous hours. The airport is obviously 24/7 as I heard planes a number of times over night when I should have been sleeping.

Boarding was listed a full hour before departure. Interesting. As is the case with many airports in Asia, the gate is merely a doorway to another waiting room. Down the stairs we went into a very crowded waiting room. We were ushered into the Business Class waiting area. We looked here, we looked there, not many seats available and certainly not adjacent seats without having to climb over the ignorant who blocked access to seats not on the aisle. It’s the age old ‘gate lice’ story. Some have a need to be first in line to stand and wait. I watched as other people came in and looked desperately for a place to rest, those stopping their access and guarding their space, not interested in moving themselves or their bags.

It became obvious quite quickly that this area had to house more than Business passengers. Here we waited to see what would eventuate when they commenced calling the boarding zones. The 6:45am boarding time came and went. At 7:10 we got the call, Zone 1. This time I was rather smug as I walked toward the gates, watching those spread across the seats, unmoving in their occupied territory. Not seated in Business then? Enjoy the cramped confines of Economy. Karma.

There are two obvious differences between Oman Air and Qantas, the first being the lack of a champagne welcome. It’s tough, dear reader, but I had to be content with orange juice and given the hour, that was fine. Although it wouldn’t be have been the first time I’ve had bubbles for breakfast. Or before breakfast. The other distinction is the temperature of the plane. With Qantas, I had my jumper and blanket on me all the way to Manila. Indeed, the lounge here and in Sydney was also very cold, but the Oman cabin was warm. Jumpers off, no blanket required for this leg of the trip.

We pushed back about 20 minutes late. Breakfast orders were taken and we surveyed the entertainment system. Limited would be a good description. The music selection was curated by the BBC, not a lot of content beyond Britain, under the ‘western music’ rock or pop labels. A Bowie concert from 1996 was enjoyable. As I write this, I’ve just finished my second movie, The Bride. Curiously weird with lots of intertextuality. As is the norm, I can’t remember the preceding film.

Breakfast was passable although my preferred option of muesli was already exhausted. I assume the food was loaded in Oman and we have what is left from the flight over. Bravely I ordered a double shot espresso. I’ve had worse. Actually, I’ve had a lot worse.

One for the bird nerds. An Eastern Yellow Robin.

Given the price differential Oman Air is a most cost effective way to get to Europe in the pointy end of the plane. There are some trade-offs. On this flight alcohol is available but you need to request it. I didn’t bother. The headset plug is different to any other plane I’ve travelled on, so I was forced to use the supplied earphones. They worked well. And I’ve commented on the entertainment offerings. The service is fine, but again, if you want something you’ll need to ask.

Jayne was fascinated by the view of Muscat as we came into land. There was blue sky but it was kept at bay by the wall of dust. Looking down, the city resembled a cemetery. The buildings were all white, like tomb stones bleached in the sun and separated by strips of sand. There were a couple of green patches and the odd swimming pool. It looked anything other than welcoming or hospitable.

There was little sign of movement. There were a few cars on the elaborate highways, but not enough to justify the grandeur of the road system itself. And the round-a-bouts. They were bigger than principalities in Europe. If they appeared large from up in the air, imagine reality at ground level.

I am unsure how close we were to being on time in Muscat because time zones confuse me. The point is, we arrived. Safely. Once disembarked, we went in search of the Lounge. It was found easily enough and most of the people in our cabin turned up there at some point as well.

In contrast to Manila, Oman airport was almost deserted. The expansive runways told a story of future expansion, but today was quiet.

The lounge area was deceptively large and it had a bar area. This we discovered only after eating. We  had decided to move to allow others to have our table and the place filled up. Our reward was finding the area where alcohol was served. A couple of champagnes helped us relax into the afternoon.

The flight to Rome was, unhappily, scheduled in a 737. I know we are in Business and it was superior to any other 737 Business Class, but 7 hours not being able to lie flat. I'm too old for that - hence one of the main reasons why we fly Business. Otherwise the food was great and there was a wine service, the staff were efficient, but again, after the initial service if you wanted something, you had to request it. 

Who'd have thought it?

We actually opted for the set Omani dinner menu which had a selection of small traditional dishes as entrees and two options for mains. It seemed like a lot of food but we were assured the components were all little - they weren't and we couldn't eat it all.  We really liked some of the dishes; a couple of others weren't to our taste but we are happy to experiment because we don't see any point in going overseas and wanting it to be like Australia.

The flight map showed that the Mango Mussolini (thank you Rosie O'Donnell) has not yet renamed the Sea of Oman. It also had our flight heading up the Strait of Hormuz. It's OK, we survived and landed in Rome on time.

Trouble with the new immigration system that is supposed to cause major issues getting into Europe? No idea. We have electronic passports already and were directed into a different line that had us exiting through electronic gates like at home. We were at the baggage carousel in 5 minutes. Believe it or not our bags were there before us. Seriously, it has taken us longer to get back into Australia! Now we have been inside the Schengen Area, hopefully we are set for the next 3 years.

Then into more unknown territory to get the train to Roma Termini. As usual, signage was a little patchy but we followed the signs we could, purchased tickets and boarded the Leonardo Express train for the 30 minute journey to Rome. We were at the hotel check-in by 9:30pm. Another long day, but we have arrived.

Sunset as we arrive.

We're here for two nights to break up the travel and get into the time zone. But first, a shower and sleep.

Towards Republica.

The party people across the road. Love double glazed windows.

Alla prosssima.