Arrivederci Roma

Trains, planes and automobiles: here we are again, in an airport waiting for a plane.  Travel days are so tiring!  We left the hotel in good spirits but those have clearly evaporated.  British Airways had a complete collapse of their computer systems yesterday so things are a little backed up today.  Luckily flights are leaving but a little later than expected.  The good thing is that our bags will fly directly to Toronto from Rome but we have a stopover in London.  The plan was that we would pick a hotel close to the airport and have a rest and a swim, then catch the early flight to Toronto and land about 3pm at Pearson.  In the rush to get rid of our bags, I managed to extract my swimsuit, but David will have to swim in the nude.  " Oh what a piece of work is man....(the dude abides)."  

This unassuming doorway is IALS the most famous dance school in Rome, which surprisingly has about 5 really huge studios inside.  I attended a class on Sunday morning with a really excellent teacher who complimented me on my petit-battements!

Last night David and I attended the ballet Coppelia,  at the Teatro del Opera, a mere stone's throw from our hotel. The Italians have a unique style of dancing which emphasizes speed, quick jumps and beats and very athletic dancing from the men.  

The costumes and lighting were wonderful and the prima ballerina was fantastic.  The orchestra was excellent with all but the harp player in black:  she wore a full length white gown.  The audience was extremely appreciative and clapped forever.  Afterwards David and I had dinner across the street at La Matricianna, while the maestro himself ate at a table just outside.  We craned our necks to see who he was eating with, and I caught a glimpse of a very attractive woman in a red dress with very long blonde hair, cosying up to him.  Such is the life of a maestro!

La Matriciana, across from the Teatro dell Opera

Sono Davide Massimo!

Once again a nod to that complete ass who said "getting there is half the fun." What a crock o' crap. I swear on all the holy relics in the millions of churches in Rome ... on the magically fused chains of St. Peter resting in San Pietro in Vincoli, on the spear in St. Peter's that pierced Jesus on the cross, on the strand of Mary's hair that is (apparently) housed in the crypts of Santa Maria Maggiore along with an arm of St. Mathew as well as one that belonged to Mark, AND a piece of Jesus' crib (Wowzers. Mary and Joe must have packed that sucker back onto the donkey after the wise men and shepherds took off) ... I swear that I will never again take a flight that requires a stopover ... unless I absolutely have no other choice. Airports in Canada are soooooo sweet compared to the meat grinders we have been through. These stopovers double (at least) the hauling of suitcases over cobbles, up stairs, into trains, trams or taxis, back onto the streets, into airports, through security checks along with seven hundred and twenty-seven thousand, three hundred and forty-one others (82 with babies and strollers) ... IT'S HORRRRRRIBBLE!! It's exhausting. It sucks the life force right out of you, and the two glasses of wine you have after getting past security at the airport? They barely take the edge off. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Here's to destinations with direct flights from Toronto! Oops ...make that three glasses of wine.

OK, here's my big chance, just as we leave Italy.  Whaa, whaa, whaa, "Snap out of it David!" As I give him the tiniest little slap.  Absolutely NOTHING like the one Loretta Castorini gave Johnny Camareri in Moonstruck.

We are now in Hounslow, London at the Continental Hotel.  Dare we watch the BBC news?  We have been so out of touch, we haven't a clue what's been going on in the world.

Home tomorrow.