After my ex dropped the bomb that she would be spending the Christmas holiday with her new boyfriend in England (which is another story entirely), I decided that I would be venturing out on my own on the romantic adventure I had planned for two. First stop: Rome.
I spend the first two days doing what any person would be doing who had just been dumped; sighteeing, taking pictures, taking an enormous amount of time plotting my path, and wallowing in my own sorrow. As the day slipped into night, wanted to go out and get a taste of the night life, plus drink myself into oblivion.
I went into an alleyway and surprisingly found it opening into a plaza filled with bars. I entered, and immediately was surrounded by drunk Americans. They were particularly entertaining, especially after I told them my brake up story. Side note: that line got me many a free drink.
One guy there said he was going into the NFL, and I believed him. Partially because of the alcohol, partially because he was 6′5″ and HUGE. I promised to facebook everyone I met that night…the next day I forgot every one of their names. Here they are though, if any of you actually read this, email me your names and I will correct this story (and add you to facebook). I believe they were related…cousins or something.
So the next night was Christmas Eve, and I had seen a bar while riding on the bus earlier in the day which I wanted to go to. I find the place later in the night and this is how it goes:
I walk in to a fairly empty room, I figure its not busy because it is Christmas Eve. However there is a group of people who I immediately introduce myself to. After several drinks, I find out that the couple I am talking to has been married for a year, and they are taking one of their many vacations. The guy (who looks very young) was one of a handfull of people who helped start Google, and he is completely loaded. His stock options allow for a very liberal drinking budget, as well as other things (read:cocaine). His wife is very attractive, and is a photographer for Maxim. They are fun. The guy buys us several rounds of flaming Dr. Peppers from the bartender. I want to order a beer, but she infomrs me the kind I want is only for Rome locals. I put down more Euros and she promptly gives me the beer. It was gross, from what I can remember. I look over and there is a man drinking out of a cup shaped like a breast. I laugh, buy him a drink, and take his picture.
You know he's a breast man
After the round and shots, I take a walk with the Google guy to the ATM, and I believe he takes around 500 Euros out of the bank…for the night. Like I said he had a liberal budget. He tells me don’t mention anything about the coke to his wife, which I agree to because he is buying my drinks for the night.
We close the bar down, and I cannot read. I cant stand. I can barely keep my balance to get to the bus stop. There are 7-10 other people waiting for the bus as well, and apparently the transportation is not very reliable in Rome on Christmas Eve. After waiting what seems like forever, I decide to walk back to the hostel. I have no idea where idea where I am or where my hostel is for that matter, but you know how you have some sort of supernatural radar when you are drunk? Thats what I had. I was led to the hostel steps without incident, by a guiding force. I probably had my eyes closed half the time, I let the hand guide me.
I get to the door of the hostel, which is on the 3rd floor of a building, right by the bus station…I could get there without hesitation if I was placed in Rome again. But I knock on the door, no answer. I knock again…nothing. The hostel closes its doors around 3 or 4 am. Im stuck. I sit down on the steps contemplating what I should do next, when two French Canadians walk up the stairs and I inform them of our situation. We chat, and they are hungry. I tell them I have two apples, i give these to the couple, and they in turn give me vodka. I am happy. The three of us pass out on the stairs.
I wake up on the stairs, and my back is killing me. I knock on the door for a good minute, more like pound on the pound on the door and yell for someone to open, when I hear the doorknob click. A kid from India is standing in the doorway, and all I can say is, “You asshole.” I’m sorry for calling you that, but you could understand my situation. I don’t blame you for the amount I drank, or that the hostel closes its doors. Actually, thank you for coming to my rescue.
I go to sleep…Its Christmas Day. The only reason I chose Christmas to go to Rome was to see the Pope, which I remembered and shot up out of my bed. I ran out the door, to the subway, and to the Vatican. I enter the plaza with a massive amount of people, and get to see the Pope. I am forgiven of everything I did last night.
Vatican City, Rome. I got to see the Pope. All was forgiven
Side note, there was a kid in my hostel who drank alot. Everytime I saw him he was sitting at a table in the common room, with a bottle of wine in his hand and 3-4 empty bottles around him. When I asked him about this he told me, “Fuck it…Clean slate tomorrow.” I didn’t know this but aparently all Catholics know. If you go see the Pope on Christmas day, he forgives you of your sins for the past year. I find this idea amazing. I wonder how many drunk and sinful Catholics roamed the streets of Rome, doing anything they wanted because the Pope was going to forgive them the next day. I’m not Catholic, but I am sure glad the Pope forgave me for it.
