Cruise Day 7 - Rome

I wake up still feeling a bit rough, but definitely better than last night. We go up for some breakfast, deciding that if I can keep that down, we’ll risk the afternoon trip to Rome. It’s more difficult than usual to watch the plate-pilers, but I manage my wee bowl of Special K and it stays put, so Rome is on.

We’re berthed at Civitavecchia (pronounced Chivitavekia), about an hour or so away from Rome. Our tour guide is the absolutely stunning Simona. She’s great, and listening to her talk I realise just how hopeless Nathalie really was. Simona gives out so much information, but she makes it funny and interesting. As we enter Rome it’s like driving into a live history lesson. Just hearing the names Marcus Aurelius and Julius Caesar mentioned in relation to buildings we pass sends a shiver down the spine.

The traffic is mad – Simona says Rome is a city of three million people, two million cars and one million scooters. She’s only half joking. Cars are parked everywhere, people are taking serious risks on their scooters – I’m just glad I don’t have to try to cross any roads.

I’ve noticed something odd: my mum has this habit of reading out road signs. Nothing important – just random stuff, street names, speed limits, distances. I now realise that all elderly people do this, and the fact that the road signs are in Italian is no deterrent. 47 voices are muttering about schools, stop signs and 'ooooh' new pizza restaurants. It’s mind-bending.

We stop at the Coliseum, our only chance to get off the bus. We have forty minutes here, so we wander down the hill to the best spot for taking pictures. We’re in a kind of small park and there are various homeless people lying around, sleeping. They’re all very young, and they’re not begging, they’re just lying there. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen – the Coliseum in the background, the poverty right in front of it. Horrible.

I hear some people from other tours talking. ‘Yeah, Trevi Fountain is a bit of a let down – just stuck up a side street. I wouldn’t bother if I was you.’

The Trevi Fountain is a let down? Seriously. She’s probably also pissed off that they appear not to have finished the Coliseum.

We go back to the bus and are swarmed by trinket sellers – total junk. They’re very persistent, but we manage to shake them off and get back on the bus. We head in the direction of St. Peter’s – this is what Mum really wants to see. It is a spectacular sight, but again only serves to highlight the haves and have-nots. The Pope’s official residence is ridiculously huge – it offends me just to look at it. Charity clearly doesn’t begin at home where the Vatican is concerned (no news there, I know). Mum is delighted to have seen it all, and that’s what’s important on this trip, so I’ll stop whining.

Simona points out some very posh looking, very empty restaurants. ‘They charge €20 for a cup of coffee – that’s why they’re empty.’ No doubt there are those who will go there, just to be seen to be seen, which is a bit pathetic.

Another thing I notice is that we haven’t seen anyone overweight. None. Everyone walking about the streets of Rome looks fit (I don't mean skinny, model types - just ordinary folk, but all in good shape). I wonder if it’s a combination of the Mediterranean diet and the fact that the city is built on seven hills – walking around here would definitely keep you fit and healthy.

I loved what little we saw of Rome – I’d love to go back for a while and have the chance to see it properly rather than from inside a bus. Definitely on the list of things to do.

We get back to the ship at 6 pm and we set sail again at 6.30. Mum has decided she’s definitely too tired to go to Corsica tomorrow, and doesn’t want to do Gibraltar, so we'll be on board for the rest of the holiday.

It’s Hawaiian night tonight – lots of loud colours and garlands.

Richard and John are at the table when we get to dinner. We tell them what happened to us re Barcelona and why we weren’t at dinner last night. They have tales of their own. They almost witnessed, and possibly prevented, an assault in Nice market. A tourist tried to take a picture of the man with the handlebar moustache, the one on the scooter, and he went nuts (yeah, because he’s trying not to get noticed with the way he dresses etc.) shouting at the guy, then threatening him, then going to have a go at him … until Richard and John stood either side of the tourist, at which point scooter man left.

Their tour guide in Rome was a real Italian mama type, telling everyone they were all her bambinos and she’d take good care of them. They went for a wander at the Coliseum and when they got back the bus had gone. Their Italian mama had abandoned them on one of Rome’s seven hills. They hung around, looking suitably dejected and lost, and one of the other tour guides, thankfully, brought them back. So much for being treasured bambinos.

I mention that today’s cocktail is the Bahama Mama and John orders one for each of us. The lads drink theirs like it’s lemonade – Mum and I take two hours to finish ours.

John and Richard are off to the casino, we head up to the sun deck and the tropical party night. We don’t last long, especially after Hamilton Browne, who ‘is’ Lionel Richie turns out absolutely not to be. We drain the last of our Bahama Mamas (nowhere near as good as the ones my friend Gillian makes) and go back to the cabin.

Richard and John are going to Corsica tomorrow, so I look forward to hearing what they get up to. We’ll be sunbathing all day. It’s a hard life.

2.30 am – ‘Am I hearing things, or is it raining?’

‘It’s just the noise of the ship.’

Ah … all is back to normal.