Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

…your destination is always uphill.


Rome is madness.

From elbowing our way through Fiumicino airport unable to find our driver to the white-knuckle ride to the hotel, from looking down the street and seeing the looming colosseum to winding our way through the crowds at the base of the colosseum, from being assailed as we were exiting the cab in St Peter’s square to having a street vendor hawking a rose tell the Purrito “I love you” after she declined said rose twice, Rome was madness.

While I thought that we were accustomed to dealing with crowds and tourists and crowds of tourists, I’m still surprised by the number of people that were nearly everywhere we went (notable exceptions: random neighborhood basilicas and the Ponte Rotto), despite the fact that we went at the tail end of the nominal tourist season. While the gypsies and street hawkers are occasionally annoying in Paris (if you’re dumb enough to hang out under the Tour Eiffel or make an above-ground, frontal-approach to the Louvre), the number of assholes toting around roses, thrusting selfie sticks in your face, waving tissue-thin “scarves,” selling imported Chinese-made trash, pushily offering skip-the-line-tours, or hanging around in ill-fitting gladiator costumes (yeah bro, I want to pay 5€ so I can take a picture with your chain-smoking, beer-bellied, ridiculously-costumed self) was astounding.

All of that aside, Rome was impressive, though there’s a melancholic thread that runs through the ruins; I found myself wondering what things would have looked like had the medieval fervor for defiling the temples and relics of the past to please the god of the present (to be fair, the gods of the Roman pantheon were more human, more interesting, and perhaps most threateningly, more intimidating) not existed.

In any case, I’ve made it this far without referencing Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood, so on to the pictures.

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