this week in the odyssey 3.29.99 -- 4.5.99 rome, italy
Roman Holiday Ahh, Italy, land of beauty! First impressions? The gently rolling Tuscan countryside unfolding under our airplane's wings as we fly into DaVinci airport. The jaw-dropping monuments of ancient history passing our train window as we ride from the airport to Rome. The vibrant sidewalk cafes bursting with couture, culture, and cuisine outside our taxi as we drive to our new home in the Campo dei Fiori. The completely inexplicable lady pulling down her drawers and taking a leak on the front door of the University of Washington's Rome Center as we wait to go inside. We're still trying to find out if the Italian Department of Tourism has been successful in changing their slogan from "La Bella Italia" to "Welcome to Italy -- Mind If We Pee On You?" All things considered, this was probably the best possible introduction to Rome we could have had. After all, it taught us a number of important lessons. One -- always look down when you're walking. There's an awful lot of poop on the streets. Two -- no matter how annoying the crowds at national monuments might be, at least they're not peeing on you. Three -- although the mimes in Piazza Navona are plenty annoying, they usually don't pee on you, either. Which brings up an interesting point -- if the Romans invented the sewer, why the heck don't they use the damn things?

Our spirits undampened, we managed to grab our keys from the coordinator for Kristanne's art history program and make our way across the Campo dei Fiori to our new apartment. The Campo itself is a pretty wonderful place. Every morning, the square is filled with an open air market with all sorts of farmers and other vendors selling produce, meats, flowers, fish, and other delights. No crack, though. Sorry, Mom!

The Campo is chock full of interesting history, too. During the 16th century, it was the center of Roman public life, crowded with festivals, the bustle of daily life, and, yes, even executions. Heck, Lucretia Borgia's mother even had an apartment right off the square! No word on whether they were peeing on the square even back then, but we'll keep you posted.

As we made our way across the cobblestones of the Campo and down the narrow alley that led to our apartment, a sensation of disbelief came over us. Would we really be living amidst this ancient wonder? Could those such as us, admitted former residents of Tacoma, actually be permitted to dine in these charming streetside trattorias? Was that guy bombing down the alley on the scooter really talking on a cellphone with one hand and steering with the other as he narrowly missed my wife? For the first time in what has proven to be an unending series, I seriously questioned the sanity of Roman drivers. Well, actually, I just said, "Whoa! Dude!", but "seriously questioning the sanity of Roman drivers" sounds a tad more, well, shall we say, European. That's right, baby -- I'm putting on airs. Safely arriving at our entrance, we cracked open the mammoth front doors to greet the charming vista you see there at the left. That's right -- my identical twin brother was standing there with a grocery sack, looking cool as can be! (Note to self -- use mirror to practice the stylishly casual posture demonstrated by that guy.) Without even stopping to say hello, we bounded up to the third floor to see our new digs (well, actually we sorta dragged ass up there, seeing as how we hadn't slept for twenty-some hours). Stylish Italian accommodations, here we come! Classy Mediterranean villa, we are here! Filthy broom closet with plugged toilet, we are....home?

Unswept. Unwashed. Mildewed. Dirty dishes. Dirty tub. Dirty toilet. Plugged toilet! Clearly, this was a job for Kristanne the Hygiene Hero! Using many of the skills she pioneered in the infamous "Kamping Korner" of our North American journeys, Kristanne hustled us down to the local "Aqua e Sapone" for supplies. There you see her at right, laying in a bottle of the old standby, Maestro Lindo (Mr. Clean, natch). With nary a word to her dumbfounded husband, Kristanne commenced to whipping up a frenzy of housecleaning fervor, leaving me only to stand, mouth agape, trying to avoid having my bald spot waxed (I just had my bikini line done -- the bald spot would probably have been overkill).

Some hours later, the place was beginning to shape up. Our packs were unpacked, our bed was made, and the toilet was once again flushing. Sure, the place was a tad small, but it was definitely bigger than Otto (though not by much). Heck, things were looking so good, the Pope, old John Paul II himself, dropped by to give us a token of his Papal appreciation for Kristanne's hard work. You can see it there, below. Not bad, eh? We've only been here for a few hours, and we've already entertained the pope. We strive to bring you the most for your Extreme dollar here at the Office Odyssey. Think we can get a Mountain Dew commercial now?

Well, since I know the Office Odyssey audience is a skeptical one, hardboiled in every possible way, I better come clean about that papal flag you see up above. You see, the pope didn't really come over to our apartment. Nope. We're not quite that cool. We were, however, cool enough to get here in time for Easter. And what better way to spend Easter, thinks we, than with the Servant of the Servants of God, ole Servus Servorum Dei, himself? And in St. Peter's Square, no less? Wow. So, after a breakfast of omelettes with three of Kristanne's classmates at our apartment (we shoehorned 'em in), it was off to the Vatican for Easter Mass with the Roman Pontiff.

What a scene! Thousands of people of every nationality you can imagine milled about the square, all united in a common cause -- to get holy with the Vicar of Christ. First was the procession -- a series of bands marched into the square, followed by the Pope's personal protectors, the Swiss Guard, all done up in their colorfully striped uniforms. Then, the Pope. There he was! The Pope is getting older and his voice slurs a bit now (think Brando in "Apocalypse Now"), but he is still a commanding presence, giving benedictions in a variety of different languages and radiating good will everywhere he goes.

Perhaps you've heard tales of the omnipresence of cellular phones in Europe? These stories do not seem to be exaggerations. Cell phones are everywhere here, and there seems to be no occasion where talking on them is considered rude. Not even Easter Mass with the Pope. At least three conversations were going on around us as the services proceeded. I tried to imagine how I would answer the phone should it ring during services:

"Yes, hello?"
"..."
"Oh, hi, how's it going?
"..."
"Cool. Hey, hang on a sec... Hey, Pope? Listen, I gotta take this. Be right back, ok?"

Have you ever heard of Kinder Eggs? They're these really cool European chocolate treats with unassembled toys inside. Actually, "toys" might not be quite the right word since some of these things require a Ph.D in mechanical engineering to assemble. During Kristanne's childhood in Europe, she and her two brothers were pretty much raised on these things, gobbling them down by the fistful. Now, having returned to Europe, she can't help but fire up her former addiction, especially after a hot morning spent outdoors with the Pope. So, a Kinder Egg it was. Imagine our surprise when one Kinder Egg turned into a dozen. After five minutes of furious eating, Kristanne managed to reveal enough parts to assemble a small Italian car. See me beaming there proudly? Kristanne would be there, too, but she could no longer quite fit in the camera's viewfinder.

As a final feature of this week's inaugural edition of the European Office Odyssey, I'd like to introduce someone who I hope will be a returning character in this unfolding saga. During our second day here in Rome, Kristanne and I went for a nice, romantic stroll. Ambling arm and arm across the Piazza Navona, we chanced to pass a group of a dozen or so young Italian toughs. Stylishly dressed, they were, but toughs nonetheless. I know -- I'm street smart. As we gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, I leaned over and kissed Kristanne. Resuming our walk, a lusty shout went up from the assembled youths: "Heyyy, Scucherini! Mr. Scucherini!" Kristanne turned to me and said incredulously, "Did those guys just call you 'Mr. Scucherini?'"
"Yes," I said. "They did, and I have no idea why."
Kristanne said, "Is it because you're the Italian ladies man, super smooth and ready for action?"
"Well, probably," I said.

And in that moment, a new character was born. Mr. Scucherini, the Italian ladies man from the seamy side of town, showing you the soft white underbelly of Roman society that others fear to see. Mr. Scucherini isn't afraid, though. He walks up to that belly, gives it a pat, and says, "Hey, soft white underbelly. Let's go get a cappucino."

Mr. Scucherini is going to be prowling the city for you for the next few weeks, trying to turn up those elusive tidbits to tantalize and titillate. Dig today's offering from the Scucherini Files.

Thanks for tuning back in after so long an absence! Check back in next Monday after our weekend trip to Florence. What will Mr. Scucherini find around the Uffizi?