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Rome - May 18, 2006

I woke up at 2 a.m. My head was upside down. Out the window, the tree lined street was quiet and the myriad pedestrians had disappeared. I picked up the money belt I'd worn and looked at the 65 Euros that my $100 U.S. had purchased at the airport.
It looked like play money, pretty. I looked again, this time for for my passport. Where was my passport? With a fleecy head, I began to search my luggage, the floor, and finally the drawers of the furniture which I knew I hadn't touched. The passport wasn't there. Panic! What to do? Who to ask?

I put on a pair of jeans and ran a brush through my hair. It was the middle of the night. I went down the lift to the tiny front desk. A man was sitting behind the counter, dozing. He assumed position, startled, as soon as he heard me.

Passaporta? I asked, adding 'spaghetti' to English to compensate for my lack of Italian, my mind climbing over itself. My face must have looked stricken.

Si, Senora, he answered, grim faced. He turned to the key cubbyhole and took it from where it had been placed. I had forgotten that the passport was requested at check in, and didn't know it was usually held for awhile and then returned to the customer. He must have thought me daft. I certainly felt so. Daft and wooly.

I returned to my room and was able to finally sleep again. But not before I had relived in my head the saga of the poodle on the plane.

In Los Angeles, as I waited in Lufthansa's check in line, I noticed a German woman ahead of me with a toy white poodle on a leash. She had a pet-carry-on case with her luggage, so I knew the pooch was flying too. He was very calmly laying on the cool terrazzo floor while his mistress chatted with a male companion who later left the airport. I am a big fan of dogs and remembered back to the time when I traveled with a Yorkshire Terrier who got loose from his carrier in La Guardia Airport and I chased him for 30 minutes before he calmed down enough to be caught. This poodle was exceptionally calm and I figured him for an old hand at travel. Directly behind the dog, a couple stood with their big molded plastic luggage upright on wheels. The valises were taxicab yellow and looked like highway barriers. At one point the biggest one fell over and apparently landed atop the sleeping poodle. Screaming and yipping ensued for a good five minutes. The woman cradled her dog in her arms, and curt exchanges were made between the people. It did not look like any kind of apology was forthcoming, but I couldn't hear what was said. The body language of both parties was hostile. The dog trembled and finally quieted down.

Later, on the plane, I found the German sitting in the row ahead of me at a window seat. The seat beside her was vacant. There was space to her right where the dog carrier sat and she kept a blanket over it, so most people didn't realize there was a dog aboard. I was feeling bad for the dog, and asked after his injuries. The woman told me she thought he was bruised but not broken. She affirmed that the dog went back and forth with her to Germany several times a year, and was a good traveler. I noticed later in the flight that she had the dog out of its carrier and under a blanket on her lap, but it was so subtle that probably only I noticed. And as the cabin darkened, I could no longer see what went on ahead of me.

When we landed in Frankfurt, a couple sitting in the row ahead of the German stood up and were making a loud scene. Half asleep, I tried to wake up and discover the problem. It seems that an Argentinan girl had slipped out of her shoes for the flight, and when she put them back on, they were covered in dog shit. Her American boyfriend was yelling, and soon it was discovered that the German behind them had a dog on board. One assumes the dog was legally on board, but not legally out of its carrying case.

Later, in the Frankfurt airport, I asked the girl if she was able to clean her shoes. She said no, she had thrown them away altogether. I told her the story of the suitcase falling on the dog, hoping that it would assuage some of her anger. And I think it did.

I don't think pets belong on airplanes. I think it's cruelty what we do to animals. They are not people and cannot be expected to behave as such. I still like dogs a lot more than people.

My first day in Rome, I walked and walked. I stopped for a fruit smoothie at a sidewalk cafe in front of the Pantheon. I just couldn't believe I was sitting in Rome looking at the Pantheon. It was a cloudless sunny day and busy Romans stopped to chat, dressed in beautifully cut business suits and expensive shoes. I expected Marcello Mastroianni to step out of a limo.

The Pantheon is the best preserved of the remains of ancient Rome. It was built by Hadrian in AD 119-128 as a temple to the 12 most important classical deities, and was converted to a Christian church in 608. The bronze roof was stripped off for use elsewhere, but the bronze doors are still intact. Inside the Pantheon it was cool and dark. The dome has a circular hole at the top 30 feet in diameter, the only source of natural light. The statues of angels stood in dark shadows and the paintings were dimly lit. It is also the tomb for Renaissance artist Raphael and first king of united Italy, Vittorio Emanuele II.







On the way back to my own neighborhood, I was enthralled by the many plazas and seemingly endless statuary just plopped on any old corner.



And of course, Rome kept teasing me with her secret passageways.





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