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Retired in Rome Journal: Europe’s Ugliest Bike Ride is nearly as ugly as the Tiber River itself

The "path" leading to the bike path along the Tiber River.

My euphoria lasted all of about one kilometer. That’s all it took before the bike path diverted toward the street above as both banks of the Tiber were suddenly dominated by brush and rocks. Not even on Rome’s periphery, I had hit a dead end. The Tiber is not only gross. It’s unaccommodating. It’s like the city planners are telling joggers and bikers, “Look, if you think this river is a petri dish so far, you should see what lies ahead. Go back.”
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Retired in Rome Journal: Ghetto of Ancient Rome still visible in the shadow of Prada

This building is an example of squalid conditions the massive poor population lived in during Ancient Rome.

Rome functioned on slave labor. The working class, thus, had very little work and very little money. They were hungry, angry and desperate. They turned some neighborhoods in Ancient Rome into seething cauldrons of violence, gangs and fear. Thugs roamed the narrow windy streets with knives, cutting the throats of wealthy Romans who got lost on too much wine. Gangs set fires to lure firemen then jumped from behind smoke screens to knife them to death.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither is learning the Italian language

The essential tools of learning Italian: an Italian dictionary (notice how well worn), an Italian verb book, an Italian newspaper and the first of many bottles of Italian wine.

Learning a foreign language is without question the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It is maddening, excruciating, time consuming, all encompassing, humbling, humiliating and, at times, just plain cruel. It is my daily challenge, one that never leaves me. It’s like military boot camp where a commanding officer is constantly telling you you’re not good enough. The Italian language is my drill sergeant. Sometimes he’s kind; sometimes he’s cruel. But he never leaves me alone. When I walk out of this apartment, he is all over my back. And he always will be.

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Retired in Rome Journal: World Cup in Roman piazza a sobering look at Italy’s soccer-mad populace

Italian fans gather in Rome before Saturday's midnight World Cup match between Italy and England.

The World Cup in Italy is my ultimate fantasy. It’s my threesome with Miss Sweden and Miss Russia. It’s my winning the Pulitzer and Lotto on the same day. Anyone who has read this blog knows Italy is my favorite country. What people don’t know is what’s my favorite sports event. I’ve covered nine Final Fours, eight national college football championships, six Olympics, two Super Bowls, three World Series and the 2010 U.S. Olympic Curling Trials. (OK, one doesn’t count. Sorry. The Super Bowl is more of a pain in the ass.) By far the greatest event I ever covered was the 2006 World Cup in Germany.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Walk along Appian Way is a walk in the footsteps of Spartacus and death

John on Appia Antica

On Sunday I took a hike along the Appia Antica (Appian Way), the same road where Spartacus’ 5,000 fellow slaves (See: Labor Revolts That End Badly) were crucified in 75 B.C. Where I walked a slave once hanged every 500 meters. Today, Appia Antica is one of the most exclusive roads in Rome. Some of the same stones Spartacus and his men marched on are now lined with private villas and covered in shade by lovely, majestic Mediterranean pine trees.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Greta Garbot and Frank Sinatra had it right in Portofino

Portofino has been the hideaway for the likes of the Duke of Windsor, Frank Sinatra and Bridget Bardot.

Portofino sits on the end of a peninsula like a fisherman at the end of a dock. The peninsula is shaped a little like one of the Simpsons lying upside down with his mouth wide open. The gaping maw is just big enough for ridiculously expensive yachts and ferries to dock. Portofino’s harbor looks like it was designed by Aristotle Onassis.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Santa Margherita is the “quiet countryside park to Cinque Terre’s Disneyland”

The view of Santa Margherita from my balcony at the Hotel Continental.

I am writing this on my balcony of the Hotel Continental. I’m staring down at palm trees saluting me with giant leaves standing at attention. An ombrello tree offers shade to a pool and the hotel’s private beach next to the royal blue Gulf of Genoa, which explodes in color when the sun’s out. Multi-million dollar yachts are docked 200 meters away with the charming multi-hued dock front as a backdrop. The only sounds I hear are birds singing nearby.

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Retired in Rome Journal: After the ‘slide, Vernazza returns as the shining star of Cinque Terre

Less than three years ago, a mudslide that killed nine buried Vernazza. Today, it's again the prettiest town in Cinque Terre.

On Cinque Terre, a camera is more important than good hiking shoes. With every turn, the towering cliffs offer a new angle of a gorgeous scene you left behind. Leaving Monterosso, I walked up a steep path and along the coastline where looking back I saw a view of Monterosso I could only see otherwise on an airplane. It was a cluster of small buildings huddled around a quaint port with the cliffs guarding it like a giant locked door.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Cinque Terre is five beautiful reasons to follow a beaten path

Monterosso is the only Cinque Terre town with a beach.

I emerged from under the tiny train station to be greeted by a throng of tourists in shorts of various levels of embarrassment. From surfing trunks the length of Georgetown basketball shorts to the banana hammock briefs favored by aged Europeans and exhibitions, tourists have already flooded this town. Stretching along the lengthy beach are gelaterias with artificially colored ice cream, souvenir shops selling aprons emblazoned with the map of Cinque Terre, waterside bars where glasses carry the neon orange spritz drink so popular with Italians.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Walking with the wolves as an A.S. Roma soccer fan

ANSA's Alessandro Castellani at Olympic Stadium just before kickoff.

Rome is the only place in the world where I can actually be a horn-blowing, scarf-wearing, obscenity-chanting fan. From my first soccer game at Olympic Stadium during my previous stint here from 2001-03 I have been a fan of A.S. Roma. The 2001-02 season was the year after it won the national league title, known as the Serie A scudetto, for the third time in its history. I arrived to a city still hung over from its celebration six months earlier. Circus Maximus, which once held 250,000 people for chariot races 2,000 years ago, held about that many every night for a week of outdoor parties after A.S. Roma won the title.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Search for a gym also a search for Italy’s La Bella Figura

My trainer, Fabrizio, worked in the U.S. for nearly a year.

Only one third of all Italians are overweight. In Rome it’s even less. They walk everywhere. They eat fresh food in smaller portions. They don’t drink much beer. I have yet to see an overweight person in Lungotevere Fitness. I have also yet to see a steroid-crazed bodybuilder. They’re all fit, well-proportioned people in their 20s, 30s and 40s who are merely toning up, not showing off. However, I was, ahem, quite impressed by the blonde built like a lingerie model doing pelvic thrusts with a 25-kilo weight on her stomach.

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Retired in Rome Journal: Caravaggio’s final resting stop a great resting stop for the living

The town of Porto Ercole, on a little peninsula in the Tyrrhenian Sea, honored the Renaissance artist Caravaggio in the place where he died.

Unlike other Renaissance artists who draped themselves in religion and groveled at the foot of the Catholic Church, Caravaggio was a rebel. He was a brawler. He was a womanizer, a partier. He was accused of theft. He was jailed numerous times. I admire him because he stuck to his own religious beliefs — or lack thereof — and threw tomato sauce on the church’s otherwise pristine canvas.

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