Staring at Things in Rome

It could be that it's off season, or it could be that people the world over are feeling mindful of their pocketbooks, but it appears that I've picked the best possible time to come to Rome. I've just wrapped up a day of walking (covering at least marathon distance), and I haven't seen one flag-bearing group tour guide, nor caught sight of a single garish tour bus. There was hardly a lineup at the Colosseum, and I stood on the floor of the pantheon, squinting up at the oculus, without being jostled once.

I started my day with a 10K run (best estimate) through the Villa Borghese, a public park filled with geometric shapes, cyprus and pine-lined boulevards, groves of olive and lemon and statues of men with their noses - and sometime heads - missing. At the far end of the park I cut down to the Spanish Steps, which I discovered are the perfect camber and length for running stair intervals. Roman architecture is truly genius.

Having showered and breakfasted on fruit and coffee (after the amount of pizza I ate yesterday - yes, I went back for seconds - this seemed like the most prudent choice), I headed out the door of the hotel with no particular idea of where I was going. I had made the decision to employ a particular tourism strategy that I have used on other first-time city visits. It involves not studying a map at all prior to arrival, asking for no advice or tips whatsoever from the hotel concierge, and then wandering out the front door to see what there is to see.

When used well, this technique results in the happy experience of discovering one's own version of the city in question, however I should note that it has produced varying results. When applied in French towns, for example, (with the exception of Paris and Toulouse) my mapless wanderings have invariably sent me hightailing it back in the direction I came from to seek the counsel of hotel staff and to get my hands on whatever printed paraphernalia they could offer. But Rome is different. It's difficult to find a street in Rome where there is not something to stop and stare at. You feel like you are getting lucky with every corner you turn, but then you realize: no, this is just Rome.

In between my walking, stopping and staring, I've been eating. A lot. Besides the ubiquitous vegan pizza, I've found an abundance of vegan-friendly antipasto platters (available to go!) and markets with a better selection of fresh fruit and vegetables at one stall than in all of Switzerland. I've also come to the realisation that any vegetable can be stuffed (all my life, I've been restricting my efforts to peppers): stuffed tomatoes, stuffed eggplants, stuffed zucchini and stuffed onions. And olives. Giant olives are everywhere; stuffed and unstuffed. Concerned about my protein intake, I've been snacking on roasted hazelnuts and roasted chestnuts, cooked on open hot coals at the road side by dark-skinned men who call me bella in non-Italian accents. Did I mention gelato? I stopped to (again) stare at the unbelievable selection of whipped extravaganzas in the display fridge of a back-alley gelateria, when I spotted two flavours marked soya. Whether or not I'd just been eating fig biscotti, this stuff simply had to be tried. So I ordered a singe scoop of the hazelnut variety and then ate it while wandering through the Campo dei Fiori, dying and going to heaven with every slow step. Tomorrow, I'm going back to try the chocolate.

Tonight, I am taking myself out for dinner and drinks in Piazza Navona. I think I'm going to leave Rome a fat vegan, but then I like to think that by being here, I'm doing my part to prop up a struggling tourism industry.