“Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean that you should.”
This is a life lesson that I picked up some time ago and have found it well worth revisiting as I move through the wickets of life.
In honor of a dear friend coming to Rome for the first time, I strategized and booked a visit to the Colosseum Underground—a hot ticket that is not easy to get as they limit the numbers traversing the old walls. As for myself, I had already visited the space, and I knew that this was “can’t miss/when in Rome” opportunity. Unfortunately (like many of Italy’s ticket websites for cultural events), the website makes it a challenge to score tickets. As soon as they go on sale, the Underground tickets (lead by a guide only) are snapped up in less than seconds. Of course this is understandable here in the summer of 2022. The world is opening up. Rome is full of humans from all walks of life, and it is understandable that everyone is s keen to experience places like the Colosseum and the Roman Forum.
As it turned out, the only tickets I managed to secure were for a guided visit in Italian— each ticket to the tune of 34 euros. No matter. Even if my guest had no Italian language skills, at least she could get a look at the underbelly for herself. And I would do my best to throw in a few English words that pointed out historical interest— doing so in a low-profile manner while the rest of the large group listened on headsets to the Italian tour guide.
Fast forward to this week. The day of the historic tour. By this time, everyone likely knows that it is intolerably hot in Italy and of course the time slot for our tour was at high noon. Further, if you know about Colosseum tickets, then you are aware that it is always a two-day ticket that also gives you time to explore the massive Roman Forum: a five-acre expanse of ruins of ancient Roman society, government buildings and temples. On any other day, it is a spectacular experience—just not right now.
To try and accomplish our requisite tourism, we showed up at 9am when the Forum opened. In order not to scorch our brains, we tried to front load the Forum sights before the Colosseum tour. Sad for us that it was already north of 90 degrees. Walking around was clearly not going to be in the cards—and indeed scaling Palatine Hill for sweeping view would have to wait for another trip.
I’m not going to tell you about how we found a café right by the Colosseum that was overpriced but at least offered acceptable shade. We proceeded to spend the next two hours killing time, and we were happy to do so rather than wander the Forum and tempt heat stroke. So that’s what we did.
I am be proud of the Italian that I have learned thus far by living in Italy, but I also know that I have a ways to go before I can speak confidently. Comprehension is always easier—and I find that to be the case for everyone when it comes to learning a new language. So shortly before noon we entered the outer ring of the Colosseum, tickets in hand and waiting for our tour to begin. The only problem was that there were no other Italian tourists to be found. We could only locate a large gaggle of English-speaking tourists who were being led by a guide brandishing a pirate flag and strong body odor. Remember that it is extremely hot outside. And with the swarm of humanity about, wearing a mask feels wise and also the opposite of fun at the same time. So that’s what we did.
I won’t bore you with the seeming chaos and confusion of finding our tour group. But what I will say is that when our Italian-speaking tour guide finally showed up—a short lady named Irene with red hair—she did not look happy. This is because she immediately understood that pirate flag guy had hijacked these tickets to serve as his own English-speaking group. From the exchange I head between pirate man and Irene, this is not a permitted practice. Finally they came to an understanding and my friend and I understood that we would be the only two non-buccaneers in this group. And we were two Americans where only one possessed a decent hold of Italian.
In her line of work, I imagine that Irene is used to making lemons out of lemonade. So right away she informed us (well, me) that we were pretty much going to be her only visitors—so we’d get a personal tour guide. Che fortuna. On any other moment, this would be fantastic. Especially if Irene served double duty as an English and Italian tour operator employed by the Colosseum. She does not.
It took no time at all for Irene to notice that in between her pauses, I was muttering a few English phrases to my friend. She bade us walk down the stairs to access the exclusive underground, while the other part of her “tour” went off to another side to enjoy an English version. This was when Irene had her moment of truth with us.
“Tell me,” She said in Italian, “how good is your Italian?” I told her that I could understand, but that my friend had nothing. I explained that hers was the only tour that I could book but that I would do my best to translate. She gave us both a warm smile and said she knew full well what this was like, and that she would speak more slowly. This marked my official start of translator duties for the next hour, weaving in and out of the corridors of the world’s first and largest stone amphitheater.
Even though we were in and out of the oppressive heat, and this added responsibility was now mine, in the end the experience wasn’t horrible. It helped that Irene was a fantastic and generous personal tour guide. She offered to take photos of us in different spots, and she would listen patiently while I gave my version of what she said in Italian. Truly I tried to keep my brain primed to listen but I know from experience that this is not my strong suit. My usual MO on tours like these is to allow my brain wandering to other thoughts that are not related to the subject at hand. Absorbing every detail has never been my strong suit. But I wanted to be respectful of Irene’s time and put my best effort forward. Especially since pirate flag guy was still there with his gaggle.
Of course it would have been an amazing solution to just ask if we could join the other group, listening to what he was saying through the ease of English. But that’s not the right thing to do, and honestly I kind of feel like that is not how life seems to work: we find ourselves in a confluence of events where it is easy to pinpoint a seemingly simple solution…but somehow that solution is not available. Instead, you are left pinballing yourself through a battery of mental calisthenics. until you find yourself on the other side. Often thinking, “What the heck was that?”
By the end of visit, I’d like to think that I was proud of myself for serving as a translator who absolutely under Irene’s magnifying glass. As we eventually learned, Irene had more English than she first let on…. that became evident when we were up on the arena platform and in the blazing sun. My brain had gone somewhere else and suddenly I had both my friend and tour guide looking at me. I had only caught two words of what Irene had said so I was not able to give a passing explanation. There, right at the end of our tour, that’s when she started speaking English. My brain was both fried and at saturation point.
I don’t even know if this story was particularly interesting at all—or if is just something else that I can pitch into the fires of irony to then eventually be forgotten. But to a great extend, I did feel proud of myself. But I also knew that I didn’t want to do it again. Just because you can do something….
I type this now from the safety of an air-conditioned room where Italy is still experience temperatures that make venturing outdoors a horrible idea. I’m not sure how much time I will be spending as a tourist in open air spaces this summer, because after that visit, I also get that this option to tourist is not one that someone like myself should take on. the next objective will be night tours of the grounds, to hopefully include either an actual translator or someone who both can and does do something because they should