So the New Year is bringing on many new changes for me in my life. At least I hope that it is. One of those many changes is the start of my new blog. Not even sure if I wanted to do this whole introduction part of my first blog, I decided to do it, but I'm going to keep it short and sweet. I envision this blog as not only being a food and travel blog, but also a one of experiences. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm a story teller. Also, I love to learn new things and relay them on to others, so with that being said, the experiences I want to share are from the past and present. Since food is an integral part of everyday life, there will definitely be a lot of food talk going on as well. I very well may throw in a restaurant review from time to time, and would love to hear some of my reader's favorite restaurants as well, so feel free to dish it out! Ha, I love food puns!
So I decided that I would write about an experience that at least one of the fans of my FB page can confirm, only given that he subscribes to and reads my blog. I will leave him unknown, but I will give a hint that I am listening to my finest punk rock collection while I write this to draw from past inspiration from one of my true bar room heroes.
On my first deployment with the Marines, I was on a forward deployment to Rota, Spain. Yeah, I know, it was a pretty shitty deployment right? Nah, roughly seven months of living and traveling in Europe in my early twenties was ideal I must say, but the Marine Corps has a way of screwing things up most of the time. This is one of those times.
One of the weeks of deployment we were sent to Naples, Italy for a bull shit mission called a RAM, or Random Anti-terrorist Measure. Basically we showed up to one of the bases with lots of over-armed, over-qualified Marines so that if a terrorist is watching, they will change their game plan. I, being the corpsman, very rarely had any real responsibility other than checking on and ensuring the Marines stayed healthy. However, in sympathy for the Marines, they had to stand out in the elements for hours out of the day for basically zero reason, but they are used to that.
The last day of the RAM, one of our Sergeants went to recon a train schedule so that we could take one into Rome the next day. The next morning, all excited with the anticipation of actually getting to do something cool while in Italy, we all got up and headed to the train station via bus that morning. Only, this is the part that starts blowing the whole deal, we missed the train to Rome by about ten minutes. Our sergeant's recon was wrong and we missed it, and the price was off too. We thought it was going to be relatively cheap, but it ended up costing around 70 Euros a piece, but we were able to get another train leaving a couple of hours later.
We managed to take a train to Rome, but I have to say, it was one of my favorite parts of the trip. A train window is like seeing life in a real HD flat screen TV. Everything passes by fast, like in television or movies where days can be condensed to a matter of hours. Only on the train the story is the terrain, the houses, the people, the cars, or lack of them. It is a small glimpse into the lives of the people who reside in the region, and if you are perceptive and imaginative enough you can create the stories of the residents of the small farms and towns you pass through on into Rome which is one of the greatest cultural convergences in the entire Universe. The stratification is always intensified on a train ride as each passing mile strips away another layer revealing the lives of those within it.
As the train managed to make it to the Rome train station, our Staff Sergeant decided to give us a grumbled pep talk full of curse words and something about how we should be fine in Italy because several Marines in the platoon spoke Spanish. Although, then he informed us that we would be seeing Rome in platoon style, meaning we were to all to stick together. Imagine a herd of 55 bulls coming down the streets of a china shop likeness of a city, which is a living, breathing work of art. Awesome. We were also informed that the Sistine Chapel was closing in thirty minutes and if we wanted to see it we better hump it. Oh yeah, I almost forgot the best part, and remember this, he informed us that we were on a strict 3 drink limit for the day.
We stampeded off the train and went barreling down the narrow Rome streets following our SSGT's lead only to arrive at the Sistine Chapel ten minutes after closing. Ok, the cathedral, it was still open, enter a b-line to Vatican City. That was my favorite part of my day. We at least made it into St. Peters Cathedral and I saw some of the most incredible artwork I have ever seen. Many Catholic Marines had their St. Christopher pendants blessed by visiting priests, and I confessed my sins (well some of them) to a mummified pope.
After that, it was a walk turned run over to The Coliseum to try and catch it before it closed, but that was a bust too. However, we did spend a good amount of time walking around it, and checked out the ancient part of Rome. This was the point in time where the pace slowed down allowing us to get our 3 drink maximum in, so most of the Marines (and me), did what any Marine would do. We drank all three drinks at once. We piddled around that area for a while until it was dinner time.
Dinner was spent at the most amazing Italian restaurant across the street from The Coliseum. The perfect warrior dinner, was set to the back drop of the ultimate warrior stadium. 54 Marines and 1 Sailor (me) were sitting at one table as the Italian waiters showed us awesome Italian hospitality. The red wine was flowing, despite our supposed drink limit. Marines are dumb, but very perceptive. So once we noticed that the Staff Sergeant and the Captain were drunk, it was on. I had an Italian steak, a strip I believe, sautéed veggies, and a side of pasta.
I remember the steak being good, but the wine being better, because next thing you know my Captain looks at me and says, "Doc, your lips and teeth are purple, how many have you had?"
"Just three, sir," I replied, followed by a look of doubt in his eyes.
"Bottles sir, three bottles sir," as I laughed it off.
Apparently I wasn't the only one taking advantage of our leadership's light, wine-inspired mood, because we were all trashed. We eventually squared up the tab and started piling out of the restaurant. About that time my Captain looks at his watch and informs us that we have 15 minutes to make the last train back to Naples, so we all start running to the train station. It was like a scene in the old cheesy OJ commercials with us running to catch a train. We were all jumping over obstacles, yelling, running out in front of cars that were screeching to a halt and everything. I am surprised we didn't have the cliché guys walking a pane of glass out of a store only to be broken by a platoon of drunken Marines rumbling by. What a scene it must have been for any observing Italians.
To top it off I literally sat down on the train as the doors shut closed, we barely made it. The train ride home was relatively uneventful, looking like a mass casualty catastrophe as the Marines passed out all over the train sleeping off their buzzes. When we arrived in Naples it was very late and the busses had stopped running hours before. So we ended our trip in much the fashion we spent it, with an eight mile hike back to base. Luckily for us, one Marine had done a deployment to Naples and was able to get us back to base, because as well prepared for combat as my Marines were; nobody brought a map of Naples.
