Three Perfect Days: A trip to Rome

Riding the escalator up from Spagna metro station, fresh off an overnight flight, my girlfriend and I find ourselves standing behind a couple taking wedding photos. This is my first international trip with Kati, so I’m a bit nervous, and I choose to take the happy couple as a good omen.

Exiting the station, we encounter one of the Eternal City’s signature sights. The Spanish Steps is a 300-year-old terraced stairway that climbs from the Piazza di Spagna to the Trinità dei Monti church. Even at 9 a.m., the 135 steps are swarming with tourists snapping selfies. We proceed to ruin a bunch of them as we walk through their backgrounds, lugging our bags up to the Hotel de la Ville at the top of the stairs.

Bags dropped, we descend the stairs and cross the piazza for the first ingredient of the day: espresso. Antico Caffè Greco has been serving coffee on Via dei Condotti since 1760. The vibe inside is about as Old Europe as it gets. We sip cappuccinos and eat cannoli served by a waiter in a long-tailed black jacket and admire the Renaissance-style oil paintings on the walls. I can see why everyone from Mark Twain to Friedrich Nietzsche has stopped in here. It feels like we’re having our cappuccinos in the Louvre.

Now we’re off to an even older landmark: the Colosseum. A taxi drops us off at the Arco di Costantino. The 1,700-year-old arch next to the arena is where we meet our guide. Enrica Armenante from Through Eternity Tours is going to show us around what was once the heart of the Roman Empire.

“When I was a kid, I used to play hide-and-seek in the archaeological area,” she tells us as we climb the cobblestoned Via Sacra. We pass through the Arco di Tito to reach the top of Palatine Hill. According to Roman legend, this was where Romulus and Remus were succored by a she-wolf. It’s also where the Roman emperors built their palaces. Armenante points out that the brick structures are merely the bones of the old estates. Most of the colorful marble that covered the bricks was plundered. “If you want to see what Rome was really like,” she says, “go to Las Vegas.”

From the top of the hill, we look down on the excavated ruins of the Forum. On the other side, we see the Circo Massimo, a stadium that could hold more than 150,000 spectators. The poet Ovid was exiled for profanity, Armenante tells us, and one of the books that got him banned included a guide to picking up a girl at the games. “This was the beginning of Western Civilization,” she jokes.

After all the walking on that tour we’re ready for lunch. In the adjacent neighborhood of Monti, we find Ai Tre Scalini, a bar and restaurant in a 1,200-year-old former winery. Inside, the dining room is decorated with Elvis impersonator records and Carnival masks. I order the lasagna, while Kati gets the pollo a la romana con peperoni,chicken stewed in tomato sauce with peppers, which is so good I end up finishing her meal. A glass of amarone goes great with both meals.

We’re in need of more caffeine, and Fulvio De Bonis knows just the place. An art historian and cofounder of Imago Artis, De Bonis has offered to show us an under-the-radar historic spot. But first he takes us to his favorite café, Panella, where he orders espressos with spoonfuls of zabaglione, an Italian egg custard. “This is what I do,” he says. “I bring people to this amazing coffee shop and make them drink coffee the way I do.” He also unlocks places the typical tourist wouldn’t go to. Back at the edge of the Forum, he shows us into the Basilica dei Santi Cosma e Damiano, a church that was built on top of a pagan temple in the 6th century CE. As De Bonis points out, the institution’s age is reflected in the apse mosaic, which portrays Christ with dark eyes and hair. It's a more historically accurate look than the blond, blue-eyed one in later depictions.

After thanking De Bonis, we head off to pay our respects to a pair of modern deities. In 1953’s Roman Holiday, Gregory Peck’s Joe Bradley brings Audrey Hepburn’s Princess Ann back to his apartment at 51 Via Margutta. The building is unremarkable, but cobblestoned Margutta is one of Rome’s most charming laneways. It’s wrapped in green vines and surrounded by antique stores and galleries. We poke our heads into PuntoPelle, a leather jacket shop decorated with mementos from its celebrity customers. There's a guitar signed by Carlos Santana. “He sat right in that chair,” the shop owner tells me. “Are you a guitar player?” I am, but I have neither Santana’s skills nor his corresponding deep pockets, so the clothes here are too expensive for me.

Via Margutta ends just shy of Piazza del Popolo, which we reach in time for aperitivo. At Canova, a café decorated with Federico Fellini memorabilia, we sip an Aperol spritz and a caffè freddo on the patio.

Dinner is just down the block. Le Jardin de Russie is the signature restaurant at the Hotel de Russie and the idea of Michelin-starred Rocco Forte Hotels creative food director Fulvio Pierangelini. We walk through the chic courtyard bar and climb a grand staircase to the dining area. There's a hillside garden with a lit-up fountain in the background. We start with champagne and an amberjack crudo served on a block of pink Himalayan salt. It looks good, and it tastes even better. For a pasta, we share cacio e pepe ravioli with eight different kinds of cheese. For main courses Kati delights in pan-fried sole,deboned tableside, while I dig into a veal filet with prosciutto. It's the restaurant’s take on saltimbocca, it’s delicious.

After dinner, we wander back along Via del Babuino toward Piazza di Spagna. It’s been a long day, and we’re tired, but somehow the Spanish Steps, lit by the full moon, don’t seem nearly so bad now. We go up the hill to the Hotel de la Ville, and to bed.

“Are you ready to see the most famous work of art in the world?” I ask Kati, as we stand in the entryway of the Vatican Museums.

“The Mona Lisa?” she replies. She knows I mean the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but she’s a bit on edge at the moment. She doesn’t like crowds, and the gathering of people in the lobby here feels more like a packed horde than just a crowd. I give her hand a squeeze.

At least I booked one of the museum’s group tours with skip-the-line tickets ahead of time. Our guide, Valentina, starts us at a digital screen where she swipes through images of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes. She explains how the ceiling, completed in 1512, can be read panel by panel, like a comic book. The darker tone of the altar wall work, The Last Judgment, finished in 1541, reflects the influence that the 1527 Sack of Rome had on the painter. She’s giving this spiel ahead of time because guests are supposed to stay silent inside the chapel.

We won’t be seeing that room for a while yet. It’s at the end of the tour, which goes through parts of 24 galleries that house masterpieces from Ancient Rome through the Renaissance. Kati likes baths, so her favorite part is the Museo Pio-Clementino’s Sala Rotonda. Here, a giant marble basin that belonged to Emperor Nero stands on an ornate mosaicked floor depicting mythical sea creatures. I love maps, so my favorite part is the Gallery of Geographic Maps, a long hall lined with 40 topographical frescoes commissioned in 1580 to portray all the regions of Italy. “You are in front of the first Google Maps in history,” Valentina says. At last, we reach the Sistine Chapel. But by the time we look up at that famous ceiling we’re mostly preoccupied with the amount of time we’ve spent on our feet.

Kati needs something therapeutic after the crush of the museum. We pass on waiting in line for St. Peter’s Basilica and instead take a cab to a place that will replenish her endorphins: the Rinascente flagship store in Trevi. She rides the escalator up to the women’s department to look at sweaters. I go down to the basement, where I find a 2,000-year-old aqueduct tucked behind a retail display. We reconvene a little while later in the sixth-floor food hall. It includes an outlet of the Michelin- starred Neapolitan pizzeria Gino Sorbillo. The margherita we split is on the short list of best pizzas I’ve ever tasted.

After lunch, we grab our bags and head over to the Villa Agrippina Gran Meliá, a lavish resort in the shadow of the Vatican City walls. Kati needs a bit of downtime, but I’m in an exploratory mood. I leave her to soak up the sun by the pool while I stroll down Gianicolo Hill, along the river. Soon I am in Trastevere, a traditionally working-class neighborhood that’s now the hippest part of town.

I wander the narrow alleys and admire the graffiti. I soon make my way onto the Piazza di Santa Maria where tourists are sitting and eating gelato on the fountain in front of the Basilica di Santa Maria.I poke my head inside to check out the 12th- and 13th-century mosaics, then continue on, making my way to the Basilica di Santa Cecilia. I look up at the goldwork, the paintings and sculptures of angels, and think that the reverence with which this landmark church is regarded is truly justified. Upon leaving, though, I realize that I was actually in the Chiesa di Santa Maria dell’Orto. ( I finally find the Santa Cecilia around the corner, and it’s pretty fancy.

Retracing my steps toward the Villa Agrippina, I notice a bar called 404 Name Not Found. The chalkboard outside that issues a challenge: “Come try the worst cocktail one guy on TripAdvisor ever had in his life.” I step inside and ask the bartender what it is. “I can’t tell you,” he replies. “Are you up for the challenge?” I order the drink. It turns out to be something in the neighborhood of a whiskey or pisco sour. Even after I’m done, the bartender won’t tell me what’s in it. Regardless, forget TripAdvisor; this aperitivo is good.

Back at the hotel, I pick up Kati, who has just emerged from the spa, and call a cab to take us to dinner. On the edge of another historically working-class, now-trendy neighborhood, Testaccio, we find Marco Martini. The Michelin-starred restaurant sits in a pleasantly lit winter garden, and the food is definitely not standard trattoria fare. “The idea,” our waiter tells us, “is that we follow Roman tradition, but we have our eyes on the whole world.” Take the amuse-bouches that start the meal. They include eggshells filled with carbonara sauce, amatriciana in a tiny cone and a ricotta marshmallow wrapped in prosciutto. We go on to order ’nduja and mascarpone bottone topped with steamed mussels and mussel foam, amberjack with a deconstructed Greek salad and codfish with pata negra sauce and red cabbage foam. We don’t have room for dessert, but on our way out our waiter hands us a bag of cookies. “For breakfast tomorrow—or breakfast tonight!”

We go over to Monti for a cocktail at Drink Kong. The Japanese-futurist lounge that placed 21st on the most recent World’s 50 Best Bars list. We are surrounded by stylish young crowds. A neon sign proclaims, “It was beauty killed the beast." There's a poster of Rutger Hauer on the set of Blade Runner, and a collection of vintage arcade games. We sit in a booth and order. For Kati, it's a Red Light, with Bulldog gin, cassis, Cointreau and grapefruit bitters. For me, a Rasna, with Bulleit Bourbon, shiitake, ginger and honey.

We start our Sunday at the Porta Portese flea market. Every Sunday morning, vendors set up their stalls behind a centuries-old city gate in Trastevere. We spend 30 minutes making our way down the aisle between the tent-shaded tables. With no end in sight and no off-brand jackets or handbags or sunglasses catching our eye.

We cross the river and climb a winding stairway up Aventine Hill to the Giardino degli Aranci. The orange trees aren’t in bloom, but our visit to the park is still worth it. There are spectacular views of the Tiber, the Isola Tiberina, St. Peter’s, the Il Vittoriano monument and countless church domes and bell towers.

We follow a cobblestone path back down the hill, and a line of tourists indicates our next stop. Attached to the front of the Basilica di Santa Maria in Cosmedin is another location from Roman Holiday: the Bocca della Verità. Usually, I try to stay away from lines, but I insist we get in this one. I want to make like Gregory Peck and scream as I pretend the mouth in the 2,800-pound marble mask has bitten off my hand, as it’s said to punish liars.

Continuing along the river, we see ahead of us the square dome of the Great Synagogue of Rome. In 1555, Pope Paul IV ordered the city’s Jewish community, probably the oldest in Europe, be restricted to a small, often-flooded area next to the Tiber. The Jewish Museum of Rome, located inside the synagogue, relays the experience of life in the ghetto. I’ve been looking forward to checking it out, except, upon our arrival, we find it’s closed for Sukkot. I’m such an observant Jew that I totally forgot about the holiday.

Among the many restaurants that line the old ghetto’s main street, we choose Casalino Osteria Kosher. We start lunch with the most typical of Roman Jewish dishes: the carciofo alla giudia, or Jewish-style artichoke. It comes deep-fried in a little basket; the crunchy leaves reminiscent of potato chips. Along with this tasty treat, Kati gets a saffron and asparagus risotto, and I have a battered cod with pine nuts, tomatoes and garlic.

If the Jewish quarter was the place, I was most looking forward to visiting today, our next stop is Kati’s. A few blocks from the ghetto’s exit is the Largo di Torre Argentina. It's the ancient square where historians believe Roman senators assassinated Julius Caesar in 44 BCE. What draws Kati’sinterest, though, are the half dozen or so cats lounging in the nooks and crannies of the old stone walls. After the site was excavated in the 1920s, it became a habitat for stray cats. Two of the gattare, cat ladies, who fed them later went on to found a cat sanctuary. Kati swoons at the cats outside, then descends the stairs to the underground shelter where dozens of others are being cared for. I’m allergic to cats, so there’s no way I’m following her into that room. I go across the street to Caffè Camerino and order an Aperol spritz.

I’m halfway through my second spritz when Kati finds me at the café. I lead her to an animal that won’t make me sneeze: the Gian Lorenzo Bernini–designed marble elephant at the base of the obelisk in the Piazza della Minerva. When we walk up, a dad and a little girl in a pink dress are posing for a picture in front of the 2,600-year-old Egyptian obelisk. After they’re finished, we do the same.

We need to get off our feet for a few minutes, so we head to The St. Regis Rome. First opened by César Ritz in 1894, the hotel is surrounded by sensational sights. Among them are the 1,700-year-old Terme di Diocleziano baths, the monumental Fontana del Mosè and the Chiesa di Santa Maria della Vittoria, which houses its own famous Bernini statue. The lobby, with its chandeliered ceilings and mosaicked floors, is as jaw-dropping as any of them. We take the original elevator up to our suite for a bath, a bit of bubbly and a view from our window of the sun setting over the Santa Maria della Vittoria.

Refreshed, we stroll around the Palazzo Quirinale and down an alley to Piccolo Arancio, a charming restaurant lined with distressed mirrors and wine bottles. We share a sampling of classic, homey dishes—fried zucchini blossoms, tagliatelle with lamb ragù, spaghetti with clams and mussels—and a local Frascati white wine. It’s the most relaxed we’ve felt all weekend.

Content, we step out into the night, and right around the corner we find our last stop: the Fontana di Trevi. We’ve saved the famed Baroque fountain for the end because we’ve heard it’s brilliantly lit at night, which is true, and less crowded by tourists than during the day, which is false. We make our way through the crowd to the water’s edge, where we stop and turn our backs. I grab a few coins out of my pocket and hand three to Kati.

“Remember to use your right hand, and throw them over your left shoulder,” she reminds me. The first coin guarantees that you’ll return to Rome, the second that you’ll find love there, the third that you’ll marry. We smile at each other and toss the coins.