Saigon to Rome

Tim: The flight to Paris was a long haul and uncomfortable, as I was stuck between Polly and another passenger who fell asleep instantly once we took off and didn't wake for 7 hours. Actually, it wasn't too bad; although the flight was 13+ hours it was all in the dark at a time my body-clock was saying 'sleep'.

Polly: It's amazing what you can convince your brain is acceptable entertainment. The flight to Paris saw me actually enjoying both The Devil Wears Prada and You, Me and Dupree. Tim assured me that Fast and Furious 3: Tokyo Drift is also mildly entertaining from 20 thousand feet.

Tim: After the heat and humidity of Vietnam, Paris at 7am was very cold. It was very apparent that security was still a big issue. After we had disembarked, we were walking in a corridor towards baggage retrieval when a policeman came from the other direction. He was wearing a close-fitting dark blue uniform, black books and a sidearm, and he looked very fit and professional. Seemingly at random he stopped a small Vietnamese girl for her passport; she was still with him as the crowd moved on. Later in the terminal, Polly was buying a breakfast coffee at an airport café and I saw a trio of paratroopers in camoflage and maroon berets. I know the moment when she saw them too; she stopped speaking mid-sentence and her mouth dropped open. "They had rifles!" she hissed. She didn't even get a chance to finish her coffee; at the last of the security check points we had to declare all liquids; she had to surrender it or drink it on the spot.

Polly: I was very proud of my ability to remember Year 10 French (especially considering how much of it I spent in the corridor) and on arrival at Charles De Gaulle was able to successfully order both café au lait and un petit pain fromage. Prior to the totally unexpected armed men I spotted a woman who i'm sure is hired by the French tourist board to hang out at the airport and add 'colour'. Impeccably groomed, she was leading a equally coiffed white poodle. In the airport!

Tim: Two hours later we landed in Rome, collected our bags and prepared for the rigors of customs. Walking towards the doors that would no doubt take us to the customs hall, one of half a dozen men lounging in casual clothes against a bench pulled himself away and asked us where we from. Polly said 'Melbourne'; as he gestured with his head towards the doors I noticed he had a 'customs' lanyard around his neck. We went through the doors - and were in the public area of the airport. The man with the lanyard WAS customs.


We took the train in from the airport, found our hotel, and decided to have a look round. Down some side street in a tiny place with a single table we had a couple of squares of pizza each for lunch, then kept on walking. We were both still a little tired so we went down towards the ruins of the Baths of Diocletian. From a previous trip I knew it to be close to where we were, and a chance to see something ancient. We saw the back of the baths, the rounded a corner to go back to the hotel when we saw the unassuming entrance to a church built into the wall of the baths. Sure, why not. Once inside though, we were shocked (and Polly remarked she could barely resist falling to her knees). (Polly: Old Catholic habits die hard!) It was beautiful inside, with a high vaulted ceiling and a great expanse of red, white and black marble on the floor. Apparently, it was last piece of architecture Michelangelo worked before his death. Towards the alter was a ornate brass strip in the floor 44m long; this was - a brochure told me - was a meridian line. When the sun shone through a small aperture the date could be determined, as well as the relative changes in position of the heavenly bodies. But the main purpose of this elaborate astronomical device was to calculate the timing of equinoxes, essential for the critical knowledge about when Easter should be celebrated.

Back in the hotel in mid-afternoon a small nap seemed like a good idea; we awoke 5 hours later, just in time for a cheap local dinner.