Cold Centurions In Frigid Formations.

The parade. . . where to start?

First, please read the disclaimer I placed in the Camping Not-So-Fabulous entry.

Now then.

When we arrived, we checked, in case the hot-water fairy had visited us in the night (at this point, yes, we would have given teeth for water that didn't feel like it should go "clink" when it hit the bottom of the shower). Since we hadn't been visited, we grit our teeth (all of them) and climbed back into our costumes, feeling like the not-so-great unwashed that we had become.

On the plus side, it looked almost sunny outside, and while a few gray clouds on the horizon glowered, we ignored them. It was going to be a great day, right? We were going to march in the Founding of Rome Parade in the lovely sunny weather, and it was going to be wonderful!

No, it was going to be fabulous.

Just how fabulous, we were about to find out.

We went down to the now supremely muddy bus-boarding area, and here's where our confusion about the buses really began. We attempted to ask if there was space in the first bus we found (since we were willing to stand all the way there, 'space' just meant "may we stand here?"). However, even with that particular group's very limited grasp of English, "Not your bus!" has a pretty clear ring to it, and so we figured out that we couldn't ride there. We reconvened outside this first bus and looked back at the other three or four with trepidation.

What now?

We had thought there were several buses going to this parade, and that all of them were for the Groupo Historico in general. It turns out, we were completely wrong. Instead many of the groups had their own chartered buses, and there was a single bus for everyone that didn't have their own buses, and it was already mostly full!

In a few hurried seconds (the bus departure time was within the next five minutes), the leaders stuck their heads in the different buses and tried to find an English speaker with whom we could hitch a ride. This turned out to be a tricky task, but my father managed to find the main Green Line Bus that had free spaces and was welcoming. There was enough space for 10 of us on it. He and I (the 11th and 12th people) said that we would follow by whatever means we could, and herded all of them onto the bus as quickly as possible. Then we went and wandered through the bus area one more time.

I had a vague notion that even if everything went badly we could always take public transportation to the city center, and meet up with them whenever we could. I should point out that at this time my father, since he'll be acting as a member of the press and recording the event on video and digital media, is dressed in street clothes, while I (because I am a schmuck and let my mother demand it of me) am in costume.

In a stroke of luck, one of the bus drivers had pity on us and let us climb on board his bus. I am fairly confident this was not done with the consent of the riders, who turned out to be the crustiest bunch of Patricians I've ever seen. It was like we'd stepped onto the set of "Grumpy-Old-Men-Re-enactors, Italian Edition".

We were basically ignored for our entire trip into downtown, where the bus pulled off and the feeling of unplanned confusion that had followed us since our arrival in Rome suddenly flared up again. The bus drivers weren't sure where they were supposed to stop.

We took a guess (50/50 chance we were about to get stranded in Rome. Dad in stylish and all-weather black, and me in a shepherd's costume looking like a Nativity play reject) and exited the bus, in the hopes that the passengers of this and other buses would do the same, and thankfully we were right. We joined up with our 10 compatriots, who had been on a bus full of young Spanish re-enactors playing bacchanalian revelers (complete with leather, horns, wreaths, music, and dancing) and had enjoyed themselves immensely.

If you are wondering what bacchanalian revelers are, have a look here.

After a few moments confusion and one reveler returning for face-glue (he lost a horn) they all set off at a brisk pace through the city streets, and we followed them, under the hopeful assumption that they knew where they were going.

We were not proved fools, and indeed we arrived at the head of the parade line and made our way towards the middle, hoping to find someone to tell us where to stand. We passed the main procession, and Nero came bustling up to us.

I realize now that I forgot to introduce Nero yesterday when we met him at the banquet. Nero was the organizer of the banquet, and I think part of the head of the Groupo Historico. Perhaps even the boss man himself, I'm not sure. The night before he had been in a very classy evening jacket, and looked like an Italian playboy supervillain straight out of a Bond Film.

This morning when we met him, he had changed clothes, and was now in a sharp professional looking centurion's costume that seemed to glint sharply, even though the sky had filled completely with clouds during our ride into the city. We were confused about our location in line, and even which direction the parade was intended to travel. He greeted us warmly and pressed into my mother's hands a layout of the way the parade was supposed to organize itself, then bustled off on more important business. I imagine there were other fires he had to put out, or start (har!).

We looked at our location in the line, and then began polling the other groups to figure out their names. Once we knew the names of the group in front of us (the primary crew from the Rome area) and the names of the bacchanalian (who wound up being directly behind us) we quickly realized there were two or three groups that hadn't arrived, and they were supposed to be directly in front of us, and behind us, respectively.

So we simply put ourselves in the line and figured they would show up and take their places as 11:00 approached, since that was the time the parade was intended to begin.

I should point out that this point that it was starting to threaten to rain on us, at least a little, and the temperature had stayed chilly all morning, and appeared to be dropping.

We wound up, initially, sandwiched between the bacchanalian revelers, with whom most of our group wanted to join (because darn it, they were dancing and had music and looked warm!) and the end of the large main group, which included legionnaires and various other Roman mainstays (patricians, etc.).

As the group filled out though, a group of pretty-boys representing, we think, Roman slaves joined in behind us. 8 or so young men of late high school or early college, all with subtle piercings and not-so-subtle haircuts that, Stateside, would have made a person's gaydar ping like a telephone ringing.

In front of us, a manlier group of gladiators took the spot between us and the main body of marchers. There were a dozen of them, ranging in ages from 8 up into their 30s or 40s. And a couple of them, according to the girls, were quite attractive.

I noticed that the oldest of the group was wearing a thick and professional looking leather breastplate with large free-mounted rings, almost like door knockers, where his nipples would be. I pointed this out to the group curiously and mused about their potential purposes. Our always Fearless Leader suggested we go ask, and I pointed out that it was a bit of an odd question for me to spring on my own, but QoD and Oh-Oh!, both more bold and more motivated than I, offered to ask. So we strolled up, knowing already that one of the group spoke English (we'd learned that the night before at the banquet) and introduced ourselves, than asked our question. It turned out that they would have been fasteners for a cloak. Far enough from the throat and mounted where they were there would be no risk of choking, and it could be easily removed to expedite dexterity in combat. An intriguing side note, in any case. We returned, our curiosity satiated, to our tiny band of 11.

We then assembled ourselves into something approaching a dignified procession. Theoretically, our members represented almost every facet of Roman life. Some foolhardy person (*cough*Fearless Leader*cough*) told Oh-Oh! and QoD that their costumes, the most brightly coloured and decorative of the lot, resembled women who served in the more public facets of the religious and temple industry of Rome (Yes, P.R. Maidens, that is what they were), and they decided that this was brilliant and immediately the two of them, both trained in drama and gifted naturals, slipped into these roles and stayed there for most of the parade. As our most colorful members, they took the front spots. Since they were in wonderful and eye catching costumes and it kept the gaze of the masses off me, I was more than happy with this.

Following them were myself, Hipster, and the Magical E!

Hipster and I were dressed in dark browns and grays, rough mockups of the outfits slaves of the higher classes would have worn during their official duties in the city serving as assistants, memory aides, or errand runners. Between us, The Magical E! acted as the one we were escorting. She had a lovely dark blue dress that evoked images of a visiting Oracle on official business in Rome from some far-off eastern temple. We attempted to keep a dignified pace in cadence with the steady drumming of the legionnaires at the front of the procession, but oftentimes we dissolved into shuffling, because it was easier.

Behind us, SSW and Bubbles, dressed in white robes with blue and gold trims, kept pace, representing the young unmarried nobles of Roman society. High born, but as yet unassigned a dreary life as the wife of some local merchant or dignitary.

Following them, Shutterbug and Fearless Leader, representing the matrons of high society, and at the end of the procession shuffled HR and TOH, representing a young married couple on their way to a new life.

We made up a cross-section of Roman life that was fairly broad. Before the parade started, however, we would have one member added to our party.

Just before the parade began, we were approached by a middle-aged professional looking man in a centurion's uniform accompanied by a young girl in a plebian costume, carrying a four-foot span American flag.

He hurried up to us, obviously aware that there was very limited time, and explained. "Each group needs a banner or flag to carry, but you have banner, so for you we have an American flag. This little girl will carry it for you. Her name is Sylvia and she will be your child. Do not lose her! She's your responsibility."

And he was off. To our group had just been added a 9 year old Italian who spoke no English, with an American flag in hand. Her mother snuck over after the centurion had gone and we talked briefly, learning the girls name and thanking her for her aide.

And then the big drums of the legion at the fore began to beat and the parade was underway.

We placed the flag girl at the head of our little procession, and off we went, shuffling towards the Arch of Constantine. We were south of the Colosseum, and the parade route was to travel around it to the east, then up and past the Roman Forum, then make a U turn and travel back, split through and around the Forum and rejoin at the southern side of the Colosseum.

We set out and marched our way through the wind and chill around the Colosseum. As we approached it we began to hear thunder. "Oh, please let that be a drum out of time," someone joked. Then a second peal, louder, rolled across the sky like an angry roar. Someone else frowned and tried to keep the tone light, "Oh, this is going to be Fabulous."

Nervous laughter.

By the time we were halfway around the Colosseum, the lightest of spatterings had begun to fall at our feet and on our heads. The rain was colder than the surrounding air, and we were flinching from each drop, trying to imagine that it would clear any minute and everything would be fine.

As we rounded the Colosseum and headed up past the Forum, the rain began to fall thicker. As our hair and clothes became saturated each drop mattered less and the overall effect mattered more. Our body temperatures began to drop and we started to discuss the best ways to hold our hands so as to keep them warm or dry, and how nice an umbrella or a heavier cloak would be.

Around this time the dance troupe from the previous night arrived on the sidelines and slipped into the parade just in front of us. Hipster and I did not complain, but there were loud protestations from our maidens that this pushed the gladiators further from us. Ah, what shallow beasts we humans be!

The rain began to fall even more heavily, and the cold permeated everything. The spaces between us in formation. Our bodies. Our clothes. Our 9 year old leader had wrapped our flag about her bare shoulders like a shawl, and we didn't blame her. Had any of us been carrying of it, we would have considered the same.

As we reached the U-turn, her mother finally came and rescued her (we wanted her rescued by then, she looked like she was freezing). Hipster took the lead with our flag. We quickly reorganized our lines, with me between the Temple Maidens, and the two ladies in white now on either side of our Oracle.

As we turned our way back towards the Forum, Nero bustled past us and said "continue on through the Forum!" and we made an abrupt right down a flight of ancient steps and onto the Roman road that winds through the archeological holy-of-holies that is the Forum Romanum.

We were following only two other groups, the first and most respected body of legionnaires, and the dancers that had performed the previous night. And behind us, no others entered the Forum. We found ourselves part of the 'heart' of the procession. We're not sure what we had done to earn this honor, but we were surprised.

By this time though, we were also very cold. All of us were soaked to the skin and several of us had lost feeling in our hands, faces, and feet. I found it funny therefore, that several of us remained OCD enough to complain when our little formation got out of line, and rearranged ourselves to make sure it maintained its symmetry both in numbers and costume colours.

We trudged our way through the Forum, eyes to the ground not in exhaustion but in caution. The Roman way is far from smooth, and the likelihood of twisting an ankle was high. I'm sure we looked an awkward procession, but we had fun and were even privileged to get to see the legionnaires perform the traditional shield formations, which was awesome to watch, in a brief stop before the rest of the procession rounded the Colosseum from the east.

After that, we caught the rest of the parade as it came back around the Colosseum, and plugged ourselves back in after some slight confusion.

Arriving back with the group, we soon found that it was passing the starting point, and the parade was ending. As the parade dissolved once again into Italian unplanned madness, one of the men from the dance troupe approached us, and told us that we could ride in their bus. We thanked him profusely and followed them and a large group of legionnaires to a staging area under a large tent to wait for the buses.

As we approached the tent, the wind picked up severely, and the bottom fell out of the sky just as we scurried beneath its cover. There we huddled together for warmth and to block the combination of wind and cold rain blowing through.

At least one member of our group was starting to turn blue, and another was getting whole-body tremors, so we were starting to rue the day we had first heard about this parade, despite the fact that it was pretty cool that we had been able to take part in something so fundamentally Italian and historical. We remained there, waiting for the bus, for some time. While there, I stripped out of all the exteriors of my costume, over-cloak and cloak, to use them as blankets on the colder members of the group. So I stood there in jeans and t-shirt and tried to think of a way to extricate myself from the huddle of high schoolers that I was now unhappily trapped within. However, the cold had gotten to my brain and had unleashed my inner-stupid, so I just stood there, wishing the rain would stop and I was anywhere else.

At this point it might be worth explaining that my discomfort had zero to do with the group in question, and more to do with a general abhorrence on my part. My last friendship with anyone in high school after I entered university did not end on a positive note. And as much as I adore high schoolers for their cheerfulness, their sparks of promise, and their kindness, I prefer them at arm's length or beyond, as it keeps things simple, and I like simple.

After a while, a cargo van arrived, intended to carry the legionnaires' equipment. However, on account of the cold, the van instead took one load of mostly members of the dance troupe, as well as our most frigid member, and we sent her on ahead with instructions to find a way to dry off and warm up before she caught hypothermia and died.

After another short wait, the main bus finally arrived, and we all cheered with gratitude and climbed inside, freezing and soaked, to try and warm up on the way to the restaurant.

It wasn't too warm, but at least it wasn't raining in the bus.

When we arrived at the huge, sprawling restaurant where we had arranged lunch, we were greeted by kindness and laughter and all of the other members of the various groups attempted to dry off in that space. It actually got so wet from all the soaked costumes that the water began to condense on the rafters of the room and drip back down upon us, creating a sort of absurd interior rain. We were also greeted by the member we had sent ahead, covered only in a green tablecloth fixed with safety pins. Ah well, at least she was dry and moderately warm! She had located a space heater and made some new friends, so when we arrived she quickly grabbed the other students who were still nearly frozen and herded them off to the heater to begin to dry out.

Once we'd begun to thaw and dry, we sat down and had a wonderful lunch. It was really neat, because several different guys from different groups, both Italian and Spanish stopped to talk with us, and we promised to exchange pictures with several different people from the soldier groups. It was a lovely meal, and the food was fantastic.

Of course, we knew things had been going too well, and we should have known at least one more disaster would befall us this day. . .

Sure enough, when we prepared to leave we discovered that the bus on which we had been offered a ride was prepped to go. Suddenly we were mobilizing the troops and I found myself about middle of the group, with QoD (still dressed in her tablecloth) in front of me as we filed out. One of the ladies quickly called out to QoD and warned "be careful. They might want that back!" A quick discussion later we realized that this put us in an awkward position, as we needed to leave now, and so we made a command decision. "Pull your coat tight around you." The girl had recommended, so that's what we did, and strode out without being noticed or stopped.

Having left the building though, we had no luck finding the bus we were supposed to be boarding. Surely it was here somewhere?

Alas, the other buses had not yet departed, but ours, it appeared, was long gone, along with 5 of our members. Left behind were me, QoD, Papa Phil, Shutterbug, Oh-Oh!, Bubbles, and The Magical E!

We were in a bit of a bind.

A few minutes of discussion and Papa Phil made the call. "Well, there's a bus that takes us to the metro station right out here, and we're using it to get to town tomorrow anyway, so this is a good time to start using public transportation. It should take us a little over an hour to use the public transit to get back from here, but we'll go shopping along the way first, to pick up food for tomorrow's breakfast."

So, off we went, me carrying a 50 kilo flour sack half-full of our soaked clothes and wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. I'm sure we cut dashing figures in the bus, in our mix of costumes, street clothes, and table-wear, but by this time we were too tired to care.

After one bus and one metropolitana we got to Termini, the main bus/train/metro station of Rome. From there we headed for a local square under the impression that there was a supermarket there. We got correct directions to the same supermarket three times at the square before we found it (who puts a supermarket in a basement? Honestly!) and spent some time figuring out what we needed for the following morning.

By the time we finished at the supermarket, the flour sack had gotten soaked and nearly burst, so the clothes were transferred to shopping bags. I was beginning to feel homeless.

We headed back into the transit system, using the metro and the bus to get back to the outskirts of town where Camping Not-So-Fabulous was located. By the time we had gotten to the metro/bus station (Fermi) and the bus had departed, night had fallen, and several hours had elapsed since our separation in the restaurant.

In our last bus, with the Roman countryside whipping by, my face resting wearily against the glass, my eye just caught the glint of the stoplight marking our turn as it whistled past my window.

"Hey Dad, wasn't that our stop?"

Some confusion, discussion with the bus driver, and cursing on the internal monologue later, we exited the bus about a half mile beyond our destination, and began to stomp back up the highway towards our stop, in the dark, on the side of the road. Thankfully no-one got hurt, and only one person fell in the dark, and she sustained no real injuries.

All in all, the kids were real troopers, and did an amazing job of keeping their spirits up. On the bus, and in the dark of the roadside, I found myself trying, as always, to keep the mood light and positive, trying to keep our minds off the cold and the wet and the missed stop and the lousy bus leaving us at the restaurant. We joked about drama, recited old skits, and told stories about the effects they had had on our lives. It was a good way to pass the time, and despite my exhaustion, I enjoyed the chance to hear others speak of their dramatic training and begin to grasp its limitless possibilities.

Thank God for Shutterbug, too. Without her calm nature and perseverant spirit, I don't know what we would have done. She was a beacon of patience all day, never complaining and always the first to point out the silver lining. I think she had been on my good side ever since our first day in Greece, when she was the first to catch on to the way I play "What is the worst that could happen?" Anyone with a sense of humour that morbid and a character as strong as hers is cool with me.

We arrived back at Camping Not-So-Fabulous to find that we had hot water and heat in the old rooms, and had been given two new rooms, each a trailer capable of holding six, with kitchens.

Apparently in our absence, our other five members had staged a sit in, with their blankets, in the office until they were provided new accommodations. Our Fearless Leader had worried herself sick about us since we hadn't returned home for so long, but at least now we had heat, light, and breakfast covered. The rooms were fairly dry, and had warmed up a bit, and included enough space for us all to rest comfortably and have a meal together the next morning.

We began to hope that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up for us. The following day would tell.