"It's not that we were not warned ..."
Joris glows. My eight-year-old son is completely out of breath, wet-sweat and his hair is on all sides. He stumbles up the last steps of the Spanish Steps, into my arms, and jumps, "Mom, now I've been jogging eight times high and seven times.
There are even more than 2000 steps, because the most famous Freitreppe of the world at Piazza di Spagna in Rome has 138 steps. Before our trip, I had promised my elders that he - contrary to the family rule "We do not play on stairs!" - on this one would be able to rage and play after heartbreak. With his second-grader Mathewissen, he has calculated that he would have to climb eight times 138 steps to reach the 1000 - and forget the downstairs.
While Joris and I once again calculate everything exactly, Simon, 6, takes his two-year-old brother Linus into the stranglehold, which does not please him. He lifts it down over his shoulder. Linus falls a few steps and, in the midst of squeaky Japanese women, agrees his most dramatic howl.
Linus: "We had a lot of trouble in Rome, the brothers were beating, Mama was angry, and Papa was scolding"
It is not that we were not warned: "Well, there you have done something," it said. And: "It certainly will not be relaxing ...". But I was tired of making holidays in the mountains or at the beach because of the children. I love the energy that I feel in cities, it inspires me to observe people, and I like architecture better than landscape.
And our sons? Are big city children! Traffic and hustle and bustle determine their everyday life, they are tough and good on foot. And they like the ancient Romans. Since we bought them the first " Playmobil " set, they stage battles with their legionaries and gladiators. And how often I read the "What is what" book about the Romans, I can not count at all.
Joris: "The Romans have fought real, dangerous battles , with swords, not as dull as with their fists, as the boxers today.With Asterix you always think the Romans were stupid, but that is not true"
My husband and I know Rome from previous trips - even with children's format shrinking program we would not have to worry about missing something. We booked an apartment right at the Colosseum. Roman Forum, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Pantheon, Piazza Navona, a few churches and lots of pizza and ice cream: this did not seem to be an overloaded program. We thought it was perfect. What we had not considered was the movement thrust of three small testosterone bombs, which is not satisfied by mere strolling.
And so I soon feel like seasick to pursue the ramparts and shots of the boys running before me; Always ready to jump behind, if one of the sidewalks, so narrow that they hardly deserve this name, would fall into the street. I swayed between emotion when they put their arms around their shoulders fraternally, and anger when such an embrace was transformed into a stranglehold within seconds. My heart stumbles just before the infarction, as Simon breaks away from my hand at the Trevi Fountain, submerges in the masses of human beings, and first disappears. Quick is clear: So it can not go on.
Simon: "I liked Rome because we ate ice every day, and once I was allowed to take three varieties, I could never"
Nothing sets our bonds more reliably than a huge ice in the waffle. While everyone is lazy, we sort out the priorities again. "We want to play more," says Simon. "The houses are boring, I want to see Roman things," says Joris, who would prefer to stay exclusively in our neighborhood, the Roman Forum. Linus says nothing, he slept in the buggy.
To make the children more interesting, I call a competition. There is so much to discover on the facades of the Roman houses: lions and eagles, bees, dark fables, unicorns, and again and again the she-wolf with the babies. For each animal sighting there should be points and at the end of the holiday prices from a souvenir shop, of which the guys anyway would gladly buy.
The trick works - but the competition is fierce. Every mailbox and door knocker should count, every Gullideckel and the wolf on every damn "AS Roma" tricot. It is not easy to manage the contests and to enjoy the strolling.
Simon: "I have seen the statue of Julius Caesar, which I found beautiful and also the rest of the house where he was murdered, there was another emperor, Constantine, like the Consti from my class"
Then it's time to explore Rome. We spend this day with the tour guide Gudrun König, who specializes in children's activities. It is hard to say who is happier about Gudrun's presence: the children who hang around their lips all day long, or our parents, are proud to burst because our wild boys are fully committed to their time travel. It is nice to observe how they stand still and listen for a minute or so, and only very little are concerned about the "playmobil" -männchen, which they took with them to play with Originalschauplätze. I am touched by the fact that they perceive the ruins of the Forum Romanum as a play and a bustling place on the one hand, and, on the other hand, tenderly throw the remains of the marble statues.
While we adults understand the story with the mind, the children seem to dive deeply. Gudrun unpacked ankle with which the children of antiquity played, and old, Roman coins. Joris, when she speaks, gets this bland, slightly distant look that shows that he is deeply sunk. A few months later, he will be able to present minute details - which we adults have long forgotten.
But Gudrun has much more than just classical knowledge in stock. In the Circus Maximus, she unloads a football and suggests that the 600 meters that were used in the antique car races were felled along. For our football-mad guys, it's like a long-awaited time-out, which we will repeat in the coming days.
Near the Circus Maximus is the church "Santa Maria in Cosmedin", on the portal of which is the ancient lie detector "Bocca della Verità". Weeks before the trip, we had talked about small everyday lies: "Have you washed hands?", "Did you use soap?", "Did you brush your teeth?" "Think again ... Who Lies, gets from the Bocca hand bitten ", we warned and had thereby with the boys considerable Panik stoked. No sooner do they want to stand before the stone mask, let alone keep the hand. After some hesitation, the oldest one finally dared. Simon goes after Joris remains intact ("I know Joris is sometimes lying"),
Joris: "St. Peter's is the largest church in the world, and there is also a picture of Mary, where she holds Jesus when he is already dead, and Mary looks very sad and very beautiful,
Although none of us are baptized, we visit most of the churches along the way. The children like the solemn atmosphere, perhaps because faith does not belong to their everyday life. And they like the adventurous stories I try to relate to all the saints and biblical frescoes. We like the childish enthusiasm for Catholicism, so we spontaneously decide to visit St. Peter's.
We are lucky and can join Gudrun's group. A good dozen children and once again so many adults, which leads them by radio and button in the ear. Linus is enthusiastic about the system: turning, turning, loud, silent - the visit to St. Peter's is for him the highlight of the trip, tarnished only by the fact that he returned the device after the end of the leadership (under furious, deafening protest) Has to give.
Linus: "In St. Peter's - there are supercoole hearing aids"
Joris, on the other hand, is hypnotized. Out and about of all the gold and marbles of marble, mosaics, tombstones and sculptures. But he did not forget where the bronze for the baroque main altar came from: "The Pope has stolen the Pantheon, which God certainly did not like!" He says indignantly, and my church-critical man smiles contentedly.
It is so crowded in St. Peter's that we have the need for peace afterwards. All we had planned was now ticked off, and we decided to get out of the city! By subway we go to Ostia, from the station there we are in 10 minutes at the beach. Neither the beach promenade nor the beach are particularly beautiful or well-kept - but the view of the sea and the fresh air do us well. The boys enjoy spending the last holiday afternoons with buddles and cuddles.
Only in the plane, somewhere across the Alps, I realized with horror that I had not thrown a coin into the famous basin because of the stress I had lost on the Trevi Fountain. Only those who have done so, it is said, come back to Rome. A bit sad I tell the children about it. Simon comforts me, "I have spent five cents, mamma, I'll take you with me when I go back to Rome."
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