Yes, but is it Art?: One of the "Phantasmagoric wall murals" of Pensione Ottaviano.

Out and about on the streets of Rome, Fiats raced Vespas down narrow cobblestone lanes. I had the slightly eerie, somewhat heady feeling of being thousands of miles away from home for the first time, in a city where nobody knew me.

I located the subway by asking every third person I met on the street, "Dov’é il Metro?" I had read that subway stations in Rome are prime pickpocket territory, so I was careful to keep my day pack in front where I could see it, with its zippers locked, and my pockets empty.

I took a short subway ride, then walked quickly down the long main street of Via Ottaviano, with a dwindling number of minutes to get there before they closed for the morning and gave away my bed for the night.

Finally I found the building, with its imposing wooden door, and hurried upstairs (remembering that Italians don't count the ground floor as the first floor, so the "second" floor entrance was actually up two long flights of cast iron stairs).

It was a big relief to get there, a big relief to find that they knew of my reservation, and a very big relief to put down my heavy pack at last. I stowed it in safely in a locker, exchanged my passport and 27,000 L ($15 US) for a room key, and was promptly shooed out the door.

Next: First Taste of Italy