Trevi Fountain Dip

The Italian capital Rome is full of picturesque fountains and architecture. Breathtaking scenes unfold around almost every corner. One of the most photographed and truly inspiring sights in Rome is the Trevi Fountain. The Trevi Fountain, or Fontana di Trevi, stands 85 feet high and 65 feet wide. It is also the largest Baroque fountain in the city. It is truly a spectacle. The Trevi is the fountain in "the city of Fountains." Legend is, that if a visitor tosses a coin into the fountain, the small deposit will ensure their visit back to the ancient city. While I had provided a few spare coins of my own during my first visit, the legend once again proved to be true as I found myself back there later.

The theme of the fountain is "taming of the waters," which is personified by Oceanus, the god of all water. Oceanus is centered in the grand fountain, standing in a sea shell chariot guided by Tritons. His presence is heightened by a tumble of rock and water spilling into a grand pool at the base of the sculpture.

A more modern version of the coin legend is that a person will bring themselves luck if they throw three coins over their left shoulder with their right hand. As the photo shows, I had the correct hand to toss the coin, but the wrong shoulder. With this new theory, (no body knows for sure where this theory originated, but the fountain collects roughly 3,000 euros a day) the Trevi has become more of an aquatic piggy bank.

Like the coin legend, time changes all aspects of the fountain. Oceanus may have been in charge of taming the waters for centuries, but now that duty is fulfilled by zealous guards.

The night we came upon the fountain, two guards, members of the Carabinieri were indeed fulfilling their duty in keeping everyone away from the fountain. Tossing in a few coins is fine, but if someone dips a finger, or God forbid, a toe, the guards blow their whistles, and yell to stay out of the fountain. Of course, this all takes place with a cigarette in mouth.

It was time to update the coin legend again. However, this would not require any sort of financial donation. The new legend was to submerge one's body, get photo evidence, scramble out of the fountain and run like hell.

It was initially Mike's idea, but I decided that I'd accompany him on taming the waters. Noley Bear was on camera duty. Andrew was on sandal patrol. We both slipped off our sandals like we were entering a dojo.

Mike's legs were jelly. His heart rate elevated as he descended down the stairs. I was full of butterflies. Not the type you get right before you are about to get into a scuffle, but the type that flutter around your insides right before you are about to do something really, really stupid.

Mike led the way and did a Pete Rose slide into the shallow waters. With one smooth, Michael Phelps (pre-bong toke style) breast stroke, he was in the middle of the pool. I followed with a splash. We both popped inches from the shadow of Oceanus' ocean-sized testicles.

We posed momentarily, glamor shots style, knowing Nolie bear had his trusty Nikon poised to snap. We popped up, felt a strange hush, then a surprised gasp from the onlooking crowd.

We both knew that we had to make a quick, clean bank robbery exit. Kind of like Bobby DeNiro in Heat, but without the awesome gunfight.

The bottom of the fountain is a slippery combination of moss and coin. Mike and I were neck to neck as we tried to scramble out of the fountain. Due to the slippery bottom, we both lurched for the edge, but plunged back into the fountain. I got the sensation that a possible beat down, served family style by the Carabinieri, was evident. I knew Mike had the same feeling by the scared shit-less look he wore on his face. We both clawed out of the fountain like we were contestants on American Gladiators in the home stretch of the Eliminator. The escape from the fountain pretty much mirrored the scene in Star Wars where Luke Skywalker saves Han Solo from falling into the sand monster after escaping from Jabba the Hut's lair.

The Trevi Fountain is located in a small square where three narrow alleys meet. We ran up the alley on the opposite of guards. I pulled ahead of Mike. All I could see in the narrow corridor was the blue lights police car bouncing off the walls. Sirens pierced the night, people dining in cafes cheered us on and Mike yelled "RUN!!" with the type of desperation that creeps into a person's voice pending bodily harm and or a night in jail. Needless to say, neither of us wanted a night in an Italian holding cell.

By the time we reached the end of the alley, we were running side by side. The weight of my soaking shirt was slowing me down. We both ripped our shirts off, threw them to the ground, and continued on with board shorts and bare chests.

I spied a stack of chairs that was covered by tarps near a closed cafe. It was similar to the blanket forts created by children at countless sleepovers. I thought it would make for a perfect hiding place, however, there was no place to actually hide. Luckily for me, I had seen the Bourne Supremacy recently so I was able to make a quick decision. As Jason Bourne would surely vouch, hesitation gets you caught. We took a hard left at the end of the alley, the police still in pursuit. Across the street a car was parked outside of a garage. We both slid behind it. The police passed, but we knew we had to keep moving. Bourne always keeps moving. We ran by an apartment building with a door slightly cracked. We slouched in the doorway, shut the door and hit the deck.

At this point in our European trip, we had done plenty of recreational activities, so our cardio was not at its peak. We stayed on the ground in the apartment doorway for what seemed like hours, but was actually just minutes.

I assessed the situation and confirmed the parameters to be clear. Time to move again. I was certain of one thing, we had to stay off major streets. We were not exactly incognito as we were both wet and shoeless. Rome is not the best laid out city in terms of going from point A to point B in a straight shot. It is closer to a mangled spider web than a grid. Although we had been in the city a few days, and had gotten fairly familiar, we knew that the crosstown trek back to the hostel would take more than a little navigational luck.

We rushed to a familiar bus stop, hoping that a bus would take us closer to our hostel and further from danger.

We sat at the stop for 45 minutes, but no buses were stopping. It was time to Olympic Power Walk back to safety at the Asterix II Hostel.

Walking along the stone roads barefooted is not exactly a leisurely stroll down a white sand beach. There are many hazards waiting to make your dogs bark including, but not limited to, heroin needles, broken glass, used condoms, loose stones and motor oil.

We arrived at our safe haven a few hours later. We walked in and the owner of the hostel, Johnny, said, “What the fuck were you guys doing? Causin ' trouble?” (He claimed he was full Italian, born in Rome. He said he had lived in Echo Park for a few years, but I secretly thought he was an ex-con from the U.S. in some sort of witness protection program.)

I overheard a couple from New York say that they saw two of the guys from California get arrested. I immediately thought Andrew and Noley had taken the fall for our plunge. What worried me was not so much getting them out of incarceration, but rather, that upon first questioning, Nolie would sing like a canary. The couple had been sightseeing at the Trevi during our coin legend update.

I changed into dry clothes and popped out into the common area to let them know that we had escaped. The only soldiers left behind that night were a couple of wet tees. Noley and Andrew eventually got back. I was relieved, to say the least. The couple said that it made their night to see someone jump in the fountain. They said the crowd was shocked. The guy, whose name I can't remember, said they weren't sure what was going on, until they saw the police chase after us.

I still had some fear of the police finding us at the hostel. Johnny reaffirmed that if the police came to the door, they would not be let in.

Johnny continued to calm me down and quelled my previous fear of imprisonment. He said that we would not have spent any time in jail. They just would have, as Johnny articulated, “beat the shit out of you.” Comforting. We had left our mark on Rome. Throwing coins into the Trevi may ensure your return, or bring about good fortune, but throwing your body in means a part of you always stays in the Eternal City.

The above are the series of photos Noley was able to capture.