After a leisurely morning in the apartment, we get a cab and driver who screams invective at someone on his phone for our entire trip to the Villa Borghese, where we have another “skip-the-line, small-group” tour (from now on abbreviated as SLSG). Another hot, cloudless day, which we can’t help but compare to our Scotland trip in May 2023, which defined “constant drizzle punctuated by downpour.”

Outside the villa’s sweeping front steps, we are given our “whispers” — the greatest single invention of all time for guided tours — and our guide arrives: a thin raven-haired, intense woman who immediately argues with the flag-bearer who assembled our group.

“Why do you call me? I know when this tour begins. I am a professional. Many times, I have done this. You have to respect my knowledge and experience. Do not treat me like this again.”

Cynthia and I look at each other in wary silence. But we ARE in a small group of 13 and we quickly get through the villa’s entry procedures and our guide, Eva, quickly apologizes for the “angry beginning” and turns out to be absolutely everything that Dario was not: Imparting carefully chosen history of the Borghese family and their construction of the original hunting lodge in 1580 (no windows, no kitchen, no bedrooms or bathrooms) and its 17th century restorations, turning it into a Cardinal’s and Pope’s mansion filled with Renaissance art avidly — one might say “rapaciously” — acquired.

Unlike Dario, who steamrolled without a pause through facts without feeling, Eva’s eyes sparkle as she points out Bernini’s sculpture of Hades rape of Persephone, his sinewy fingers digging into her thigh as he drags her to his underworld. She tells us how to look at the sculpture from all sides to see the strength of the figures, their desperation. Eva LOVES Bernini. We feel it and feed on it. And she is like this throughout the tour, in every room, choosing just a few pieces and letting us gawk in silence after she finishes her insightful and telling explanations.

The forceful baroque sculptures of Bernini and Canova, and dramatic paintings by Caravaggio, and lush frescoed ceilings are all full of movement and life. We could go on and on but this collection is so awesome we cannot do it justice in words. You just have to see it for yourselves and we fervently hope you have or will do.

We tip big and grab a cab to the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art on the other end of the Borghese Gardens. David can’t wait to see two of his favorite sculptures in the collection: the bronze relief Victims of Labor by Vincenzo Vela, and a marble bust of Toscanini by Adolph’s Wildt.

The lovely and solicitous museum ticket agent looks up the items on her computer and with regret says neither are currently on display. But she gladly directs us to the indoor cafe where we load up on salads and sandwiches and Negronis and sparkling water and coke and are fortified for our visit. Some interesting stuff in wonderful wide-open rooms — Giacometti’s Standing Woman III (1960) almost makes up for the absence — but it’s not the collection we remembered fondly from our last visit in 2013.

We get a final taxi home where David put up his leg and Cynthia forayed to bring home some lasagne, beans, eggplant and Barolo for a home-cooked dinner on plates whose symbols we had to google to see if they were oven-safe. And they were.

Vici!