Rome for The Family Explorers: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

A rowing boat for twenty minutes on the little lake under the temple of Aesculapius, turtles on the bank and ducks who want your crumbs.

Thin Roman pizza from the wood oven at shared tables, since 1962; arrive when the door opens at half six to skip the queue entirely.

The gelateria since 1900, three flavours in a cone from the long counter, eaten on the walk to the Pantheon; a landmark the children remember.

The one big thing, booked for opening: the arena from the stands, the cages below, and the question of where the lions came in; children under eighteen go free.

The children's museum in an old tram depot: a supermarket to run, water to pump, a building site to climb; ninety-minute sessions, book one.

A family trattoria behind Parliament with painted walls and tonnarelli for the children, open early; booking by phone, and they answer.

The zoo in the park, elephants and lemurs and a reptile house, with shade and a train for small legs; two hours, then the picnic lawns outside.

The stone mouth that bites off the hands of liars, in the porch of a sixth-century church; the queue moves fast and every child dares it.

The marble-topped pizzeria the locals call the mortuary, suppli and thin pizza at speed from half six; loud, fast, and perfect for a table of five.

The long square built on a stadium, with Bernini's four rivers to name and a gelato on the way; the street artists set up by ten.

The hole in the roof that lets the rain in, the biggest dome anyone built for 1,700 years, and Raphael's tomb; under-eighteens go free.

Pizza bianca and pizza rossa by weight through the hatch, eaten on the square by the flower stalls; then the taxi to the airport.