Rome — Where You Feel Before You Know

We landed at Fiumicino, then went to Termini, then to the apartment, and right away to the Spanish Steps, the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II, the Colosseum, etcetera, etcetera.

I could go on with the list—places, history, monuments, dates—but the truth is, nothing I could write about any of that would be more interesting than what I actually came to find in Rome.

Because I didn’t come here to learn about the past.

I came to feel my own experience.

To pay attention not just to the history in the stones, but to the sensations I’m having today, walking through these streets.

Dragging my suitcase along cracked sidewalks.

Watching the endless parade of tourists taking hundreds of photos, all convinced this one will finally be the good one.

Smelling pizzas coming out of every corner, watching the cream of a cannoli stick to the fingers of someone who clearly discovered it on Instagram.

Crossing narrow streets where cars and scooters move like Rome belongs only to them. And they’re right—it does.

But here we are anyway, advancing like modern legions in trekking sandals, trying to reconquer what was already conquered centuries ago.

Hearing the roar of the Trevi Fountain, which somehow manages to rise above the overwhelming hum of the crowd that surrounds it every single day.

The pasta, the lights, the sirens.

All very Rome.

And that’s what it’s about. That’s what I feel like writing about today.

Maybe later I’ll want to share some curiosity about the big landmarks. Maybe I’ll jot down a lovely little story I overhear along the way.

But if I’m lucky—if I manage to look with my body instead of my head—I’ll end up writing more about the streets and the people than about the legends.

Because, at least as a first impression, everything here seems to blend together effortlessly: history with noise, postcards with smells, architecture with the clatter of a suitcase rolling down the sidewalk.