When In Rome

Jeep Girl Here…

Even as I boarded the largest plane I’d ever seen, I still didn’t believe I was actually going out of the country. I’ve spent my life traveling, so traveling in itself doesn’t exactly feel adventurous or out of the box, but there was a very distinct moment when this particular adventure started, and it wasn’t when we lifted off the ground and into the great blue. 

After being served dinner at 1 am, a very odd time to be eating beef and gravy indeed; the flight attendant dressed ever so smartly in her freshly pressed navy blue uniform, perfectly positioned flight cap and white gloves, reached over my lap and pulled down the window shade. I thought it was odd. “What if I wanted to look at the stars all night and dream of the places I was going to see?” I thought.  Then my eyelids began to feel heavy and I wondered if she would come around again and close those too. 

I drifted off to sleep for an hour or two before I was abruptly awakened by blood-curdling screams! Screams of terror and fright, or so it seemed. As I regained consciousness I realized they were screams of exhaustion from the two-year-old sitting a couple of rows in front of me. The mother frantically tried to calm him, but the child could not be consoled. He cried for the next six hours without taking a breath, and while it was a little maddening it was also some kind of miracle and I found myself marveling at his persistence, and the mother’s enduring patience. 

I tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. So I thought I would open my window and look out at the vast blanket of stars. It’s not every day you get to view them this closely. Then it happened. The moment my adventure began. I slowly raised the window shade up just an inch or two and a bright white light, like the one I imagine pervades heaven, cut into the darkness like Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber.  I immediately pulled the shade back down as I realized it was no longer night, but morning instead! “It shouldn’t BE morning,” my brain said. “It’s the middle of the night,” it persisted. The time on my iPhone concurred.

It was such a strange phenomenon to so suddenly be in a different time zone. Now, THIS was something I had never experienced. THIS was something new. I smiled as the butterflies danced in my belly, and I got that feeling. You know the one. The one where every fiber of your being tells you something amazing is beginning to happen, and you know it will change you forever. That is the feeling that keeps me adventuring. It’s more addictive than any drug, and it is the reason I pushed past all the fears of being on a plane over the middle of the ocean where we, like Amelia Arheart, would possibly disappear never to be heard from again. 

I sat there for hours, desperately wanting to open the window and see the world below, but the entire plane was asleep, except for the crying child and mother of course who at this point was crying also. I didn’t know how everyone else was sleeping through it but I knew they were because the sounds of the cries were accompanied by a chorus of snorers. A very interesting and entertaining symphony to be sure. My fingers tingled with anticipation, and then finally they turned the cabin lights on and started to serve breakfast or lunch. I’m not really sure. It should have been breakfast, but it was a ham and cheese sandwich so it could go either way. I raised the window shade and looked down expecting to see waves, but instead, I saw mountains. The captain announced, the Swiss Alps! They were absolutely breathtaking.

After landing, going through Customs, receiving my very first passport stamp, retrieving our luggage (with 2 fewer wheels than when I left) and a very entertaining and life-threatening bus ride, we finally arrived at our hotel. The Westin Rome was ornately decorated with plush red carpets and velvet drapes, shiny cream-colored marble columns, enormous crystal chandeliers and absolutely everything luxuriously dipped in gold. If this were a movie, it was one of those where the average girl finds out that she’s actually a princess and she rules a very small but very wealthy country. It really was like a dream. I tried to act normally but inside I was absolutely screaming like an eight-year-old girl at Disneyland. I was in awe.

After checking in, Penny and I, along with our traveling companions decided to take a stroll and take in the sights. After walking only a few blocks down the tree-lined cobblestone street, we stopped at a sidewalk cafe and ordered some small plates to share. We discussed how much or how little we should order in preparation of a proper dinner later on, and then someone said it. The phrase that would become our anthem for the next 24 hours. “When in Rome!” That was all that really needed to be said. We all understood.  We promptly ordered ice cold watermelon, strawberries and cream, mango gelato, bruschetta and of course a real Italian pizza!. A few feet from our table a wide stone staircase sprinkled with old Italian men eating gelato and couples sharing a slice, led up to an ancient church with a beautiful bell tower. As if on cue, the bells started to ring and I thought, “I could go home right now and be completely satisfied with this trip. Everything else will be icing on the cake.” Oh and let me tell you, there was icing. From that moment on, every time we stopped to consider, should we go see this or should we order that, should we stay out a little longer etc, the answer was always, “When in Rome” and we did it. It was the best thing excuse to live fully in every moment and I thought I might adopt it and alter it slightly for my return to the US. “When at Home!” LOL

Everything is old and everything is beautiful. Everything is crowded, but also somehow still inviting. It feels like New York without the disgusting smell and the bright lights. It was everything I always wanted Rome to be and more. Twisted narrow sides streets, bustling markets, the smell of fresh parmesan and garlic wafting through the piazzas. Beautiful fountains and beautiful people. I don’t think I saw a single person who could not be a model for Italian life. They are truly remarkable, buzzing around on their Vespas with loaves of bread on their backs and flowers in their hair. 

And OH the Colosseum! I realize what took place there wasn’t beautiful at all, but the sheer scale of it, and it’s determination to stay standing through the tests of time is inspiring and beautiful. It was an odd mix of emotions standing there in its shadow. You think about the sport that was celebrated there and how it speaks of the sinful seed in the core of humanity. You think of how that still exists in us even though it’s dressed differently these days. How we are addicted to watching shows involving torture and play video games where the goal is to kill or be killed, and you wonder how much has really changed. You wonder why they didn’t tear it down, and what living around a place that is a symbol of death means to the Italians. Do they keep it as a reminder not to let evil take over?

 Then I thought about the things I keep as reminders in my life. All of them are good because we don’t like to remember the bad things. The failures. The hurt. But maybe we should. Maybe remembering that from time to time, and building life around it as the Italians have, allows it to serve as a reminder of what not to do. I wondered how many lessons I would have learned faster if I had kept something around to remind me of the pain. Not to dwell on it. Not to gravel in it, but to allow it to become useful and helpful. To allow it to become beautiful. 

The Italians have a great appreciation of the past.

They don’t forget it or try to erase it. They celebrate it, and ya know what? They aren’t dead or sad or depressed. They are vibrant and alive and full of color. They seemed to have figured something out.

What kinds of visual reminders do you keep in your life?

XOXO

Jeep Girl