Rome & Clogged Nasal Passages
Walking down the 551 steps from the top of St Peter’s Basilica, all I could focus on was staying upright, gripping the germ-infested railing, and taking deep breaths to manage my exercise induced asthma. I thought the exit would take me back to the main square, but suddenly I stepped into one of the most beautiful basilicas I have ever seen. I actually made an audible gasp. I say “one of the most beautiful” because I’m still recovering from Sagrada Familia, but they’re pretty incomparable. The wondrous structure in Barcelona felt more like art while Saint Peter’s felt like ancient, glorious history. I loved seeing Rome’s skyline from the top of the dome, but the inside boggled my mind. The sheer scale of the ceilings, columns, statues. I couldn’t wrap my wee brain around it. The huge chapels around every corner and most intricate shapes and movement in every piece. The glorious center altar with curved columns almost resembling massive twizzlers (sorry, but it’s true). The intricate gold angels swirling together surrounding a stain glass dove that radiated with orange and yellow light. I was blown away.
As I left, coming off the high of heavenly wonder and awe, I was suddenly hit with fury. Since I rushed to my Vatican Museums/Sistine Chapel tour that morning, I lost the chance for sustenance to endure my day of holiness and was overtaken with hanger. As you may have noticed from my subtly savage previous posts, I have a short fuse when it comes to other visitors. The lack of spatial, volume, and selfie awareness makes my heart rate promptly pick up. Not to mention a sorority girl photoshoot in the dead center of this ancient basilica. I escaped the disrespect of yet another gorgeous piece of history, speed walking down the side streets of Rome, dodging old Italian men promising an incredible seat in their restaurant, and skirting around families of five spread across the sidewalk strolling at half a mile per hour. After an infuriating seventeen minutes, I burst into my little semi-basement apartment I splurged on for a few days of space and quiet. While living the hostel life has many perks, including an automatic meeting of a dozen individuals from around the world and fun social offerings, I have grown much more aware of my social limits over the last three and a half weeks. So as I entered this new beautiful country, I decided to respect that and allow myself some air.
I’ve been in Italy for almost a week now and it has been quite a doozy. On my first cloudy Roman morning, I woke up to a congested face, sluggish body, and tentative mind. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to finally see more of the world. It has been an adventure, both physically and mentally, that I’m certain will stay with me for the rest of my life. But it has also been tiring. Visiting over six cities in three weeks with new people and experiences in each comes at a cost, both figuratively and literally (my financial advisor will not be pleased). The moment my body felt alone, safe, and comfortable, it all just hit me. Without anyone to distract me or fill the air with conversation, I sat quietly with myself. While this pleased me, it also made me uncomfortable. And like many times before, my wheels started turning and I struggled to slow my thoughts. Have I had my big epiphany about life yet? Have I accessed profound, unknown parts of myself? Have I learned to trust myself and release the fear of other people’s opinions?
Even through what turned out to be a bad cold that has yet to subside, I managed to explore the colosseum and ancient ruins, finally understand what the Vatican actually is, and lay my eyes on the cliche major sites. I strolled from the Trevi Fountain to the Spanish Steps to Borghese Gardens and so much in between. And on my last night, I signed up for a cooking class in Piazza Navona. As I walked the half hour from my Airbnb to the restaurant, I was excited yet nervous. I try to be okay with the unknown, but still felt a bit stressed about the other attendees, the vibe of the class, and many other non-issues. But immediately when I walked in, I met some fun solo travelers, and it quickly became one of my favorite parts of the trip. With our hilarious chef guiding us, we prepared fettuccini, ravioli, and tiramisu from scratch. I decided to be okay with the imperfections, even though the theatre-training-tendencies in me was dying to be validated by the chef. I felt like I could be myself and enjoy working with my hands. I’ve loved traveling, but I really do miss working and building and designing. Getting to play and cook, and then enjoy our homemade meal with a glass of wine instantly became a highlight of my Roman week.
When I first started researching the logistics of solo travel, the most impactful piece of advice was to first identify the objective. To decide the activities, forms of accommodation, and longevity of each stay, there must be an objective. So soon before the start of my trip, I finally decided: to connect. I decided to connect with myself, with others, and with new parts of the world. Although each come with their own challenges, I’ve been working on creating enough variety in my trip to develop of all three. During my four days in Rome (and three delightful days in Valencia last week), I’ve worked to embrace all moments, whether that’s a lonely cloudy morning, new culinary friendship, hiding under a tiny gazebo during a sudden rain storm, or a peaceful journaling session in a park. Two more weeks left, and so happy to let the exploring live on.