I spent the second half of August in an Anchorage Airbnb with two good friends, Zach and Katie, who I decided to hang out with for a few weeks after our ten-day trip to the Gates of the Arctic. It had been raining for about five days straight, so we were confined to our warm and dry little townhome, where I took it upon myself to plan a trip to Italy. I had been toying with the idea for a few weeks, as Europe was one of the few places I could safely travel to during the pandemic and I wanted to continue cultivating my newfound love for delicious food. Zach and Katie did a three-month trip to Europe a few years ago and they were telling me stories, giving me tips, and filling me with ideas. A few days before I left Anchorage to head home to Colorado, I was feeling a little spontaneous, so in that moment I booked a flight to Rome.
And before I knew it, only two weeks had gone by. It was September 16th, and I was giving my Dad an extra-long hug on the Denver International Airport drop-off curb before spending an hour in the check-in line because I forgot to fill out some COVID form, and then I was asking strangers if I could cut in front of them to bypass the longest security line I’d ever seen, only to sprint through the airport and walk right onto my plane. I was full of adrenaline when I was finally seated and looked out the airplane window. I was actually doing it, I’m actually going to Italy for three months.
Twelve hours later, I was in Rome and was struggling to navigate myself from the airport to the Roma Termini train station. I met a family who was traveling from New Jersey and was headed in the same direction as me, so we helped each other get on the correct train. Once at Termini, I was alone again, but easily found my Airbnb nearby, dropped my backpack in my room, took a few minutes to compose my jetlagged-self, and headed out to explore the city.
I found the Trevi Fountain and admired it’s beautiful turquoise waters. I stopped for a cappuccino and a panino at a cafe nearby, and then for a gelato later. Yes, the gelato is as amazing as everyone says it is. I was so excited to be in this new world, to soak up the culture, and to try to speak as much Italian as possible. But after finishing my first gelato, I was exhausted. So I headed back to my room for a long nap before having a delicious bowl of spaghetti for dinner.
By the end of my second day in Rome, I could tell that this was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. I met a girl from Patagonia, Chile, named Risa (pronounced Rye-sa) while I was relaxing for a few minutes in a park after a morning of walking through the city. Risa and I explored a few churches, the Pantheon, and found delicious panini e vino. Eventually we parted ways, only to return to my Airbnb to meet two German girls who were staying in the room next to me. Piacere Anja and Diandra!
That night I went out with Anja and Diandra to a district of Rome called Trastevere, which I learned is the “cool and hip” part of town. Diandra studied abroad in Rome during one of her semesters in university, so she was fluent in Italian and knew all about Rome. Trastevere was full of young people, probably college kids, and full to the brim with delicious restaurants.
We wandered around for a while before deciding on a trattoria where we watched them bring out delicious-looking pizza. I sat down and there was no English on the menu, which I learned was a good sign for authentic food. Diandra ordered a bruschetta, three suppli, a plate of fresh sautéed eggplant and peppers, and a perfect pizza complete with basil springs and baby tomatoes. Oh my god, I am in the right country.
Artwork in the Sistine Chapel.
The Vatican Museums were my favorite part of my stay in Rome. At home before my trip, I decided to book a guided tour for the Vatican, because I knew there would be an overwhelming amount of information to absorb. And I was totally right… every inch of the building that is known today as the Vatican Museum is covered in artwork. From sculpture, to frescos, to tapestries, to the ceilings, to the the actual building itself, art is on every visible surface. Each piece of art has an entire history to it, and every piece of art and it’s history is only a piece of the entire puzzle of Roman Catholic history.
I loved listening to my tour guide tell stories of rivalry between Michelangelo and Raphael. Gazing up at the ceilings was incredible. Walking down the Room of Maps and admiring the attention to detail of each panel representing a small section of Italy was fascinating. But nothing compared to when I finally walked into the Sistine Chapel at the end of the tour and gazed up to the ceiling that Michelangelo so famously painted for Pope Sixtus from 1477-1480. Filled with biblical scenes and The Creation of Adam, the ceiling took my breath away. I could spend a lifetime gazing up at that ceiling and picking out new details that I had never noticed before. Michelangelo was really onto something.
As much as I liked the Vatican Museums, I wasn’t a huge fan of St. Peter’s Basilica, the massive church and the center of Catholicism which was next-door to the Museums. It was too much for me. A cathedral that big, and full of every expensive material found on the planet (mostly gold and stunning marble), cost an unfathomable amount of money to build. It was a supposed symbol of power and strength in the world, built on funds from the richest Catholics in Italy who were “donating money” to be “forgiven for their sins.” And yet we still have starving and suffering people in the world….? To be honest, I’ve never known much about or had much interest in organized religion in my life. I’m sure organized religion has a place in this world, maybe I’m just doubtful about what that is.
I digress.
On my way home from the Vatican, I tried to speak a lot of Italian. When asking random strangers for help on how to buy a ticket at a subway station, “Mi puoi aiutare?”, and then immediately after, “Parli inglese?” I was surprised at how many people spoke enough English to help a lone tourist like me. I ducked into some grocery store to try to find some laundry detergent and relied on Google Translate to ask the friendly security guard if some box of detergent was the right box of detergent. Italian really is a beautiful language and my first few days in Italy, spent wandering around the streets of Rome, marked the beginning of my determination to learn it.
After stopping for gelato on my way home (where I asked the gelato-man what his favorite flavor was in Italian, and ended up nearly crying from pure joy over the delicious fig-flavored gelato I had just devoured), I found that Diandra and Anja had left and gone home. But they messaged me, saying that they forgot about a bottle of lambrusco they left in the shared fridge, and it was now mine.
I promptly poured myself a glass of lambrusco, which is similar to prosecco but not quite as sweet. It was delicious and I was riding high from the fascinating day I had. I ended up drinking the entire bottle in one go in my little bedroom, and then quickly fell asleep.
I spent my last evening in Rome walking towards the Spanish Steps, the one major landmark I hadn’t yet found in the city. I was a little tired of the constant chaos and hustle and bustle of the city, and I was ready for my next adventure on the Amalfi Coast, which I was hoping would be more relaxed. But I walked the streets of Rome with a good sense of direction and I felt more confident than ever as a solo-traveler in a foreign city.
On the way, I found a nice restaurant with a space for outdoor seating among a busy street of traffic, where I enjoyed a beautiful bowl of spaghetti carbonara. The carbonara in Rome is like an egg sauce, different from any kind of carbonara I’ve had in the US. It was garnished with little bits of crispy bacon and pecorino cheese.
The Spanish Steps were crowded with tourists. Without hesitation, I climbed to the top of the steps, where the Trínità dei Monti was standing and walked inside. It was instantly quiet, a much-needed relief from the crazy going on just outside the church’s doors. There was a preacher giving a sermon in French to a few loyal listeners and I sat down in the back and listened to those beautiful French syllables reverberate around the massive marble walls and painted ceilings.
I thought back to my life that I knew only five days ago. It was full of a constant thinking about what to do next and a worry over how I am going to find success in the world. In the year since I graduated from college, I had found a place to live in Boulder with three of my closest friends. I kept the great part-time job that was in the Environmental field (the same field that I studied in college), I worked part-time at Whole Foods, and I spent most of the year studying for the LSAT. In my free time, I hiked, backpacked, skied, climbed, and even tried mountain biking. I nurtured many wonderful friendships and enjoyed a wonderful relationship, though that was over now. Objectively, I did pretty well for myself that first year.
But at the same time, I was always looking forward and thinking about what would be the next chapter of my life. What I was doing never felt like it was good enough at the time. I didn’t even come close to the LSAT score that I wanted. I applied for a few jobs, interviewed for one, but nothing came about. Always, always thinking… How am I going to get into law school? How am I going to get a job if I haven’t already? What the heck am I going to do with my life? I spent so much time worrying about the future that I didn’t even notice my happiness during that last year in Boulder.
In the Trínità dei Monti in Rome, the sound of the preacher preaching and a few worshippers singing, it felt like it was time to let go of something. I felt an emotion swelling up inside of me, and I began to cry. I let go of the worries of my future, I let go of my few failures in the last year, I let go of the relationship I was leaving behind, and felt the urge to make a promise to myself—I will be more present while in Italy. So no more worrying about anything, I’m in Italy, busy eating beautiful food and doing whatever it is that I want to do. And I will do my best to not think about what I’m going to do after this trip. Let the past go, you’re here now, your future will always be there, you will find the right path. Just have some fun.
I gathered myself and walked out of the Church and back onto the busy street at the top of the Spanish Steps. Feeling a little liberated and a little relieved, I sat down at the top of the Steps to watch the sun set over the magnificent dome of St. Peter’s Basilica and I enjoyed listening to the bustle of the city on my last night in Rome. I had a new outlook on my three-month trip in Italia, and I couldn’t wait to find more freedom, beauty, and incredible food, wherever that may be.
Sunset on my last night in Rome.