In trying to find words to describe my week, all I can think of is that well known phrase, “When in Rome…” Having only arrived in the Eternal City about a week ago, I only feel like I’m on vacation. I’ve been site seeing and wondering Rome, still failing to register that that phrase is applicable to the next four months that I’ll be living here.
As I mentioned, I’ve hardly been here a week, which pales in comparison to the amount of time I’ll really be spending experiencing things the way the Romans do. Yet, when I’m asked by family and friends back home what it’s like here, I’m left speechless. It may come off as if I’m unimpressed, disappointed, or going through culture shock, but the reality is I’m left speechless only because there are no words to describe this place.
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The thing about Rome is…I just can’t put my finger on it.
It’s a place where you rarely will find a true paved road. You curse the cobblestone streets that you trip on, that leave your feet sore at the end of the day no matter how comfortable the shoes you wear. Yet, I love how the ground doesn’t look like home, and I am beginning to think that asphalt streets are ugly and boring.
Breakfast is short and sweet -- a croissant and espresso -- as opposed to giant, salty diner-style American breakfasts. Even on our post-bar crawl mornings, we’ve chosen our new home’s simple morning meal no matter how badly we crave the McDonald’s on the other side of town.
Though I’m accustomed to finding a fast food restaurant on my way home from an evening out, here, instead of Taco Bell, we turn corners to find a medieval church set back from the street, or the shadow of the Pantheon looming over a bustling piazza. As my roommates and I find our way home, lost in this foreign city, every few street corners is mounted some hundred-something year old painting of the Virgin Mary, watching over us.
All of the brightly colored buildings are slightly decrepit -- something that would be a discouraging sight in any American city -- yet Roman walls and ruins are more “charming” than they are dilapidated.
Beds are tiny as opposed to lofted and wide, everything is old, and how the hell are you supposed to use a bidet?
Peanut butter is nonexistent, as well as dryers -- all of your dripping wet clothes hang for the world to see. You are constantly running to the supermarket, because you buy a little bit of groceries here and there throughout the week instead of having a giant Costco haul to last you a month.
Italian people are loud and always running late, yet you learn that their voice levels are an indicator of their passionate personalities, and I’ve figured that it’s hard to keep track of time when you’re surrounded by an eternity of history. Inside voices and punctuality just aren’t important when you have gelato and gnocchi, art and culture to be excited about.
Everything from the way people dress and interact to the way they grocery shop is different, and I find myself completely comfortable with all of these extreme changes. Even when it is completely opposite and vastly contrasted to everything you’ve ever known, that is the one thing about Rome-- when you’re here, you do as the Romans do, and you can’t help but love it.
