EXSPECTATA PEREGRINVS

The Romans are gone. August is of course when Mediterraneans leave the cities for the sea. But the weekend near the 15th of August is “Ferragusto”, a Catholic holiday (assumption?) that marks beginning of the semi-official Italian exodus.

In their place, are the tourists, like myself. I thought I would feel out of place in Rome, because I only brought one pair of fashionable shoes. Instead, I feel out of place because I do not have a fanny pack, or a shirt that says something that a typical tourist might imagine that Romans would enjoy reading on their chests. Say, “337th Airborne”, or “Return of the Jedi”.

Even without Romans, Rome is bustling, though I do not think it looks like it usually does. It’s just as well, because Rome is staggering, even without the noisy traffic and crowded streets that I guess it usually has. It’s hard not to feel like you’ve got to try and see everything. I have made a deliberate effort to slow down and have unstructured time or long lunches. It also helped that there was a specific event that I am hanging this part of my travel on – my friend Bader’s 50th birthday party (later in the week.) Having an event like this in place, means I feel like there will be more to experience than sight-seeing, and so, I don’t have to be a 100% sight-seer.

These first couple of days here I have spent getting lost, lifting my head up, seeing some impossibly old ruins next to a nightclub with an obscure street name on a wall, walking 100 meters in what I think is the right direction, and then doing it all again. I usually try and not carry a map or guide book visibly in my hands when I travel, preferring to not be instantly recognizable as a tourist. But it doesn’t matter in central Rome, in August. Everyone is carrying a map. Everyone is a tourist.

Walking through this old city, I occasionally experience feelings of nostalgia, because of all the times Veronica and I walked through European cities. That was a life path I was on for years. In our married life, I’d idly imagining a lifetime of walks with my wife through Mediterranean cities in the summer, exploring the historic centers, the old buildings, the tiny streets. That’s a path I’m not on any more. I guess I will always feel a little of that in any city like Rome. Regret for that life that is no more. Still, I can enjoy it, and even share it with her a little, as I have been. We still have a bond over these kinds of things.

I’ve decided that ruins are best enjoyed at night, from outside, driving around or from a bar. Being inside them, or among them is very interesting, but it’s a bit like the Grand Canyon. The grandness of the Grand Canyon is best appreciated from a helicopter, and not so much by standing somewhere on the trail half way down it. Same with the Coliseum, or the old Roman walls. Lit at night, glimpsed while speeding down some road and having them pop out unexpectedly. Or seen while looking up from a bar or restaurant and seeing a piece of old wall or column.

The old Romans are gone. The new Romans are gone (for the moment.) My European life is gone. But new Rome has risen in the centuries following, and is something to behold. It is distinct from the old Rome, though it has grown up through it, beside it, and is of it. My life is the same.