Three days back and Rome is like a dream. I’ve waxed poetic before on the beauty of travel. It takes you out of yourself, away from your daily grind, and gifts you with insight. For me, a city so steeped in history is a natural draw. Even without the churches, the whispering fountains, the great food or perfect coffee, the ruins remain.
I had the fortune this trip to spend a day with Peggy Ryan, whose Gracefully Global blog is more than worth checking out. She had some great tips for little things off the beaten path, and she shares my love of the Trastevere neighborhood. She also introduced me to cacao de pepe, which officially blew my diet.
We wandered with our mutual friend Clint, who’s always good at spotting an odd twist in the path and leading you to the unexpected. As usual I hauled back too many books, but strangely I didn’t take many pictures. I wanted this trip to be more in the moment, more immediate and less of a record. I captured memories, bits of ideas and faint inspirations as Clint and I walked the city, exploring her ancient and medieval boundaries. I made a friend, a guy from Milan who taught me some Italian sayings.
Now I’m back, and while the getting home was as strangely rough as always, I’ve carried that sense of wonder with me. That’s what travel does for me, why I prioritize it over owning a car of a bigger house. If I preach anything, if I’ve found anything that makes me happier, it is the long game of valuing experience and people over material goods.
Rome has made an impact. After three trips there I’m starting to feel like I know the city, even if my terrible sense of direction hasn’t caught up. I’m clinging to the feeling the journey gave me. Maybe I’ll learn to make pasta.