There was no playing around this morning. I hugged Carlos goodbye and left his flat. I felt sad to be leaving him. It’s going to be years and years before I ever see him again… if I ever see him again.
Carlos had wanted me to to see another museum before heading to the airport, but I was more in the mood for eating than for staring. After a brief mental battle, I chose Rodilla over El Brilliante – I know, I said I’d go back to that place, but Rodilla promises peace and WIFI.
The guy misunderstood my accent when I ordered, so Instead of just a latte I ended up with a chai latte. Up until now I have never stopped to think about what the hell a “chai” latte actually is. I got two different types of tuna sandwich: tuna, port and walnut, and tuna and tomato. The tuna and port combo went extremely well with the cinnamon spiced coffee – which essentially seems to be what a “chai” latte is.
Then disaster was set in motion. Google maps deceived me. The bus stop it promised me near the botanical gardens was nowhere to be found; the quick ride I’d banked on for the airport alluded me. I eventually found another bus, only for the driver to refuse me a ride because I didn’t have a mask. The only mask I had was still in my raincoat pocket which I’d foolishly left at Carlos’ place. First peanut butter sandwiches, now this. I wanted to slap myself.
I jumped on the metro, this now being the only way I knew I could get to the airport. Whether I’d arrive on time was another matter. To my frustration, I realised the metro was going to take even longer than I’d anticipated. Then, to my greater horror, some “mask enforcers” got on the train and demanded to see my mask. I could not believe my revolting luck. Astonishingly, the guy standing next to me suddenly pulled out a box of disposable masks and handed me one. I couldn’t bloody thank him enough. ‘Muchas gracias!’ I said with elated relief – a relief which came to an abrupt end when I glanced at the time.
I arrived at the airport with fifty minutes to go before my flight. My ticket wouldn’t let me through the barrier – I’d run out of free journeys. FURIOUSLY, I rushed to the ticket machine and threw away 7 euros. Then I ran through the barriers and all the way to security where I threw my bags onto the conveyor belt in a bluster, forgetting to take out half my electricals. Rather miraculously, I got through without any hold up.
Then I was sprinting through the airport, zigzagging around crowds of people and suitcases. My heart palpitated wildly, my jeans stuck to my legs with sweat – I reeked of sweat. I was a mess.
I got to the gate as people were still boarding. I was actually going to make it to Rome. I couldn’t believe it. But once the official had seen my passport and boarding pass, they wouldn’t let me on. What the fuck was going on? They didn’t speak any English. Desperation welled up inside me. Panic sprouting out of the pores in my skin.
‘MASK,’ someone said from behind me. ‘She wants to see your mask.’
‘Oh…’ I hastily pulled the newly gifted mask out of my pocket and was allowed to board.
I sat down on my AirEuropa flight with a window sight, waves of sweet relief washing over me. I had made it… and I was going to Rome!
It was eerily dark when the plane touched down in Fiumicino airport. Rome remained a mystery. I got the Leonardo express from the airport to Termini train station, where it was a short walk to my accommodation: Hostel Mosaic. Stone ruins unfolded mysteriously in the night, flanked by palm trees which were lit by the lamps of shops and restaurants. Those ruins were like dark matter, shadowy voids and vacuums eating into the city, elusive shapes holding unknown wonders.
Almost as soon as I’d walked into my dorm room, a Brazilian guy called Viktor introduced himself and started telling me about our other roommates. I felt a deep chaotic excitement. This is what traveling is, I thought. I was beyond ravenous. I’d eaten nothing since those flimsy tuna sandwiches and the silly chai latte. So I took to the streets of Rome in search of food.
The sky was black with night. Birds screeched from strange trees, which, judging by the racket were hiding entire flocks. I found a little pizzeria where I got a large slice of fungi for 5.50. Shortly after, I turned down a side alley where I found another pizzeria, and didn’t hesitate to buy more. This one was covered in different meats. The guy automatically gave me two slices pressed together – the thing was massive and it only cost 4 euros. I now walked the streets of Rome not hungrily, but full of delight. One of the first thoughts that occurred to me as I began to eat this second pizza was: I’m going to get fat here. Stone ruins surrounded me. Every time I turned a corner there was another pile of crumbled stone or pillar. It’s like this entire city is one colossal museum.
After walking around for an hour or so I stumbled upon the Colosseum itself, and marveled awhile before heading back to the hostel. I had no WIFI, no google maps, and managed to navigate based on my own mental compass.
When I returned once again to my dorm room in Mosaic Hostel, there were now three guys inside. Viktor – the Brazilian guy, Emmanuel – Spanish, and Harsh, an Indian guy from Delhi. They were deep in conversation about food from different countries, and more specifically, how food in Paris is shit. Anyway, they put their conversation on pause to introduce themselves to me. I awkwardly climbed up into my bunk and listened to them chat.
Viktor and Emmanuel are both leaving tomorrow, but Harsh is here for three nights and he asked me if I want to go exploring with him tomorrow. Hell yeah, I do!
