Creative Writing # 2

I have finally arrived! After thirteen hours of flying halfway across the world, I was relieved just to have my feet on solid ground. I couldn’t wait to wander through Rome, seeing all of the sights that I had only read about in books. I wanted to order a cone of gelato in the Piazza Navona. I wanted to spend an afternoon walking through the Forum. How could I see everything there was to see in only five weeks? I was ecstatic to finally be in Rome. Unfortunately, the Fiumicino airport didn’t look like the exotic and bustling airport I had imagined it would be. In fact, it looked a lot like the airport back home. There were the same harsh fluorescent lights overhead, the same slow baggage carousels surrounded by weary travelers, and the same hordes of tourists trying to find their way outside. This was not how I expected to start my Roman adventure.

I waited in line with my three fellow travelers to hire a car and driver to take us to our hotels for our first night in Rome. We waited in silence, too tired from our travels to even talk. Finally, our car was ready and we sluggishly walked to the parking lot. As we walked out of the airport, I was blinded by the brightness of the natural sunlight outside. I felt like I had not breathed fresh air for months. Our driver, a man dressed in a nice black suit, led us to the shiny, silver Mercedes-Benz van that would take us to our hotel. This was definitely an upgrade from the ubiquitous yellow taxicabs back home. The four of us climbed into the back of the air-conditioned van and we headed towards the Campo de’ Fiori. I looked out my window and I was surprised to see ordinary buildings and streets. The landscape reminded me of the golden hills of California and there was even a McDonald’s on the side of the road advertising Big Macs on a familiar red and yellow sign. This was not at all how I imagined Italy, but I was optimistic about downtown Rome.

Forty minutes later, after our driver sped through traffic on the highway and then expertly weaved through pedestrians down narrow cobblestone streets, we arrived in the Piazza del Biscione. I slid open the car door and felt a warm breeze. I could hear vendors speaking in broken English to foreign customers and friends calling out to one another in Italian in the Campo de’ Fiori. In the nearby café, a couple sat outside eating lunch with their two young children. A dark-haired young woman wearing an expensive dress and high-heeled shoes strutted past us. I stood outside in the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun with all of my luggage. I was ready to explore.

Two months later, I can still remember how my enthusiasm about being in a foreign country heightened every experience. My first taste of gelato was like tasting ice cream for the first time. My first experience on a city bus was chaotic and disorienting. After a few weeks, my constant feeling of excitement subsided as I became more familiar with my surroundings. Nevertheless, there were certain moments throughout my time in Italy (usually when I passed an ancient landmark that I had previously only read about) that I remembered how it felt to step off the plane into a completely new environment. It was an overwhelming feeling of awe and excitement.