Why I love Rome and why some days, all I want is to run all the way home.
Today has just been one of those days. That’s what I tell myself while I’m crammed into public transport for hours on end fighting against giant bags, bony knees, and nasty groping man hands to try and keep myself and my belongings relatively safe and maybe even just a little bit comfortable.
Some days I feel like living in this city is to be constantly at war, an affair of elbows and glares thrown out when in need. These are the days when not even the sight of the Coliseum can bring me out of my grumpy funk. Not that, by the way, I managed to see it today. No, today the primary attraction of my voyage was Rome’s central station, Termini. Not exactly the most inspiring site by any means.
The thing is, just this morning, before my public transport-induced rage reached epic proportions, I was thinking about how, for all its frustration, I really love this city. I came here from a smallish midwest town, thinking that all cities must be this way. That’s not to say that I’d never been to Chicago, but my time in that city was mostly spent in aquariums, concerts, and museums, not living the daily life of a city dweller.