Rome!

*The following entry was taken from my travelogues about my Spring Break trip to Europe
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I am just now finally believing that it's actually true: I am finally in Europe! And in Rome to be specific. After a long flight, we have at last arrived in the Eternal City. Getting through the airport was an adventure in itself, though nothing out of the ordinary happened except my fifteen minute wait for food at McDonald's in Atlanta.

The plane was enormous! The biggest one I've ever been on, and although the flight was uncomfortable, I had painted a far worse picture in my head than the actual experience. It is more fun to travel with friends, and there was even a nice Italian mother with two little boys returning to Rome who spoke with us. The coastline and landscape were just stunningly gorgeous in the sunrise at our descent.

I felt a little disheveled and unsettled after such a long trip, but none the worse for wear (except that my stomach slightly pained me from hunger), we were soon driving through a bit of Italian suburbs before reaching Rome herself.

I cannot even begin to describe such a city. It is such an odd yet charming blend of la bella vita and the hectic hustle and bustle of one of the world's great capitals. The drivers are amusing like entertainment while you wait in traffic, as they constantly seek any opening in their tiny little Fiats, Mercedes, and Citroëns, all of which look like variants on the same theme: small, compact hatchbacks. But it is the motorcycle drivers who are the most daring, weaving between lanes whenever they get a chance. And everybody parks in the most haphazard, laughable ways, squeezing in a smart car with Vespas on a curb or just double-parallel parking within the traffic lane.



The Italians themselves are not as welcoming or amiable as I'd hoped or expected, although they do appreciate efforts to speak Italiano, and I did have two kind gentlemen interact with me, the fist of which sold me an Italia shirt for 5 euros and the other, a customer behind us at the grocery store who helped us with the cashier.

However, while I had a few positive experiences trying to communicate in my fourth tongue, it is often the times that things go wrong-- distressing though they be at the time-- that make the most interesting stories.

For example, while I was minding my own business trying to teach two of my friends how to say "I don't speak Italian," a group of three boys my age walked past and pointed at me, saying, "Non parlo Italiano" in a mocking manner. Weird, but I doubt they "parlano inglese" themselves.



Then there was the merchant who seemed to think I was shoplifting his postcards, when i was in fact replacing the magnet i did not wish to buy. Ater a little lingual tango, we figured it out and I was on my way.

But then, on a second trip to the little grocery store-- this time with four different people than my earlier excursion-- something mortifying happened: I was already a little uneasy getting in the way of the Italian shoppers while one of the mothers in our group took pictures of us holding varaints of our own foods found here, but after a seemingly smooth checkout, my friend was being stupid with his money belt at just the moment this particular mom took a photograph. The lady from the pharmacy who was walking by began speaking very rapidly and very angrily to her in Italian before returning to her desk to page a manager. By now, they had closed the door so that no one could leave while they continued rattling on incoherently. By this time, I finally stepped in and put my fledgling interpreting skills to the test by asking if she spoke English-- she did not, of course-- then explaining that we did not speak Italian either.

Fortunately, the lady behind the meat counter spoke a little bit of English, and she politely but firmly commanded our photographer to "cancel" the photo. Somehow, she became convinced, and we were allowed to leave, miraculously. Trying to retain a shred of dignity, I could only say, "Mi dispiace, signora" and "buonna notte."

Good evening, indeed.