First day in Roma

Roma is a mess. Congested, crowded, seeping from every crevice in the entirety of the city. There’s more grass in New York for god’s sake. For all that, it is beautiful beyond real words. The first thing I saw that was the movement of the people, the Roman’s speech, the way they express, and grace every moment. The language is apart of their bodies, and the way they interact. Time is truly slowed down unless you’re on a back of a scooter, or in the seat of a taxi clutching for your life, and proclaiming your faith in God.

I met an older couple on the 9 hour plane ride over from JFK.  We touched on the subjects of music, work, politics, but most of all living. Living with a whim, and not thinking too far ahead. Relying more on the experiences, and colors of life rather than the financial structures that we Americans seem to press upon more than most. Not necessarily saying that’s a bad thing, but I think it can detract from the beauty, the true dripping essence of life. If you can’t slow down and feel the breeze through your body, and the reverberations down the sidewalk, then what the hell are you up to? You look up from your shoes, and the street vendors are selling their goods, and the baristas going out for a smoke, moving their lips so expressively, throwing up a hand or two.

Apparently I got here a day early. But before that revelation I probably got swindled by a well spoken Italian man at the airport.

He said, “100 for the taxi, or 65 for the van.”

“Ah, I’m gonna take the bus or train.”

“45.. how bout that?”

“45?”

“Si.”

“All right.” I got in and there was a couple in the front seat, small tanned beauty from Sicily, and a young man from Lebanon. They were both living in Lebanon. He worked in tech for “Dunk’n Donuts”, I told him Starbucks was better, and he just laughed. A family from Brazil was in the back seat, and I tried to communicate to the father through broken Spanish. We got our points across.

I got into the center of Rome and eventually to my apartment after speaking with the locals getting an all right sense of how to slow down my speech, and communicate. I was the only one in my apartment, but the cleaners weren’t done so I left my bags and went out to explore. I found a small café and sat down and had some small pizza like things, and an Italian beer. I thought I was sticking out as an obvious American but I was approached many times by other Italians, and some British folks asking for directions. I shrugged my shoulders, and muttered some Spanish. Motor bikes sped by with men in linen suits, ladies walked by speaking sweetly, the breeze flowing down the street. I stared down at my beer, and tried to condense everything that seemed to be happening, and it was something along the lines of,

Loosen the gears, stare at the stars, chase dreams, believe in passion to a delusional degree, listen to music, read poetry, love