My Fingers Hurt...

Sometimes it's not about what you know but about who you know, aye? Just imagine the possibilities when you know the right things about the right places with the help of the right people! I'll give you a hint - the best case scenario starts with R and ends in OME.

Just when I thought Carla had reached her popularity peak, she informed me that her influence extends all the way to Rome. She has a priest friend in Rome that offered a room in his church to us for a weekend. A free bed? A new city? How can I resist? I really want to know what she was thinking when she asked if I wanted to go.... like I'm going to say no?! Fede thinks Rome is "boring" so he opted out for this adventure. Therefore, I had the chance to kidnap one of my Intercultura gals to join in these Roman shenanigans.

So here's my humble attempt to do this crazy girl justice with a quick description - Ela Garcia. Loves Nutella. 17 years young. High school graduate. Loves Nutella. Lives with her mom, uncle and some crazy cousins in Honduras. A combination somewhere between myself/Claire Brogna/Lily Marie Johnson/Snookie/something new... does that exist? Oh and loves Nutella. I constantly forget English isn't the first language for my other foreign friends, so I nearly died laughing when she complained about her fingers hurting because she had been walking on them all day. I love her with my whole heart! 

So here we go, it's Friday morning and the day is young. Make moves, kids! Carla & Sandra did the typical mom thing where you have to wake up at the crack of dawn, pack as little as possible and make all your delicious snacks to-go. Hey, these ladies take excellent care of me. I have zero complaints or regrets. After some serious napping on the train, we managed to arrive with enough energy to meander around the ancient parts of Rome all day. If I could break this down day-by-day for you, I absolutely would. However, my memory is failing me and at some point everything began to blur into one glorious weekend :) 

An afternoon at the Colosseum, cool evening and sunshine-y afternoon at the Trevi Fountain, morning stroll through the Roman Forums, four of the five big bad basilicas, soaking up the Vatican, casual Sunday morning service at St. Peter’s Basilica, late night wandering along Tiber Island, ten million piazza’s in between,  gelateria’s whenever wherever, up, down and around the Spanish Steps, delicious pizzeria to fill my Saturday night omnom needs.... more or less, I’ve seen it all. Sike, that’s not even close to being true. But I could not be more proud of how much was accomplished in those 2.5 days.

Now if you have ever been interested in the art of photo-bombing (verb: an otherwise normal photo that has been ruined or spoiled by someone who was not supposed to be in the photograph -thank you, urbandictionary.com), Rome is the place for you. It's crawling with tourists trying to settle themselves in the perfect location for posing with some magnificent background. But hey... who's that girl creepin' behind you?! OOPS. Photo ruined. This is clearly not Profile Picture material now. Have I been photo-bombed? No. Have I photo-bombed others? Of course. It's a gift, really. I regret nothing! If I had to make a list about my favorite things to do in Rome, it would probably be embarrassing how high this action could rank. 

I am a lucky girl. I have good health, two or three great families (natural, Italian, AFS), role models, a great support system, an education, a year of pure Italian beauty and a great American life I suppose I have to return to eventually. I promise I'm still keeping this in mind every day. However, nothing makes you feel lucky or humble like standing in a building from 80 AD. Do you know what year it is? Do you know how long ago that was? Do you know how beautiful this is? Google Image these Roman glories all you want... there really is nothing like the real deal. So raise your hand if you want to come hang out?

Photo Credit? Clearly Ela.

Story Time! There was an English-speaking woman on the bus looking for the train station. I never claimed to be an expert but I’m learning my way around a map and I did get here through that same station, right? In translating the necessities for this woman and Carla, I realized how much I really struggle to speak English at times. It’s just I find things are blurring in my brain and I cannot remember how to say something or, even worse, the proper way to say it. Sorry, Emily... this is ESL at it’s finest. Spoiler alert: she got to the station safely. But that’s not the point! The point is that a young couple overheard the conversation and proceeded to compliment me on my English. As in... you must have studied really hard in school, you are doing so well! I didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s my mother language, I’m just too stupid to speak any language correctly by now. 

Latin, I don't miss you one bit.

Rome wasn’t even magnificent solely because I saw beautiful places, but I saw beautiful people. No, you took that the wrong way. I mean yes, you are right, I’m living in Italy - we’re crawling with hotties over here. But what I meant to say was that in Rome I saw beautiful souls and beautiful friendships. It gave Ela and I a chance to get to know each other in a better way, to the point where she knows I want a sip if I stare too long at her hot chocolate and I know when it’s easier for her to speak in English or Italian (depending on her exhaustion level, sometimes some Spanish slips out too). I will always remember Sandra, Ela’s mom, if for nothing else but her firm religion, solid effort to make me understand the history of Rome (explanations in all Italian, yeesh)  and outstanding cooking. And last but not least, Mamma Carla is still my Mamma Carla. I love her dearly; that’s as simple as it gets. 

This baby has nothing to do with
 this blog. At all. 

I find Rome absolutely magnificent; I might have even lost a little room in my heart to the city. I think everybody should be lucky enough to see it but I don’t think I’d be interested in living there. It’s not home... coming back to Bologna was like coming back to 1055. The familiarity of the streets and houses and noise that are my everyday life made me realize that I am completely comfortable here. So what if it’s been two months and I’m just getting out of the 50-50 comprehension level? I’m completely comfortable living completely outside of my comfort zone. 

And now I’m done blabbering so stay tuned and we'll look at some pretty pictures you could find on Google Images but instead I snapped myself!