It’s funny how easily time passes. Today marks one year since I stepped foot on the plane to Europe, but it seems like it was yesterday. All of my time there seemed like yesterday. This milestone has brought on a number of emotions. I am incredibly sad that it’s been a whole eight months since I had that experience. The run up to the start of the semester was nerve racking. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited or anxious about anything. Then came the day of the flight and I went, scared out of my mind, but so happy to have the opportunity.

I wrote about my time in Rome in June. I reread that frequently, trying to finally be alright about it being over. I don’t think I ever really will. It will fade out, as all time periods do, but I doubt I’ll ever lose my excitement or fondness for it. Talking, thinking and writing about it has become cathartic for me. I have gotten the “what was your favorite thing about it” question a number of times and usually give the stock answer of “everything was amazing. I really liked every place I went” and leave it at that. What I really want to do, however, is start jabbering about every detail, every tiny part that you had to see to believe. The truth is, I did go to a lot of places that most people never have a chance to see but that alone brings no enjoyment or love. The love is in the details…

The #8 tram from my apartment to Largo Argentina. Being packed in like sardines. Working on the previous night’s Italian homework while being serenaded by three-piece accordion acts. The little gypsy boy and his mother pushing me aside when I wouldn’t give them money. Abrubtly stopping on the bridge, causing half the tram car to fall over onto each other. Possibly the most vile smelling form of public transportation I’ve ever taken, I would give up everything I own just to ride the tram one more time.

My walk across the city at 3 am, alone. No one else was out in all of Rome. Every monument was lit up. I shouldn’t have done it, but couldn’t be happier I did.

Looking for lunch in between classes. There was never an unexciting side street or tiny sandwich shop. They all seemed to be in their own little world, immune from the hustle and bustle just a few feet away.

The sound of Dr. Paul Gwynne’s voice while lecturing to the class about the minute aspects of a certain fresco or shape of the church we were in. The look he would give me when I was forced to give him a stupid answer to a question. The man could make anything and everything sound interesting, and he did. I’ve never been more willing to go to class and pay attention.

The bald head of the giant bouncer who refused to let me enter Gilda night club. Thanks dude. The gelato shop I found after being rejected from the club.

The smell of Emanuele, the street I walked down every day to get from the tram to school. Passing tabacchis and little food huts, each day brought new faces and new scooters to dodge. The near crashes between angry bus drivers and crazy Italian drivers. The obnoxious wailing of those European ambulances.

The vitriol in the stands at the AS Roma game. The pandemonium after a GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL.

The look on everyone’s faces when we were dropped off in the alley behind our apartment. “Here’s your apartment, have fun!” Dog feces and graffiti scattered everywhere. The weight of the girls’ suitcases. Giving our landlord money for internet access. Him immediately buying cigarettes with said money. The skeleton key that unlocked our front door.

The unorthodox and illogical ways of Italian life. At first we resisted. It was frustrating and made no sense. But we soon learned that it’s what makes Italy truly beautiful. Slow down and enjoy yourself.

The way the sun would set over the Tiber River. There’s just something about it…

There’s something about Rome I can’t explain. It has this feeling, a certain amount of organized chaos that all of a sudden stops and becomes peaceful. Serene, peaceful, and quiet. My entire experience can be summed up in the same way. The perfect people, the perfect place, the perfect time. I’ll never be able to do it again, but wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

Roma, un giorno ci incontreremo di nuovo.