Returning To Rome - The Eternal City
The sights and smells haven't changed, but, twenty years later, my understanding and appreciation of them has.
Rome. The Eternal City. It's a place that has always been about the grandeur of its history and its soulful charm that simmers beneath that charismatic veneer. When I first walked through these ancient city streets nearly two decades ago I witnessed a city sprawling with energy, bursting at the seams with life, rich with cultural gastronomy, a cacophony of voices and languages from every corner of the planet as well as smells and colors all vying for my attention.
My first encounter with Rome all of those year ago was a whirlwind of awe and amazement painting an impression of a city that was larger than life itself. Rome’s imposing Colosseum standing for centuries the bearer of the immortal phrase "While the Colosseum stands, Rome shall stand; when the Colosseum falls, Rome shall fall; when Rome falls, the world shall fall.” The grandeur of the Vatican, the world’s smallest country, holding centuries of mysteries and secrets beneath its massive structures. The endless labyrinth of cobblestone streets that seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere all at once. Getting lost wandering through its ancient winding passages and finding it was only leading me straight to the place I intended to go all along. The culture’s passion and love for pasta that seemed to completely overtake me in the best way possible. It was overwhelming, it was loud, it was cracked and peeling, it was garlicky and full of tomato sauce and olive oil and it was glorious. The food was robust, the wine was intoxicating and the culture was a dizzying spectacle that left me breathless at every turn. It was the Rome of the movies, the city of Federico Fellini, the Eternal City of the postcards and the place that I read about in the history books. It was Roman Holiday, it was Dolce Vita, it was the Bicycle Thief and every other classic moving painting that was the palate for my entire experience.
Fast forward twenty years and here I am again standing on the same cobbled streets that once felt like an unfamiliar unfathomable maze. But now it’s completely different. The same streets and alleys seem smaller, more intimate, less foreign. The stone beneath my feet doesn’t feel so foreign any longer. The city obviously hasn't become smaller, although my perception of it has. It's as though I've been let in on Rome's closely guarded secret - that beneath its grand façade, it's just a small town at heart.
The vendors at the Campo de' Fiori market who were once a blur of unfamiliar faces now greet me with a warm "Buongiorno!" and a knowing smile, handshake, pat on my shoulder and friendly nods. The waiter at my favorite trattoria remembers my order—cacio e pepe with a glass of Montepulciano— he grins as he brings it to me seeing me as and old friend, rather than a wide eyed patron staring at a foreign menu, eyes crossed attempting to read it and make sense of the descriptions. The bustling chaos I once perceived and wove my way through in trepidation has given way to a soothing rhythm, a harmony that only comes from truly knowing a place and truly belonging to it. It’s the ultimate feeling of total immersion.
As I walked down the street, I continued to marvel at the layers of Rome's history exposed to me like raw nerves. The ancient ruins, the medieval churches, the Renaissance palaces, each of these historic monuments told a story and each of these places also holds a special and unique memory within me. But it's the smaller and less noticeable details of this timeless city that have come to mean a great deal more to me with every new visit here. The worn cobblestones, the faded frescoes, the cracked buildings, the tiny alleys, the bustling cafés and the small hole-in-the-wall trattorias are the details that reveal Rome's true character, her nature, her history and her soul.
The food has changed as well — or rather, my understanding of it has. What I once viewed as an endless parade of pasta and gelato has transformed into a nuanced symphony of flavors. I savored the sweet bitterness of Roman artichoke dish carciofi alla giudia, the umami of fresh pecorino or shaved black truffle, the tang of just-ripe tomatoes, the saltiness of the all'amatriciana. The food was no longer a foreign spectacle, it was a conversation, a dialogue between the land and its people, the past and the present and the love that it’s created with.
In the piazzas where once I had been merely an observer and a discoverer, I now found myself a participant and a wanderer. I watched as old men argued passionately over politics, as young lovers stole kisses beneath ancient arches, as children chased pigeons across the worn stones and as tourists devoured gelato savoring the flavors of Italy. I found that I could no longer call myself a stranger to this city because I now suddenly became a part of its story, a part of Rome’s daily life, a part of its culture, its flavor, its language and its timelessness. I felt my own pulse and marveled that the gentle thumping of blood through my veins was now in perfect harmony with the city that I now considered a second home.
The more time I’ve spent in Rome, the more I understood that Rome’s wonder was about the intimacy of its present rather than just the grandeur of its past. Rome’s soul had never been about the size of the Colosseum or the magnificence of its basilicas. Instead, it was the depth of the human connections that filled its streets that defined the city. Twenty years ago, for me, Rome was a spectacle, a jaw dropping experience more foreign than anything I had ever seen. Today, it’s a second home and a place so cozy and intimate that I found a deep sense of calm amongst its daily chaos. The city hasn’t changed. I was the one who changed. And in that change I discovered a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort, a sense of home in the Eternal City. That, I think, is the true magic of Rome. The true alchemy of this amazing city and its magnificent people.