The Arrival.

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It was about 4pm in the afternoon by the time my best friend Emm and I arrived in Rome. Needless to say we were restless after the long flight from Melbourne, Australia. Suspicious plane food had left us hungry and wearing the same clothes for 24 hours straight had left us craving warm showers. Still we had to patiently mill about waiting for our luggage before navigating through the airport and decrypting signs until we found our train into the city. Eventually we boarded the train and headed towards our hostel located in the beating heart of Rome. A short ride later, we spewed out of the crowded Termini train station and onto a large road which seemed completely void of street signs. Our anxiety was manifested by leering taxi drivers and the looming street vendors approaching from all angles, armed with trinkets like knives. Paranoia trickled down my spine as I remembered the array of warnings that people had given us about petty crime in Rome. The sun was glaring down on the littered streets and illuminating the dozens of homeless people wrapped in cardboard and sleeping bags. I clutched my hand scrawled directions to the hostel, as my eyes darted around looking for some indication of what street we were on. Emm looked perturbed. She turned towards me expectantly, hands flailing, motivating me into action. I lead us back towards the station where we eventually found an information desk who gave us a map and a lazy nod in the general direction we should head. Somewhat more optimistically we soldiered onwards, the sun belting down on my various layers (I was trying to save room in my suitcase by padding myself like some kind of sumo wrestler). The coble-stone streets kept catching the wheels of my bag mid-way through crossing the road. Crazed motorcycle drivers and zapping hatchbacks were roaring past my trembling figure, honking all the while. I realised that as much as I craved complete independence, in that moment, I ached for the company of a man. Someone to lead. Hell in that moment I craved an adult, a real one, my daddy to carry the bags or my mummy to read the map. It isn't my proudest moment but it was a gut-reaction. Being as stubborn and proud as I am, this new found feeling of helplessness was detestable to me. So I pushed ahead determined to prevail. My stubborn resolve, however, threatened to crumble when we reached the hostel. After we dragged our heavy cases up three flights of narrow winding stairs we arrived to a full room. We also realised that our rooms did not include lockers or security of any kind, meaning one must put all faith in your grinning room mates. Transient strangers with nothing to lose. Safe. My heart is fluttered wildly but my determination was still hanging by a thread. After a shower and a change of clothes we were so tired that we simply left our rooming siltation, along with our cases, in the hands of strangers. We decided to visit a local ristorante and order a caraff of wine and a couple of Roman pizza's the size of our heads. Then suddenly. With a full stomach and a fresh pair of underwear, I felt different. For the first time yet I felt comfortable, at ease, relaxed. I looked around the streets and the setting sun sheds a new light, not just literally but metaphorically. This city is beautiful and I am lucky. And in that moment, I felt a sense of Roman confidence and a sudden urge to seize the day.

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