Rome looks like this.
Questionable musicians are on every block begging for eye contact and a euro. A tone deaf fiddler plays on the corner on the way to the grocery store. He plays and plays, all day he plays and I try not to wince at the sharp notes when we walk by. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. There’s a woman at the bus station who must be utterly convinced that in a past life she was beautiful opera singer. After passing her on the street, we exchange confused, sour looks and mutter, ‘bless her heart.’

The city lights up at night in gold and orange with a dark blue backdrop. The river mirrors the strange castle that sits on its edge. The white tents that follow the river are filled with embroidered bags, straw fedoras, white linen shirts, and memorabilia covered in pieces of the Sistene chapel. When the city turns gold, orange, and blue, the girls trade their sandals for heels and jump onto the backs of vespas and wrap their arms around men in dark blue jeans and silver helmets. I don’t know where they go but they all look they’re playing a well rehearsed role in a beautiful movie. This can’t be real. I hang out the window captivated by their rhythm and grace.

(Cassie – none of the windows have screens here. Not one.)

Mint green trams buzz around the city picking up and dropping off people after every turned corner. I've grown used to standing up on trains, trams, and buses, though I don't look nearly as cool as the locals. They wrap an arm around a pole and continue reading their newspaper or clicking on their cell phone, I, on the other hand, have to channel every bit of energy into not falling into the someones lap.
(and whoever chose to color the Roman trams mint green should win a prize.)

sia santificato il tuo nome

They all went to the market outside of town but I didn't feel like shopping. The sky was moody and the day was new. I walk toward the caffe at the end of the block. The clouds broke and the streets were wearing a new layer of rain. My shoes filled with rain and the drops falling got bigger and bigger the farther I walked. I ducked into the caffe and watched the city move in the rain. Italians have this remarkable skill of never looking awkward. They hold their newspapers over their heads and move through the heavy rain with grace.

Mass didn't start until a half hour later. The sun broke through the top of the Pantheon and onto the wall, the cylinder of bright light showing the dust in the air. I sat in the pews amongst old women donning their Sunday shoes, skirts, and eyeshadow. A beautiful man stands behind the microphone to say, 'it's now time for holy mass; all of the tourists need to exit. the pantheon is now closed' The noisy dome slips into hums and whispers as the fanny packs and tennis shoes make their way through the giant double doors.
The priest in green holds the podium for dear life. His gold rimmed glasses fall to the tip of his round nose. The microphone moves his voice around the giant dome. A couple dressed in black held hands standing in front of a beautiful woman playing her accordion with her eyes closed. The couple filled the pantheon with their big voices carrying ancient song.
Peace be with you, I said. Pace sia con voi, they said.

I tried to sleep on the plane, Marissa, really I did. I dozed off at one point, but when there are flight attendants who smell real nice walking up and down the airplane handing you coffee, tea, and cute little chocolate bars, sleep loses place on the priority list. After staying awake for 20 and some hours (6 of them in the Frankfurt airport), we stumbled off of the plane and onto a bus toward the center of the city. Roman streets are a phenomenon; the confident, well-dressed bodies sitting on mopeds with shiny, black helmets on their heads zip around and in front of the giant buses and tiny tiny cars. The roads move at a mad pace that makes it clear that everyone knows whats going on but me.

Everything I see deserves all of my attention. Overwhelming is an understatement. I rest my head on my seat and hear my illustration professor in my head saying, "Just let it all wash over you, Rani. You'll know what to do with it later." So I glance at the temple of Hercules and say hello to the Panteon and we squish our way through the streets and pull in front of Hotel Primavera- our new Roman home. A nice man in a lavender shirt says hello and helps us drag our suitcases the size of Italian cars across the cobblestone. The stairs are dark and beautiful, the floors are marble, the doors are heavy. The beds are covered in a pretty gold fabric that touches the floor.

I woke up to the sun this morning. I walked and drank a capuccino that would embarass any Seattle capuccino. I ate Nutella out of the jar and sat to watch people walk by.

They sent us off today with a map and a set of clues hoping we'd get to know the city. Having absolutely no sense of direction and a very small bladder, I almost pitied the humans that would call me their teammate in this city-wide scavenger hunt. Maybe we didn't win, but we rode the metro (jump out quickly or the door will try to eat you.), we made a friend named Bashir who is really good at making salads, we ended up in incredible cathedrals and walked and walked and walked.

Mig- it smells like ancient dirt here. Like cold, old dirt mixed with the way sun smells on skin and old cigarette.

delight.

So maybe it's May 13th and the sky is colored a solid shade of gray. I love Seattle, I love Seattle, I love Seattle, you say as you walk through the heavy spring rain with a squinty face and soggy shoes.

Maybe learning isn't as easy as it was in the beginning. Maybe I've been running with feelings as fuel and coffee as sleep but I don't know how I could sit still when there's more world to touch with these feet.
Maybe the rain falls so we have to sit with our thoughts.

I don't write down life the way I used to. My thoughts don't crawl in black lines on white.

For all of those I live life with:

We're on our way. We're learning to surrender. Love is louder than all of this damn noise.

Be happy, hungry hearts. Be grateful but don't stand still.

These days may be filled with stacks of required reading, scantrons, cafeteria coffee, and a decent dose of confusion.



But I'm in love with the light in this world.

super.

duper.

new mexico.