Milan to Rome

 On the way to Rome I had my last Milanese breakfast. Cappuccino too fast and a pistachio filled croissant. It feels gross, exhilarating, and delicious all at once. I board the Frecciarossa from Milan at 11 and before I know it we’re doing a buck eighty through the countryside. I can’t wait until we have this in California.

Amtrak had its best year ever this year and it is clear that outside of the Northeast, California is leading the pack with ridership. When I do transportation advocacy back home I feel like I’m planting seeds for trees I may never see. Maybe if I’m lucky when I’m too old to drive it will be easier to live without a car. You see so many elderly people in public in the cities here. Deftly skipping over cobblestones and zipping up the stairs of the metro. I want that to be me someday.

I dropped my bags in my room and breathed a sigh of relief. This may be the end of hostels for the remainder of my trip. Being the off season, the price difference between a hostel and a B&B is minimal. Also being the off season, the ability to meet people in a hostel is also minimal.

Rome has proven to be an easy city for me to get recommendations for. My sister was here not long ago and my cousin also lived here in recent memory. Their help has been invaluable. My first stop was for pizza at a spot near my cousin’s old architecture studio. He’s from New York and the coarseness of the service and thinness of the crust feel familiar. Delicious. Where a NYC dollar slice is supposed to be cheap and quick sustenance, this begs the diner to slow down and enjoy. Life is too short to speed through good pizza.

I pointed myself in the direction of the Pantheon and got a surprise on the way over. Cafe Marcel was a spot my sister visited when she was in Rome. She had a fantastic time with Marcel, the owner and borough me home a bag from her time there. I made sure to send her a photo. The kind old man is still there.

I found the Pantheon to be strange and underwhelming. This was my first real experience with Roman ruins. Turn a corner and BAM there it is. After Milan where everything old is cared for and kept in good shape, this was an adjustment. I found myself having to actively remind myself that if I look this good after 2000 years I should be very happy. The atmosphere is even more strange. Tourists lining up to get their one photo at the Pantheon. Influencers popping their asses to get an extra few likes. The locals sticking around to sell them trinkets or an overpriced bowl of noodles. Weird vibe. I left quickly. 

I don’t think that’s the fault of the Pantheon or Rome. Maybe I’ve gotten spoiled by spending so much time in places that are enjoying their off season lull that any amount of tourism feels like too much. Here I am in Rome and the weather is good enough to justify a flight from London or even the east coast of the US. I am hearing more American accents here than I have heard anywhere else in Europe. When in Rome nobody is a Roman.