Losing my way through Rome
by Mindy Messenger
The Daily, March 2, 2005
It was mid-day when the airport shuttle brought me to my destination. I stood in the cobblestone street, dazed and unsure of which building to enter. I had assumed there would be a prominent sign that clearly marked the University of Washington Rome Center. I had also assumed it would be a modern looking sign, white with purple block lettering above the gold UW seal—something that would stand out in garish contrast to the weathered antiquity of the surrounding Roman buildings. But there was no sign.
Lost, I circled the empty square with my giant suitcase clattering loudly as it jumped off cobblestones. The locals eyed me wearily while I made my circuit around the edges of the piazza. Those I approached either edged away or seemed not to understand what I was searching for.
It would be a half hour before I found the UW Rome Center, an unmarked building tucked into the corner of the Compo di Fiori—a building I had passed by no less than seven times that afternoon.
Thus was the beginning of a new theme in my life; that of constantly being lost.
By my first week in the city, I quickly learned to plan my excursions around huge gaps of time. Direction meant nothing to me in the spider web pathways I traveled. When I thought I was heading west towards my apartment on the Piazza Navona, I was in actuality heading north towards the imposing Palazzo di Giustizia (the Palace of Justice).
Each time I exited the thick forest of buildings to see the Tiber river and the blocky Palazzo di Giustizia looming on the immediate horizon, instead of turning back I would walk forward. With sore feet, clothes covered in Rome's persuasive black dust, and frustrated from the heat, I would seek temporary solace in the buildings shade and cool stone before continuing to search for my apartment.
Most of my first days in Rome consisted of meeting the other students on my trip, of concentrating on course assignments, and of comparing the glaring differences between Seattle and Rome. I was folded into myself, and soon found I veiled my surroundings with my own impressions and thoughts. Sitting on the outskirts of the bustling city center I was able for the first time to see Rome exist without me in the middle of it.
But every corner one turns in Rome, they find themselves in front of a famous monument. With my camera case always slung across my shoulder, I found it easy to abandon my newfound epiphany and nearly impossible to completely lose the trappings of tourism.
At times, the wave of people gawking and snapping photos of pigeons adorning fountains and of nuns crying in the Vatican City disgusted me. At other times, I found myself among them, taking pictures of Bernini fountains or standing in a mob outside the Pantheon while waiting for a glimpse of the actors filming Ocean's 12.
Daytime belonged mostly to the tourists. They bustled and hummed through the piazzas, never straying into the twisting side streets. Camera flashes blinded my eyes and shopping bags full of clothes pushed me off the sidewalk. As my stay progressed into the summer, the number of tourists increased until it was almost unbearable to pass through piazzas.
Nighttime, however, belonged to the Romans. They crammed into the piazzas and milled through the winding streets, socializing with people they had never met before. On the rare moments I went to bed by midnight, I could hear a constant drone of voices converging into one indecipherable speaker. Loud, excited and happy, the speaker continued to talk early into the morning, whispering and eventually falling asleep by three.
With a city as active and exciting as Rome, I found my favorite moments were the simple, quiet ones. A fellow classmate introduced me to the joy of eating gelato at night in front of the Pantheon. We would sit at the edge of the modest fountain in the middle of the piazza, ice cream cones in hand. Spotlights pointed upwards at the Pantheon façade, casting a bluish light on gray stone. We stared in silence at the church while gelato dripped down our thumbs, the chattering of Romans and a few scattered tourists surrounding us.
Towards the end of a month in Rome, I finally began to feel comfortable in my surroundings. I carried my camera with me less, and had learned essential Italian words—words mostly involved with food. And yet, I still found myself losing my way.
Although I was almost always lost, I learned to navigate using monuments that I stumbled upon. Throughout my epic search for an art supply store to buy a sketchbook and drawing pencils, I used the Pantheon as my marker. I had only been told that an art store was "somewhere near the Pantheon".
For an entire afternoon, I wandered the neighboring streets over and over again, branching outwards to further streets in desperation. Eventually, I decided I would rather return home. Because I had embedded myself deep within the labyrinth of Roman side streets, I suffered two more hours of wandering before I stumbled upon the Pantheon and was able to navigate back to my apartment.
Two days later, when I had just managed to convince myself I didn't need a sketchbook, I happened upon an art store in a section of the city twenty minutes away from the Pantheon.
With slender, meandering cobblestone streets flanked by towering buildings, Rome silently beckons those unfamiliar with its directionless paths into being lost. It wasn't until my last days in this ancient city of black dirt and sepia buildings that I learned to aimlessly wander without an agenda or itinerary. To let Rome direct me through its streets was the only way I could find the grocery store, a stocked Bancomat (ATM), or an art supply store.