Rome has never been a mere city. Instead it’s been an infinitely romantic notion, a nexus between all things love, history, power; an idea of the beyond. An extension of the “one day I’ll travel to” dream.
Yet, here we are. Touchdown in Rome, a short drive from the airport into the heart of the eternal city and I’m already seeing it all in rose-colored glasses (checking into an apartment with chiffon rose curtains billowing in the window doesn’t hurt much, either).
I’m one week into my month here and if there’s one thing to say, it’s the saturated level of pure art and beauty here. Ever corner gives way to countless basilicas, museums, monuments — treasures of the ancient and modern work alike. And there they stand. Casual, every time. The understated allure that the best poets try to describe. Enough to even exercise a level of indifference for the seasoned native. But I’m determined to keep the eyes of an awestruck passerbyer throughout.
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