Cobblestones

Rome is built on top of interlocking stones that link together like pieces in a giant dirty jigsaw puzzle. The buildings, like earth-toned pastel crayons, have banisters and overhangs and balconies which are draped in ivy curtains. The food and drink are rich, and seem to be more like a custom than a necessity: there is ritual in ordering an espresso, in selecting a piece of pizza, in unwrapping the chocolate. This was one of the most charming things about Rome: it seemed as if going out to drink wine was simple, an occasion instead of a party. There is a notable difference between this place and many of the other European cities I have visited. The people do not seem to be acting cohesively. There is no flow of traffic, or center of activity. Instead, everything appears random--due partially to the inclement weather, no doubt--and the streets are comparably sparse, though busy. The way that people move and assemble here reminds me of the way that a pot of water starts to boil. A few bubbles gather around the sides, at first, and then there are small bursts here and there, whose random situation and timing give the illusion of important and rising activity. A busy sky hangs over Paris, a heavy sky over Dublin, and an angry sky over London: Rome will have none of it, choosing instead that its sky should feature the only stillness in the city. Walking everywhere, we took some pictures and climbed over monuments as we skipped in between the rain.

As I have grown up and traveled more, I have become more comfortable in settings such as this one: long train rides, uncertainty about orientation and language, and living out of a duffel bag. I have also began to appreciate some of the things with which I have lost touch. Journaling is one habit that fits into the category. I also spend a lot of time now doing magic squares, thought experiments, reading essays, and counting. I think this past summer was a point of particular drought for those activities, which was good, ultimately, because while I really enjoy the exercise that that sort of thinking provides, I also think it tends to drive you a little bit insane. After all, how stable can a person be if almost everything on his top five spare time activities list relates roughly to things jot down in a notebook?

One recent reconnection which has been a wonderful treat is the new contact I've had with a good friend from elementary school. She was my purpose for going to Rome, and it has been brilliant to get a little closer to her, again. It is always comforting to find someone else my age who openly welcomes the reality that there is no money to be found in studying the classics, and yet cannot choose but to pursue that course anyhow. More than that, it is nice to know that two people can change a whole lot in ten years, and yet still arrive in relatively similar proximity to one another.