How Rome nearly broke us: the real story behind our dream trip
I thought I was ready for anything when we landed in Rome, but nothing could have prepared me for the chaos that followed. After a sleepless night and a flight that left us bleary-eyed, we were greeted not by the romance of Italy, but by a paralyzing national strike. Our train was nearly an hour late, and the exhaustion was so thick you could taste it. By the time we finally checked into our hotel, we were too tired to care about the grandeur of the Victor Emmanuel II Monument or the magic of the Trevi Fountain. Rome, it seemed, was determined to test us from the start.
The next day, we made the classic tourist mistake: buying gelato next to the Trevi Fountain without checking the price. The bill was a slap in the face—almost as painful as the jet lag. It felt like a scam, and honestly, it probably was. That was the moment I realized how easy it is for tourists to get fleeced in this city. From then on, we eyed every menu and vendor with suspicion.
But Rome has a way of pulling you back in. We found peace in the Villa Borghese, away from the relentless traffic and noise. For a few hours, it was just us, the trees, and the distant hum of the city. It felt like we’d finally found the Rome people write about in travel magazines.
Then came the Vatican. We didn’t have tickets, but we were determined. After a wrong turn, we ended up at St. Peter’s Basilica instead of the museums. It was a happy accident—until we decided to wait for the papal election smoke. Over an hour in the blazing sun, packed in with strangers, all for a glimpse of white smoke. When it finally came, the crowd erupted. I’m not religious, but in that moment, I felt something powerful. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was awe. Maybe it was just the madness of the crowd.
The rest of the trip was a blur of ancient ruins, endless lines, and aching feet. The Colosseum was crawling with tourists, the Forum felt like a maze, and the Vatican Museums? Four hours in line, three hours inside, and I still don’t know if it was worth it. By the end, we were so tired we barely cared about the souvenirs we bought—dozens of magnets, mugs, and trinkets we’d never use.
Our final insult came at the airport, when the baggage handlers destroyed our suitcase. We dragged it by hand for hours, cursing the whole way home. Rome gave us beauty, but it also gave us blisters, scams, and a healthy dose of cynicism.
Travel isn’t always a fairy tale. Sometimes, it’s a battle. And sometimes, the city wins.
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