If I know anything about storytelling, the bulk of the story should build up to a climax somewhere near the end. If I know anything about life, high points are hard to plan and rarely occur where you'd expect. Coincidentally, my last day in Rome was, in terms of the flow of a story, anti-climactic.
I made a promise to myself and broke it by saying that I would revisit the Colosseum and take a walk through the Forum. Is that something I will regret? That remains to be seen. But I still had plenty that I could do that didn't require money or planning.
I took a walk across the river to Campo de' Fiori which was bustling with people looking to purchase whatever there is to purchase at a street market. Plenty of fresh produce, spices, trinkets, presumably off-brand bags and hats without brands, etc. It was all radiating out from the very ominous and Assassin's-Creed-esque statue of Giordano Bruno. In an attempt to seem more learned than I am, I discovered that Bruno was a 16th century jack-of-many-ologies who wrote poetry, math equations, and theorized that stars were suns that could possibly be surrounded by planets that may or may not harbor life. You know, typical things we all do nowadays.
I grabbed a bite to eat at a small restaurant on the perimeter of the square. Hopefully, by now, you have picked up on the fact that I don't tend to expound much on my food experiences. As I mentioned before, I rarely take pictures of my food, so I don't feel that writing about it would be very interesting. It also comes around to the reason I travel at all, which I'll talk about more in a moment. Or you can refer to my previous comments on that subject from my trips to Tokyo and Hong Kong. Whatever works the best for you, my dearest of broski.
After my nondescript meal, I traveled north to Piazza Navona. I had heard the name Navona many times, and noticed that there would be a "Christmas market" there during my stay so I thought I would take a look. Unfortunately for me, the market was not there. This most likely had to do with me visiting the square on a Monday, but I can't be too certain as I don't make a habit of memorizing the operating hours of seasonal markets in cities that are 5,700 miles from my house. However, there was an ongoing event as I entered the square. The event did not have a name, but I gave it a name - Ucelle Sulle Teste (or Birds on Heads). Believe me when I tell you these are not at all the only photos I have of this event.
After getting my fill of the borderline Hitchcockian affair, I explored even further north to the Corte Sumpera di Cassazione. Turning the corner onto a street that lead directly to the Supreme Court building was more stunning than I expected it to be. Even with the facade of the building being about a quarter of a mile away, the architecture was no less imposing. There is the saying "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." I don't think I could live my life as impressively as these people build.
At this point, I had reached the limit of what I could feasibly fit into my sightseeing schedule. All I had left was my walk back to the apartment which did pass by Castel Sant'Angelo. Unfortunately, I did not have the time or energy to see it like I would have liked. But I had no regrets at that moment.
This is the third year I have made international travel plans. Each year, I found myself in slightly different circumstances, with slightly different motivations. There isn't much to my life, in all honesty. I spend a third of my life asleep, a third of my life at work, and another third doing everything else. The problem is that I frequently slip into the habit of turning that last third into a recurring YouTube-filled nothingness. My day to day emotions are dictated almost solely by how work went that day or what music I happened to be listening to, rather than being influenced by what I do in my spare time. As that becomes the norm, I inevitably ask myself what I'm doing with my life. Then I book a trip to Rome on a whim. I tell myself that it's just something I do every year, and in a way that's true. But it also just coincides with a time when it's a means to happiness. But it's not as depressing as this whole paragraph has made it out to be.
From a different perspective, I've spent these last three years reworking my life as a whole. As I said before, I don't travel for food. And I've asked myself what exactly I do travel for. To tell the truth, I'm not sure. It sure as hell isn't for the 14-hour flights sitting in seats that I barely fit in. There are so many moments where I stand still and think "This is it. This is why I do this." On this trip, like all of my others, I definitely had a lot of moments like that. Perhaps it's all about the feeling I get standing on a sidewalk, on a back street with a name I don't know, seeing how the daily lives of all the people who walk that street every day have shaped the scenery into something beautiful that they don't even see anymore. Perhaps it's knowing that at any given moment, I share almost nothing in common with the people around me except that we are in the same place at the same time. Perhaps it's just the occasional change of scenery. But I think the most accurate and unsatisfying answer is this: I like it.
I hope that gave you some philosophical blue balls or something. Until next time, [insert something inspirational].
