Hello again everyone! I am back in Denmark, after my first time traveling all by myself in a foreign country: Italy, specifically Rome and Bologna. It was definitely an experience that pushed me out of my comfort zone. One of the things I realized about traveling alone is that you can be your own worst companion, or your own best companion.
To start off my adventure, I made the uncharacteristic but rather scarring mistake of leaving my phone in my host dad’s car as I entered the Copenhagen airport. Okay, I thought to myself, trying to hold back the welling tears and rising tide of panic, you can totally do Italy without a phone, or maps, or emergency contacts for four days. I bought a Rome travel book and cried in the airport bathroom for a little, and convinced myself to go after all. When I scanned my pass to enter the plane- I was in for a bit of a shock. I had borrowed a lovely Italian stranger’s laptop to message my host family, and they, being ABSOLUTE saints, had dropped off my phone at the Ryanair desk. I cradled my phone like a baby and tried not to cry again. That was also the day I almost left my backpack with all my clothes in the airport, and even more worriedly almost left my wallet in the back of a taxi searching for change. It’s difficult to escape from the panicked mindset, and it felt like things were just spiraling into more things going wrong.
I arrived in Rome, and despite a delicious meal of ravioli and a nighttime, moonlight, stroll to jazz music along the Tiber river, slept all of two hours. I awoke knowing that I had one day in Rome, and I would have to make the best of it anyways. I got on one of those red tourist buses, and I did it all by myself, really. I ate a banana in front of the Trevi fountain, sparkling with morning sunshine. I looked over the vast underground chambers of the Colosseum, thinking about all the blood shed in this magnificent ancient structure. I wandered into any church I found. I walked around the Roman forum, humming Strauss’ ‘In Rom’s Ruins’ and thinking about how the expression “Rome wasn’t built in a day” had new meaning now. I ate gelato overlooking the Pantheon and thought that ice cream might just be the solution to all the world’s problems, at least for a moment.
Can you take my picture, please?
No longer just a poster on my dorm room wall…I’ve seen this view in real life!
Rome really wasn’t built in a day…
My last morning in Rome, I took the red tour bus for one-final lap of the city. I was in a weird mood- like I was trapped between places, where I was now, and where I would be next. I was also feeling pretty lonely by that point. Travel has a way of making everything more poignant, and so does self-reflection, and together they can make an emotional combo. I had a very moving experience that is both poignant and personal, but I’ll put it here anyways. It was Good Friday, and we were driving past the Vatican, and the sun was streaming down over the marble statues and dancing on the green water of the river, and all of a sudden I didn’t feel alone anymore.
Things started to relax from that point. I took the train, streaking through the Italian countryside, to Bologna. Bologna felt so much more peaceful. The buildings were various shades of orange, my favorite color, and felt as if they were waiting for me all these years. I didn’t have any expectations, and with the help of a Wellesley classmate’s suggestions, found myself enjoying communal table meals with strangers from across the world, and climbing fifty flights of 17th century stairs for a thrilling and terrifying city view. I even took a random tourist kiddie train up the mountain to an unknown destination, which turned out to be a perfect little church nestled in the Italian hills. As willing as I was to wake up at 4:30 am and put an end to the craziness of my solo travel adventures, I can’t help but feel that they marked some kind of milestone in my life.
The beautiful cathedral of San Petronio
San Luca- taken from a kiddie train
Ever lovely yours,
Eleanor
