After reading and sleeping a lot, in the early afternoon I finally got the gumption to go out and see something. Anything. I'm in Rome, for Pete's sake. Pietrito's sake.
I set some goal for myself:
1. Print boarding passes (to not be charged €15 at the airport again)
2. Get some food in my belly
3. Get some caffeine in my veins
4. Investigate postcards/stamps (since my first attempt in the post office was a failed one)
5. Connect to wifi to stay communicative with friends from home I was supposed to meet up with
I looked to Google again for help on accomplishing these goals and then began my "errands".
I found a tobacco shop where Google reminded me that postage stamps are sold. Postcards and stamps all in one swoop. Check.
Next I was thirsty and hungry. A 1.5 liter water bottle and a banana at a minimart. Check.
(So many of the minimarts, souvenir stands, and even fast food restaurants in both Barcelona and Rome are run by southwest Asians. Interesting how every country has foreigner groups that flock to certain business ideas.)
I was planning on walking aimlessly toward the Pantheon where there'd supposedly be a few copy shops to choose from, but luckily I encountered a close-by photo print shop that also would print my documents. I needed wifi to email the clerk my documents. I went to a street corner and found a wifi that seemed to work, but no way to confirm. I walked 1 kilometer to a McDonalds to use their wifi, but in Rome it requires a code, so nope.
As I stood on the corner outside that McDonalds, my attention was grabbed by an older, olive-skinned, balding gentleman playing beautiful, Lady & the Tramp style accordion music at the restaurant across the way. I was awe-struck in the moment. The perfect Italian moment. He finished his song and proceeded to walk around the tables to receive a monetary appreciation. All the tables responded by ignoring him completely, except for one where the guy at the table seemed to insult the musician and he walked away defeated. He slouched himself on a sidewalk bench with his buddy, the guitarist, and together they shared a few McDonalds sandwiches. His defeat was overwhelming, so I snuck in to McD's pulled some cash out of my pocket, looked up in translator how to say "good musician" in Italian, and walked back out to hand it to him saying "buono musicista" in my best attempt at Italian. He made a gesture with his hand that I was not familiar with as he grabbed the folded up bill from mine and softly mumbled "grazie". Not sure how my gesture was perceived, but my spirit told me it was the right thing to do. Typically I wouldn't write about something like this, but there was something extra special in my heart about this moment that I want to remember.
Back to the photo shop, email was received, and with €1 documents were printed. Check.
Caffeine!! Also close. Right down the street from the print shop. Tre Caffé, in case you're ever in Rome, is a quaint coffee shop where a lot of locals meet in the afternoon. Creamy espresso, scrumptious pastries, and FREE Wifi!! Check. Check. Another check.
I'm sure I was close to the Colosseum or something fantastic, but I struggled identifying myself on a map. I spent a few hours filling out postcards, sipping my coffee, and taking in such a precious moment. Soon after I received an FB message from my friends saying they were free to meet up. In Spain and Italy you pay for your food in cafés right before you leave, sort of like an open tab. As I paid I asked the very charming Italian barista if he knew of the 170 bus route. "I never before ride bus; I have scooter." Alright, that doesn't help me. Good thing you're cute.
Did you think I've been adventuring? No, no. Here's where the actual adventure begins:
My friend E said the 170 bus would take me right where I needed to meet them. I had 45 min to get there. "I'll just walk. I'm sure I can make it."
Mistake #1.
I briskly walked using my little blue dot on Google maps to see if I was going in the right direction to a potential bus platform. I checked 7 different platforms. None had a 170. Did she mess up the numbers? Was it a typo? Is it a different location?
I continued to walk in the general direction (guided by Google) of where we would meet. I suddenly started to feel raindrops. There were several stands or men walking around selling umbrellas/ponchos, but I kept going.
Mistake #2.
The more I walked the harder it started to rain and the more I was eager to find a bus. I continued to browse the signs of every bus stop I passed as I briskly trudged in my Jesus sandals, sundress, cloth purse, and draped my "water resistant" jacket over the cloth purse (dry hair isn't going to get me back to the U.S.--and a moldy, wet passport might not either). I was a mess. Everyone who saw me knew it. Any small amount of time I spent in the hostel getting any bit cute was now washed away in the rain.
If you know me well, you would recall me as a girl who doesn't regularly put much effort into looking good. It's not a priority for me. But for the friends I was meeting, it is. And they're gorgeous by nature, so the effort they put into their looks just creates an exponential increase to being modelesque creatures. So this time I did put some thought into what I'd wear and how I'd do my hair, because we were going out. And just like any girl, I wanted to try my best to fit into the caliber of beauty I knew they'd be rocking that evening. But remember Mistake #2? My efforts were in vain (dually so, I suppose) as I became drenched in the rain.
I eventually found a stop that said 8 and did happen to have our meeting-place listed as a stop. I waited at the stop for 5 minutes in the downpour before asking some obnoxious American girls about how the bus works.
"We've been waiting here for 20 minutes already. It usually only takes 5."
I inquired about bus passes and they said there were machines to use around town to buy them. No machines in sight. "You can just get on. They don't check or anything."
At this point, I was considering the possibility of delinquency.
Mistake #3.
I waited another five minutes. No bus 8. So I continued to power walk in the general direction of our meeting place. I looked for any place that might offer wifi so I could alert the girls of my tardiness. No where to be found.
After a mile of walking in the rain, and a mile of being offered an umbrella every 5 minutes (I was clearly already soaked, it would have done no good), a bus 8 was braking at the stop ahead. I sprinted. I made it. And I'm a delinquent.
Mistake #4.
They way overpack buses. It's no doubt a hazard. But it gets ya places.
When the bus finally left me at our stop, I was already 25 minutes late for our meeting time at this point with no way to alert them. The moment I got off the bus I noticed the rain had subsided; maybe I could dry off now and look any smidgen of presentable again.
We were supposed to meet at the train station. I made a few ignorant circles around it before I found the stairs to get to it. I was 30 minutes late. Inside and outside, the girls were no where in sight. I missed them. They probably sent me an FB message to tell where to meet them next. Now to desperately find wifi. I walked around the corner to three other businesses to inquire of their wifi, only with none to be found.
"I guess, I'll just go wait at the train station. Maybe they'll come back for me after they get dinner." I trudged back, still feeling like a wet rat in a blue dress with a pretty, cloth, red satchel.
And then, I looked up...
There was J, E, and N all waiting outside the station. Such relief. I had several times considered the possibility that I might not see them at all that night. But no... There they were with their stylish cotton dresses, their freshly fleeked brows, and their perfectly colored and perfectly dry hair.
We shared hugs and sighs of relief. N introduced herself to me (as this was our first time meeting), and we followed N (who studies in Rome) to where she had in mind to take us. At first I just caught up with J & E. N was a little quiet. But little by little we started to talk more, and by the end of the night I followed her like a puppy as she eagerly shared all the knowledge of Roman history she had absorbed in less than a year. Every statue we passed, every building, every crypt on the horizon, N seemed to know the backstory of. She shared as if she lived it, as if she witnessed Julius Caesar's assassination, or she walked and the Roman Forum in its prime. She gave us a tour of Rome with passion and appreciation in every word. I gobbled it up and found the whole experience to be both enthralling and inspiring. At dinner at an we went pizzas and suppli (look this up and try it sometime). At the restaurant, N's close friend S, an Italian local, also joined our group with tirimisu that we took with us to the Roman Forum. We drank wine, ate tirimisu , and fed a stray cat tirimisu under the night sky over looking the Roman Forum. A night I'll never forget. We ended or evening at the Trevi Fountain at 2:30am and then said our goodbyes. As I walked the empty streets alone to my hostel, I had no fear. Only gratitude.
Even in all my mistakes, my Heavenly Father still decided to bless me with such a priceless and surreal night.
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