It wasn't until I found myself sitting on a train from Milan to the small beach town of Rimini on Italy's east coast with a dead phone, dead laptop, and nothing else to distract me that I fully began to appreciate the subtle nuances of this amazing country.
Mile after mile, one immaculately green vineyard after another stretches over hills and plains dotted with grain fields and olive trees and small farmhouses from which work trucks of some better vanished time carry the fruits of a farmer's labor along a dirt road, their silhouettes kicking dust into the long shadows formed by a golden sunset.
Trim, established businessmen with salt and pepper beards in Savile Row suits spoke with one another like long-lost friends on matters of soccer and family, while a young (and might I add, incredibly gorgeous) new mother sipped an espresso after putting her newborn to sleep. A train official came by and flamboyantly punched three holes in each ticket before giving each and every person a warm smile and a sincere "Gratze." Strangers laughed with other strangers as they took turns telling jokes about Silvio Berlusconi.
Seriously, if I didn't know any better, I would've thought this train was the site of a family reunion. It was like everyone was happy to see everyone else. Moreover, as much damage as the cerebrally-deficient cast of Jersey Shore did to my impression of Italy, I can honestly say my expectations were more than surpassed.
Once in Rimini, our group/Tchoukball team – consisting of myself, my roommates Dan, Kelsey, and Jordan, Jordan's younger sister Hannah, Brian and Philippe from Montreal, and Lautaro from Argentina – found ourselves eating some of the best seafood pasta we've ever had at a beachside hotel catering to the various geriatric and professional squads in town for the annual Rimini Beach Tchoukball Festival.
What is Tchoukball, you ask?
Essentially, the bastard child of handball and volleyball. Two teams of five people each compete on a volleyball-sized court with two upward-inclined square frames with a taut, trampoline-esque center positioned at either end. A five foot semicircle of cones encloses each frame, and teams take turns shooting at these frames, the objective being to ricochet the ball off the trampoline material and land it on the ground beyond the semicircle, outside which opposing team members may do anything to preclude the ball from hitting the ground.
How we even managed to win two games, I'll never know. Considering we didn't even know the rules until AFTER our first game – as well as our propensity to drink to excess before and after each match – I'll just chalk it up to pure North/South American athleticism.
When we weren't suffering embarrassing losses at the hands of 14 year-old Swiss Tchoukball prodigies, we spent the rest of our time walking the length of the beach and laying on The Rocks. Aptly named, The Rocks were basically an artificial mussel/shellfish farm of large, flat rocks situated in the turquoise shallows of the Adriatic. It was here where we would lay out to recover, tan, and generally relish in the fact that, unlike some of our other excursions abroad, nothing was going horribly wrong.
After all, we were living like aristocrats eating homemade pasta and tiramisu every night, the weather was perfect, and our only real concern was whether we'd have red or white wine with dinner. Most of the time, we just got both.
For the first time in a long time, I could physically feel my problems melting away into the salty air. There were no obligations, no worries, no assignments, and no news to drain our optimism away. There was only a certain Epicurean appreciation for the present. For a split second, the world was only as large as Rimini, Italy, and the small sailboats bouncing over the waves on an infinite horizon. It's because of those moments of tranquility and complete absence of pain – physical and mental – that I'll always love the place.
After a few nights in Rimini, it was onwards to Rome, and I'll admit: I was a bit intimidated at first. As the oldest continuously populated city in the world and once the seat of power for an empire which fundamentally altered the course of history, how couldn't I be? How couldn't anyone be? Rome was there for thousands of years before us and it will be there for thousands of years after we're gone. Time after time, the city saw the likes of Nero, Caesar, Caligula, da Vinci, and Michelangelo rise and fall, and thus, I was expecting to be greeted with an air of deserved superiority.
Not so.
From the halls of St. Peter's to the Trevi Fountain to the Colosseum, Rome was undoubtedly the most photogenic city I've ever visited. Around every corner, seemingly infinite cobblestone alleyways lined with quaint restaurants, boutiques, and buskers gave way to thriving squares centered around a famous sculpture or fountain which, instead of being cordoned off and guarded, were just....open to anyone and everyone who passed by. I'm sure if Bernini knew how many laser pointers and cones of gelato were being sold around the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, I'm pretty sure he'd want to join in the fun.
As we took turns throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain, I couldn't help but notice the staggering amount of people around us. Normally, I'm okay with crowds, but pass a certain number, and I'll inevitably suffer an existential crisis. And yet, despite the surging masses of tourists like us, I never once felt claustrophobic or out of place in Rome.
The locals were more than forgiving, as if cognizant of The Eternal City's mass appeal. Tourists from diametrically opposed corners of the globe shared expressions of shock and awe with one another at the Colosseum. Even the Italians from our exchange group, who are not all from Rome, recommend Rome, and now, I see why.
Rome is timeless, and more so than any other city in the world. The cumulative weight of history concentrated in the Foro Romano, the Spanish Steps, the fountains, and most of all, the Basilica, virtually guarantees you'll find something interesting around every corner. Despite its past, Rome is abuzz with activity; simultaneously reverent of tradition and still forward thinking.
Shoutout to my girl Hilary Duff
It wasn't until I found myself in a pew at St. Peters with my friend Brian, eyes locked on the tomb of (now) St. John Paul II that I truly appreciated Rome not for its religious significance, but for its universally spiritual significance.See, we weren't in the pew alone: Arabic-speaking women in burqas, Hindis, priests, younger kids, and elderly people in walkers all occupied seats around us. Of course, I know the Church doesn't exactly have the best track record for, you know, tolerating others, but I couldn't help but feel, in that moment, a profound sense of acceptance and fellowship with these complete strangers.
It wasn't like I received some grand vision from the Almighty or a hallucination brought on by religious fervor, but instead, just a soft reminder that everyone has a story. Everyone should be judged not by their allegiances to an organization, but by the strength of their conviction to do good unto others.
Rome was good to me in that it accepted me for who I was. In that sense, there's a lot the world can learn from the Eternal City.
Thanks for reading ya'll, and Cheers from Rotterdam
-Drew
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