The one with(out) the Italian phrasebook

The last leg of getting to Rome went perfectly fine up until arrival, which was better than I expected, to be honest. Of course, the moment the plane landed, I was hit with a solid wall of humidity that did not get along well with my boots, dark jeans, and flannel. Can’t imagine why that didn’t work out too well.

I dropped my metal water bottle in the metal tram to the airport, drawing the silent attention of every Italian on board. Naturally, I was sitting across from one of the most flawless and pulled together women I’ve ever seen, while I was desperately trying to wipe away the sweat running into my eyes. That didn’t work because my hands were soaking wet, too.

Since then, every single person I’ve attempted to talk to, apart from those at my AirBnB, can’t speak a word of English, including the man who drove me to the apartment. However, the driver did express serious concern that I would never get inside, all through facial expressions. That, and the fact that he wouldn’t leave until he saw me go up to the fourth door while wandering up and down the street a few times.

I eventually managed to find the correct apartment, and was immediately welcomed by the two owners of the apartment, and the guest staying with them from Chihuahua. Of course, in between the conversations about world politics and easiest way to get around Rome, I managed to nearly tear open a gash in my back by ramming into a window handle and dropping my water bottle (again).

But alas, the awkwardness was not to end after the travel day was over. All of the housemates were gone and at work by the time I felt ready to brave the non-English speaking world, so I decided to go find the ATM, which was nicely marked for me on the map provided by my hosts. 2 hours later, I actually found the ATM, and then was back at the apartment in 10 minutes. Clearly, I wanted the scenic route, which just happened to be the exact same streets over and over again. I did happen to see an older woman with blue eyebrows though.

Those streets were beautiful – even the graffiti (which is everywhere) is somehow more elegant here. Walking around the park, which is really more of a forest, and the quiet little neighborhood I’m in wasn’t stressful, even though I had absolutely no idea where I was. No one was in a rush, everyone was sitting outside of a little cafe (or bar, as I learned, which does not mean they were drinking at 10 AM). Everyone, except me, chatted like they were old friends, with cheerful calls of “Ciao!” In the middle of the day, even a Monday, young families were out walking their dogs in the park or taking their kids to playground.

After people-watching, and finding my way home, I decided to go get my metro/bus pass from the tobacco store next door. After pulling on each of the three doors – to test them, obviously – I eventually pushed the door and made my way up to the counter, where the elderly man running the store stared at me until I nervously attempted to speak Italian. After several attempts at asking for a ticket, and desperately asking if he spoke any English, I fumbled for my post-it, which had the name of the ticket I was looking for. The man dutifully asked for payment in rapid Italian, resulting in an attempt to use the little Spanish I knew to get a rough translation. It worked (very slowly) and he got to watch me sprint out of the store as fast as humanly possible.

Having been too scared to even try ordering food, my stomach eventually revolted and demand that I get something to eat. Realizing that the little fruit stand right outside the apartment would allow me to not say anything except hello and thank you, I picked up two pieces of fruit that I’m not 100% sure were apricots. But they were delicious.

Tomorrow begins my attempts to navigate the public transportation system alone!