Twenty years ago I fell in love with Rome.  She left me breathless.  I loved her color, her age, her architecture, her art, her statues, her monuments, and her history.  I was heartbroken the day we had to say goodbye.

To assuage my grief, the morning we left Rome, Mike took me on a whirlwind tour of the places I loved – the places that lure tourists by the droves.  It was 6 a.m. and Rome was mine—all mine.  We shared her with no one save the early morning street cleaners, and even they were in scarce supply.  We walked to Piazza Navona, on to the Pantheon, then to the Trevi Fountain, and finally to the Spanish steps. I sat and savored each one in quiet contemplation.

Today, Mike promised we will do the same.

Piazza Navona

We leave our apartment at 11 am, walking down the narrow cobbled streets of Trastevere, across the Tiber, through Campo di Fiore and wind our way to Piazza Navona.  It is as I remembered — full of light and color and beautiful fountains.  The piazza is huge.  Artists sell their paintings; people mill about.  All I want to do is linger.  We opt for pizza and wine at one of the many sidewalk cafes that line the piazza. Lingering has a price, $41 US for a small quattro formaggi pizza and two glasses of wine — we feel like tourists chumps.

The Pantheon

Leaving, we follow our remembered path to the Pantheon, amazing in its antiquity and magnitude.  The Piazza della Rotonda is smaller and crowded with non-Italians.

The Trevi Fountain

The Trevi Fountain awaits.  I am dismayed by the crowds.  Half a world is here.  We fight our way down to the base of the fountain, find two seats, and listen to the roar of the water spilling into the clear pool at our feet.  Two bambinos — not Italian — entertain us.

The Spanish Steps

It takes longer to find our way to the Spanish Steps — it has been twenty years — as we approach we see that the other half of the world came here.  If this is low season, what can summer be like?  We climb the steps joining the crowd, remembering when only two of us sat here that morning twenty years ago.

It seems you can’t go home again — or even back to Rome — and have it be the same.  I feel she has opened her mouth and swallowed me whole, mixing and mashing me with the hordes of tourists, spitting me out, not caring that I love her.

The Walk Home

We leave Plaza de España and head back to Piazza Saint Egidio, taking the very long way home. Passing antique stores — I can’t convince Michael they call my name — skirting the banks of the swollen Tiber, walking along stretches of sidewalk where bird poop is solid and wet and I can’t hold my breath long enough to get past the smell, we finally cross the river and walk into the welcoming arms of Trastevere.

I will return to those places I love — when I don’t have to share.