Ruined in Rome

Homelessness is something that has surrounded me my whole life. However, until my visit to Rome I didn’t realize the horrors that it brings. Upon returning from Florence, my friend Lawson and I found that our presupposed spots on our friend’s floor were no longer an option. They had decided to travel for the weekend in order to avoid the hectic atmosphere of Easter in Rome. Due to that fact, almost all the hostels were taken except for an unrated bed and breakfast on the other side of the city. It was 40 euros for the night so we braced ourselves for sketchiness as we took the terrible Roman public transportation further and further out of the city center. We arrived in the sweltering afternoon heat, only to find an unassuming apartment building with a small, hand written “Bed and Breakfast” label next to the buzzer of the 4^th floor. I rang it with a sigh only to receive no answer. We stood there, allowing the feeling of hopelessness to sink in slowly. Finally, an old woman with a heinous amount of facial hair exited and used her phone to call the owner of 402. Ten minutes later we were greeted and let in to a surprisingly nice bed and breakfast.

We used the rest of the day to tour the city, culminating in a Pope sighting at the Coliseum for the Stations of the Cross. The giddy nuns and priests placed amid an atmosphere that was entirely ominous created a spectacle I doubt I will witness again. We slept at the B&B that night and were kicked out the next morning at 11am. Our flight was not until 7am Sunday morning and we were what society would call “homeless.” We talked our way into keeping our luggage at the B&B until midnight but had to occupy ourselves during the day. We were out of energy, money, and things to see. This resulted in perhaps the longest day of my life. Highlights included playing cards and reading in Plazas, falling asleep on a sidewalk next to the river, waking up dusted in irritable pollen and seeking shelter in the Pantheon from the unwelcome Italian rain. It was hell. We picked up our bags at midnight and had to wait an hour for a taxi. This time was spent at a gelato shop where we drank the remainder of their seemingly untouched Jack Daniels bottle. By 2am we arrived at the airport only to be greeted by locked doors. We, however, were not giving up after coming this far. On the third try we got the attention of a machinegun-clad, Italian soldier who graciously checked our passports and let us sleep on the marble floor. We awoke, boarded, landed, and returned home with nothing but a bitter taste in our mouths from the putrid ending to our Spring Break.