Time Travel – July 10, 2015 – Postcards from the road not taken

From the window, I watch the shadow of our plane as it undulates across the rolling hills on our descent into Leonardo da Vinci Airport. It’s been decades since I touched down anywhere in Europe. I expect it will have changed a bit; I certainly have. Of course, at the end of my junior semester student teaching at the American Community School in Athens, I thought I would be back to Greece and Europe often. The future I imagined then is very different from the life I have now—yet I am unexpectedly content.

There were no such things as rolling suitcases, or carry-ons, or TSA Precheck on my first flight to Europe via Icelandic Air to Luxembourg. That flight was a far cry from the creature comforts in Business Class on a new Boeing 767. The Flight Attendant passes by with hot towels (for the third time during our 9-hour nonstop flight) and collects my empty water bottle. I unplug my cellphone from the built-in charger with its Wi-Fi connection and smile—neither existed when I was in college. The world around me has been accelerating at the speed of light.

Once though customs, I collect my suitcase in baggage claim, and follow the crowds to the Leonardo Express—the light rail connection to the main train station in Rome. It’s 36-degrees Celsius today and arriving at Roma Termini, one is immediately assaulted by a cacophony of dialects, aromas, and confusion. I find the taxi stand and soon have been deposited at the Hotel Scalinata di Spagna at the top of the Spanish Steps—a place I had found online.

I remember pouring through travel guidebooks in college which now seem antiquated when compared to instantaneous reviews on Trip Advisor and Expedia and those 360-degree birds-eye views and satellite pictures. My deep turquoise room with its fanciful crystal chandelier, gilt mirrors and gold brocade draperies is refreshingly European. The only slightly Westernized intrusion is the small refrigerator honor bar.

As enticing as the crisp white sheets are, I’m too excited to sleep. After a quick shower, I change into a summer dress and sandals and I’m off to find dinner and wander the narrow streets near the Spanish Steps.

At the Ristorante Al 34 on Via Mario de’ Fiori, a bustling side street, my plate of lamb and asparagus risotto arrives quickly, replete with a bowl of freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese. I savor a second glass of house red wine as I watch the waiters juggle taking orders, clearing tables, uncorking wine bottles, and joking with the regulars. A “dance” Italian waiters seem to have mastered without missing a beat.

Walking back to my hotel, I mentally record the sounds of the city on this sweltering summer night: throaty Vespa motors, Frank Sinatra music drifting from one restaurant, the laughter of people dining al fresco. Climbing the Spanish Steps, I hear dozens of languages as I pick my way carefully through tourists who form a solid carpet on the well-worn marble steps. If only Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn might magically appear and transport us to a more innocent time in this Eternal City.

The heavenly sheets and duvet waiting in my room are the perfect ending to my own “Roman Holiday.”