Author’s note: I figured, in the wisdom of Julie Andrews, that the beginning was the very best place to start. And, since going back to the very beginning would require not seeing the sun for at least several days (see previous post), I figured that the beginning of the India portion of my trip was the next best thing, which unfortunately yet inevitably began with my departure from Rome. Though I’m still sad not to be in the Eternal City (why wasn’t I born Italian?), I suppose it’s true that, in the immortal words of Semisonic, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” And India is fantastic. I can handle that. 🙂
My last day in Rome was spent in characteristic Rebekah fashion. I wish I could claim this meant that I got up early to watch the sun rise over some idyllic Roman setting, spent a leisurely morning soaking in the sights and sounds of the city I continue to love, despite it’s now-known defects, visited a final site and a final friend, and then rode away, calm and reflective, on a southbound train to my new destination. I wish I could say I spent it that way. I sure didn’t.
I did get up early, but it was to continue packing rather than to sight-see or reflect. I had been up late the night before (classic Rebekah) trying to finish up but fell asleep sometime in the middle of the night exhausted. I blame it all on DFM. He’s the one that talked me into gelato the night before across Rome at 11 p.m. But, I have to admit, it was worth it. Old Bridge Gelateria, outside the Vatican. Quite possibly Rome’s best gelateria. Why I found it my last night rather than my first only the gelato gods can say, but I’m glad I did. It’s like the couple that, having spent their lives apart or with other people, finally meet in their old age and find everything they never knew could exist (I’m telling you, CCJ…it’s him) or that old lady in the Church movie who vainly checks her mailbox everyday and finally gets a letter the same day she passes away (if you haven’t seen it, don’t; it’s sad).
I culminated my sight-seeing siesta with a visit to my favorite building in Rome: Vittorio Emmanuele. It is a monument to the unification of Italy and a breathtakingly beautiful, massive white building. I’d walked or driven past it maybe a hundred times but never gone in. My friend had tipped me off that there was an elevator to the very top with a panoramic, birds-eye view of Rome. He was right. It was fantastic (thanks, RAS), even if the teenage Italian elevator employee did shamelessly make passes as we went up (do I really look that young?). It was the perfect final destination — all my favorite places in every direction: Piazza del Popolo, Trastevere, the Vatican and Castel Sant’Angelo, Via del Corso and the church where I attended evening mass, the Colosseum and Roman Forum, the Spanish Steps, Villa Borghese. Between them were the unseen sights: the Pantheon with it’s amazing street performers, the Trevi Fountain and my horrible luck with men, my first home in Piramide, Palazzo de Freddo, Dilit, etc. And, of course, Vittorio Emmanuele. It was a wonderful last visit; one to never forget.
And then back to the madness. Leaving Vittorio Emmanuele, I jumped in a taxi and made a mad dash to Piazza Navona to buy a painting I’d loved (only to find out it had been sold – so sad!) and then bused back to San Giovanni to buy a final gift (which sadly wasn’t there: sorry, REM, it was perfect!), ship a box and grab my bags. I’d thought that sending a box home would be far better than carrying a bunch of superfluous stuff on my back for the next several months, but when I got done at the Poste Italiane I was less convinced. Holy cow, that’s expensive! It took my first-born son (sorry, husband) and almost every Euro I had to send it. I even had to borrow two Euro from my roommate afterwards just to buy my train ticket (thanks, TH!). Note to future Italy travelers: very much not recommended. 🙂
I made the trip to Termini in record time and actually had minutes to spare before my train left (highly uncharacteristic :)). I sat in my chair, eating my favorite Italian lunch (bread and brie … I know, I know – French, not Italian) and tried to unwind from the chaos of the day. It was over. So sad. More dramatic and soul-stretching than I had ever dreamed. But in the end successful. I now speak (some) Italian.
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful (unless you count the run around at the airline check in — try that when all your accounts are locked and they want you to pay a fee; thank heavens for American Express) or when they almost didn’t let me through Dubai customs (How am I supposed to know his address? He was coming to get me… His neighborhood? I don’t even know what country Dubai is in… Yes, I’m sure he has a cell phone, but I don’t know the number. I don’t have a phone to call him if I did… Email address? Not a chance… Well, then let me use your computer to look it up… I don’t know if he’s outside; do you want to come with?… Do you have a manager?… Well, I don’t have any other ideas either…….. *stare at each other silently for a while* Okay, thanks. Cheese. Click….)
I did, however, have a great view out the window. God is an amazing artist; He makes beauty out of chaos.
Little Girl, Big World 
