I had been lucky enough to make most of the arrangements for my trip during the end of the spring semester before I had to devote myself only to finals. Everything was going very well. All I needed to do was pack my suitcase and plan a few must-sees in the Eternal City. However, one sunny morning in a silent and almost dessert-like South Bend, shortly after opening my eyes and feeling thirsty, I received an email from the Italian language school where I had enrolled. In a few but concise words, they told me that they had not been able to gather the minimum number of people to open the course I was supposed to take, but that they were offering to cover the same amount of hours with individual lessons. In short, I was offered almost 100 hours of being alone with an Italian teacher. Nothing like what I had expected. Picture this, less than a week before I was about to get on the plane! I’m not going to say that I kept my calm and decided to fix myself a healthy breakfast. I’ll just say that I panicked slightly and sent an email or two or six. Luckily for me, Mary Davis was able to ease my mind and help me solve the problem.
Finally, everything turned out for the best. I found another school that offered the course I needed, which was also located closer to my future lodging, although it was impossible for me to find a school that would start that same Monday. I ended up with a better educational option, a week of 100% vacation for me, and an extension of my stay to complete those hours of instruction that I would be missing.
The arrival was exceptional, just as I had been told it would be, with trains from Rome’s main airport to the city canceled, and people moving nervously in the station from one platform to the other. A man explained to me what would happen to my train, in crystal clear Italian. I could understand everything from his description of the current situation to future actions.
I arrived at Roma Termini station at night. I knew my hostess would not be home, but her mother – who spoke only Italian – would be waiting up for me. It was already late. So I ate a trancio di pizza at the station and got into a cab. The driver was just as he should be. An absolutely charming man and a clever cab driver. He immediately began to explain to me how I had to make an extensive detour that would cost me a few extra euros because of some repairs in the Colosseo area. He also told me that passengers sit in the front seat, next to the driver, to facilitate conversation, a detail that was sweeter than factual. I told him that since the detour was unavoidable, he should show me around the city at night. He took me all over, and never stopped talking, but also never stopped listening to me generously and patiently, and even giving me some grammatical corrections. The lighting was perfect for observing the monuments and historical sites. He offered to park and take some pictures of me, but my hostess’s mother was waiting for me. Later on, when I approached these crowded places, I would regret a bit not having enjoyed them in solitude.
In the end, we arrived at my new home and the conversation was so lively, that the cab driver charged me almost nothing for the ride. That was my first contact with the city. The next day, I would see the touristy, bustling, lively, and picturesque Rome. A completely different city about which I have a lot to tell.
