A Walk on the Roman Side

Okay so, at the beginning of summer I was a traveling novice. I'd never left little old England and my view of Rome was entirely dependent on what the film executives in the US wanted it to be.

I'm not someone who likes to be told what to do or think — this is important to this story — so I decided to go see it for myself.

All roads lead to Rome right? Well actually wrong. Nothing leads to Rome. The infrastructure of Italy is pretty bad actually. If a road leads to Rome, you can bet it's full of potholes and drivers who assume that speeding is a way of life, but I digress.

I decided to go to Rome, partly to meet my girlfriend's family, but mostly to see the ancient city for myself, through my own eyes. Picking a day just after Valentine's Day, I flew out from Stansted.

I landed in Ciampino in the late evening, just as the sun was setting. Probably a good time to mention that when I say "travel novice," I mean "person who'd never left England before." Naturally, I'd done very little useful research, because what even is forethought when travel is involved. I use a policy of "just wing it," which in practice can be quite fun.... but it's also pretty scary sometimes.

Anyway, I was looking up how to ask if someone spoke English as I was walking towards the very Italian bus driver — who incidentally spoke no English. And, before you judge, I'm trying to learn other languages, but it's hard enough learning all the regional dialects in England, never mind another language too.

I arrived in the big transportation centre of Rome, Termini, around 10pm and it was pitch black at this point. Roman weather (even in February) barely gets below 20, so I was already sweating when I was dumped next to the train station with only my phone to guide me to my hostel.

This was a good point to find out that my phone wasn't set up to work abroad. No wifi. No Google Maps. No translator app. I was in awe at my own stupidity for not checking this earlier, but lucky I had downloaded the map to the hostel, so at least I had that.

It was gonna be smooth sailing from there, right? Wrong.

I was wandering in a direction, not the right one but close enough, when four people approached me. Very friendly, very nice, but in a, "I'm selling something kind of way." My Englishness didn't allow me to storm past them, so when they said hello, I answered.

Firstly, they offered me a little weed. Nothing special right? It's a capital city and exactly the kind of neighbourhood for it. No big deal. It's not my thing, so I said I was good.

This is when the girl, a small, wiry looking person, with kind, dejected eyes offered something a little more personal (40 euro is the going rate for someone's self respect in Rome by the way). My politeness vanished. I felt sick. I said no, and started to walk away.

One of them laughed and put his arm around me, weaving his leg around mine and dancing with me, chanting some kind of football chant. It was done so artfully, so slickly, I barely felt the phone leave my pocket — barely.

In the space of three seconds it had worked its way between three different people and had been handed to the guy behind me, all while my dancing thief professed his innocence. I'd had enough.

I pushed Dancing Man off me and shoved his friend behind me into the car he was stood in front of. I wasn't always so confrontational, but I have very little chill when it comes to stuff like this. Whatever he saw on my face made him give it back.

Looking back, it was a stupid thing to do. They could've had weapons and knifed me. They were in the open, and the Italian police tolerate them for the most part, so they'd of provided little help. It was stupid and reckless. Would I do it again? I don't know honestly. It was an impulsive and spontaneous choice. In normal life I'm more measured, but it was a choice between be stranded in a foreign city with no phone (and subsequently bus or plane tickets) or risk it.

My heart was racing and I was stumbling over myself to get away. I couldn't let them know that thought. So I nonchalantly, almost cockily walked away, all the while terrified. My hostel was about a kilometre away and it was the quickest more terrifying walk of my life. I don't know if I was followed, but I feel like I was. Persistent shadows that cowered away from the bright lights of bars and police sirens, seemed to linger behind me.

I was shaken to my core and when I found my hostel, I practically collapsed into the chair after check in, clutching my complimentary pint like a calming medicine.

I strongly considered hiding in the room for the next three days. But I wasn't going to let it ruin it. I'd been dreaming of it too long for that. I went out, I explored, I ate and drank and partied and had one hell of a long weekend and learned more about Rome than I ever thought I would.

I guess what I'm trying to say is don't let a bad experience ruin a good one, but at the same time, don't let the idea of a place cloud the actuality of it. Travel is one of the best things you'll ever do, it certainly was for me, and it opens your eyes up to the world around you, in more ways than one.