Rome is a city of great magnitude, with a legacy spanning thousands of years. I feel there are few modern counterparts that can exceed its grandeur.
With said legacy it’s no wonder the ‘wonder of world’s both ancient and modern’ lures many a knowing tourist and traveller. In the past, I was one of them.
But in 2009, I decided to break the mould and relocate to the thriving, fabulous Mediterranean metropolis.
Did a few years make me a local? I daresay no, they did not. However, I learned a few key lessons from la citta eternale.
I posit, though: is living in Rome really la dolce vita?
Recollections of Living in Rome
In an attempt to recollect the most vivid imagery and experiences to share with you, I drew a blank. A white cloud entered my mind and filled every fissure of cranial space - self-preservation, perhaps.
Before long, though, with some considered meditative rumination, memoirs of my Roman life began returning, rays of sunshine reappearing and filling me with impetus and emotion. Looking back, saying that I was filled with emotion while living in Rome is an understatement.
Contrary to the majesty of the opening paragraph, on certain days, the ‘grand’ city would grip me with contempt and force me into a dark, unsavory place.
On other days, I’d be standing on top of the world. Then, when presented with a bitter-mouthed cashier at the supermarket, a person inclined to push in at the bar while I patiently waited for my cornetto (croissant) at breakfast or a difficult student, I was driven to despair and found myself mouthing off, resenting the moment I decided to relocate to Italy.
A Dissatisfied Expatriate?
There is one particular day that stands out from the rest. Let me preface my lament, though: I was never an expatriate who protested when encouraged to adopt – or at least try and understand and accept - Italian customs, traditions, ideologies and norms.
Generally, aside from mediocre days, I walked to the beat of my Italian counterparts.
Nevertheless, the city – at times - did get the better of me.
For example, I don’t see how such a momentous and inspiring city can function in utter chaos. Even though it was organised chaos, it took its toll on my fragile state on the day in recollection.
To any of you who have lived in a city in which the language is still – in part – foreign to you (particularly one that is Italian), I think you will understand my sentiment.
A Bad Start to My Roman Day
After a sleepless night filled with honking Italian horns on the viale (avenue) outside my bedroom window, I woke abruptly, the time: late for work!
La colazione – aka breakfast - in Italy is an important ritual. It’s not accepted practice to buy a cornetto and head immediately to work; there’s a social and even moral obligation involved, especially if you frequent the same bar.
I loyally visited the local bar on the ground floor of my several-hundred-year-old apartment building to be told they had run out of cornetti. To a Roman, running out of cornetti at breakfast could be considered the equivalent to the death of the Pope.
Frustration aside, I dragged myself to work on an empty stomach and started my extensive 8.5 hour, no-break-included day of teaching.
Even though it’s years later, to avoid a lawsuit from the controversial Italian school, I won’t share its name or the ordeals I encountered while working there.
The Ordeal of Roman Post Offices
After an enduring teaching day, I made haste for the post office, a seemingly benign task particularly to those in the English-speaking western world.
After two hours patiently waiting in line, it was my turn to talk to the incompetent, always unpleasant clerk smugly sitting behind the desk. I managed to ask, in fragmented Italian, where my parcel from Australia had been placed. She had no hesitation in telling me she had “nessun idea”. Not only did she ‘not know’ in which dark corner of the crusty post office was my parcel lurking, she really didn’t care.
I asked a second time, for confirmation, only to be ignored while she checked her nails and initiated a personal conversation with her colleague. I cleared my throat and asked one final time, “Dov’e il mio pacco dall’Australia?” only to be shouted at and told “Non lo so!” – “I don’t know!”.
Normally, I’d have left it there. However, in my deteriorating emotional state, I retorted hastily, impressed with my confident rejoinder, “Si, e vero, sapete mai niente!”.
Her expression was priceless. I wonder how often post-office staff are told that they really don’t know anything?
Italian Language Lessons
Despondent and tired, I took the metro to Centro Storico where I spent several evenings each week learning the lingo.
In true Roman style, my teacher was 15 minutes late to class. At that point, something inside of me accepted that Italians aren't punctual; offensive as it may sound, based on anecdotal experiences, it became apparent that it is true.
I began to realise in class that I knew much less Italian than I thought. It was this, I believe, that tipped me over the edge. Confused by the subjunctive, I returned to my crumbling apartment, feeling forlorn, and crashed in bed at 8.30pm.
Is Living in Rome la Dolce Vita?
It may not sound traumatic. Perhaps it wasn’t, in hindsight.
However, when living in Rome, the simplest task can be likened to climbing Mount Everest and being buried in an avalanche. It’s often confusing, sometimes debilitating and occasionally soul-destroying.
Picture Everest covered in red tape and you have the current and persisting state of bureaucracy that exists in Rome.
However, despite the bad days (of which there were many), there were marvellous days, too.
In fact, the good times are those my brain and heart tend to recall on reminiscent days spent elsewhere in the world.
On some days, I really did feel as though I were living la dolce vita, despite the city’s warts and imperfections. I’d be overcome by a strong sense of belonging and contentment, so empowering and comforting my soul would reassemble and all past injury would be absolved.
Said days and feelings of contentment could never be programmed or predetermined. They just happened. They happened when I needed them the most.
Maybe that’s part of the sweet life – the best parts of Rome (and any other city) reveal themselves when you need them most?
Moments of Joy in the Eternal City
It often happened riding the Metro from Flaminio to Lepanto. The sun would shine glorious rays over the Tiber through opaque, murky clouds and a twinge of satisfaction would rumble inside.
Living in Rome was a dream that materialised in my twenties. I lived my dream. I lived it for nearly three years.
Even though la vita in Rome wasn’t always sweet, there were moments when I couldn’t have imagined living anywhere else on the planet.
Rome, in my opinion, all these years later, is still one of the grandest, most elegant and captivating cities in the world. And la vita can sometimes be sweet in Rome. It just depends on how you choose to engage with and react to it.
