Dear June Week 2: Roma II

~~~Just a quick side note, as I type this I am sitting at a wooden desk in an apartment within which I am pretending to live. It is on Rue St. Paul in le marais, and the nine p.m. remnants from the twenty-five degree day of sunshine are filtering through the blinds as the streets are abuzz with locals and tourists mingling and chatting, having a verre with friends or a crepe at the cafes dotting Rue Faubourg St. Antoine.~~~

My second day in Rome began with a visit to the Vatican Museums. Uncharacteristically of my trips thus far, I pre-booked tickets for 9:30 a.m. so I could skip the queue and head straight in to the miles-long museum complex of winding corridors and gold-leaf rooms adorned with beautiful frescoes.

I grabbed a chocolate croissant (warm and gooey) and a cafe au lait (I have no idea how to say that in Italian) before heading in.

 I practically ran straight for the Sistine Chapel to try and beat the crowds, and it worked to some extent. I had a bit of a Mona Lisa moment unfortunately: the room seemed smaller and less grandiose than legend prompts one to expect. It was absolutely stunning despite this, and I found myself with my neck perpendicular to my chest as I stared disbelievingly at Michelangelo's David and the thousands of other frescoes of scenes which I recognized from the previous day's explorations of ancient Rome. It was a crazy feeling.

I managed to see most of the rest of the museum sans tour guide, although I snuck snippets of what I could hear from the English-speaking guides as I was bottle necked into a tour group of people plugged into a headset, following the guide waving the flag on a stick at the front of their group. They all looked quite comical, I must admit, and I enjoyed my freedom of being able to frolic anywhere in the museum and keep the extra ten odd euros to myself.

After the museums, I found Piazza San Pietro, where I was planning on visiting St. Peter's basilica, arguably the most renowned basilica in the world. Upon arrival, I noticed that the whole square was filled to bursting with Romans wearing blue and yellow uniforms and baffled tourists. After hearing various hymns and a couple speeches, I had a feeling that just maybe, just perhaps, the pope might be in the vicinity. So I waited for what seemed like hours beneath the thirty-five degree sun, and then it happened. There were flatscreen TVs on the perimeter of the square, and it was on one of these that I saw the pope ride out into the crowd on his famous Popemobile, waving and kissing babies' heads as Jesus Christ, You Are My Life blared in the background. It was quite surreal to say the least, and even more surreal as, after countless other speeches and mild heatstroke, I heard the pope give a speech.

I then waited for the basilica to be reopened for another half an hour, and thoroughly enjoyed exploring it, despite my exhaustion and heat stroke.

I then walked along the Tiber river and had my first Roman pizza, which was unfortunately from a tourist place and not very good, but I was starving.

My afternoon consisted of Piazza Navona (Neptune), and the beautiful Navona Fountain, along with the Pantheon, a cute little village hidden away in some sidestreets, and then discovering this amazing street artist.

He had positioned little pieces of wood with various phrases relating to Roman culture beside various scraps of garbage to illustrate said phrase. The result was something like this:

I then found Piazza del Popolo, which was fairly empty due to the incoming rainfall. Dinner was a takeaway tub of 4 euro pasta (possibly the best I've ever had), along with a *free* glass of undoubtedly the best wine I've ever tasted.

I met a fellow Canadian on the Spanish Steps, where I had taken my wine and pasta, and we spent the evening wandering together.

Stay tuned for day three, wherein I explore Trastevere, get soaked in a thunderstorm, and get in an old Roman's car.

Love always,
Coral

Dear June Week 2: Roma I

So on Friday I went to Rome.

It was my last dash, last hurrah, last cheap Ryanair flight and last time leaving my apartment at some ungodly hour to be teleported to a foreign land. 

I would like to take this moment to thank you for your outstanding weather, June. Seriously, I appreciate it.

It was around thirty degrees when I arrived at Ciampino airport and hopped on a shuttle bus to Termini station. I found my way to Via Cavour, leading to the Colosseum, with the help of a friendly Roman who only very gently asked me to join him for a coffee, graciously sending my on my way when I refused. What happened to the slimy, aggressive men here I'd heard so much about?

I had my first gelato, a mango and cherry combo, at Flor before heading into the Colosseum. It melted within five seconds and covered my hand and my phone in gooey ice cream but it was oh so worth it.

There is nothing comparable to standing inside a building built nearly two thousand years ago, walking within its walls and staring up at where the azure sky met the crumbling, yet somehow amazingly preserved, ruins.

I spent hours lugging my backpack around under the thirty-plus degree sun, exploring the never ending ruins of Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum.

After locating a meal of pasta and some strange egg-based mffin-shaped savoury cake, I made my way to the Trevi fountain. After getting lost once and hiking up innumerable hills beneath the relentless sun, I found that the iconic monument had been dried up and closed off by thick metal gates. Disappointment!

The situation repeated itself as I found the Spanish Steps. These were the one monument my dad told me I had to visit, as he had spent his youthful travels through rome with his buddies and a bottle of wine on the wide staircase overlooking Piazza di Spagna. The steps were beautiful against the now sinking sun, but the church at the top was covered in scaffolding.

Dinner was a lovely spaghetti with cheese sauce and pepper, and free wifi for directions to my campsite (as the shuttle bus stopped running at 7).

I was staying at Plus Camping Roma, a little camping village in Aurelia. It's about a 20 minute drive from the Vatican and yet as I exited the metro station, I felt as if I was in a Parisian suburb. Unable to locate my bus stop despite the directions given by the campsite's website, I asked two doctors having a smoke outside their clinic. They asked the two women waiting at the bus stop, who consulted their iPhones. I was shocked by the locals' willingness to help me, and when I expressed my surprised gratitude, they responded with an enthusiastic "This is Italia!!!" I told them that I come from Paris and this would never happen there, and they agreed with a solemn shake of their heads. They managed to find my bus stop, walked me there, and asked a bus driver if he knew where the campsite was. He assured us that yes, we needed to grab the 247 to Aurelia, and they walked with me to the bus with this number. There, they told the bus driver that I was trying to get to the campsite and made sure I knew which stop to get off at. There was much gratitude and enthusiastic ciaos exchanged as I pulled away from the station. I will never forget these women.

My campsite was better than expected, after waiting in a half hour line to check in. It was complete with a restaurant, a general store, laundry, and washroom/shower building. I was staying in the tent village (there were also RV parks, individual campsites, bungalows, and chalets.) My tent was a permanent yurt-like canvas structure, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it even had electrical outlets and beds complete with a comfy quilt, soft pillow, and clean linen.

My british room mates were very friendly, and I took a long shower before drifting off to sleep after the exhaustion of the day, before heading to the Vatican the next morning.


Love always,
Coral

Dear June: Week One

It's thunderstorming (or lightning storming, as the amount on bright white flashes across the sky is greatly outnumbering the distant rumbles of crashing clouds) as I write this at one in the morning, and because writing while having insomnia is more productive than scrolling Instagram, here I am.

I feel like the universe is conspiring to give me the greatest sendoff from this city I've learnt to call my home.

This weekend was filled with the greatest and most unexpected joys. It was one of those weekends void of plans, yet as soon as one unplanned excitement came to a close, another would appear in its place.

It all began on Friday night, when a new friend and I decided to picnic on the seine, near my favourite spot by the Alexander III bridge. We ended up sitting on a wall surrounded by throngs of people of scattered nationalities, drinking and dining and dancing along the waterfront, all the way from the Tour to the Gare d'Austerlitz in the east, it seemed. When the weather gets hot in Paris, its citizens crawl from their apartments to be ejected into the city's various parks and quais. This results in confused American gentlemen asking with bewilderment if there is some sort of D-Day celebration happening, to which we reply that no, it is simply a nice day, and this is what Parisians do on a nice day. It strikes me all at once that I consider myself an insider now.

At around twelve thirty we decided to walk to the Eiffel Tower, which was scheduled to glitter in its last hourly spectacle for the night at one. Seeing it explode into light as we neared the grass in front of it, we broke into a run and - gasping - we collapsed upon the dewy green and stared up into the sky, where directly above us the gigantic tower danced and shone in a brilliant supernova of a thousand crystals. It felt as if they might fall from the sky and cover us in diamonds as our hearts beat out of our chests and we tried to find constellations after the tower had fallen into a blackened silence.

Upon devouring a nutella banana crepe and some frites with saucisson, we decided to brave the night and stay awake until sunrise. We sat on a footbridge spanning the river and walked along the tree-lined banks as the hours bled away from two to three to four in the morning.

I am now going to briefly touch on the single negative event that took place this weekend, June. I had just finished explaining why we shouldn't be scared to be walking in the middle of the night in Paris' safest arrondissement when we were harassed and chased by a young man. It was one of the few times where I have felt genuinely unsafe. We were lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed, but this should not be seen as lucky. It is our right as humans to be able to walk around in our city at whatever hour we please, without fearing for our lives. Sometimes feminism. Actually always feminism. Okay, rant over. (But seriously, during this entire adventure, we spotted perhaps two other women, and easily fifty men. What?!)

After a brief nap and stopping to load my film camera, we set out to watch the sun rise over the Pont Alexander III, and what a sunrise it was. The Paris sky is unreasonably and inexplicably beautiful, and my first sunrise was nothing short of just that. The sky was streaked with cotton candy clouds and bright peacock blues as we watched in our sleep-deprived, five a.m. daze.

~

Later that day, after a small sleep, I ventured to Belleville for an event supporting the Coup du Monde poetry slam in Paris. It was an open mic by poets from France, the U.S.A, Norway, Japan, and the U.K., and featured improvising dancers.

I then joined a friend at Parc de la Villette, another bucket list item, for a free music festival where they were selling vinyl records in the forest on the banks of the upper Canal St. Martin. We sat on the grass as music throbbed throughout the gigantic park reflected in the infamous mirrored orb, and I practiced my headstands.

That evening, I joined my friend from the previous night for Berthillon ice cream and wine on Ile de la Cite. We got whisky and fig and white chocolate flavoured ice cream and talked about the world.

~

On Sunday, my friend celebrated her birthday on the Champs de Mars under a bright sun, beneath the Eiffel Tower. Full circle everyone.

I can only hope (and expect) that this week and my weekend in Rome (gasp!) will be just as magical, if not even better.

Love always,
Coral

Home

I am beginning to resent the nomadicy of my pollen-like nature
Particles settled upon haphazard surfaces like careless lines coloured by a clumsy child
I am becoming a collage of pieces of rainbow spilled from the careful outlines laid out for me
My rainbow is beautiful
In a wild and reckless way
I breathe spontaneity like a drug I have become dependant on
My veins itching for night time train rides and long bus trips and foreign cities
Sparsely packed bags and surviving upon essentials
But I have begun to crave a home
I have begun to crave pancake batter spilled across kitchen counters and awakening to murmured voices in the next room
Doors left unlocked and ajar in the summertime
Mornings bathed in yellow light
I have begun to need corner stores and convenience
Washing machines and ovens
I have begun to miss quilts spread across couches
And lying on my bed with my best friend at one a.m.
I know now that I cannot exist without rainy drives in my old neighbourhood
Ice cream sundaes and movie nights
Falling asleep to familiar noises
Pounding pavement my feet have traced millions of times in a thousand different shoes
Perhaps my home will be a temporary relief
A surge of energy before I am released into wilderness once again
Perhaps in one year I will find myself on a night bus to Amsterdam again
But for now I am content with my little home
With my little quirks and comforts
With waking up to familiar faces and a familiar language
With the idea of home
Throbbing so close now on the horizon
I am content with counting down to an arrival
Instead of a departure