The Next Day

Saint Patrick’s Day isn’t celebrated much in Italy. Actually, it’s not celebrated at all past tourist themed events. Maybe that’s why I “celebrated” it this year. That, or I was pressured into joining my friends at a pub crawl. But let’s go with the first, it sounds better than elementary school peer pressure.

A pub crawl: an activity where you pay good money to hyperactive organizers so they will take you to various bars and clubs, beginning with a large establishment where they will give you as many drinks and pizza as your immature heart desires. After an hour of this, you will proceed to various other locations with the group only to be greeted with more free booze (this time shots) at each venue.

Responsible, I know.

But really it’s the next day I shall talk about. That morning, my head swimming, I left my friend’s apartment and turned the corner towards the metro, or what I thought was the corner towards the metro. Guess what? It wasn’t.

A half hour later and I began to catch on. A half hour had passed by because I naturally got distracted a couple times. First off, there is an enormous mercato filled with vendors and tables like at a flea market back home. Fish, luggage, wine, sewing kits, this place has it all and it is extremely fun to wander through, though after a couple minutes of turning corners I noticed everyone was craning their necks to stare at me. Some even walked out of their stands and said hello. It might have been the giant green eyeliner shamrock on my face, but you can never be too sure.

Mercatos are fantastic. People of every sort bustle through the lanes, it’s the fastest I’ve ever seen Italian grandmothers move. The air is filled with shouts to and fro, the smell of cappuccinos from an oddly placed café, and food being tossed to costumers, costumers who don’t always catch it. You must be agile here, you don’t know when a rogue potato might roll your way.

Finally leaving I noticed the happiest dog in the world skipping around his owner. His tail must have been going a hundred miles an hour. Dogs are widely accepted in Italy, even joining their companions inside restaurants at times. This dog decided he wanted desperately to go inside a butcher shop and when that didn’t work he decided a toddler clothes store was just as good. However, the lady resisted and dragged him onward.

This is about the time I nearly fell in a puddle, recovering quick enough to look up and see a street sign. One I didn’t know. I was thirsty and wanted to go in a supermarket. I had never seen one in this area before (near the Vatican) so I went down this unknown street. If it was unknown, it might have an unknown supermarket. There was. Today rocked!

I walked some more, realizing that I was probably lost, and looked up to see a building on a far mountain. An observatory? An observatory that resembled the mansion in Casper? How was I not informed about this? I want to visit it!

And then I almost got hit by a car. Rule of thumb, kiddos: always look where you’re walking. Another rule of thumb: traffic lights are only a suggestion to drivers in Italy, especially red.

An ancient lady with a better phone than I’ve ever owned laughed at me as she continued typing out a text. Calming down, I inspected my surroundings. Yup, I had become hopelessly lost and I sure wasn’t about to turn around. It was okay though, today was nice, the sun was shining (a rarity, oddly enough). All I had to do was head for the river. I kept repeating that in my head. Head for the river. If I found the river, I found my route to the metro, or home, it really depended on how far I had wandered as I was pushing an hour now.

I walked for what seemed like an eternity and this sudden adventure wasn’t so fun anymore once my feet started hurting. Seriously where was I? Apartments towered above me, higher then I had seen before. Empty schools appeared every once in a while, but large streets alluded me. I tried turning a corner only to come face to face with an old man chewing on his cell phone. Well that’s different. Suddenly two buttons pop off my coat and I scramble to retrieve them. I want to go home now.

Blocks of walking and an unknown amount of time later I found it: the glorious metro that shown out of the street like a beacon of hope. Fittingly it was outlined by St Peter’s in the distance and I swear I could hear angels singing. I scrambled down the stairs, shoved my monthly pass into the machine, and, for the first time in over a month, sat down in the metro.