Coming from Scandinavia, landing in Rome could be a bit shocking. The colours, the weather, the loudness, the flavours, the art, the history, the origin of the western civilization, the Romans always protesting, the straight southern Italian communication forms, the yelling, the wars, the passion, the garbage, the expression, the freedom, the people, the wild boars, the Romans, the most prominent ancient capital, the city, the chaos… the beautiful chaos.

Rome’s beautiful chaos is like a relationship with a person that your conscious self knows won’t go any further. But still, your soul and body want to be involved (or revolved) because, irrationally, it enjoys the beauty created in the clashes.

Adding taste to the notes of my arrival, it was raining. I believe Rome has to be the only city in Europe where the touch between a raindrop and the asphalt determines the neurotic state of its residents.

So, talking about making irrational decisions, there was Jessica, a Bahamian, worthy daughter of Neptune that just came out from the underworld to the land of Bacchus.

After five hours, which included heavy traffic, waiting for the luggage and learning the poor life decision that encouraged my Argentinian taxi driver to relocate to Italy, we met at her hotel. We didn’t talk. As Roma’s ancient traditions demands, we came to the city to be gladiators. We didn’t come to engage peacefully but to clash our bodies and souls with the adversary expecting to win or die pleasingly in battle. 

It feels great to be in Rome.

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