When I first arrived in Rome, in August, it seemed that the city could do no wrong. Sure the heat was beyond intense, the bees and wasps unnaturally large and the prices alarmingly high. But I was still in the “I’m in Europe!” stage, and nothing was going to get me down.
Two months later, however, the honeymoon is over, and it’s time to reevaluate. It turned out that there’s a little more to Rome than gelato and men in striped shirts playing the accordion. If Rome had a Facebook, our relationship status would currently be set at “it’s complicated.”
I had never really known what it was to be simultaneously in passionate love and hate with something until I met Rome. I find myself speechless at the overwhelming beauty of the interior of an ancient church one moment. Then, five minutes later, I’m cursing Rome and its utterly inefficient transportation system, since it can take me nearly two hours to get somewhere. Just as I’ve made up my mind that this can’t possibly be the city for me, the waitress brings me my tiramisu. And suddenly, I just don’t know anymore.
After all, living in Rome has not exactly been the romanticized paradise Americans like to imagine. There may be a palm tree outside my bedroom window. But in exchange, there are also often salamanders in the shower, brown water in the faucet and dog and/or pigeon droppings all over—and I do mean all over—the sidewalks.
At times I get tired of subtracting 12 anytime I want to know what time it is, of destroying my shoes and feet on uneven cobblestones and never being able to get coffee to go. Sometimes I just wish that I could go five hours without hearing multiple car alarms go off, and you never realize just how much you like peanut butter until you can’t get it anymore. Trust me.
But at the same time, when I think about going home, I have trouble imagining days devoid of Baci chocolates, sketchy Italian men and Piazza Navona. I can’t picture evening panoramas without the Colosseum, Vittorio Emanuele monument and the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. Not to mention, when in my life will I ever again be able to casually suggest that my friends meet me in front of the Pantheon? Because as much as I’m looking forward to being reunited with the Billiken Shubbery and Gates’ barbecue in Kansas City, Mo., I’ve grown rather attached to la citta eterna. After all, it’s thanks to Rome that I’m now comfortable walking straight into the midst of fast-moving mopeds and Smart cars, which is the standard method of crossing the street here. So long as you can get past the utter chaos that surrounds you 24 hours a day, this is just one of those cities where you can’t walk anywhere without stumbling on something else amazing.
For me, the contradictory feelings of falling in love and falling in hate are just a sign that Rome is truly becoming a real home to me, which is even better than the happily ever after Disney version of itself that every tour brochure promises. Sometimes it takes my breath away, while at other times, it makes me want to pull my hair out in sheer frustration and strangle myself with it. Either way, if Rome has proved one thing to me this semester, it’s that the best things—or places—in life are worth the struggle.
Rome—I can’t live with it; yet I can’t live without it.
Kat Patke is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, studying abroad in Rome, Italy.
