- Time of past OR future Camino
- Some in the past; more in the future!
Several years ago, I read a history of Lisbon called ‘Queen of the Sea’ by expatriate journalist Barry Hatton. The book is essentially a hagiography of the Portuguese capital, extolling its ‘special appeal’ and ‘exotic flavour’ at every turn.
But after absorbing 342 pages of this rose-coloured-glasses description of the city I have lived in for nearly seven years now, what struck me most was little more than a throwaway line, three-and-a-half tiny words that have stayed with me more than any other part of the book.
In discussing Lisbon’s relative lack of historical monuments due to the devastating 1755 earthquake (and declaring the city ‘charming’ and ‘unpretentious’ as a result), Hatton inadvertently revealed, with perfect brevity and clarity, the one thing wrong with Lisbon.
He wrote simply: ‘Rome, it isn’t.’
…
I arrived in Rome for the first time as a 21-year-old backpacker on a Monday afternoon: September 10th, 2001.
On Tuesday, the world changed, and my world was starting to change too. On Wednesday, I declared Rome my favourite city in Europe from the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. On Friday, I met @Wendy Werneth, who a few months earlier had written, ‘That’s it, I’m moving to Rome,’ in her diary, and then went and did it. On Sunday, I didn’t show up at the airport for my flight to Athens and, just like that, I had moved to Rome too.
That was quite a week.
So began a love affair for both of us with this unique, extraordinary place — and eventually with each other.
We lived in Rome for parts of four years and it felt like a dream: tour guiding in the Roman Forum every day, eating out every night, and talking about Rome day after day with friends who were as passionate about the city as we were — or as addicted to it, as one of them put it.
Rome was where we realised that we weren’t going home; that Rome itself had become home.
That feeling clung to us even after we decided to move on in 2004, when I cried on the streets of Trastevere on our last night in the city. After leaving Rome, we spent six more years living out of backpacks before eventually finding more settled lives in Geneva and then Lisbon. But while we ended up spending far more time living in those two cities than we ever did in Rome, we somehow belonged less.
Ultimately, it’s that sense of belonging, alongside the never-ending feeling of wonderment, that always draws us back to Rome. Wendy and I met in Rome, we fell in love in Rome, we got married in Rome. Or, put another way: all the rainbows and unicorns stuff that you wish for when you throw coins into the Trevi Fountain actually came true for us.
And now that we have both lived outside our home countries for longer than we lived inside them, where else do we belong if not Rome?
…
In the 19 years since we last lived in the Eternal City, we haven’t been able to stay away for long; I have returned to visit every calendar year but one and Wendy every year but two.
Each time we make these annual pilgrimages to Rome, we ask ourselves: ‘Can we figure out a way to move back here that actually makes sense?’ For various reasons, the answer has always been no.
But now the answer is yes.
Wendy is already in Rome, having led a tour of Italy that finished yesterday, and today I leave Lisbon to join her. But this time we’re not staying for just a few days — because this is it. We have been working towards this move as a serious goal for the last two years but it’s been our on-again, off-again dream for nearly two decades.
And now that it has become reality, I can’t help but wonder if the famous expression I used to recite at the start of my night tour all those years ago is actually true: Roma, non basta una vita — Rome, a lifetime is not enough.
Let’s find out.
But after absorbing 342 pages of this rose-coloured-glasses description of the city I have lived in for nearly seven years now, what struck me most was little more than a throwaway line, three-and-a-half tiny words that have stayed with me more than any other part of the book.
In discussing Lisbon’s relative lack of historical monuments due to the devastating 1755 earthquake (and declaring the city ‘charming’ and ‘unpretentious’ as a result), Hatton inadvertently revealed, with perfect brevity and clarity, the one thing wrong with Lisbon.
He wrote simply: ‘Rome, it isn’t.’
…
I arrived in Rome for the first time as a 21-year-old backpacker on a Monday afternoon: September 10th, 2001.
On Tuesday, the world changed, and my world was starting to change too. On Wednesday, I declared Rome my favourite city in Europe from the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. On Friday, I met @Wendy Werneth, who a few months earlier had written, ‘That’s it, I’m moving to Rome,’ in her diary, and then went and did it. On Sunday, I didn’t show up at the airport for my flight to Athens and, just like that, I had moved to Rome too.
That was quite a week.
So began a love affair for both of us with this unique, extraordinary place — and eventually with each other.
We lived in Rome for parts of four years and it felt like a dream: tour guiding in the Roman Forum every day, eating out every night, and talking about Rome day after day with friends who were as passionate about the city as we were — or as addicted to it, as one of them put it.
Rome was where we realised that we weren’t going home; that Rome itself had become home.
That feeling clung to us even after we decided to move on in 2004, when I cried on the streets of Trastevere on our last night in the city. After leaving Rome, we spent six more years living out of backpacks before eventually finding more settled lives in Geneva and then Lisbon. But while we ended up spending far more time living in those two cities than we ever did in Rome, we somehow belonged less.
Ultimately, it’s that sense of belonging, alongside the never-ending feeling of wonderment, that always draws us back to Rome. Wendy and I met in Rome, we fell in love in Rome, we got married in Rome. Or, put another way: all the rainbows and unicorns stuff that you wish for when you throw coins into the Trevi Fountain actually came true for us.
And now that we have both lived outside our home countries for longer than we lived inside them, where else do we belong if not Rome?
…
In the 19 years since we last lived in the Eternal City, we haven’t been able to stay away for long; I have returned to visit every calendar year but one and Wendy every year but two.
Each time we make these annual pilgrimages to Rome, we ask ourselves: ‘Can we figure out a way to move back here that actually makes sense?’ For various reasons, the answer has always been no.
But now the answer is yes.
Wendy is already in Rome, having led a tour of Italy that finished yesterday, and today I leave Lisbon to join her. But this time we’re not staying for just a few days — because this is it. We have been working towards this move as a serious goal for the last two years but it’s been our on-again, off-again dream for nearly two decades.
And now that it has become reality, I can’t help but wonder if the famous expression I used to recite at the start of my night tour all those years ago is actually true: Roma, non basta una vita — Rome, a lifetime is not enough.
Let’s find out.
You had a dream, and then a plan. After that it was all logistics and patience - painstaking logistics and endless patience. 
, may your lives unfold harmoniously together in your new Rome adventure, albeit the second time around. 
My thought too, but I'm actually not surprised.
