As I approach the city in a cab, my senses jump at the eclectic jumble of domes, cones and arches spanning a range of centuries and surrounded by trendy vehicles whizzing by. My B&B is in an old building equipped with an ancient elevator sporting an ornate wrought iron door. The large windows in my room on the fourth floor provide a panorama of the ruins of Largo di Torre Argentina— where Julius Caesar had been stabbed and killed. On the other side, trams and buses trundle by, matter-of-fact, alive. Sitting amongst the remains are cats of various descriptions, enjoying the sun and the attention of children and adults viewing the Largo from the busy streets around. The dead and the living co-exist here.
My neighbours at the B&B are a couple from another part of Europe. The gentleman criticises the Italians with vigour—in his view, there are numerous evidences of a lack of refinement. He isn’t very impressed by the ruins—to him, a cheap display of power and plunder.
In a new city, valuable time is spent fumbling with keys and keyholes, elevators and front door passwords, mobile sims, bus stops, and most importantly, in imbibing a sense of where the hotel is positioned in the city. With the GPS finally in action, one ventures out in a gingerly fashion, conscious of the people on the street, of possible pickpockets and sellers of doubtful souvenirs. One hand holds the phone and another a small camera; a sling bag hangs diagonally from a shoulder.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة November 2019 من Outlook Traveller.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة November 2019 من Outlook Traveller.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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