Rome - Italy
I arrived in Rome beneath a sky the color of warm marble, where history doesn’t hide, it rises, looms, and walks beside you. In just 72 hours, the city unfolded like a living museum of grandeur, faith, and glorious imperfection.
I wasn’t alone. June 2025 marked the Jubilee Year, drawing pilgrims and tourists from across the world. Rome was fuller, louder, more alive than ever. So instead of avoiding the crowds, I embraced them. They became part of the story, faces in my photos, voices in the air, a living pulse in every square.
Moments of quiet beauty still found me. A sun-faded Fiat 500 tucked into a side street. A nonna chatting with neighbors in Trastevere, where laundry floated above cobbled alleys and a violin played softly somewhere out of sight.
Afternoons blurred gently into each other, cacio e pepe under the sun, house wine sweating in glasses, steps echoing through ivy-clad lanes. In the Vatican, I stood beneath Michelangelo’s Sistine ceiling, awe-struck. At sunset, I passed through the Holy Door, a rare privilege in this sacred year.
And always, those towering stone pines, elegant and eternal, leading me toward the Colosseum like green spires of memory.
On my final night, Rome glowed. The Colosseum burned gold in the dusk, fountains sparkled in Piazza Navona, and gelato melted sweetly on the Spanish Steps.
Rome didn’t whisper, it roared. A city of ruins and resurrection, crowded, chaotic, sacred, and unforgettable. My 72 hours were just a glimpse, but enough to leave a promise behind — that I’ll one day return to the Eternal City. — Anouk Sassen
