Foggy morning in Rome: contemplating the old and new
I woke up early today, the first hints of light barely filtering through the curtains of my hotel room. The clock showed 6:15 - another day in Rome awaited. After my visit to the Vatican yesterday and getting caught in that unexpected downpour, I decided today would be dedicated to exploring Trastevere, the neighborhood I've been eager to see since arriving in Rome.
But first, coffee.
Stepping out into the street just after 7:30, I was greeted by an unexpected sight - a thick blanket of fog enveloping the city. The temperature was cooler than I expected, around 7°C according to my phone. I zipped my jacket all the way up and set off toward a café I'd spotted yesterday.
The fog gave Rome an entirely different character this morning. The usual chaos of traffic and tourists was muted, buildings emerged from the mist like ghosts, and footsteps echoed differently on the ancient cobblestones. I stopped several times just to take it in, watching the city wake up through this ethereal filter.
"Un caffè, per favore," I said to the barista at a small corner café, having learned that in Rome, unlike Florence, you order and pay first before taking your receipt to the bar. The espresso was strong and perfect - just what I needed to cut through the morning chill.
As I sipped my coffee, I pulled up my map to plan my route to Trastevere. That's when I noticed an event listing for tonight - "The Three Tenors in Concert" at St. Paul's Within the Walls. Opera has never been my thing, but after 99 days of travel, I'm finding myself drawn to experiences I might have dismissed before. Maybe it's worth checking out? The concert starts at 8:30 pm, which would give me plenty of time to explore Trastevere during the day.
I also noticed that the tram services have resumed as of yesterday - good timing for my planned explorations.
Finishing my coffee, I stepped back into the fog and began walking toward the Tiber River. The city was coming alive now, shopkeepers raising their shutters, delivery trucks navigating narrow streets, and the occasional jogger emerging from the mist.
Crossing the river, I watched as the fog swirled above the water, creating patterns that seemed almost deliberate in their design. On the other side, Trastevere waited, its narrow medieval streets still quiet at this hour.
I arrived at Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere at exactly 8:50, ten minutes before the church would open. The fog was starting to lift, but the square remained peaceful. A few locals hurried through on their way to work, and a street cleaner methodically swept the cobblestones. I sat on a bench, watching the scene and reflecting on how far I've come.
Ninety-nine days. Almost a hundred days since I left Kristiansand. The thought stopped me in my tracks. A fifth of my journey already behind me. Four hundred and one days remaining until I turn 51. Time seems to move differently when you're traveling - both faster and slower simultaneously.
I've noticed changes in myself already. I'm more patient with disruptions, like yesterday's rain. I'm more present in each moment rather than constantly documenting everything. And I'm less concerned about seeing every single "must-see" attraction in each place I visit.
My thoughts were interrupted by the church bells marking 9:00. As the doors opened, I stood up, brushed off my pants, and entered the ancient basilica, ready to discover another piece of Rome's endless story.
As I wandered through the church, admiring its golden mosaics and peaceful atmosphere, my mind kept returning to the journey ahead. Four hundred and one days. So many places still to see. I've been in Rome for only a few days, but I'm already thinking about where to go next when I leave on the 5th.
Perhaps that's the nature of long-term travel - you're always simultaneously in the present moment and planning for what comes next. The fog outside seems an apt metaphor - I can see what's immediately around me clearly enough, but the path ahead remains shrouded, revealing itself only as I move forward.
It's not quite 9:40 now as I sit in a small café in Trastevere, writing this. The fog has mostly lifted, though the day remains overcast. I plan to spend the rest of the morning exploring these winding streets, perhaps find a local place for lunch, and then decide whether to book that opera ticket for tonight.
One hundred days tomorrow. A milestone worth marking somehow. But how does one celebrate such a thing? Perhaps simply by being present, by acknowledging how far I've come and how far I have yet to go. By remembering that this journey isn't just about seeing places but about seeing myself more clearly.
The fog continues to lift. Time to explore.