Are My Eyes Deceiving Me?
This trip has been a whirlwind, the kind that spins you up in its magic and leaves you wondering how real any of it is. We almost didn’t even make it—Iceland decided to unleash Eyjafjallajökull (which, honestly, looks like a cat walked across the keyboard), grounding flights all over Europe. But somehow, ours still took off. And now, we’ve been wandering through London, Paris, Florence, and now Rome, collecting places like pages in a story I don’t want to end.
London was a snow globe when we arrived, a world wrapped in white. Our rental house is tucked into a courtyard, where trees dusted in snow stand against rooftops and chimneys, everything so still. We spent the first handful of days exploring—Covent Garden, Piccadilly Circus, all of it draped in winter. But the museums were my favorite. Wandering through the British Museum, getting lost in the vastness of the National Gallery, feeling the weight of history pressing in around me. At night, I’d curl up in bed with my book, watching the frost creep up the windowpanes.
From London, we took the Eurostar to Paris, and the entire ride there, I couldn’t stop watching the world outside. Winter fields and bare trees blurred past, the kind of quiet that feels like the universe pressed mute. Arriving in Paris was like stepping into a dream. Our Airbnb in the 8th arrondissement—so beautiful. A fireplace, velvet furniture, dim-lit lamps casting everything in gold, plush carpets underfoot, and those impossibly high ceilings trimmed in gold. It felt like stepping into the 18th century. Outside, it was freezing—minus seven and snowing—but the Christmas markets made everything feel warm. We wandered with cups of tea, watching the world glow under the early-setting sun. And the nights—Paris at night feels like a secret meant just for you. The city lights, the wide avenues, walking through Montmartre wrapped in scarves, my iPod playing songs that will always belong to these streets now.
Florence, though. Florence might just be my favorite. We stepped off the train, and Luca, our host, greeted us with red wine and candlelight in our apartment right next to the Duomo. In winter, Florence feels like art come to life—the kind of cold that makes you feel awake, the kind of beauty that makes you want to stop time. At night, I’d lie in bed and watch the Duomo glow through my skylight. New Year’s Eve was madness. At midnight, we clinked glasses and listened as people threw bottles onto the street below, some chaotic tradition that made the city feel so alive. It felt so right, ending 2010, entering this new decade with a literal couple hundred bangs. The Christmas markets, the Ponte Vecchio, the pasta—I swear, food here tastes like it was made by someone who loves you. We visited Pisa, my brain soaking up every bit of history like ink on a page. I didn’t want to leave, but Rome was waiting.
And now, Rome. A city that doesn’t just hold history, it breathes it. Our apartment has an entrance through a private elevator (which still feels dramatic every time we step inside). Inside—marble floors, wooden beams, plants spilling over windowsills in intricate pots. The Vatican is a ten-minute walk away, the church bells ringing through the air like an old song. At night, the Tiber River reflects the city lights, and the air smells good—cold but crisp, like something ancient still lingers here. We’ve stretched each day as long as we can, tossing coins into the Trevi Fountain, watching people spill over the Spanish Steps like they belong to some grand scene in a movie. Early mornings, I jog through the city, empty squares making Rome feel like an open-air museum, statues and ruins standing watch. Some moments I swear they move, or I hear them whisper secrets. The Colosseum, the Roman Forum, walking where gladiators and emperors once stood.
Last night, my brother and I sat above the ruins allegedly where Caesar was murdered. They’ve been excavating it for years and it’s unbelievable seeing it underneath a whole layer of city that’s so new. We talked about what life must have been like back then, how this city has seen centuries pass. Now, there’s traffic lights, cars, restaurants—and yet. The past and present live here together.
Rome is full of moments that make you stop in your tracks, but one of the most surreal isn’t through a grand archway or from a famous terrace—it’s through a tiny keyhole.
Hidden away on the Aventine Hill, in the Piazza dei Cavalieri di Malta, there’s a door. An unassuming, green wooden door that most people would walk right past. But if you lean in and peek through the keyhole, you’ll see something almost too perfect to believe. Through the hedges of a beautifully manicured garden, perfectly aligned in the distance, stands St. Peter’s Basilica, glowing against the skyline like a secret waiting to be found.
It was designed in the 18th century by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (I had to write this one down and it’s been in a folded piece of paper in my jacket pocket all day) and whether by intention or fate, the perspective is flawless. Looking through it feels like glimpsing another world—one where Rome exists in layers, where past and present overlap in a way only this city can manage.
Standing there, in the quiet of the Aventine Hill, with the distant hum of the city below, you realize Rome is never just what’s in front of you. It’s what you look for. What you find. And sometimes, the smallest keyhole holds the grandest view. Corny, I know, but that’s Italy for you.
Honestly, since the plane ride over, I’ve been filling up my leather journal. Writing everything, trying to capture it all before it slips away. London already feels so far, and there’s part of me that just wants to keep going. But we only have a few more days left.
For now, I’m holding onto Rome a little longer. And I have left a piece of me in every place.
Some places to go and feast:
London:
The British Museum – Ancient wonders and mummies that make you feel like a time traveler.
Borough Market – Warm pastries and mulled wine, a winter lifesaver.
Daunt Books – A bookshop that looks like it belongs in another century.
Paris:
Shakespeare & Company – A bookshop so charming you’ll want to live in it.
Angelina – For the thickest, richest hot chocolate of your life.
Musée d’Orsay – Impressionist paintings in a converted train station with huge windows.
Florence:
Gusta Pizza – Pizzas so good they almost make you cry.
Uffizi Gallery – Renaissance masterpieces that will make you feel small in the best way.
Piazzale Michelangelo – The best view of Florence, especially at sunset.
Rome:
Campo de’ Fiori Market – Fresh fruit, flowers, and the best energy in the mornings.
Trattoria Pennestri – Cozy, rustic Roman food that feels like a hug.
The Pantheon at Night – Standing under that massive dome in the quiet is something else.
