Brand New Day

La Felicita

I’ve debated about writing this post for a while now. However I’ve decided to listen to Hemingway’s advice to F. Scott Fitzgerald. In a letter from 1934 he said to his friend “All you need to do is write truly and not care about what the fate of it is. Go on and write.” I’m of course not comparing myself to these two greats in any way! But here goes.

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that my life situation is very different from what it was a year ago and indeed it is. I don’t really know who reads this. I don’t know if you know me or not. Some of you are friends. Some of you are strangers. If you’re in the former group you will know me from various stages of life. You might only ever have known me as being married. Last Thursday I was doing a tour at Ostia Antica, a huge ruined ancient Roman town and one of my favourite places in the world. As I walked away from my clients in the heart of the archaeological site, I took my phone out of my bag, saw an email notification and read that I was now officially divorced. Just like that. A perfectly perfunctory email from GOV.UK to tell me my marriage had officially ended. Incidentally I’d also received an email to tell me to pay my Vodafone bill! I was shocked at my reaction (to the divorce…not the internet bill!) For a moment I felt like crying. I felt sadness for something that has ended. Something that at the beginning was full of hope and happiness. That at some point over the last 12 years lost it’s way, like a play that was begun with one ending in mind but at some point the actors changed and it became something else. The final curtain had been called.

Out of respect to others I don’t want to go in to the reasons why we decided to separate, all I’ll say is that life is too short to not be happy. I don’t mean just happy to get by, I mean the kind of happiness that fills your heart to the point where it nearly hurts. The day I drove back from one of my last radiotherapy appointments (a situation I wrote about which you can read here if you wish) I vowed not to forget that feeling. The feeling of surviving. The feeling of cheating death. I also vowed not to take things for granted and to make the most of life. It’s incredibly cheesy I know. At times in the intervening years I think I’d forgotten about that vow.

However, last Thursday the moment of sadness was short-lived. Back in December the decision we took was a mutual decision that we arrived at in the hope that it would allow both of us to be happy, as it was obvious we were no longer the ones doing that. So whilst there was sadness for what could have been there was very much happiness and gratitude for what is. I certainly have a huge amount to be grateful for. My family, my friends, my health and now someone else too. Over the last couple of months someone has brought me such happiness that I don’t even know where to begin. It’s that happiness I mentioned earlier, where your heart literally feels full to bursting. He’s called Leo. He’s Italian. He’s the most considerate, caring person I’ve ever met. He’ll hate reading this because he thinks he’s just normal. He’s far from normal. His generosity knows no bounds. He makes an incredible amount of effort with my loved ones despite the language barrier. He remembers the small things. He’s encouraging to the point where I feel I could do anything. But perhaps above all I feel myself. Completely, fully myself. It’s a feeling I don’t think I’ve really felt before and for that I’ll be forever grateful.

I feel like I’ve changed a lot in the last few months. Someone close to me recently quoted Bruce Lee and told me to “Be water.” I love this quote! I feel like I’ve learnt to be more like water. Constantly flowing, moving forward and adapting to overcome the next obstacle (and there have certainly been a few!). There are moments of serenity when the river is wide and meandering or there are moments of extreme strength when it crashes down rock faces from dizzying heights. At the moment, I’m at the part of the river where there are still, clear pools. When I pause to look in that calm pool, I recognise the happy face looking back at me and I’m excited for what the rest of the river’s journey holds.

Escape to the Country

You know that feeling when it’s so hot you can’t breathe properly. Your clothes instantly stick to your body as soon as you leave the haven of an air conditioned space. You choose an outfit on the basis of what shows sweat the least. That’s been life in Rome for the last six weeks or so. The mercury is perpetually in the high 30’s, most days over 40. It’s just about bearable if there’s shade. If not you’re screwed. As a tour guide the comfort of the clients is the most important thing. So I always position them in the shade which invariably puts me in the sun. At times it feels like living and working in an oven. Despite this I still love it! Luckily, my seventh floor apartment is too high for lots of mosquitoes so that’s one blessing at least! But as much as I think I’m handling it pretty well (particularly for a Brit!) it has been an absolute joy to escape the high temperatures and seek refuge in the mountains. The destination? I almost don’t want to share this with you. It’s currently a delightful secret. An oasis in a desert. A port in a storm. Ok, I’ll tell you, but don’t tell anyone else!

In the heart of the Abruzzo, Lazio and Molise National Park is a town called Pescasseroli (pronounced ‘pesca-celery’), sitting at nearly 4,000 feet above sea level it’s a popular location with Italians to explore the National Park. In the summer the hiking and mountain-biking trails are the draw, whilst in the winter it’s all about the ski slopes. It has a lot going on, a beautiful historic centre full of picturesque hiddledy-piggledy stone houses; a sea of grey tones punctuated by pops of red geraniums in window boxes. There’s a main piazza where locals and visitors alike mill around, the benches are guaranteed to be housing at least one elderly Italian gentleman, (often two or three) sitting, chatting and watching the world go by. Their ruddy faces a mirror of the ensuing conversation. Kids are kicking a football, bikes of all shapes and sizes whizzing past or stationary outside of the shops. There’s no need to lock them up here. The old ‘forno’ or bakery is always a hive of activity as people buy their bread, biscotti or famous pizza rossa. The town has the infectious bustle of a place where one wants to be but still maintains the old world charm of a time gone by.

In the last few weeks this delightful place has been the destination about six or seven times and has provided a welcome relief to the heat. Sometimes visits have been for a couple of nights, others just for the day. No matter the duration though it feels like a proper break, a real escape. There your clothes don’t stick to you. You can breathe…deeply and fully. The cooler air caresses your skin instead of pricking it with tiny hot needles. To get there the journey is of two halves, an hour or so on the autostrada or motorway, then an hour on country roads. It’s here I wind down the window, turn my face to the fresh air, close my eyes and really take in the passing scenes. Everything changes as the winding road goes up and up from the valley to the mountains. The scent of wet foliage changes to cut grass to sun soaked pine forest as you pass through the different terrain. The air temperature fluctuates from a warm breeze to patches of really cold, fresh air. Then finally the road descends down to the town where one find’s oneself back in amongst civilization.

Most trips have included a hike or walk of some sort. These have been much more varied then I imagined. There’s a terrain for all desires and moods. Recently walks have included shaded gorge strolls where the babbling brooks and ferocious waterfalls provide the soothing soundtrack. Then other times paths have weaved up from the valley to exposed tree-less mountainsides that have a moonscape feel to them.

However, the stand out hike was an overnight adventure. The destination for the evening was Rifugio Terregna; an isolated, remote mountain lodge completely immersed in nature. My research indicated it was a 2.5 hour walk….I must have misread! It turned out to be quite a lot longer! Luckily, we’d visited the forno in Pescasseroli to buy bread and then went to the deli where they made us pecorino and salami sandwiches..so we had sustenance.

The route started with a steep incline out of the town through a pine forest, the path zig-zagging in a failed attempt to lessen the shock to the system! Here the warm air accentuated the scent of pine which filled our lungs as our feet passed over the woodland carpet of pine needles. The path soon broke out of the forest, the incline lessened and continued through grass meadows abundantly dotted with wild flowers and rocky outcrops. This section took longer than it should have done due to my incessant pauses to take photos, a new hobby that I’m very much enjoying at the moment. The next couple of hours was a mix of welcome shaded woodland interspersed with open meadows. The only other people we saw on the whole walk were three men with horses who had also decided to stop for lunch at our chosen spot. Having refuelled on paninis and wild strawberries we set off again and after a short while we were rewarded for our efforts. At the top of a steep section where meadow met woodland we turned to admire the view and as we looked up to the ridgeline, eight huge stags could be seen. The sentinel was stood on a rock dominating the skyline as though he’d stepped straight off the label of a whiskey bottle. It was truly magnificent. The route continued to surprise as it left woodland and skirted a huge valley, with a large bowl or amphitheatre at one end stretching down to more mountains in the distance. There was no sign of civilization at all, just pure nature.

After having set off 5.5 hours earlier, covered 9 miles and climbed 2,500 ft in elevation we finally crested a small rise and were greeted with the beautiful sight of Rifugio Terraegna nestled in the meadow below. This small lodge has a dormitory that sleeps 8 and a double room with private bathroom but that evening we were the only ones booked in. We were greeted by two of the team who work there, later learning they rotate and spend half a week up in this isolated haven hosting visitors. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent rehydrating (with water first as we had ran out, followed by beer), eating a delicious traditional dinner and then after nightfall star gazing. Lying on my back in the meadow, looking up at the sky and seeing a shooting star was a moment of pure peace…something I’ve been searching for this year. It was a really special moment…Unfortunately, somewhat ruined only a couple of minutes later when my stomach made a rather unfortunate rumble, very much resembling the sound of a bear! This being bear country the fear was almost palpable!

The next morning, after a delicious breakfast, we descended back down to civilization, taking the same route which felt only partially familiar as the light was completely different. After 24 hours submerged in nature where the only sounds were the chirping of birds and buzzing of flies, arriving back into the hustling and bustling main square was quite an assault on the senses. The cool escape was just what the doctor ordered. As the temperature increased from a refreshing 18 to an overbearing 37 degrees back in Rome that evening, I was grateful I had the photos to prove it had actually happened. Otherwise it would feel like a blissful dream.

A New Perspective

Escape to Elba

I recently had a couple of days off and escaped the rising mercury in the city and went to the coast. More specifically, the island of Elba. Despite being Italy’s third largest island it’s only 17 miles long by 11 miles wide and offers a hugely diverse geography, from beautiful beaches to forest covered mountains. Its history is equally as vast, being most famous as the place of exile for Napoleon in 1814. But it was a hugely important source of iron ore for the Romans and before them even the Etruscans. Minerals and precious stones are still quarried today making beautiful souvenirs for the tourists that visit every year. Elba is the largest island of the Tuscan Archipelago which, according to a local legend, was formed by the Venus de’ Medici (the goddess of love) when she broke her pearl necklace whilst stepping out of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Seven of the pearls fell into the water and formed the seven islands of the archipelago, with Elba being the grandest jewel. A jewel indeed it is!

I didn’t visit Elba alone. I went with someone who has recently become important to me and is one of the most wonderful people I’ve had the good fortune of meeting. However, if you’ll forgive me, I think further details on that may have to wait until a bit further down the line. But it was with excitement that we set off on the three hour journey from Rome early one Monday morning. After a short ferry ride we reached Portoferraio, the main town on the island. This bustling port town was base for 4 nights and it was here where days begun with sunny views over the port and ended with the moon’s dancing reflection in the waters below. The hours in between were a hive of activity as the many ferries came and went throughout the day, engines humming, deep horns occasionally making their presence known and billowing plumes of black smoke from the exhausts. A short walk along the waterfront is the old harbour. A juxtaposition to the extreme. Here catamarans, sail boats and little colourful fishing boats known as gozzi were bobbing up and down on the crystal clear water, the clinking of sails being the accompanying soundtrack whilst flashes of silver sardines and anchovies darted about below. The extreme contrast continued throughout the week, as the old port filled up with luxury superyachts. The sleek, smooth, almost menacing boats towered above their fellow harbour companions. With the crews milling about, one could glimpse inside through the occasional open window or door where the overtly luxurious other world could be seen. Not a world which appeals much to me, give me a gozzo any day!

The three full days spent on Elba were a delightful mix of exploring, eating and relaxing. The first day was the most active. The highest point on the island is Monte Capanne, which stands at 3,343 feet above sea level. Of course, point out the highest mountain and a determined need to climb it comes over me….so we did!

The adventure started in the picturesque hillside town of Marciana; a higgledy-piggledy village made up of every shade of the terracotta colour palette. The orange pops of colour standing out in the sea of greens on the forest covered slopes. Here we took the well signed 101 route and went up! There is a cable car which can take the less actively inclined visitor to the summit, but even if we had been tempted it wasn’t operating so by Shanks’ pony it was. Through pine scented woodland we wandered, crunchy leaves under foot, moss covered stones to weave around and fern fronds brushing our ankles. Previously, hikes and walks like this had been rushed. The goal was to get to the top as quickly as possible. However, something in me has changed and I got more out of the journey than the destination. Glued to my hand was a camera. A proper one, not one inside a phone. It’s my first foray in to the world of photography, I know I’ve a lot to learn and I’m probably not any good but I’m loving it. Now, even back in Rome, walks that would have taken me 10 minutes are at least double if I’m camera laden. I now look at things from a different perspective; how the light falls, where the shadows lie, the texture of materials or the expression on someone’s face. All minute details that I previously blindly hurried past. So it was with sheer joy that the hike to the summit was dotted with pauses. Whether the subject was successfully captured or not didn’t really matter. The small miracles of nature were there to be witnessed. Like, the fluffy, green carpet of moss covering a boulder, or the prickly pouches once home to chestnuts nestled in a bed of crunchy, crisp leaves or the wizened, aged wood of a long fallen tree trunk. As the looming summit neared, the tree cover reduced and the pine scented forest path became a rocky landscape dotted with low-lying gorse, whose vibrant yellows punctuated the earthy tones. The handful of other hikers we’d seen multiplied as everyone convened at the top. It was a strange summit landscape dominated by aerials and radio masts, the anthesis to what had preceded. So the break was short lived. The journey down saw a deviation from the main route and as a result the paths were even more deserted, allowing time to dip hot hands in cool mountain streams and to marvel at the sticky flows of abundant tree resin which in millions of years will become amber, the organic gemstone found in some of the island’s souvenir shops. Some (I’ve no idea how many) hours later signs of civilization reappeared and before long a delightfully cold beer was going down rather nicely in the cool, shady piazza of Marciana. What a thoroughly delightful excursion!

The rest of the time spent on Elba was spent ‘a braccio’. Meaning literally “by the arm” when no plan or structure is followed. Every inch of the island was explored though, from the rocky outcrop on the extreme westerly point of the island, to the picture postcard town of Porto Azzurro and places in between like Marina di Campo. The former, showcases deep blue views across to Corsica. At the second, plates of anchovies washed down with white wine were enjoyed and at the latter the most delicious tagliare board was consumed! All at a typically slow Italian pace.

The final standout highlight that has to be documented happened early one morning. After a run around the old port and castle there was only one way to cool down…a dip in the sea of course. Spiaggia delle Ghiaie, a short walk away from the apartment, at that hour was practically deserted. The local bar was opening it’s shutters and brushing off the parasols. The beach is made up of the prettiest, glistening silky smooth stones you ever did see. For this reason the water is crystal clear. I’ve never seen sea water like it. An initial, breath-taking moment soon receded and the calm, cool water’s gentle caress was very welcome. Floating with face up to the brightening sky and ears below the water the only sound was the tinkling of the smaller stones tumbling against each other as the lazy waves tentatively dragged them back and forth. Before long though a shoal of fish soon appeared. I’m not talking the little, barely visible kind! These were large fish. Their silver scales punctuated with a black spot which seemingly mirrored the stones on the beach. Later identified as saddled seabream. Their inquisitiveness and lack of fear was remarkable and for half an hour or so we all enjoyed the calm, morning waters together as they wound around my legs and brushed my outstretched hand. Really quite astounding. Of course, some things in life need to be enjoyed in the moment. In that instant It didn’t even cross my mind to reach for the camera.

A lot is packed in to this little island so whether you prefer perfect beaches, picturesque villages or rolling wild landscapes it has something for everyone. Elba had offered the most perfect escape, a chance to unwind, slow down and fall in love with a new pastime. It may have been the first time to the island haven for me, but I’m absolutely sure it won’t be the last.

Smiles, sixes and a little bit of home

Last Sunday was my lovely Mum’s birthday. For several reasons I wasn’t able to make it back home to celebrate with her and as a result, despite the fabulous day I’d had, I felt a bit of melancholy wash over me late in the evening. For the majority of the time, living away from home is wonderful, exciting and full of adventure but then there’s a tiny, small slither of time where one’s mind wanders and a home-shaped hole suddenly opens up like a gaping chasm in the heart. That’s how it feels for me at least. I’m not sure if it’s the same for everyone else. It’s usually prompted by something in particular. Like missing Mum’s birthday or a photo of a loved dog. That’s not to say I don’t want to see the photos or hear the news from back home, far from it. To feel connected with home I think actually helps. And on that particular evening a conversation with someone I love about organising a visit back to England soon pulled me out of my reverie.

When I feel sad or down and miss home (please don’t think it’s very often because it isn’t) I need an “England fix”. It usually comes in the shape of food or television! A plate of beans on toast (yes a source of Heinz Baked Beans has been found locally) or tuna mayo jacket potato works wonders for the soul. The other week though it came in the shape of 24 British cricketers from Hampshire! Through word of mouth the captain of the Hampshire Hogs cricket team had contacted me to provide a tour to kick off their weekend long cricket trip to Rome. Jonathan, the captain, had the unenviable task of reviving the cricket club’s annual tour and what an exceptional job he did too. Our communication beforehand was brief and to the point so I didn’t really know what to expect. Jonathan had likened it to herding cats and I could see what he meant but luckily these cats were all wearing brightly coloured, striped team blazers which caused considerable interest amongst the crowds! The team ranged in age from early 20’s to a bit older let’s say, some of who were accompanied by other halves; who incidentally were the only ones at the correct meeting location! I’ll be honest, my expectations of interest levels and attention span were not the highest. You hear British sports team, first evening unleashed in Rome and you assume learning about Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers probably isn’t their starting activity of choice! How wrong I was though, their immediate barrage of questions proved that not to be the case and a very enjoyable couple of hours ensued. The slice of home continued a couple of days later when I went along to watch one of their cricket matches against the Vatican. It was a delightfully sunny day and I spent a lovely couple of hours chatting away to the quintessentially English soundtrack of cricket. The regular whack of the ball against willow, the distant chatter on the field, interspersed with the odd cheer and applause. If it wasn’t for the iconic Roman pine trees I could so easily have been on an English village green. Thank you to Jonathan and the Hampshire Hogs for the little piece of England.

I said above that TV also helps fend off the home sickness. I’m not sure I should admit this. It’s not very cool. But then this is all about sharing my experiences and feelings so I’m going to fully embrace this confession. I don’t watch much TV. But a quintessentially British programme can be relied upon to pull me out of my mood and lift my spirits. It sounds bizarre. You would think it would make it worse but it doesn’t. Now, I can almost hear you asking what programme do I choose. This is the part I’m reluctant to admit…. but here goes. The faithfully, reliable is ‘All Creatures Great and Small’… there I’ve said it. The James Heriot period drama set in rural Yorkshire is quintessentially English; full of beautiful scenery, loveable characters and enough heart-warming scenes to heat the coldest of cockles! However, recently it’s become even worse. My Mum told me about a new programme that is going to decimate any ounce of street-cred that I have remaining. It’s called ‘Sam and Ade Go Birding.’ (I actually can’t believe I’m immortalising this in black and white.) The actors Sam West and Ade Edmundson travel around the UK on the hunt for some of the finest bird species it has to offer. Episode 2, filmed in North Norfolk, a place I absolutely love and where I’ve spent many a happy time as both a child and an adult, was just the tonic I needed. I fully understand if you decide to no longer be friends with me!

All that being said, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so at home somewhere as I do here. Every time I return to my little house, or cycle to work I still find myself smiling and my heart full of joy. This city is infectious. It recently celebrated it’s 2,779th birthday. It was founded on April 21st, 753 BC by Romulus (of twin and she-wolf fame) who went on to become the first king of Rome. There must be a reason a place can thrive and survive for that amount of time. I’m aware I’ve written in previous articles about the places, the monuments, the churches and my life experiences. But as I’m pondering where this post is going, I’ve realised I haven’t done much to portray the true Rome.

Having been here a while now I feel like I’ve gone beyond scratching the surface. Past the touristy level, past the honeymoon phase where rose-tinted glasses can make everything look slightly skewed. Instead, I’m getting to know the real Rome. I’m living in the real world, in a real district where no tourists go, just real Romans live. And I love it! What made the Roman empire so successful was the dogged determination and loyalty of the Roman people. Their dedication to the city went above and beyond and in some ways it still does. But with a laid-back, humorous side thrown in to the mix. Despite being thought of as slightly closed and cold by the rest of Italy, the Romans, I think, are some of the friendliest and funniest people I’ve met. Often humour can be the last aspect to grasp when learning a new language and it doesn’t always translate. It didn’t when I lived in Paris that’s for sure but maybe that was more of a reflection on the Parisians!

However here, despite the lack of spoken English, a bit of banter can be expected nearly everywhere you go. If I’ve learnt anything from my travels around the world it’s that a smile or a bout of laughter goes a long way to cross cultural divides. It’s universal. It’s disarming. It breaks the ice and helps put people at ease. It’s something I’m finding myself doing more of recently.

“A smile is the shortest distance between two people.” – Victor Borge

It’s also something that the Romans do a lot and maybe that’s one of the reasons I love this place so much. Going to the panificio isn’t just a mundane, transactional bread-buying experience like in so many capital cities. Instead, it’s like receiving a hug; you walk out smiling with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. The people that run the local cafe are no longer strangers after just the first visit, they remember your order and greet you like a lifelong customer after the shortest of times. Even the national chain book shop offers a friendly service that you wouldn’t expect; only yesterday resulting in a free calendar and the largest of smiles from the lovely lady who works there. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a huge amount of moaning, anger and passion thrown in to the mix too. But I get the impression that people here make the most of life, they’re happy with their lot, they aren’t constantly in search of greener grass and that has got to result in inner peace and a certain level of happiness. Their smiles and infectious sunny dispositions are testament to that. As I find myself smiling more, I can see and feel the positive effect it has and it’s something I intend to make sure I continue doing. So why not spread a little bit of joy and make the world a slightly brighter place. For me at least, how is it possible to live in the Eternal City and not smile?!

Out With the Old…

It’s been a busy couple of weeks here in Rome. A lot has changed. Since the start of this year I’ve moved house twice, started a new role at work, and I’m still currently navigating the crazy, bureaucratic immigration system of this country. The latter being very boring and frustrating so I won’t dwell on it, but the moving house meant downsizing rather dramatically. Which of course required some serious clearing out. It is really quite a cathartic process decluttering and streamlining your possessions. Being forced to reduce your things due to a physical constraint really focuses the mind on the task in hand. I’m sure the friends who helped me move perhaps wouldn’t agree that I had only the essentials! But I’m starting to feel some semblance of being settled. I’ve a beautiful little home. A haven amongst both the physical and emotional chaos!

Whilst I’ve reduced the amount of my physical belongings, adversely, other areas of my life have grown. One being the friends I have here. Making friends as an adult is a strange thing. You can’t just go up to someone in the street and say “Will you be my friend?” It worked in the playground at school but now it might result in arrest! Instead, after the last few months I’m inclined to believe fate plays a part. Firstly though, I must thank my wonderful current chums; here in Rome, back in the UK and around the world. I couldn’t have a more supportive and fantastic bunch of people in my corner. I’m eternally grateful for everything they do. I was slightly concerned a large life change in a foreign country would be really isolating and scary but it’s not been the case at all. One good friend in particular has just left Rome to return to Australia, and I’ll miss her a lot. But I’ve realised it doesn’t matter where we are in the world, a true friendship eats up those miles and endures from afar. We often tell our partner that we love them. Or our parents or children. But I realised we rarely tell our friends. Why is that? Next time you speak to a good friend why not tell them what they mean to you…I’m certainly going to.

Then there are new friendships. The relationships that pop up out of nowhere. When you’re least expecting it. This has happened to me a couple of times recently, and to other people I know too. Perhaps there’s something in the air! The first occasion was when some new guides joined the company I work for. Whilst every one of my colleagues are just lovely, two newbies in particular left me feeling happy and energised after the initial meeting. I come away from spending time with them smiling. Both are very different, one an energetic Irish whirlwind that I’m convinced is sponsored by Duracell. The other a calming, centred beautiful human that provokes self reflection in a completely non judgemental way. I think we’re going to have some good adventures together!

The second interaction was a client of mine. I was doing a tour of Ostia Antica, the ancient Roman port town a short way out of the city. I had a group of five people, one of whom was a wonderful lady called Pauline. Pauline comes from Birmingham and she instantly lit up the group. Travelling alone and staying in accommodation run by nuns, she had many humorous stories to tell. She is a recently retired English teacher and she reminded me so much of my own wonderful English teacher Miss Stanier, from when I was at school. After the tour we kept in touch and I’m hugely indebted to her because she told me about a rare and exceptional opportunity that presented itself a couple of days later.

Throughout the year Rome opens up historical sites as special, one-of-a kind events. In true Italian fashion they don’t publicise these. Luckily for me Pauline was in the know! There is one site in particular that has always captured my interest. Monte Testaccio. Ever since I saw Dan Snow talking about this unique place I was intrigued. The area of Testaccio is less touristy and offers a real sense of Roman life…as well as a very good food market! It’s also where the non-Catholic cemetery can be found and the pyramid of Gaius Cestius…one of my favourite monuments in the city! But back to Monte Testaccio…this has a fascinating history. Despite looking like a standard, inconspicuous hill it is in fact an ancient Roman rubbish tip! Testaccio is next to the Tiber river and it’s where the docks were located, where goods were offloaded and stored upon their arrival to Rome from the port of Ostia. One commodity that arrived here was olive oil. This oil was mainly imported from Spain and it was transported in terracotta amphorae. These amphorae were single use containers as the remnants left behind from the oil would contaminate any future batches, rendering them useless to be used again. So the amphorae were smashed in to small pieces and systematically piled in to a huge rubbish heap that forms this man-made hill that we still have today. How cool is that! Usually inaccessible, one Wednesday not so long ago it was opened to the public. I of course went! So did Pauline and we spent a very happy couple of hours walking around this 50 metre high hill marvelling at what we were stood upon. There were pieces of terracotta everywhere, in some places they were abundant and apparent as if someone had just put them there. In other places they’d been swallowed up by nature over the intervening centuries…epitomising the power the earth has upon the actions of man. This ancient waste heap was constructed over two centuries, from the time of Emperor Augustus in the 1st century BC to the end of the 2nd century AD and is thought to be made up of approximately 53 million amphorae! That’s a lot of oil! Both myself and Pauline were like kids in a sweet shop! Coffee and more chat ensued, where we discovered we had a scary amount in common. She might love Rome as much as I do so I’m certain she’ll be back and we’ll discover more together.

Then there was a third fate-led interaction. With my imminent house move on the horizon I saw a post on Facebook from someone selling a few things. I never buy anything on Facebook. But I liked the look of a couple of cushions adorned with palm trees and monkeys. I couldn’t tell you exactly why but I just liked them. So I asked to purchase them and arranged a time to journey across town to collect them. The seller was the most loveliest person called Julia and we instantly hit it off. In fact, I think we were stood on the street corner for about 45 minutes chatting away! She lives in one of my favourite districts of Rome called San Lorenzo and she invited me to join her Pub Quiz team, along with a couple of other ex-pats and her gorgeous Mum Elizabeth! I’m so grateful to have made another wonderful, new friend.

Sometimes things happen for reasons that can’t be explained. Whether it’s a mention of a Roman rubbish heap, a Facebook post you decide to click on one day, or a change from the norm which results in a meeting that would never have otherwise happened. Were these things always destined to play out or do we have chance to thank? I’m writing this on Good Friday 2026. I’m sat in my new, beautiful, tiny home and feeling extremely grateful. It is indeed a Good Friday. Seven years ago today I was told I had Cancer. A statement that I never imagined would be uttered from the mouth of the doctor in front of me. A few words that kicked off a series of actions that completely changed my life. Physically, it changed for a few months but mentally it changed forever. I’m eternally grateful to those friends and loved ones that helped me through it and I’m incredibly grateful to those by my side now. If you’re one of those people know that I love you. And to everyone reading this, why not tell those people in your life how much they mean to you…I’m almost certain you won’t regret saying it…but you may regret not saying it.

On Top of the World

I’ve recently come back from a few days in Madeira. I wanted to see my parents and the idea of catching up with them in sunnier climes was a much more appealing prospect than in the very soggy Blighty. So I left Rome very early one morning, took two flights, via Lisbon and was soon touching down on the Portuguese island of Madeira. This is a little green gem of an island off the northwest coast of Africa. Discovered in 1418 by the Portuguese, this volcanic island is known as the “Island of the Eternal Spring” thanks to it’s year-round mild climate. Being a mix of lush green peaks, little seaside towns and with the cultural capital Funchal it’s a destination that has something for everyone.

Exploring Funchal was a real delight, it’s the perfect place to wander aimlessly amongst it’s charmful little streets, stroll through its exotic gardens or people watch along the promenade. Of course I can highly recommend taking a tour! Mum and I booked on to a two hour walking tour of Funchal run by the Madeiran Heritage Programme. All the guides are volunteers and ours, Elea was fantastic. We learnt and saw so much. We covered everything from the first settlers on Madeira, to the meaning behind the name Funchal (it means fennel due to the vast amount of the wild herb originally found there) to perhaps most importantly the food and drink associated with Madeira! Amongst other places, we visited the Mercados dos Lavradores, the cathedral, Blandy’s Wine Lodge and Rua de Santa Maria. The latter being a beautiful, narrow, cobble-stoned street jam-packed with small shops and restaurants, which since 2010 is home to more than 200 painted doorways in an attempt to rejuvenate the rundown old town. The tour was a great way to experience this vibrant, small city.

Another high point of the trip was the obligatory famous Monte Toboggan Ride. This unique experience sees visitors jumping in to a wicker sled and whizzing down the steep streets of Monte, the uphill suburb of Funchal. The thrilling ride takes about 10 minutes and covers approximately 2 km. The traditional toboggans are guided by two carreiros, guys in white uniforms and straw hats who use their thick rubber-soled boots to brake and steer the wicker sleds. This quirky tradition dates back to around 1850 when it was introduced as a method for the locals to quickly descend from the hilly village of Monte to the streets of Funchal below. It was great fun! Whilst mostly it was a pleasant ride down the hill, there were a few hair-raising moments as we drifted round corners and came a bit too close for comfort to parked cars along the street! It was for this reason we decided to partake in a poncha at the bottom to settle our nerves. A poncha is a traditional, Madeiran drink made of sugar cane spirit, honey and lemon juice, usually enjoyed by the locals stood at the bar in the same way Italians take an espresso. One was certainly enough for us!

However, the absolute highlight of my five day Madeira jaunt was slightly more active. Madeira is famous for its hiking. Thanks to the islands extensive network of levadas, it offers walks to suit all levels of desired exertion. Levadas are little irrigation channels which transport water from the wetter, lush peaks of the north to the drier areas of the south. There’s around 3,000 km of them, travelling through lush forests, dark tunnels and dramatic waterfalls. If hiking is your main reason for visiting Madeira I’d recommend hiring a car but given that I was at the whim of public transport my options were slightly restricted. I had decided to head up to the second highest peak on the island via bus and walk along the PR1 trail to the highest peak and back. However, this plan was scuppered somewhat upon discovering that with the exception of the first kilometre and a half, the trail was closed due to wild fires. I had to rethink. I soon made a new plan and the following morning I filled my new backpack, laced up the hiking shoes and set off at 5:30 am to catch the 6 o’clock bus. It was long before daybreak and the twinkling lights of the city were dancing in the reflection of the harbour as I walked along the deserted promenade. I took the bus up to the second highest peak of the island, Pico do Arieiro, as I’d been recommended to witness the sunrise from up there. The conditions at the top were far removed from the balmy night down below. At just below 6,000 ft high the wind was whipping and whistling around the jagged peaks. Not that I could see them! It was pitch black! Having layered up and lit the torch on my phone I set off along the PR1 for as far as I could go. I’d been recommended by friends to go past the usually crowded first viewpoint and head further along the trail, which is exactly what I did. As I gingerly walked along a mix of steep stepped sections and narrow paths I had a feeling the darkness was hiding some pretty dramatic drops to either side! This was later confirmed on my return! I soon reached the point where the path was barricaded and I took shelter from the whistling wind, far from the other torchlights and distant voices and waited for sunrise.

It’s not often I’m lost for words. Even writing this I don’t know if there’s enough superlatives to do this experience justice. I’ll try, but this really should be experienced first hand. Over the course of the next 45 minutes or so the sky changed colour from it’s inky blackness, to dark blue, deep red, bright orange and a beautiful azure. Each shade changing the whole landscape. As the sun slowly inched above the horizon, the details on the surrounding rockface became more and more clear, as though someone was increasing the clarity on a TV screen. The jagged teeth of the rocky promontories became more defined. But the most incredible part was that this whole scene was all taking place above the cloud! The fluffy layer of cloud stretched far away to the horizon, like a blanket of cotton wool protecting the world below. It was just absolutely breath taking. I really felt as though I was on top of the world. Often, in moments like that, one would think they should be shared with someone else. And yes, whilst it would have been nice to have someone there to witness it with me, to hold their hand whilst watching the natural spectacle that was unfolding, it was almost too big. Too important. Too magnified. Everything else became insignificant. Nothing else mattered in that moment. The only thing that was important was that the sun broke through that fluffy blanket and filled the mountain top with it’s warmth. I again felt at peace.

I had to eventually tear myself away from the mesmerising view as it was time to put in some effort and burn off the pasta del natas I’d enjoyed the day before. As PR1 was no longer an option, I decided to take PR3….down the mountain…..then climb back up! For the next few hours I was in seventh heaven. The crowds swarming around the peak, the cafe and parking lot soon thinned out to the point where I was completely alone on the trail. The sun by now was already a fierce ball in the sky, the bright blue stretched never endingly above me and the reassuring blanket of cloud was nestled below. I descended down to Ribeira das Cales at around 3,700 ft. The path was a wonderful mix of rocky outcrops, mossy heathland, stony canyons and shaded pine forest. The latter had the most wonderful smell as the sun’s heat created a natural pine air freshener. My thighs were quite grateful that the descent was coming to an end and the sight of the beautifully located Forest cafe nestled in a small valley was extremely welcome. After enjoying an espresso, passionfruit juice and an enormous slice of passionfruit cake I set off again. This time the calves were to get the workout! I followed the road for a little way with the intention of picking up a path alongside a levada. I soon found the levada but no sign of a path. Perhaps it was because it was too steep and a bit of clambering was involved! Nevertheless, a fan of adventure, undeterred I followed the babbling irrigation channel and after a mile or so of clambering over fallen trees, scraping my way through brambles I emerged at a road crossing where the path did become evident. Despite the accessibility I didn’t see anyone else on this stretch of levada and thoroughly enjoyed the peace and quiet. Just the chirping of birds and the trickling of water as a soundtrack. I then re-joined PR3 and made my way back up to the summit where I’d started before sunrise. I can honestly say it’s one of the best hikes I’ve ever done.

The adventure continued, as I didn’t fancy hanging around for two hours waiting for the bus back down. So I asked the milling throngs if anyone was heading down the mountain. A lovely Austrian couple took me part of the way where I then started walking with my thumb out. The first car stopped for me, making my first foray in to hitch-hiking very short-lived. This time it was a gorgeous German family who kindly took me all the way down to Funchal. Acts of random kindness like that never cease to amaze me and restores ones faith in humanity. As well as thoroughly enjoying the whole day, having covered 13 miles with a decent amount of elevation gain I also thoroughly enjoyed the delicious steak dinner with my Mum and Stepdad that night! What a day! What a trip! Thank you Madeira…..I’ve a feeling I’ll be back!

Strava Hike Link – https://strava.app.link/zAl8PI0100b

Peace At Last

This morning I woke up early. In fact I hadn’t really slept much. Rather than try and fight the inevitable I decided to embrace it and get up. I donned my running gear, laced up my trainers and headed out the door before sunrise. I’ve recently started enjoying running again. The clearing-the-head effect it has is quite welcome at the moment and for some reason I decided to go in a different direction to normal. I slowly dragged myself up the Janiculum hill, a steep hill named after the double headed god Janus, because from the top one could see the land of the Romans on one side and the land of the Etruscans on the other. There’s a piazza up there with a huge equestrian statue of Garibaldi; commandingly surveying the city below from his steed. The refreshment traders were pulling up their trailer shutters and shaking the rain from the canopies. From the terrace the whole city spreads out before you in all its beauty. The skyline a wonderful mix of church domes, palazzos and iconic monuments. The terrace is a popular place to enjoy the city views, particularly with couples of an evening. But this morning I was one of only a handful of people. As I stood and admired the beauty below it was as though the city itself was slowly waking from it’s slumber; shaking off its hazy blanket from a soggy night of rain, the pink and orange hues of the sky were reflected in the mottled clouds. Despite the cool air pricking my bare arms I decided to stay and watch the sun creep up over the clouds in the distance. The mountains behind enveloping the scene in a reassuring embrace. The ascending sun transformed the city, its warm glow continuously highlighting different parts and soon the ball of orange fully emerged from it’s fluffy shield. The dark, black puddles on the cobblestones at my feet had soon become mirrors of orange and yellow.

I had an overwhelming sense of peace and calm wash over me. I’m pleased I decided to go in a different direction. I needed to see Rome from up there, in that way, as though it was reminding me how incredible it is and how, despite challenges, being there in that moment was worth it. Peace is a word I find myself keeping coming back to at the moment. Sometimes perhaps a different direction is needed in order to find it. During the remainder of my run my mind wandered and thought about the ways in which peace is found. I came to the conclusion, that for me, it isn’t necessarily in solitude. It’s as much about interactions and relationships with people than it is about sunrises or sunsets. The calming effect of speaking to a certain person when you feel upset or anxious is a small but wonderful gift. Whatever the range of emotions you have been feeling, by hearing their voice, their advice and their reassurance that everything will be OK restores that balance and serenity. I’m not sure they always know they’re doing it. Perhaps you have that effect on someone…perhaps I do. But either way it metaphorically feels like coming home and that peace is restored.

I love witnessing the effect of peace on others too. Some of my favourite moments of the previous year were witnessing the reactions of people passing through the holy doors of the Papal Basilicas. The one that got the most wonderous reactions was St Paul’s outside the walls. Countless times I would enter first, walk in to the nave and turn back to wait for my clients. And countless times I was so moved by their reaction to the incredible interior that they found themselves in, as though they had taken a deep, restorative breath. One reaction in particular stood out and will stay with me forever. It was the 3rd of June and my clients that day were the most gorgeous family from Texas. Three generations; two grandparents, two parents and three grandchildren. They had saved up for years to make this trip and just to see how close they were as a family was a beautiful thing. I gave them some space to enjoy the holy door and went ahead as usual to wait in the nave. When I turned to look back the grandfather was awestruck. He looked up and around the vast basilica and as I watched he wiped tears from his eyes. As some of you will know if someone else cries I then start too! So before I knew it we were both stood in the church crying! I remember him telling me how peaceful he felt. I had to agree, of all the religious buildings I’d visited this was the most serene. I highly recommend visiting it if you come to Rome.

Another observational moment of peace from this week was at the “Flowers” exhibit in the Chiostro del Bramante. This beautiful, interactive installation combines art, nature, history and even politics to take the visitor on a wonderful journey through the world of flowers. In one room in particular there is a sofa-type affair in the middle where the visitor can lie down on their back and look up at the installation above, created by Studio Drift to represent the combination of technology and nature. The viewer watches the gorgeous clockwork flowers open and close above them. But what struck me most was, as I waited for my friend, I was watching the group of teenagers, probably on a school trip, who filled the sofa after us. They were all laying there, heads together at the centre, looking up at the art. There was no shouting or cracking jokes, no boisterous behaviour and above all there wasn’t a mobile phone in sight. They were still, quiet and calm as they shared in the experience of witnessing the changing colours above them. It was really lovely to see.

“Peace at Last” was a favourite book of ours as children. A lovely little tale by Jill Murphy telling the story of Mr Bear trying to get to sleep. Whilst it might not be the most profound tale, it does result in Mr Bear enjoying a nice cup of tea; the reassuring, classic British solution to all problems. So whether peace for you can be found in a sunrise, a conversation, a good book or a hug-in-a-mug I hope this year is a year of peace for you too.

It was one of those days….

Last week started off with one of those days that just will not go to plan, despite how hard you try. I’ve realised it’s best sometimes to just embrace that, go with whatever the day throws at you and write it off.

I was scheduled to do a Catacombs and Crypts tour. Not the usual small group though, this was a private booking for a three hour visit to include private pick up, a visit to the Catacombs, then back to the Capuchin Crypts. There are several Catacombs which one can visit whilst visiting Rome. They’re all outside of the city walls, as one of the rules of Ancient Rome was that the dead were to be buried beyond the city limits. These locations were initially quarries which were then repurposed as burial sites. Whilst they no longer contain remains they are networks and labyrinths of tunnels, chambers and tombs with some beautiful decorations and some of the earliest Christian artwork that exists. The most popular ones to visit are the the catacombs of San Calisto, Priscilla and San Sebastiano. The latter of which I was due to take my three clients to as part of Monday’s tour. The night before, I decided to check something on their website and discovered that they were in fact closed the following day. Dammit. I quickly started searching for another one to substitute. The next one I checked…also closed, then the next, then the next. Turns out, thanks to seasonal maintenance work, there wasn’t a single catacombs site open on Monday. Disaster!

So I had to greet the customers at their beautiful hotel the following morning and do something which I absolutely hate doing; start a tour with bad news! (Incidentally, it was not the first time I had to do that. The other week the closing of the Holy Doors took many people by surprise and having to deliver that news to one group resulted in tears from one lovely lady. As well as me feeling extremely sorry for the man who had battled stage 4 cancer all year and was only just fit enough to make the journey from the USA to Rome, specifically to go through the Holy Doors! What a disaster!)

Anyway, I was really hoping these clients were first time visitors to Rome so I could whizz them round the city in the luxury minivan and allow the beauty and monuments to compensate. Unfortunately, they had visited many times before and requested just to do the Crypts part of the tour instead. So off we went to the Capuchin Crypts that are located on Via Veneto.

I love doing tours here, it’s a wonderfully unique place with such an intriguing history. The Order of the Capuchin Friars was founded in 1528 in Viterbo by two brothers Matteo and Ludovico. They disagreed with the relaxing views of the Franciscan Order which had been founded by St Francis of Assisi in 1209 and wanted to create a stricter order focused on piety, penance and poverty for the purpose of serving those in need. They came to Rome in 1529 but at the end of that century they were forced to relocate after a severe flood. Eventually, after several different locations Pope Urban VIII of the Barberini family constructed a new, permanent home for the friars which they inhabited in 1631. This complex includes six small chambers or crypts underneath the church which have been creatively decorated in a rather unusual way…with bones. There are many stories surrounding how this came to be but the most accepted is that the bones were from 3,700 skeletons of past friars which were collected from the previous friaries and left in these chambers. Sometime between 1732 and 1775 an artist on the run took sanctuary here and spent his time rather wisely! He decorated the crypts in a weirdly wonderful way, full of symbolism linking back to the order. I recommend adding this to your list of places to visit in Rome.

So on this particular doomed morning, I arrived with my three lovely clients, a mother, father and daughter from the USA. However, the crypts didn’t actually open for another 15 minutes! This really wasn’t going well! I filled the time with chat and a look around the church before finally entering the crypts. However, it went from bad to worse. The admission team informed me of a rule change and since the start of the new year only specific guides could carry out tours inside! I begged them to let me do just this one as I was already there with the customers but instead was just thrust the piece of paper stating the new rule! I couldn’t believe it! I then had to explain all the history and information to the clients outside, I went in with them under the strict instructions not to explain anything to them at all! I spent the next hour subtly talking out the corner of my mouth and trying not to point! What a disaster! Luckily, I was blessed with lovely clients who were exceedingly understanding and grateful nonetheless.

My day continued on the theme of epic failure as I decided to detour on my way home, to go and see the two angel statues created by Bernini. They were originally created for the Ponte St Angelo bridge, but Pope Clement IX deemed them far too precious to be left outside in the elements so took them for himself. They’ve subsequently ended up in one of Rome’s many churches! As I entered the church, the bell rang to mark the beginning of the noon mass. I turned to leave, thinking a return visit another day was needed. I heard the opening phrases from the priest and I realised he was talking in English. I turned back around and something pulled me to a pew and encouraged me to stay. So I ended up attending mass! After which, I realised I had read duff information and it wasn’t even that church which housed Bernini’s angels after all! I gave up, went home and had a cup of tea! Hopefully the rest of the week wouldn’t carry on in the same vein!

A New Chapter

(Warning: A self-indulgent, reflective post ensues. Normal sight-seeing recommendations will resume shortly.)

Have you ever experienced the following feeling? You’re in a bookshop; a peaceful little haven of tranquillity. A slice of paradise away from the hustle and bustle of the tech-filled modern world. A rare vestige of time gone by. You’re blissfully perusing the shelves, ignoring all other demands on your time. In situations such as these time stands still. You could be in there for five minutes or perhaps an hour. Maybe you’re attracted to the title, the cover or the genre. But when you settle on something that tempts you, you pull it from its space on the shelf, you turn it over and lose yourself in reading the blurb and get a sense of intrigue, excitement, anticipation or if you’re lucky, all three. You know it’s going to be impossible to walk out of the shop without that book. Isn’t that one of the best feelings in the world? To be excited by something that you don’t yet fully know or understand but you’re sure the experience of it can only enrich your life.

I feel slightly like that at this point in my life. I was recently in a bookshop. I had nowhere to be. No one demanding my attention. I was able to fully immerse myself in those moments of unbridled joy. Just me and those pages. A rare guilty pleasure. It was of course no coincidence that I left as the grateful new owner of Marco Polo’s The Travels and Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, two classics that epitomise two of my greatest passions: travel and history. Instead of ‘A New Chapter’ this article should perhaps be entitled ‘A New Book’, because that’s how significant I feel the recent changes in my life have been. Some of you reading this will know me extremely well, some less so and some won’t know me at all. But due to some significant changes in my life, it feels like my whole existence has been flipped on it’s head. I’m no longer a wife, a dependent, a significant other. Whilst this could leave one feeling unanchored and adrift, I instead have those same feelings of intrigue and excitement when you land on one of those books. Readers of these posts will know that someone significant in my life (both she and I didn’t perhaps know at the time how significant her and her words would become) once told me to “climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, smile more and cry less. Life should be lived as we go along.” If I’ve learnt anything from previous years, it’s that life is too short not to be happy. I’m not talking about just managing or getting by. I mean a life that brings you joy. Not just to you, but to those around you as well. If that isn’t happening then perhaps something has to change. Initially I felt a sense of failure. Those that know me, know that I don’t like to fail or quit at anything. Giving up is not in my wheelhouse. But then I realised that wasn’t the case at all. It was accepting the situation for what it is, addressing it and making the necessary changes to fully live life for all of those involved. Whilst that wasn’t the vision five, ten, twenty years ago it’s realising that doesn’t actually matter. Life is a full, exciting rollercoaster of a journey with twists and turns, dips and rises that makes it what it is. There’s no point trying to control where those tracks take you, it’s a futile exercise. There’s no changing the direction or trajectory, so we may as well embrace it, raise our hands to the sky and enjoy the ride.

“It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men and women mad, it’s the regret of yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.”

I don’t think there’s many other places on earth where one can feel such a tiny, insignificant cog in the machine that we call life, as here in Rome. Alright, there are older civilizations but have they had the same impact on the world. I count myself lucky everyday that I get to call this city home. A city that was founded nearly 2,780 years ago. On April 21st 753 BC to be precise. I love this place. I love the people. I love the history. Now I just need to figure out a way to navigate the bureaucracy and find a way to stay here. To continue doing what I love in the most incredible city on Earth.

A New Pope – History in the Making

Once again it’s been a while since I’ve written anything but recent events here in Rome have compelled me to document the afternoon of May 7th, so future me can’t possibly forget.

With the news of Pope Francis’s death on Monday, 21st April, there was a sombre atmosphere in the city. However, with the conclusion of the funeral arrangements, this soon morphed into a sense of anticipation as all eyes turned to the Sistine Chapel for the traditional conclave. I’m not a Catholic, or in fact particularly religious at all. However, over recent months, my interest in the Catholic world has increased. One of the tours I regularly carry out is called the Three Basilicas, where we visit three of the four papal basilicas in Rome. These are Saint Mary Major, Saint Paul’s outside the walls and Saint John’s in the Lateran. Needless to say I’ve learnt a huge amount about these beautiful basilicas, which all have an open holy door as we are currently in a Jubilee year. All three sanctuaries are distinctly different and have very varied architectural styles, despite all dating back to the fourth century. Because I spend so much time in these beautiful places (sometimes walking through a holy door up to 24 times a week!) where I’m surrounded by tombs of past popes or regaling the lives of saints, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the current situation at the Vatican.

Conclave started on May 7th. The cardinals entered the Sistine Chapel in the afternoon, the usual prayers were recited and the famous words “extra omnes” were announced. Meaning all extra personnel were to leave. Whilst it was very unlikely white smoke would be seen on the first vote we decided to go down and watch anyway. I wanted to see some smoke, no matter what the colour, to witness a small piece of history. So off we went to St Peters. Well Via delle Conciliazione to be precise, the road leading up to St Peter’s square from Castel Sant’Angelo. I met my friend Emma, who lives nearby and we stood soaking in the excited atmosphere for a couple of hours. People started to get restless, quizzical expressions were exchanged amongst the crowd, what was the delay? The rumour mill soon started grinding. But due to a prior engagement, we had to call time and leave. The black smoke eventually appeared soon after 9pm.

The following day I had a tour so I couldn’t return for the morning session. It was black smoke again. Mid-afternoon approached, it was hot, I was tired, the hours of waiting the evening before didn’t compel me to try again. However, something told me I should go. So I grabbed Peggy and we cycled down in to town. I felt sure it was still too early for a result but I didn’t care, the atmosphere was so lovely and jovial and I was just happy to witness smoke of any colour. By the time I’d made it through the security check, it was about 5pm; I joined the thousands of other people milling about in St Peter’s Square. People were sat leaning against the barriers, gathered in the slither of shadow cast by the giant obelisk or some even sat cross-legged playing cards. I also assumed the latter position right in the middle next to a gorgeous Mexican family. Their little two-year-old boy Nicolas and Peggy were soon firm friends. It always amazes me how easy it is to overcome a language barrier, the language of laughter is truly universal. He really was the cutest little boy and he was so gentle with Peggy. His father told me how they were on a big European trip and like so many other people had decided to see if they could also witness some smoke emerge from the chimney. An hour or so of sitting in the sun and playing games soon disappeared. 6pm ticked by and we all assumed we were between the two afternoon votes by now, I’d resigned myself to the fact that it would likely be another hour at least. I’d just glanced down at my phone when shrieking and cheering broke out all around. I looked up at the sight of plumes of white smoke pouring out of the chimney high up on the roof of the Sistine Chapel. Everyone jumped to their feet and started clapping and cheering. They’d done it. On the fourth vote, they’d elected a new Pope. Even Peggy joined in the celebrations by barking furiously! The emotion was palpable. I found myself choking up and tears started flowing. The little boy was in his Dad’s arms and we all hugged. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t there with anyone else, we were all witnessing history being made together.

The relaxed ambience had changed instantly, people started rushing forwards towards St Peter’s Basilica to get the best view of the balcony. Soon there wasn’t a spare inch of space as more and more people rushed to fill the piazza to glimpse the new Pope for the first time. I found myself joining the flow forward and before long Peggy and I assumed a new position. She in my arms whilst we all stood and waited. After about an hour the balcony doors finally opened, an announcement was made which no one could really hear and the new Pope emerged on to the balcony. From the surrounding Italians I heard “Chi e?” “Who is it?” and finally someone shouted “Americano”. Due to the lack of phone signal no one could consult the news channels. But it didn’t matter, we listened to Pope Leo XIV’s address, cheered and clapped in the right places and before long Peggy and I were swept along with the joyous hoards of people leaving St Peter’s square.

What an incredible event to witness! I consider myself very lucky to have been there and I’m so thankful I listened to the inner voice telling me to go. Pope Francis has been entombed in Saint Mary Major, the first basilica on my tour. I’ve already taken many clients past his beautiful, simple tomb and I’ll undoubtedly take many more. I hope for the sake of the world, Pope Leo XIV continues his great work. It was clear, even to an atheist, that in St Peter’s Square on that Thursday afternoon, there were no wars, there wasn’t an ounce of hate, there was only unbridled love and joy; and that’s something really quite beautiful.