But did I?
Did I "conquer?"
I definitely Vini'd, and God knows I Vidi'd, but did I Vici?
I look back on everything I did that weekend...
And I really did profites en!
My time in Italy was coming to a close. Sunday afternoon we boarded the bus (or tram? One of those. I forget) to the Vatican.
And I found something out on my last day in Italia.
Some Italian people, well just a few, they sort of blatantly well, how do I put this...
Actually, I'll just tell the story.
So, Natalie and I are walking to the stop for the bus (tram? This is what happens when you finish a blogs MONTHS after the fact), and an old man waiting saw us approaching and began to yell-a-something-fierce in Italian.
I'm not sure if he was having a bad day, or it was directed at us because he clearly seemed to be looking and gesturing at us while he yelled.
I turned to Natalie and asked what the old man's problem was.
His Italian was so fast—she couldn't make it out.
Ah, whatever. I thought he was just annoyed by tourists—understandable, I guess. I mean, I certainly didn't look Italian.
So, forgetting about this, I hopped on whatever mode of transportation this was, and we began our journey to the Vatican.
At one stop a black man came aboard. A few moments later, Natalie spoke outta the blue.
Maybe he's just a racist asshole, she said.
Huh? I responded, at this point having no idea what she was talking about.
The old man, Natalie said.
Apparently he was all quiet until the black man got aboard, and then he started yelling and gesturing at him, similar to what happened when he saw me.
*Momentary fast forward* When I returned to France I ended up asking Getro about it (who was Haitian and knew a thing or two about European Culture). And he was like, yeah, that happens over there. You all may have heard about the soccer incident. Apparently it's a thing.
Anyways, we eventually made it to the Vatican, where I did a Hail Mary (heh, heh, heh) and went right in the middle of the street to get a picture of St. Peter's while Natalie looked out to make sure no cars where coming to run me over.
We looked at the line to enter.
Yeah...
That would not be happening. I already knew I wouldn't have the chance to go inside. In fact, this whole time I was traveling with my bags. I'd be going to the airport that afternoon.
Oh yeah! Almost forgot. A stand right outside of St. Peter's was selling Gatorade! I was so proud, y'all. Gator Nation represent.
Anyways, after looking through a few gift shops, we left the Vatican and headed to the place where I could catch a bus to the airport. I wish I wrote this earlier so I could have done a better job of explaining the situation at hand.
I was quickly running out of cash. I should have brought more with me to Italy, but I didn't anticipate the tour. Every few minutes, my mind was trying to calculate how much I would need to buy a bus ticket to the airport, and from there, how much I would need to get a bus ticket from the airport to Porte Maillot, where I could use my Navigo to get back to Malakoff.
If my calculations served me correct, I had just about enough to buy the two tickets, and that was it. No room for mistakes. If anything happened, I wouldn't be able to afford a taxi.
So I couldn't mess around. The last thing I wanted to be was stranded at Paris Beauvais airport.
I bought my bus ticket (actually I stood by and let Natalie do the whole speaking in Italian thing). Apparently a few minutes after buying the ticket, I had to go right back in line to "verify" it or some nonsense like that.
So after that, we waited.
And Voilà.
Circle theory.
Some of you might remember my first day in Italy when Natalie and I got off the bus from the airport and a torrential downpour followed.
It was only fitting, then, that it began to storm while Natalie and I waited for the bus to take me to the airport back to France.
We were under a covering with a ton of other people waiting for their buses. When one bus came, a huge crowd of people left the covering to stand outside the bus (it was like a megabus type of thing) to show their registration and get their bags on. A mass of people, all pushing to get on the bus quick, were repeatedly pushed back by one of the workers.
And then it began to hail.
It was mess. A beautiful mess. (Really good Jason Mraz song btw)
So anyways, soon (who am I kidding? It seemed like it took forever) a bus was approaching—my bus, so Natalie and I said our good byes.
It wasn't until after she left that I realized it wasn't my bus. So I waited solo for a little longer. I was not happy standing with this wet, pushy mass of people. I was not happy at all.
I was through. J'en avais marre.
Finally, my bus came and I hopped aboard. A nice, dry place to sit. Eventually I reached the airport.
I'll get through the rest of this quickly because honestly it happened so long ago.
After security and check in, I searched for my gate. Bedlam. Just a super crowded mass of people. I couldn't tell where one line ended and the other began. When I found the section for my flight to France, I stood around the other passengers and suddenly my mood brightened a little.
Some passengers in line were speaking French.
I have never been so happy to hear French in my life. I felt relief. I felt comfortable. It didn't even seem foreign to me.
It took going all the way to Italy to realize I was slowly becoming a Parisien.
P.S.
I made it back to Paris without a hitch, but I only had about a couple of euros left in my bag. No worries, that was enough for Orangina at the metro stop. I was hyper soif, so I tried to buy one, but the machine didn't work. It was devastating, really.
P.S.S.
I know. Cool story bro.
P.S.S.S.
A special thank you to Natalie Sepulveda. I'll never forget that weekend—ever. Thanks for having me!
