A direct flight has its advantages, but it really doesn’t make you feel like you’ve travelled at all. Slept deeply through the night flight then was in my hotel, seemingly in minutes. My mind knew this was Rome but I didn’t feel the journey in my bones. It felt more like I’d taken a bus to Québec City, if that.

Did, however, find myself unable to breathe upon seeing the Colosseum this afternoon. It wasn’t so much the poor Christian bastards who met their end there, nor the Gladiators whose blood I probably would have smelled from where I stood, just a connection to everything that’s happened before my little life and everything that comes after it. That feeling is always short and fleeting, but immensely comforting.

Finished the day the way you imagine a typical moment in Rome. Panacotta and espresso at a trattoria on a square, a fedora’ed quartet playing songs that make everyone sway from side to side, a group of perfectly dressed older Italian men at another table clapping along.

Will head back now, planning to fall asleep in front of bad Italian TV.