We spent the final two days of our Italian expedition in Rome, where my husband lived for many months between college, meeting me (oh, fate), and his architectural studies at Yale. I didn't know him then, but I feel, through all the years of storytelling, that I somehow did. How he sang in the subways to make ends meet. How he lived with his aunt and adorable cousins. How he took courses in etching in an old building through which a massive column rose as if from the very center of the earth.
In our last day in Rome, we set out looking for the essence of the city my husband remembers and for the etching studio itself.
We got this close.
The Coliseum (home of gladiators, lions, horrible "games," tremendous elliptical architecture)
The Palatine Hill (the origins of Rome, lived in since 1,000 BC)
A Renaissance street fair.
An accordion player setting up on a Sunday in the Jewish Quarter.
The Pantheon (Augustus Caesar himself was behind its making).
One of at least a dozen weddings I saw during my 36 hours in Rome.
My husband finding his old etching home.
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