Kipp and I were chasing the world—one flight, one story at a time. En route to Egypt, Rome handed us a 10-hour layover. For Kipp, it was his first taste of Italy. We were jetlagged, worn thin, and could’ve curled up at the airport. But Rome doesn’t wait, and neither do we. Too much history, too much chaos, too much beauty packed into one city to waste even a second.
ipp and I hopped the train into the city—twenty bucks and a scenic ride through the outskirts of Rome. A taxi? That would’ve set us back a hundred bucks one way. Insanity. Still, we had time to burn and the option in our back pocket if it came to that. First stop: water. It was blistering out, and hydration wasn’t optional. Luckily, Rome’s got these ancient water fountains—nasoni—scattered all over the city, pouring out cold, clean water like a gift from the gods.
We stepped off the train and made our way through the Roman streets to the Trevi Fountain. Packed. Shoulder to shoulder with tourists, cameras flashing, everyone jostling for their perfect shot. It wasn’t easy to get a clear view, but we waited it out. This was Kipp’s first real taste of Rome—the chaos, the beauty, the history humming beneath the noise. After soaking it in, we drifted through narrow alleys and sunlit piazzas, heading toward the Pantheon, chasing shadows of the empire.
We wandered the narrow alleyways until they opened up into the square—and there it was, bathed in afternoon light. The Pantheon. Massive, stoic, impossibly old. A pagan temple turned church, still standing like it had something left to say. This wasn’t something you just passed by. We grabbed tickets and went in.
Around the plaza, cafés tried to sell the view, but most were blocked by scaffolding. Not the moment for a beer anyway. That’ll have to wait. Inside, it was cool, quiet. Kipp stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in. For the first time that day, the noise faded. This—this was Rome. Ancient history, finally, in the flesh.
We kept moving, the streets guiding us toward the towering white monument ahead—the Vittoriano. It’s impossible to miss. Ten years ago, I stood here wondering what the hell it was, why anyone built something so over-the-top. I still don’t have a great answer. But it’s massive, bold, unapologetically grand. And that kind of spectacle? It sticks with you.
Not far now. Just down the road was the reason I ever set foot in Rome in the first place—the Colosseum. The one that had haunted my imagination for years. We were close. You could almost feel it in the stones.
We walked—and walked some more—until finally, there it was. The Arch. And just beyond it, the Colosseum. No matter how many pictures you’ve seen, nothing prepares you for the scale of it. The first time I saw it, it knocked the wind out of me. In the U.S., we’ve got big stadiums, sure—but nothing this old, this defiant. Modern arenas are expected to be massive. This was ancient ambition carved into stone.
Kipp and I stood there, soaking it in. We talked history, joked about what he had to look forward to when he got home—books, documentaries, probably me sending him links for weeks. I asked if he wanted to go in, stand in line. He thought about it. But we both knew—this wasn’t the day. If we’re going to do it, we’ll do it right. Not a rushed tour, not crammed into a couple of hours. Next time.
For now, the hunger kicked in. It was time to eat.
We found it—food and beer with a view of the Colosseum. Couldn’t have asked for a better sendoff. When in Rome, right? Italian food was the only option. I went classic: pizza and a cold beer. It hit the spot. Thousands of miles from home, yet that simple combo made everything feel familiar, grounded.
As the day started to wind down, we knew it was time to head back. The train station was a walk away, and we had the timing dialed in—four hours to spare. Everything was mapped out. No panic, just a steady march through the Roman heat. We moved fast. Maybe too fast. But did we really? The air was thick and heavy, reminding us we weren’t done traveling yet. Egypt was next.
