All Good Things

I knew that I couldn't stay in Rome forever, but I was trying. With both money and clean underwear running out, my days were numbered. And so, after one final slice of vegan pizza yesterday, I (very grudgingly) dragged my wheely case to Termini station and boarded the train for Lausanne.

The beauty of the Tuscan countryside gliding by the train window helped to defray some of the sadness at leaving a city that captured my heart. So much has been written about Rome that I am not going to even attempt to do it any sort of literary justice here (I am, after all, supposed to be talking about being a vegan Ironman-in-training, although I have talked about vegan pizza more than once, right?) So here's my final muse on the eternal city:

They say that you can feel the presence of the dead in Rome, and when I ran along the banks of the Tiber I thought about how the waters ran red with bloodshed more than once in the city's history. How can a city where the past is so present still teem with life and passion in a unabashedly modern way? How can a city exude chaos the moment you step onto it's streets, but never fail to communicate a sense of harmony and equilibrium as you walk through them? This ability to be concurrently vibrant and somber, unruly and majestic, ancient and alive, is something I have never experienced in a place before. Either Rome is special, or I have some more traveling to do.

I developed a cold on the journey home (a psychosomatic response to returning to Switzerland, I'm sure), and have woken to a white landscape under grey skies this morning. I went for a 30-minute run on icy roads, taking itty-bitty steps to avoid slipping. My energy levels are excellent and I long to do more, but I don't want my current low-grade sniffles to develop into anything more. So I plan to stay home and mope for the rest of today, and perhaps tomorrow.

I miss my vegan pizza.