Day in My Life: Rome Edition

Savina Villani

Staff Writer Abroad

I rise well after the sun in my single at the Villino Dufault, an adorable building perched atop a small hill, a building just tall enough to catch some rays of light as they creep down to wake the ground from its cool slumber. It’s about fifty eight degrees in February––warm enough to go out with long sleeves and no jacket.

I make my five minute walk to Dolce Voy, a place to get some caffè è dolce with a friend or two. On the way back, I stuff a €4,00 receipt for my cappuccino and cornetto into my pocket. If we’re lucky, a cat may approach us––otherwise, he’ll timidly watch us carry out our morning small talk. I punch in the code for the gate and walk in, maybe greeting an Assumptionist tending the garden on the way back into the Villino.

We talk or read together in the community room where our meals take place until class begins. Oftentimes classes can take place on-site, in a church or historical location, but today we’re reviewing in our small classroom in the cold basement. We listen to our professors, whether they have a thick accent or not, lecture on the wonders and heritage of Rome, and by the time class is over, it’s time for lunch. I greet Lucia, the cleaning lady, on the way out of the Villino as she hums a lovely little tune to herself.

Several of us explore the city together, looking for new food or places to visit. We walk a few minutes to the metro station and hop on a train, sometimes knowing exactly where we want to go, sometimes not. We find lunch somewhere, navigating the Italian menus with words unfamiliar to most Villinians––spaghetti alle vongole or a pasta arrabbiata, to try something new, perhaps choosing to savor an occasional glass of wine.

After wiping the plate clean with a piece of bread, we pay the bill and walk around the streets, either hunting for a museum or just wandering into a random yet extravagant church with paintings by Raphael or Filippino Lippi, or sculptures by Michelangelo or Bernini. We marvel at these works of art, analyzing scrupulously the elements of each work and trying to assign them to a time period––or even better, a specific artist.

I always look for the organ in the church, or I try to read some of the Latin inscriptions as a supplement to my independent study. Me and a couple others say a quick and private prayer, while the rest of the small group respectfully wanders, oftentimes looking up with gaping mouths in awe––a look that marvels over the intricate ceiling frescoes or coffering, a look of awareness that somebody spent hours refining the most minute detail in that room.

After our little excursion at a church or museum, we return, sometimes preferring the bus over the metro; it all depends on CityMapper’s suggestion backed by its navigating information beyond our immediate grasp––soon enough, we’ll know the city well enough to not need the app.

We walk back from the bus or metro stop into the Villino, some of us choosing to relax in our respective rooms, others to read on the terrace if it’s not raining. A slight breeze nudges the

drying clothes on the racks as our eyes pass gently over the fluttering pages of our books. Oftentimes, we put the books down and tell jokes, others, we make fun of the weird bird calls, and others still we walk to the railing and soak in the view until dinnertime.

Then (usually at precisely 19:26), I’ll march down to the basement dining room to claim my seat, following the savory scent that wafts up all four floors of the Villino. The assigned weekly student servers will gently place our meals, cooked by either chef Monica or Giampaolo, on the table. We tease each other through our primi, wiping our plates clean with pieces of bread. By the second course, the food brings the conversation to an end. We eat at our own pace––some of us savoring smaller bites, others ravenously tearing through the delectable meal.

After dessert, the assigned clean-up crew sings over the sink, yells through a steaming-hot rack of plates, gossips putting them away, complains over trash duty, and smiles, silently sweeping.

The day is over––I read in my dorm, journal about the day’s adventures, and say a little prayer before bed. I often marvel at the incredible experiences I’m having, all thanks to the opportunity Assumption gave me; that after even a month of staying here, of having some space to appreciate the beauty of everything I work so hard for in Worcester, I’ve learned so much about myself in the context of the world.

I always remind myself that I may never get this chance to explore myself not just intellectually, but a bit more pragmatically; it makes me want to find myself in every place I visit––in the churches, the museums, the panoramic views. To read the world as if it were a book, to glean from it everything I can, to find a sense of community and belonging even in a foreign place, it’s more powerful than I had anticipated.

I hope that anyone reading this would consider studying abroad as a formative experience at a crucial point in his or her development as a human being. Studying abroad embodies the spirit of the Catholic liberal arts education that Assumption strives to provide, and unquestionably it is worth overcoming all the perceived barriers and obstacles that we imagine prevent us from leaving the comfortable bubble we find at the small Worcester campus.