When they announced that we might go to the “view” next time, Erin and I raised our eyebrows. If they were planning a move, this may be the place. Antonio drove up the hill and parked at the point of view. Night Rome glittered on the opposite side of the river. We admired the panorama, took photos and returned to the automotive.
The next point was the Aventine Hill. As we climbed the silent hill at the hours of darkness, we were alone and our guides were silent about our destination. It didn’t escape us that this was precisely the type of situation we had been warned to avoid, and yet we continued on. When we finally reached the old, imposing green door, Fabrizio and Antonio stopped, smiled and nodded. Erin tried to close the latch. It was closed.
“Look in the keyhole,” Antonio suggested.
She leaned forward and gasped, then moved away to give me a probability.
Inside the opening, lit and framed like a nesting doll, was the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. It was the scale of a thimble and was probably the most magical thing I had ever seen in all of Europe.
There were more stops, more points of view, more sexy songs. Fabrizio promised to send me tapes of Luc Carboni in exchange for country music. Eventually they took us back to our place pension, where we exchanged addresses and kisses on each cheeks. Despite all of the sexy lines, the evening never became romantic.
Women, especially those traveling, are continually warned to be careful for men and remain vigilant – solid advice I learned the hard way. But on that luminous evening, something modified for me, something great and essential in the facility of intuition. It was a change that helped transform me right into a world traveler and ready me, 16 years later, to recognize one other handsome man as man with a sort soul.
