Eternal City, Chapter 1: The Beginnings Of All Things Are Small

Someone once said that the past is a foreign country, and people do things differently there. I think it was a British writer who first used said phrase, sixty or so years ago, as the opening of his book. It was a study of the paradox where humans feel alienated from their past, yet are not free from it as previous experiences, even those seemingly forgotten, continue to exist within their subconscious and influence their actions. 

Certainly, one cannot deny the ever-present role the past has in shaping our lives. It is a heritage at once nurturing and burdensome, it allows us to explain why things ended up as they are but also impose powerful constraints upon the way the present develops. We are taught to express gratitude towards our ancestors, whose endless sacrifices made it possible for us to enjoy a comfortable life, and then burdened with the expectation we must do the same for those who will come after us. It is not a wrong way of thinking, for as much as we humans like to celebrate some aspects of the past and quietly ignore others, very few can deny that the world in the past was a difficult place to live in. 

How many diseases, once thought lethal, have been eradicated or a cure for them has been found thanks to brave men and women who decided to assist those whom society had judged beyond help, easing their burdens and studying the root causes until their understanding grew big enough to devise a solution? Countless number of people looked up at the sky and dreamed to fly free like a bird, some just refused to discard it as a mere childish delusion once they grew up and kept trying until man-made flight left the realm of myth and fantasy to become a reality. And how about that person who wanted to write a letter for his distant family, looked at the paper sheets and pen in his hands, thought ‘too slow’ and then went to invent the telephone? Both impeccable logic and the peak of human ingenuity, it’s hard to top that.

All through history humanity faced challenges of all types. They suffered. They endured. And then they pushed back until the challenge was either won or restrained with an often uneasy truce and a silent promise of ‘this isn’t over yet, just you wait’. Even if the other side was a mountain, an ocean or another unthinking part of reality. Especially in those cases. Human beings sure are amazing.

But what, then, of those who disregard the past? Labeling everything that came before them as outdated and unnecessary, their gazes firmly locked on the future? They don’t care about how things came to be, only the manner in which they can further improve the world around them for their own benefit. And as a result, they keep making the same old mistakes. Parents work tirelessly to improve their family’s wealth and social standing, aiming to give their progeny a comfortable life and many advantages, only for a son to thoughtlessly squander the family’s money because he didn’t learn the harsh lessons that came from earning said wealth. Small towns get depopulated as bright-eyed young people leave for the big cities, bewitched by the promises of a world much more colorful and exciting than a place that remained mostly unchanged during the past decades. Or, using another example, you enter high school and half of your new classmates greet you like old friends but you cannot even remember their names... speaking for a friend here.

Then, on the other side of the scale, we have those unable to leave the past. A man keeps obsessing about a girlfriend that left him, unable to accept their relationship already ended and desperately hoping for a second chance to make things right. The performance of an aging athlete starts to decline, yet he refuses to stop playing even if it leads to many mistakes and a forced retirement; maybe he’s unwilling to accept being outmatched by younger (and in his eyes less skilled) people, or maybe he has focused so much of his life around being an ‘athlete’ that now he’s unable to see anything past it.

The people who prefer the past to the future look at the new, at the shiny, at the colorful and don’t see a better life, but only the unknown. And, since times immemorial, man has always feared what they don’t know. There is not a single challenge in history that didn’t start with a feeling of apprehension and dread. Today we may be used to electricity powering our TVs and cellphones for our amusement, easily available simply by inserting a plug into an outlet, but the first meeting our ancestors had with electricity was in the form of lightning bolts striking down from the sky. Even in this day and age, isn’t it natural for such a phenomenon to strike fear deep into your heart? You can learn about the science behind lightning strikes and storms all you want, spend entire decades advancing your understanding, yet all that knowledge will serve you very little when it’s night, the wind is howling, the rain is pouring down so thick it’s like the water from a shower, and suddenly a fissure seems to split the sky apart. Blinding light pours out of the abyss and the uncountable cracks spreading from its surface, for a second or two it enthralls you with the silent promise of forbidden knowledge and priceless treasures waiting just on the other edge of reality, the otherworldly gates that bar the path opening just for you.

Only for the whole world to roar in fury, agony and boundless savagery. It hits you like thousands of punches swung in blind anger, the sound reverberating through your whole body as teeth, bones and nerves vibrate like a temple gong struck by a monk that took a head start and leaped forward at full speed.

It’s scary.

It’s dangerous.

I don’t want it.

I need to get away. Get away. Get away.

...That’s what fills your head, every other higher thought process going silent as your lizard brain takes over for the sake of survival. It’s the feeling carved into our DNA since the dawn of time. It doesn’t matter if we understand how lightning strikes happen or not, because knowing how it works doesn’t make them less scary. Less dangerous. It’s the occasional but painful reminder that humanity has mastered only one facet of electricity, and that what flows through a cable is just a shadow of a shadow of what nature can do. 

Is the fact humanity, despite everything, was still capable of mastering electricity even to just this degree admirable? Of course it is, that one American inventor deserves the highest form of gratitude and to have his name remembered forever. But there is a big difference between a challenge you need to overcome to guarantee your survival, and one where it’s just... easier to run away, less complicated. Close the door, turn off the lights, put your head under the pillow and wait for the scary stuff to stop. As a rule of thumb people stick to the familiar, to what they know best, and shy away from what is still vague and uncertain. 

It’s human nature. As a species we may be able to go above that but it doesn’t mean the same capacity manifests equally in everyone. Otherwise, the world would be a very different place.

In the end, those who stick to the past do so for the opposite reason of those who disregard it: rather than trust the future they are wary of it, skeptical there is truly a benefit to overcoming possible challenges. Afraid they will lose what they already have and be left with nothing. It sure would be nice, to have so much confidence it’s oozing out all over the floor and you don’t even notice because you’re just so full of it. No hesitation, no consideration for the possible consequences, only rushing ahead while shouting at the top of your lungs like a shounen protagonist. Alas, time is cruel and the world keeps moving ever onward: the people who blindly look only at the future will have a chance to regret their decisions, but those who yearn for the past have no choice but to take a step forward.

Whether you’re prepared for it or not.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent.” The voice of the hostess announces through the speakers, her voice slightly distorted. I tear my gaze away from the window and its relaxing vista of a cool azure sky interspersed with fluffy white clouds, only now registering the feeling of being pulled upward by an invisible force. “Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have landed. Be certain your seat back is straight up and your seat belt is fastened. Please secure your carry-on items, stow your tray table, and pass any remaining service items and unwanted reading materials to the flight attendants. Thank you.”

How odd, I thought we still had a few hours before our arrival. No matter, I could wonder about it later and it’s not a topic I particularly care about in the first place. The phone has been inside my backpack since our departure and I don’t have any other item on me at the moment, so all that’s left is to set my seat straight and fasten my belt. Once the metal tip slides inside the buckle with a noticeable click I give it a tug, nodding in satisfaction when it proves secure.

Only then do I shake the shoulder of the guy sleeping on the seat next to me until he wakes up. “U-Uh?! What’s, what’s going on?” He yawns loudly without even covering his mouth, rubbing his bleary eyes before looking around in confusion at the airplane’s sudden activity rush.

“We’re about to land.” I inform him with a dispassionate tone while resting my back against the seat and pulling my hands on my lap. “You better fasten your belt quickly, Kota.”

“For real?! Thanks for the head-up Osamu!” For a guy who prizes himself for his physical prowess he sure needs more time than me to fasten his belt, and I prefer hitting the books than to get up at five in the morning to run around the campus multiple times. This on top of all the training Kota already does with his team, even I know stressing your body excessively is bad for your health so why is this guy always fresh as a daisy? Once done the black-haired young man leans back with a sigh. “My sleep cycle is all messed up. Why did we need to go all the way to the other side of the world?”

That’s easy. “Because our university decided to make us go on a trip abroad before our graduation.”

“I know! Still have no idea where they found the money for it...” Neither do I. Let’s be real, we both attend a decent university but it isn’t anywhere as good as, say, Todai or Handai. At least in regard to having funds for not strictly necessary stuff. I am a soon-to-be finance graduate, what use do I have for a multiple-weeks trip to a country where English isn’t even the primary language? And if it is a congratulatory gift it’s way too excessive, my parents aren’t paying that much in tuition fees! At least I hope so, because otherwise it would mean two things: that the services offered are way overpriced, and that despite swimming in cash the university doesn’t spare a single yen to improve the cafeteria food.

The feeling of being pulled upward intensifies as the airplane tilts slightly to the side. It continues like this for a minute, the azure of the sky outside the window gradually replaced by the blue of the sea and the many shades of green of a foreign land. The landing is a little bumpy at the start but otherwise smooth, a blowing sound signaling the engine has reversed its thrust to slow down the aircraft.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to arrive at the International Airport ‘Leonardo da Vinci’. The local time is three in the afternoon. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. Thank you for your collaboration, we give you a warm welcome to Rome.”

====

The first thing that shocks me upon leaving the air-conditioned insides of our aircraft is the heat. Not because it’s unbearably hot, in fact I think it’s slightly colder than when we left Tokyo, but because it’s noticeably more dry. Rather than summer it feels more like the last months of spring or the beginning of autumn. But the mild breeze carrying the scent of the sea is almost the same, just stronger because it doesn’t get dampened by the humid air or blocked by tall buildings.

The airport itself is smaller than Haneda, less than half of it from what I’m currently seeing. Not that Haneda ranks very high in the list of largest or busiest airports in the world, barely in the top twenty if I remember right, but since Rome is the capital of Italy I expected what I heard is the city’s main airport to be of similar size as Haneda’s. But it’s not a bad thing, a smaller airport means less distance to cover on foot and, hopefully, a simpler layout to navigate.

“Alright, alright!” Konishi Ryunosuke, our financial history teacher, claps his hands very loudly. His lips are set into a pronounced frown, nostrils very close to snorting by how fast air passes through them as he shifts impatiently from one foot to another. “Don’t hold up the line, move along quickly and gather around me. Time is precious, every second you spend dallying around is one when you aren’t enriching your spirit with a unique, one-time only experience. Worse, you are denying others the same opportunity!”

Honestly, he sounds like a kid who was promised an all-you-can-eat sweets buffet and considers any delay in his path a mortal offense that needs to be repaid with the offender’s blood. What the hell. If he wanted to visit Italy so much he should have come here by himself instead of dragging all of us along. Did he jump up in the air, yelling like a shounen protagonist, once the board announced the trip and asked who wanted to be responsible for twenty university students being set loose in a foreign country? Just get there by yourself, don’t involve us with your weird hobby.

“Ryu-sensei is overflowing with youthful spirit, how nice.” Junko mutters from behind me with the textbook flat, emotionless tone of someone who means the exact opposite. Many had tried, but nobody could ever equal the blonde girl’s expertise of deadpan snarking. Do you need to take special lessons? Become the apprentice of a hidden master? It’s incredible how versatile language is, yet another crowning achievement of humanity.

“Do you think he’ll complain about me running in the morning if I say it’s for sightseeing?” No idea Kota, ask him yourself. Or you can just ignore Ryu-sensei’s complaints, we’re not in high school anymore you know? No sense in being respectful when half of the class sleep during lessons and the other 40% play with their phones. Incidentally, I’m part of the attentive and dedicated 10%... no, not really. Sorry, that was a lie.

Once everyone has left the airplane we board one of the shuttles waiting nearby, along with a few other passengers. It brings us to one of the airport’s main buildings, where we take a moving staircase to get inside. All the signs and screens are in English, what I guess is Italian and a few other widespread languages, but it seems there is a line for those who come from other European countries and a different one for everyone else. Naturally we join the latter, with Ryu-sensei in the lead. Since I’m at the bottom of the line, with only Junko behind me, I use the time to fish out my passport from the depths of my travel bag and check it.

Ikazuchi Osamu, 22 years old. Birthday: 23 September. The me in the photo with a neutral expression has light brown hair and eyes, nothing out of the ordinary beside the way my hair is slightly curly. I’m also slightly taller than the average Japanese, but that has never earned me more than a few off-hand comments and a request to join the basketball team, which I turned down. Everything’s in order, just like last time and all the other ones.

When it’s my turn the official in charge of the checkpoint takes my passport, checking it briefly before applying the stamp and returning it to me. “Welcome to Italy.” He says in English with a well practiced smile and hollow eyes that can only come from repeating the same actions dozens of times each day. I know your pain, random Italian guy, for I once worked in retail and it sucked out my soul the same way.

After collecting our luggage my group follows Ryu-sensei’s to Customs. Here the line is much longer, so he tells us we’re free to explore the terminal until it’s our turn. Normally my first choice would be to immediately bolt for the closest free seat and sit down, but after spending several hours within an enclosed space even I feel the need to stretch my legs. 

So, seeing that Junko has taken out a small travel book and is looking around, I immediately go after her. For some reason Kota joins me, but he often does stuff like that so I just let him. Less bothersome than trying to shoo him away.

“This place’s small, but still. It has a lot of stuff.” The black-haired athletic guy comments, and I have to agree. Books, souvenirs, clothes, pens and even jewelry, there are shops that cater to every desire one could possibly have. As long as it’s something you can eat or carry with you when leaving the airport, of course. The ones who dominate the stage are the food and fashion stores, which fits the stereotypes I heard about Italy. Though I really shouldn’t put much stock in something like that, not only are they unreliable but also rude.

My gaze briefly stops over a shop that sells chocolate and ice-cream. Not because the products themselves are surprising, but because of the central column with liquid chocolate constantly pouring down on its surface like a waterfall. The column is surrounded by glass so it’s not like anyone can just take a spoonful, but as a publicity stunt I say it works.

“Look! There’s even Ajisen!” I follow Kota’s finger and, lo and behold, it’s really the fast food chain that provided my body with sustenance for the majority of my high school years. I could say it’s a nostalgic sight but it would be an even bigger lie. “How about we go take a bite?”

Junko looks up from her travel book to shoot Kota a glare that clearly says ‘what is this curious animal that looks like a human being but lacks a brain? It makes funny noises, does it also know how to dance?’. “You flew for twelve straight hours, traveled more than nine thousand and seven hundred kilometers, and the first thing you want to do is eat at a fast food chain you can literally find behind every corner back home?” Sorry Kota but I’m with Junko on this one. I also don’t want her to look at me the same way if I side with you, my self-respect can’t take the hit.

The jock just nonchalantly shrugs in response, dodging the judgemental glare as easily as he dodges adversaries on the field. “Okay then, what do you suggest?”

“Nothing. Because the prices within an airport are three times what you can find outside.” She replies with a soft sigh. “The trip is being paid for by the college, but it’s only natural that each of us will face extra charges during our stay here. So we must spend our money responsibly and wisely. The first step is simple.”

The young blonde woman points at one page of her open travel book. “Avoid the currency exchange kiosks, they always add a large premium. The best choice is to obtain Euros before the flight, like I did, but since I’m sure none of you spared a single thought to this issue you need to use an ATM machine, which we will find once within Rome or just before leaving the airport.”

Wow, harsh. She’s not wrong, but harsh. It’s not like I planned to carelessly squander all the money I carefully saved up by eating only the cheapest food available and working a mind-numbing part-time job, you know? I need it for more important stuff, like buying a good suit once I begin searching for a mind-numbing full-time job in a market dominated by bright-eyed idealists so full of energy that you get tired just by looking at them.

“Then, once in Rome, before eating we must always check the prices of all establishments nearby and choose the most affordable ones. Breakfast and dinner will be served at the hotel we’ll stay at, but besides the times in which our guide makes a suggestion taking care we eat well falls upon us.”

“Cheap prices and eating well are not often correlated, Junko.” I point out, because I’m an expert in that.

“Normally you would be right, but European countries are very strict about food safety and quality. The Italian government even more so.” She flips a page of her travel book and begins reading. “The most popular food safety system in Italy is called ‘Hazard Analysis and Critical Control Points’, shortened in HACCP, and it’s used to identify what could make a product unsafe to consume through all the phases of the food chain. Everyone in the food industry must respect these rules, from restaurants to road haulage workers. A department of the Carabinieri, a military force with law enforcement duties, was given the role to carry out investigations, control the products, check for illegal activities and more. Called NAS, they have the right to intervene at any time and place to decide if a food business is using the proper ways to handle food. There is also a subcategory known as AIFA that controls drugs.”

What the hell, that’s hardcore. I get placing importance on food safety, Japan is the same, but we don’t give the task to check on it to the army of all people. The right to intervene at any time and place, who are they special forces? Is this NAS full of grizzled veterans who must prove they can kill a man in fifteen different ways with a knife before being accepted? I’m now picturing several figures in full tactical gear and armed to the teeth descending with ropes from a helicopter, breaking through a window while screaming ‘What are you doing to that poor chicken?! Get on your hands and knees, you’re under arrest for using an illegal frying technique!’.

Yeah, no. That’s ridiculous. What I am thinking, I know I didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol during the flight -unlike some others I might add- so what did they put into the food? Must be why Ryu-sensei is acting like such a weirdo, sorry I thought it must be genetic.

“And Italians take making good food as a national pride, so unless we go to a really skevy-looking place we’re sure to eat well even at a low price.” Junko concludes, snapping her book close with a dramatic flair. You were totally waiting to do that, you even added a monologue there’s no way you didn’t plan for it. I had no idea my friend was secretly a chuuni. “So don’t go and waste your money. Got it?”

Kota rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t pop out of his sockets. “Yes, mom.”

“Less ‘mom’ and more ‘I don’t want one of you begging me to lend you money once you realize your wallet is empty’.”

“Come one, it happened only three times!”

“It’s three times more than it should have happened!”

Why am I friends with those people again?

====

After everyone finally gets through Customs I walk past the exit, or uscita as the sign says, and find myself within what I can only describe as controlled chaos. There are people everywhere, walking with purpose or leisurely, chatting, yelling, reading a newspaper while sitting down, smoking or just waiting around. An elderly couple hug a young man that left the terminal before us, who I assume is the father slapping his son’s back while laughing and saying something that causes the latter to blush. The mother laughs even harder. There is a file of cars parked nearby, the identification marks are different but the sign with the word Taxi clearly points to their purpose. The drivers are sitting inside their cars, one door open to fight the heat, with the kind of assured ease of someone who knows they will get a client even without doing anything. They’re also looking with disdain at some guys with big smiles plastered on their faces going around talking to people, they seem to be offering something but they almost always get turned down. I think I’ll follow their example.

Meanwhile Ryu-sensei has approached a man holding a sign with our university’s name above his head. They shake hands and chat a little before returning together to our group. “Everyone, this person will be our tour guide during our stay in Rome. Please introduce yourself properly.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” The man with the kind of groomed mustache that I usually see only inside a Hollywood movie bows to us. His Japanese is good, the accent that I can identify as Italian only because I have so many examples around me is still noticeable but I have no problems understanding his words. “My name is Mario Baresi. Or Baresi Mario in your country.”

“Are you a plumber?” Someone asks. I can’t see who spoke but I still turn in the direction the voice came from to stare in disbelief. Really? You truly went for a fruit hanging so low it's basically drilling its way to the planet’s core? The pity choice that no one with even a modicum of social survival instinct would go for because it’s a big, sparkling proclamation of how desperate you are? And why are some people chuckling? Please tell me that's out of embarrassment, I can’t stand the thought of being near people with such a depressing sense of humor.

That means you too, Kota. Especially you. Can’t you see one of Ryu-sensei’s eyebrows twitching at a very dangerous speed? I know I said you don’t need to show him respect, but he still can make your life hell. That’s the face of someone capable of doing anything. Sorry Kota, you’re on your own. Goodbye my friend, I’ll miss you.

Mario gives us a sardonic smile. “I have been acting as a guide for Japanese tourists for five years now, and you would not believe the amount of times someone used that joke.”

I apologize on behalf of my compatriots, please forgive us.

“But no, I work as a tourist guide full-time.” The Italian cheerfully explains. “The only plumber I know is my brother, Luigi.”

There’s a beat of silence -metaphorically of course, since other people continue to make a lot of noise- before everyone in my group burst out laughing. Yes, I chuckle a little too. No, I’m not ashamed of it. Even Ryu-sensei is cracking a smile.

“This is another popular joke.” Mario smiles warmly. “Sorry, but while I do have a brother his name is not Luigi, nor is he a plumber. He, however, finds this joke extremely hilarious. Now, while I’m glad the time we will spend together began on a positive note I must urge you to follow me to the bus that will bring us to your hotel. I’m sure that, after the long flight, many of you wish nothing more than to sort out your luggage and relax in a less crowded environment.”

There are many nods and groans of agreement in response to his words. One would think that after spending several hours seated within a moving metal box, while occasionally walking back and forth to stretch your legs, you should still have plenty of energy left. That person obviously has never taken an international flight to the other side of the world and probably thinks jet lag is the name of some fancy maneuver in a flight simulator game. I have a grand total of one experience regarding both, so I obviously know my stuff and you should trust me on this. Also, right now a shower sounds divine.

“Of course, of course. Our field trip will... officially begin only tomorrow, after all, so a small break before it is reasonable, I suppose.” Wait a second Ryu-sensei, why do you sound so reluctant right now? Did you plan to immediately drag us to see a museum or another tourist attraction the moment we stepped off the plane? Only for the Board to veto that decision and force you to, at the very least, give us the time to leave our luggage in the hotel room? Thank you Board members for reigning in this maniac, we seriously risked our lives here! “Lead the way, Baresi-san.”

Our bus is located not too far from the airport’s exit, one of several similar vehicles parked in the same area. At first glance there are not many differences between buses here in Italy and buses back in Japan, even the inside is mostly the same. They just look in general a bit older and more beat-up, but only on the outside. The driver greets us with a practiced smile and some simple English, exchanging a few words in Italians with Mario when he boards the bus. As is often the case in those kinds of situations I end up seated next to Kota, with Junko located to the left of him on another row of seats. The window is on my right side.

And then, without much fanfare, we’re off. The road is pretty much all countryside at the start, with many large fields of fruit trees, grapevines and vegetables surrounding us. Every now and then I spot a town in the distance, and nestled next to the road are small groups of residential or industrial buildings, but otherwise my sight is dominated by rolling hills of green, brown and yellow. Only occasionally I spot hints of a deep blue, but they’re gone before I can identify the source: for some reason everytime it happens I experience a faint feeling of disappointment, like a missed opportunity. That blue reminds me of the ocean, I suppose it means that deep down I would have preferred this trip to be a simple beach vacation. Just relaxing on a deck chair, a book over my face to protect my eyes from the light, doing nothing for hours as the summer sun cooks my skin and a crowd of screaming, hollering, far-too-energetic... No, no that’s clearly the wrong answer. Maybe that deep blue reminds me of a brand of canned coffee I haven’t drunk in a while?

Talking about screaming and hollering, even with all the windows closed to not waste the AC I can clearly hear a lot of it coming from outside, alongside the horns of several vehicles. The bus, which previously proceeded at a reasonable speed, now inches forward at a snail’s pace, making even the shortest of distances feel like a journey of epic proportions. The cause is, of course, the traffic: despite not being a Tokyo native I spent enough time there to become accustomed to its heavy traffic congestion, particularly during rush hours. Packed trains, buses, and gridlocked roads are the most common causes of nightmares for commuters, along with contributing heavily to the industry of light novels. 

Rome’s traffic, it seems, is on par with that: endless rows of cars, trucks and other vehicles packed like sardines stretch both ahead and behind us, if I look down I can count the laugh lines on a driver’s face as he alternates between tapping his fingers on the wheel to the tune of what is clearly a very aggressive rock song and honking his car’s horn. Many have their windows rolled down and, leaning out with half their bodies, are now engaged in a passionate shouting match with whoever rises to the challenge, of which there are many. Others, more simply, are listening to the radio or chatting with their car neighbors. Instead of bicycles like it’s common back home, but that may be because we’re still on a highway, I see a lot of scooters and motorcycles darting around cars like athletes in an obstacle-course race. It’s chaos, but it’s the kind of chaos that is expected rather than something sudden and unwelcome.

“Lot of traffic, uh? Are they coming from or going to work?” Kota wonders aloud. Just like me this is nothing new for him, the general feeling of excitement within our group may have been dampened by the relentless gridlock of traffic that stretches out before us but we’re not in a hurry to go anywhere, the hotel will still be on the same spot whenever we get there and since we’re not totally blocked I doubt we will arrive in the middle of the night. The only exception, of course, is Ryu-sensei who frequently regales us with uneasy glances and impatient sighs. Does he want to jump off the bus and hitchhike a ride from a motorcycle, or maybe start running? Please do so.

“It’s tourist season, we’re hardly the only ones who came to visit Rome.” Junko answers him while checking her travel book. “Italy is a popular holiday destination for many European countries and even the USA. Tourism is one of the country’s most important economic sectors, and more than eight millions people visit Rome alone each year.”

Similar to Tokyo then, except it’s a lot bigger than Rome... but it also has a lot more residents, so things kind of even out I guess.

As the minutes stretch into what feels like hours, and Ryu-sensei’s impatience continues to grow, Mario stands up at the front of the bus. His eyes twinkling with the enthusiasm of someone who found the perfect chance to engage in something they love. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know this traffic is not what you expected but I assure you it has been accounted for, we will arrive on time at the hotel. Until then, to pass the time, allow me to share a story with you. A story that is as old as the city itself.”

The tour guide clears his throat and begins speaking with a hint of theatrical flair in his voice. “Ah, Rome. The Eternal City, they call it. But do you know how this magnificent place came into existence? Allow me to transport you back in time, to the very heart of ancient history."

He pauses for effect, letting the anticipation in the bus build up. Even I, I must confess, find myself leaning forward as my interest is unexpectedly piqued. It must be the novelty of storytelling when compared to watching a video or reading a book.

“Long, long ago.” The mustached man continues. “Before the Colosseum stood proudly, before the Forum bustled with life, and before the grandeur of the Vatican, there were two brothers. They were born to a princess and destined for greatness, but their journey was far from ordinary even among legends. Their names were Romulus and Remus.”