The guidebooks had been staring at me all week long, and I had been politely ignoring them. But now it was Friday afternoon, and they were glaring at me menacingly; in four hours I was heading out for a weekend in Rome…and I had no earthly idea what I wanted to do there. The last two weekends had been a sightseeing extravaganza, and of course I knew that Rome probably holds more sightseeing opportunities per square mile than any other city in the world! Maybe that was it. Overwhelm? Hm.
I checked the hotel reservation that I’d made two weeks earlier and copied down directions. 25 minutes from the city center? Last train leaves downtown at 11:30pm? I wasn’t going to get into town until 9pm, at the earliest, and I wanted to do something in Rome before hitting the sack. Hm.
A sudden thought popped up: I don’t really want to do any sightseeing. Wait, back it up. No sightseeing? In Rome? Yeah. I really don’t want to do any sightseeing. I really want to see some live music. Or a show. Or have coffee with a real live person and talk to him or her. Oh, you mean you want to just live life? In Rome? For a weekend? Yeah, that sounds exactly right.
Well, that’s interesting. I wonder…
So I Googled “live music Rome” and started clicking. Lonely Planet had a page listing the top live music venues in town, and as soon as I clicked on the link for Micca Club I knew where I’d be spending that evening.
Um, hells yeah! Suddenly the hotel reservation I’d made was not. going. to work. at all. So lickety-split, I canceled it and found a cheap bed near the central train station. Boom! Done! Now, how about the rest of the weekend? Hm.
I disinterestedly flipped through my Rick Steves guide, looking for other nightlife suggestions, when I stumbled upon his write-up of Angel Tours Rome, and this caught my eye: “This gang of hard-working Irish Italophiles…” Wait. Hold the freakin’ phone. Irish ex-pats in Rome? Of course, why not? (If you don’t know about my obsession with all things Irish, start reading here.)
So I Googled “ex-pat Rome” and found a site listing popular places for ex-pats to hang out, starring two Irish pubs. I also booked a sunset tour with Angel Tours, not so much for the sightseeing as for the chance to meet other English-speakers in a casual setting…and maybe get some tips from the tour guide on where to hang out.
Flipping back to the Micca Club site, I stumbled upon their Sunday Micca Market, where handmade and vintage goods would be bandied about while the Cosmopolitans and Manhattans clinked. Oh! and I want to go vintage shopping! the voice piped up again. Well, why not? Ever since I got to Italy I’ve had a bit of trouble figuring out just the right souvenirs to bring home; after all, one effect of the global economy is, well, that everything is available pretty much anywhere in the world, and most goods I could buy here could also be gotten easily at home. But vintage Italy? Yes, please.
In the space of about thirty minutes I had changed my hotel reservation to one downtown, bought tickets to the cabaret and the sunset tour, and sketched out the theme of my weekend: live the kind of weekend I’d live at home, but do it in Rome. Let me tell you – it was the best split-second decision I ever made. Stay tuned to find out how it went.
What was the best last-minute decision you ever made? How did it turn out?
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Proving once again that nothing happens without a deadline… Looking forward to reading about your adventures.
For me, embracing the 11th hour change-up has always been more a matter of accepting and decompressing. My plans tend to be SET. IN. STONE. I know what I want to do. And my wife is, if not so inflexible, not one to greet sudden change with open arms. So for me the times that positive-but-unexpected things have happened have been things like . . .
Well, we were speeding toward Ashland, desperately trying to make up the two hours we’d lost trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic on 680. I called from around Redding to find out what late seating policies were for the play we’d scheduled (doable, but not great). I wanted to speed like a maniac. My wife, a saner person than I, insisted we not go too fast. She was right, of course, but we crested the pass into the Rogue River Valley at about curtain time and parked 15 minutes into the show, by which time plans had started to change despite my iron (and pointless) will. I still hadn’t really let go.
It was the nicest, quietest dinner we ever had in Ashland. Near-empty restaurant. Laid-back servers. And when we went back to the parking structure we got an extra treat: Someone, somewhere in the structure was practicing saxophone. And this was someone who had obviously done w hole lot of practicing to that point. We couldn’t see them, and the echoing jazz was out of nowhere and perfect. After three tunes we applauded our anonymous Ben Webster and went on our way. It set the tone for the whole week, and while most of our other plans went without a hitch they had a more relaxed quality, a tone set by the inadvertent overture of panic and positive failure.
What a great story, Peter! Accidents and unplanned turns can really be such great gifts, to take us out of what we expect or want to happen, and offer us the opportunity to accept what’s actually happening right. now. Way to soften into your experience!