Trevi Fountain

I woke up very early today. The girls were still asleep, so I got ready and quietly slipped out of the apartment. The streets were empty as I passed the large exhibition hall on Via Nazionale and turned toward the tunnel beneath the Quirinal Hill.

After just under 20 minutes, I arrived at the same place where only yesterday we could barely move through the overwhelming crowd.

This time, there were maybe fifty of us. Access to the fountain was free in the early morning; they only start charging later in the day.

Dawn was slowly breaking. The sky was still dark, which made the white façade in front of me feel even more dramatic.

It depicts the arrival of water into Rome. At the center stands Neptune as the master, surrounded by horses and Tritons representing the unpredictable nature of water. This is also where the ancient Roman aqueduct Aqua Virgo ends — and through this very system, water still flows into the city two thousand years later.

In the morning, it felt completely different. Without the crowds, you experience it in another way. You can walk around it, take it in from every angle, and really see it in peace.

Until the moment two Americans showed up with a hired photographer and took over the entire place — suddenly they were everywhere.

What stuck with me the most was the moment they were trying to pose for a shot and the guy just couldn’t quite get it right. And then, across the whole fountain, a voice rang out:

That was too much for me. It completely took the magic out of the moment. So I left…

… and made my way back through the slowly waking streets of Rome to the girls.

Ostia Antica – a day trip from Rome

Today we were heading out to Ostia Antica, the main port of ancient Rome. This is where ships arrived with grain from Egypt, olive oil from Hispania, and wine from across the Mediterranean. Everything Rome needed to function — from basic food to everyday luxury — first passed through here.

And this is where a day begins that is no longer Rome from postcards.

It almost ended here, too.

But let’s start at the beginning.

A morning that starts with the essentials: coffee and breakfast. The girls had their chocolate cereal, we stuck to our usual, and then headed straight to the metro toward Roma Termini. It was only one stop away, but we had a feeling there would be a lot of walking ahead of us, so we took the easy option and saved a bit of energy for later.

As for the trip itself, one of its biggest advantages is how simple the logistics are. You just buy a metro ticket, and it takes you all the way to the archaeological site. The ride takes about half an hour. The landscape is flat, with some low shrubs, and every now and then you spot a tall umbrella pine in the distance. Other than that, there’s nothing particularly striking along the way.

The train was almost empty. When we got off, it was just us and a few locals. As we walked toward the old harbor, we hardly saw anyone at all. We even commented on what a contrast it was compared to the constant crowds in Rome, and how lucky we were to have the whole site almost to ourselves.

We turned left into a pleasant avenue lined with towering umbrella pines, and soon the entrance appeared ahead of us. Silence. No crowds, no lines. It all felt almost too good to be true.

I walked up to the ticket counter to buy the tickets, and the man simply said, “Closed.” Monday. Just like many archaeological sites across Italy.

Apparently common knowledge. First time hearing it myself.

In a matter of seconds, I went through all five stages of grief. First denial — this can’t be happening. Then anger — what do they mean it’s closed? Bargaining — what if I just ask nicely, maybe he’ll make an exception. And then resignation — nothing’s going to change, this just sucks.

Then I looked over at the girls. They burst out laughing. Apparently, they had just watched all those stages play out live on my face.

So I wrapped up the whole grieving process with acceptance — taking the situation for what it was, with a sense of relief.

Monday = closed

The fact that many museums and archaeological sites in Italy are closed on Mondays isn’t a coincidence. It’s actually a very practical decision.

Most of these places are at their busiest over the weekend. Saturday and Sunday are peak tourist days, so Monday has become a day to reset — for staff, maintenance, and cleaning.

Of course, this doesn’t apply to the major landmarks. Those can’t really afford to close, so they stay open almost every day. That’s why most tourists don’t even notice this pattern until they step a little off the usual path.

And that’s exactly where Monday catches you. Just like it caught us.

So in the end, all we could see from behind the fence was a single Roman road and a few building foundations. But the place clearly held much more than what that first glance revealed. Inside, there’s also a remarkably well-preserved theatre, similar to the one we saw in Tarragona while wandering through Catalonia.

Once we had fully come to terms with the fact that it was closed, two more visitors arrived from the station. You could see the excitement on their faces as they realized how quiet it was, almost no one around, no lines. As they walked past, I almost said something, but I didn’t want to be the one to ruin the moment.

Then the familiar story played out. Entrance. Tickets. Closed. Disappointment. Frustration.

found out they were Americans, and that this was their last day here. And just like that, in front of the closed gates of one of the best-preserved archaeological sites, there we stood — four Slovenians and two Americans — all disappointed, all for the same simple reason: it was Monday.

Medieval Castle in Ostia (Castello di Giulio II)

From the entrance, you walk along a tree-lined path for a few hundred meters — and almost a thousand years forward in time — until you reach a castle built in the Middle Ages.

If Ostia was once a port at the height of Roman power, built for expansion, prosperity and conquest, this castle belongs to a very different time. A time of defense. A time when Rome was no longer conquering, but protecting itself.

As for us, we weren’t interested in any of that. Not conquest, not defense. We just wanted to catch the next train.

Basilica of St Paul Outside the Walls (San Paolo fuori le Mura)

Since it was right on the way, we got off and went to see it. This was already the second of the four “VIP” churches of the Catholic world. We had passed Santa Maria Maggiore, the first of them, on our very first day, while wandering through Monti with our suitcases, looking for our accommodation.

If the first is dedicated to Mary, the second is dedicated to Paul. The same Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles, who first reported Christians to the authorities, then experienced a conversion, and ultimately became one of the key figures in spreading Christianity across the Roman Empire.

Because of his prominence and influence, Paul became an ideal scapegoat in the time of Nero. When Rome burned and someone had to be blamed quickly, the responsibility was shifted onto the Christians, who were already unwelcome. Today, it is generally believed that Nero himself most likely did not start the fire, and the exact cause remains unclear. Despite its monumental buildings, much of Rome was still largely built of wood, which only helped the flames spread faster.

Because Paul was a Roman citizen, he was not crucified but beheaded. He was buried on the spot where this church stands today. As the name suggests, the burial took place outside the city walls, which was completely typical for that time. His tomb is precisely the reason why this place has been an important pilgrimage site for centuries.

We began our own little pilgrimage by walking around the building instead of heading straight to the entrance. I’m not sure how we managed to miss it. Maybe because it’s so massive. You really feel that scale when you walk around three sides of it.

But once you finally find the entrance, it becomes clear why you came. One column after another, very few people, and a calm atmosphere all around.

You step inside and immediately find yourself among the columns. They stretch out in front of you and to both sides, wherever you look. Then you move toward the center, where your view opens up to two palm trees, and between them stands Paul, holding a sword.

Above it all rises a colorful façade that immediately draws your eye. Beautiful. So much so that you simply have to sit down for a few minutes and just look.

And then we left the courtyard and headed back to the station.

Only now, as I’m writing this, have I asked myself for the first time why we didn’t go inside the church as well, even though we were just a few meters away. Apparently, it’s even more impressive inside.

And to this day, I still don’t know why we didn’t.

That courtyard must have captured us so completely that none of us even thought it might be worth stepping inside. Strange. At the time, we didn’t feel like we were missing anything.

Don’t be like us. If you’re there, go inside as well.

Anyway, we were already on the train toward the Pyramid of Cestius.

A Pyramid in the Middle of Rome

If you’re heading to the Aventine Hill, you get off at the Piramide station. Why that name? Because Egypt was something of a trend at the beginning of our era, and one Roman official decided to build himself a pyramid as his final resting place. And it’s really there. Just a few steps after you come out of the metro, it suddenly appears in front of you. It fits here about as well as a saddle on a cow. Another curious example of human vanity.

A different story are the city walls standing right next to it. Like every empire in history, Rome eventually reached a point when it was no longer only expanding, but also thinking about defense. That’s how the Aurelian Walls were built — nearly 20 kilometers long and more than 10 meters high. The pyramid was given a new role. Since it was already there, they simply incorporated it into the fortifications. If you already have something, why not use it.

Even walls that powerful couldn’t stop what was coming. The Visigoths didn’t break into the city by force. They surrounded it, starved it out, and in the end the gates were opened from within. And just like that, Rome fell for the first time in centuries.

The Keyhole of Three Lands – and a line we didn’t join

The rain was getting closer. No point overthinking it, we took a taxi up the hill. Good decision, because it turned out not to be that close at all.

I asked the driver to drop us somewhere with a nice view over the city. Instead, he dropped us in front of a line about a hundred meters long.

It was immediately clear we had arrived at the next TikTok sensation. This time not a mirror, but a keyhole.

The idea is simple. You stand with your feet in Italy, look through the keyhole on the gate of the Knights of Malta, across their garden, and your view ends on the dome of St Peter’s in the Vatican. The Knights of Malta are an old religious order that has its own territory here.

With a single glance, you connect three different worlds. Interesting…

But not interesting enough to wait.

So we headed into the park next door instead, where a wide, open view awaits you… of the dome of St Peter’s.

You walk down from the hill along a wide road lined with ivy-covered walls. As you return to the city, you run into yet another line.

The Mouth of Truth that bites

It’s an old stone disc with a face, most likely an ancient cover for a drain or a well. Like the Spanish Steps, it became famous thanks to the film Roman HolidayLegend says it will bite off your hand if you’re not telling the truth. In reality, it doesn’t bite anything, except maybe an hour of your life while standing in line.

Apparently, the story still works, because the line was long. Too long. We took a look from a distance and moved on. Up on the hill, we saw another one. The complete opposite of the one below.

Across the street stands something far more interesting.

On Piazza della Bocca della Verità there is a round temple that reminds you of the one on the Roman Forum. But this isn’t the Temple of the Vestal Virgins. It’s the Temple of Hercules, one of the best-preserved ancient temples in the city. Hercules was the protector of merchants and travelers, which is why it stands right here, where an old port once operated along the Tiber.

There was no line. It stands there almost unnoticed, among the umbrella pines.

And that’s probably one of the things you quickly notice in Rome. The biggest crowds gather where something has become a “must see,” while just a few steps away you can find places you can enjoy almost on your own.

It had been a full day, with its ups and downs, and somehow we forgot to eat. As we were looking for a place to grab something, we realized on the map that we were just a few steps away from the largest entertainment venue of ancient Rome.

Circus Maximus – where Rome raced its chariots

Between the Aventine and Palatine Hills stretches a space that today feels like an ordinary park.

It was more than half a kilometer long and could hold over 150,000 people. The main attraction was chariot racing. The fastest and most dangerous “sport” of its time.

It’s hard to imagine the atmosphere today. The noise, the dust, the roar of the crowd, the rivalry between teams… This is where the Romans lived their own version of Champions League matches.

Po sredini stadiona je potekala dolga pregrada, imenovana spinaDown the middle of the stadium ran a long divider called the spina. It was lined with statues, fountains, and even an Egyptian obelisk. The same one we had seen just the day before at Piazza del Popolo.

And we were standing right in the middle of it.

After lunch, we walked across it. To your left, the Palatine opens up, where imperial palaces once stood, offering the best views of the races below.

Today it’s a vast open space where people walk their dogs, go for a run, or simply stroll, just like we did. The atmosphere is calm. The only disturbance came from construction machines repairing a section of the road. It’s hard to imagine compared to the chaos that once ruled this track thousands of years ago.

Apparently the food gave us the energy we needed. The sky looked like it might hold, so we weren’t ready to call it a day just yet.

We went to see something I had always wanted to see, but never had the chance.

An aqueduct in all its grandeur.

Parco degli Acquedotti

It’s a bit outside the city, so we had nearly an hour on the metro ahead of us. And even when you finally arrive, there’s still quite a bit of walking to do. At one point, it felt like we’d never actually make it to the park. Our legs were already heavy.

And then, suddenly, the park opens up in front of you.

And there they are. The aqueducts.

Not just one. Several of them. Long stone lines stretching across the fields. Rome needed more and more of them as the city grew, bringing water from distant springs in the hills.

The whole system was based on a simple principle: gravity. Water flowed gently downhill toward the city, without any pumps. Where the terrain dropped, they built high stone arches, the ones you can see in the park today.

At first they’re lower, we even climbed onto one. You walk among low trees and bushes, so you can’t really see far ahead.

Then you hear sheep.

And as you turn the corner, one of the most beautiful views of the day opens up. Maybe even of the whole trip. You’re standing among umbrella pines, in front of you a wide meadow, shepherds moving a large flock across it, and behind them a backdrop that feels almost unreal. A real, monumental aqueduct.

If it hadn’t been for the walk back to the station, which somehow felt even longer now, it would have been almost perfect. But we managed that too.

And so the day slowly came to an end. In the morning I had stood where the water’s journey ends, at the Trevi Fountain. Now, in the late afternoon, we were standing where it all begins, flowing down from the hills.

Tomorrow brings a new trip. This time to Tivoli, a town of villas, gardens, and powerful cascades of water.