Momentary Blindness #1 (reposted)

Water from the Fontana del Nettuno rushes in my ear, just a few feet away.
As if out of a movie, I can hear an accordion playing Italian music faintly in the
distance. Just like any tourist destination, a world’s worth of languages flow in
and out of my ears as melodically as the accordion and rushed as the water.

I continue to keep my head down as men, hands jingling with jewelry or selfie
sticks approach me. I can hear them heckling tourists as they pass, their footsteps
shuffling by me along the cobblestones.

A pigeon walks by me, its nails clicking and clacking as it wanders in search of food,
likely smelling the same food from the restaurants around us that I do.

Any other thoughts I have are cut off by a familiar tune- the accordion player gave
up on traditional Italian music, now aiming for a rendition of Hava Nagila; suddenly
I’m 13 years old and at a Bar Mitzvah again. I can feel the melody flowing through
me, nostalgic as ever.

Eventually, I get lost in my thoughts again, and all the noises around me blend
together. The water blends into the background, even the accordion is less noticeable
than before. People’s feet shuffle quieter than before, and even the children laughing
and screaming seem to fade away.

My feet ache as I sit. I don’t realize how much I walk until I’ve already done it, but
fully immersing myself in the sensory experience that is Rome is already worth it
in every way.