Anyone who has flown internationally knows that the airplane, at some point in your trajectory, becomes a flying asylum. Time loses meaning. You are buffeted by wailing of all kinds. Children shriek as though being murdered, and you hold onto your in-flight cookie like it’s a life preserver. To make things worse, I was sitting next to some kind of mutant. Now I don't know if they just grow them that big where he's from or what, but he was eight feet tall if he was a foot. 
       I try not to touch complete strangers if I can help it. It's just a personal rule of mine. Unfortunately, the mutant’s gargantuan legs splayed in all directions and made it difficult for me to exist in the tiny space of my coach seat. As the hours passed, I felt the grasp on my sanity grow increasingly tenuous. But then, something wonderful happened to help relieve the strain. During the food service, I was given a raspberry yogurt that was sealed on top with tinfoil. (There was also some sort of Air Quiche, but it's best if we don't discuss it.) I opened the treat as carefully as I could, but after some initial resistance the cup practically exploded. Covered from head to toe in stunning pink, the mutant looked like a carnival float in a gay pride parade. 
       Ignoring the stunned expression on the mutant’s face, I quietly finished what was left of my yogurt and opened my journal to begin writing the draft of what you now see in front of you. Since I’ve found it’s sometimes beneficial to begin a story at the beginning, let’s go with that and see where it takes us. 

       I’d been contemplating a trip to Rome for the past couple of years. During a conversation with my girlfriend this past spring, I expressed my desire to go to Rome and naturally, I asked her to come along. She looked at me like I had just asked her to eat a bowl of fly larvae.
       Her reaction didn’t surprise me. I know my girlfriend. I know what she likes when it comes to vacations. Walking along a desolate beach listening to the soothing sound of the ocean’s waves as they gently kiss the warm sand? Yes. Lounging in a gently swaying hammock underneath a canopy of palm trees? Definitely. Tanned, muscular, cabana boys bringing her tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them? Abso-freakin-lutely. Museums and ancient ruins? Eh… not so much.
       Although she wasn’t interested in Rome, there was one thing that she was very enthusiastic about. Getting rid of me for a couple of weeks.
       I gave it some thought and eventually decided that I would travel to Italy in the fall. To which she responded, "Really? Not sooner?"
       I bought a guidebook and compiled a short itinerary of the sights that I wanted to see. Realizing that three or even four days probably wasn’t going to be sufficient, I allocated an entire week just for Rome. Now the only determination that I had to make was whether I traveled solo or joined a tour. 
       Some people love the tour group dynamic and others are ardent defenders of solo traveling. I’ve never toured a country with a group before and was a little hesitant to abandon my independent ways, but due to the extraordinary number of famous sites and historical marvels, I concluded that, at the very least, I was going to need the experience and knowledge of a tour guide to truly appreciate Rome. 
       I began my research by talking to my friend, Mike, who had recently returned from a thirteen-day tour of Italy that he had taken with a company that catered specifically to the 18-35 year old demographic. He sent me a link to his online photo album
that contained pictures of his trip. I noticed one picture of him walking down the middle of a street surrounded by a swarm of people. “What was going on there?” I asked. “Did you get stuck in the middle of a protest march or something?”
       “Uhhh… no. That was our tour group.” 
       “Sweet Jesus. How many people were on this tour?!? You look like the Allied troops invading Normandy.” 
       “Well, there were fifty-two of us.”
       Fifty-two. FIFTY. TWO. Holy. Crap. That's not a tour group, that's a village.
       He said that it was great to see places like the Colosseum and the Pantheon but he felt detached and exasperated most of the time because it was impossible to hear anything that their guide was saying. Which I guess makes sense when your tour group outnumbers the population of Rhode Island.
       I found another company that had a five-day tour of Rome that inexplicably counted your two travel days as part of the tour. It was cheap, but it should be. You’re actually only in Rome for two and a half days. If you're going to rip me off, can you at least have the common courtesy to conceal the truth a little better than that? Make the tour five days long but throw in some hidden optional excursions that inevitably add hundreds of dollars to the total cost of the tour or something. Just make an effort. Is that too much to ask? 
       As the days passed, I grew more despondent regarding tour companies and had almost resigned myself to traveling solo when I stumbled across Rick Steves’ Europe Through the Back Door website. I’ve always been a fan of Rick’s PBS-TV Series but I was unaware that he ran his own company that offered tours of Europe. 
       It didn’t take me long to realize that the Best of Rome in 7 Days tour was exactly what I was looking for. I scrutinized the itinerary and every single item that I had on my must-see list of Rome was included in the tour. The favorable balance of tour time and personal time would grant me the freedom that I’ve grown accustomed to with solo travel coupled with the camaraderie and sociability of a tour group. And the tour group would have a maximum of twenty-four people, which seemed a bit more reasonable to me. But, truth be told, the one thing that I liked the best was Rick’s no nonsense attitude. 
       I was born, raised and currently live in New Jersey, right outside of New York City. I’m used to attitude and I like people who tell it is like it is. Rick doesn’t sugarcoat his tours. Sure, he’s an energetic, affable guy with a passion for dispensing sound, reliable travel advice, but underneath that carefully polished exterior lies a bit of a badass with a penchant for refreshing candor. I’m not making this up. It’s right there on his website. No need to look it up. I’ll paraphrase for you. He basically states, “Look. We don’t take too kindly to complainers and grumps around here. You’re going to be up early and you’re going to do a lot of walking. You’re only allowed one bag so you’ll probably wear the same clothes every few days. And you’ll probably have to do your own laundry. This is an adventure. Sometimes that means sharing a room with a fellow tour mate that you just met three hours ago. Sometimes it means carrying your own bag up one hundred uneven steps in the ninety-five degree heat of a Mediterranean summer. Sometimes it means being used as a mule, getting caught with a backpack full of hashish and being thrown in a Turkish prison for forty years. If you don’t think you can hang with us, go elsewhere. But, if you’ve got an adventurous spirit and abide by a few very simple rules we’ll help you experience the European vacation you’ve always dreamed of. But be warned, mi amigo; if you don’t play by the rules, you just might find yourself getting kneecap'd by a money belt full of euros, and dumped on the no-reservation line at the Uffizi Gallery in the middle of July.”       

       My decision was made. The seven-day Best of Rome tour it was. From the Rick Steves' Travel Store, I purchased the four-hour, eight-episode Italy DVD. I watched all of the episodes and I have to give credit where credit is due. Rick’s infectious enthusiasm for travel is a tempting mistress indeed. I couldn’t wait to get to Rome.