Returning to Rome felt like winning the lottery. The streets were familiar, and I had my own routes and favourite corners. But my heart always led me to the Spanish Steps — my most beloved spot in the city. I appeared there almost every day. Sitting on the steps is forbidden, but I couldn’t resist lingering for a moment in the sun, until the sharp whistle of a policeman sent everyone scattering.
Not long ago, I read Jane Birkin’s Munkey Diaries, and to my surprise, it ended with a short passage where she described Rome and the Spanish Steps. The book left a deep impression on me, and those final lines made me smile — as if they were a quiet nod to my own little ritual.
I almost always lunched at Vanda, a cozy restaurant near the Fontana di Ponte Sisto, just as I had a year ago, and often stopped by a small bar nearby. I wandered through Villa Borghese almost every day and finally captured the photograph at Villa Doria Pamphili that had eluded me on my previous trip.
In the evenings, I would return to a bar run by a Chinese family. Back in 2024, it had become a favorite spot for Aidar, Aigul, and me, as we lived just around the corner and spent almost every night there, sipping the cheapest yet most delicious Aperol. The place grew so dear to us that even now, stepping inside again, I felt as if nothing had changed.