Cycling alongside the Florence duomo in Italian style.

While walking the streets of Rome in the late afternoon, I crossed paths with the quintessential Italian woman as she went about her mission from God (i.e.: shopping). In her late 30s / early 40s wearing heels and a light sun dress over her leathery sun-tanned skin, she exuded Italian style as she sashayed along the footpath. Long dark blonde hair. Giant oversized sunglasses. Shopping bags hung over her shoulder, Miu Miu her latest conquest of many.

While we both walked along Via del Babuino towards the Piazza del Popolo, her attention was piqued by a display in a boutique clothing store for which she headed in for a closer look. As I walked past the window-front, I saw the article that she was admiring; a pair of sandals with a price tag that equated to more than the sum of the contents in my bag.

This is what I had imagined the Italian fashionista / socialite to be and I was glad to have confirmed the existence of this species. It wasn’t until arriving in Florence that I would cross paths with another, this time on bicycle with phone in hand, creating her own breeze to shake her hair in, and making cycling through town look like an activity of elegance.

I was not disappointed on the male side either. The Country Road advertisements weren’t lying; men really do wear dress pants which fit like lycra coupled with fine leather shoes and no socks. And while the top half was often wedged into a garment from the ‘muscle shirt’ line, I was pleased to find only a few occurrences where a head of hair looked like it may actually be slicked back by olive oil.

The early morning sun peaks over the Colloseum.

It is difficult to believe that one of the most recognisable structures in the world was once a white elephant, left to sit and waste away before finding value in being pilfered for stone. Such is the life of the Colloseum. In its hey-day, 50,000 blood thirsty citizens could pack this arena to watch men battle men or men battle animals. Exotic beasts would be imported from a far to make up for Rome’s lack of lions and elephants.

For the pièce de résistance, the arena would be flooded with water so that gladiator’s could take to boats and re-inact ancient sea battles. Just like a modern day sports match, the coin toss was crucial; history had already decided who the victor would be and it was in your best interest for history to be on your side.

Looking across the dilapidated arena.

Only a section of the original outer wall remains which gives the iconic silhouette in almost every photo you can see of this old gal. Similar to the great pyramids, stonework and metal reinforcings were stolen throughout the unloved years and used for other construction works which meant that the majority of the wall was of no match for a later earthquake.

On the inside, the missing arena floor gives a view of the labyrinth underneath where the animals would quietly wait until summoned for their part of the show. While most of the arena seating has been destroyed, enough remains to imagine a full house looking for some action. Indeed, much has happened here.