Attractions were usually half as beautiful as shown in picturesque photos shown by bloggers, advertisers, and social media application users. However, there were exceptions. Villa Borghese Gardens was one of them.
Along the walkway after passing through the rusting gates, which had previously prevented vandalizers and cheeky adolescences, were an exhibition of flora uncommonly seen outside of Rome. Cork cedars surrounded the laid tarmac, taking up the position as second line of defense against the slow development of the creeping high street buildings. Their branches had been appropriately trimmed when they were a lot younger, growing like colossal mushrooms with overlaying green caps --- giving off a cooling effect to visitors and local joggers.
The trees were not the only aesthetically-pleasing objects, the man-made structures were the other half that made up the beauty of the garden. Drinking fountains with faces of Greek mythological beasts were positioned near the main attractions. The Templo di Esculapio centered in the lake took away the sense of time from boaters and passers-by, the god Aesculapius working his holy medicine on whoever were closed to him.
Drowsed by the effectiveness of the gardens, which seem to have taken hold of Judas as well, they continued deeper. Cay has never seen Judas looked so serene in their entire 3 weeks of knowing each other, perhaps nobody could escape the other worldly-pull of Lord Borghese’s legacy.
“Beautiful, an absolute work of art.” Judas let out a sigh, relaxed.
“I supposed it is, we’ve been here for over an hour now.”
“Not enough, there were still parts of the gardens we walked past without even stopping.”
“Because I had a good feeling about seeing the altar. Thought we could row a boat.”
“Or we could save that until we’re on a gondola in Venice and Amsterdam. Jut a suggestion”
“Ah.”
They went on until all the main attractions were covered, excluding the Borghese Gallery, which required an entry ticket that costed 15 Euro. Maybe next time, Cay thought.
They were initially walking back to the hostel for the moving-in, but the time was yet to allow them to do so. More idle time was required to secure the sanctuary for a few days, away from the blazing sun. They stopped by a local deli that served sandwiches and paninis; both ordered a panini and sandwich with local ingredients: prosciutto, fungi, Milan cheese, and pan-heated zucchini. No alcohol was bought as the two agreed the extra expenses could be saved just by limiting their slight cravings for alcohol. Venti Metri was the name of the deli, and the owner made the best sandwiches in Rome.
After an hour, they left the deli, congratulating the owners’ food and company, albeit the conversations consisted mostly simple questions and answers. That was the problem when both factions, the local and the foreigners, sometimes faced.
They arrived back and were surprised that they still had about an hour left, but the landlady did not mind and let them have their way. Both showered, Cay first before Judas. They picked their own beds and slept, without any interruptions that would stir their exhausted mind and physic awoke.
*
Judas was a person of quietness, with a strength that welled inside of him. That was how Cay pictured him when they met in the Orange Room night club in Southampton when it was his second-time frequenting. Surprisingly, it was Judas that spoked to Cay when the latter was halfway through his almost Mojito (he liked regular rum, not white-Russian ones).
Throughout their exchanges of name, education, employment (past, present, and future), interests, and so on, there were intimate moments where only a guy-to-guy condition would be appropriate. They spoke of past lovers (“did you actually get laid?”, Judas interrupted half-way), things that they liked to do in solitude, and politics that women in general find boring.
From what Cay found out about Judas, he was clever, very clever. He used to study at Imperial College of London, but decided on his on terms that the life Travelling had always been his long yearn interest, he signed up for carious charity organisations so that he would have the chance to travel abroad (aiding people in need was to strengthen his justification). His first travel was to Myanmar when the Rohingya holocaust was at its’ peak of media headlines, the conditions were bad when he arrived as many “foreign” inhabitants of Myanmar were treated as rats by the government.
It was Cay’s first time seeing him angry, as of the first day of meeting him. Cay listened through most of Judas’s exertion of angriness about how governments are not only not obliged, but worsened the living condition of refugees and alike (like the Rohingyas in South-east Asia). His fury was of suppressed fire, waiting to burst out in flames but was contained by the constant hard bass and dubstep of DJ music. He later apologized for the sudden change of emotions and offered to buy Cay a drink, which Cay declined and bought him one instead when he did not notice.
Judas was wearing a white-collar shirt with rolled-up sleeves and bleached blue jeans, his short and slightly curly chestnut hair recoils upwards when he walked quickly to the toilet after his intensive complaints. Cay took note as well of his dark iris, he was not of Asian origin (perhaps his ancestors were? Cay thought). And unlike Cay’s typical origin’s physical experience, Judas was a larger built like a Caucasian’s, but some of his visible parts imply he was not fully white.
The conversation ended after Cay stated he had too much pseudo-mojitos, leaving Judas to continue as part of the nightclub. With the latter’s mobile number stored in his phone.
ns 15.158.61.12da2
