Make a wish. Make a wish. Throw the coin. Make a wish.
One of my final site stops during my Italian sojourn in 2013 was the Trevi Fountain. To that point, I had only seen Trevi on postcards, Google Images, and in movies ("Roman Holiday", "La Dolce Vita"). Needless to say, I was in a welcome state of shock when I finally did get there. The structure was breathtakingly beautiful, ridiculously intricate. Every inch of it had a story, and embodied a powerful message. At 86 feet high, and 161.3 feet wide, the Trevi Fountain is a towering monument to art, to a past that refuses to, will not, and should not, fade away.
There's a custom in Rome that is associated with the Trevi Fountain. Throw a coin in, and you're bound to return to Rome at some point. I had to participate in that, if only for the fact that after everything I had seen while in the Eternal City, Italy, in Holland, in Europe, I just had to begin plotting a comeback. By hook or by crook, I just had to make a return trip at some point. A flight back to elope with a gorgeous Italian girl I had saved from a criminal enterprise? A flight back to reunite with old friends? A flight back for tea with Pope Francis? A flight back for a platter of glorious Florentine Steak? Name the reason, name your price. It does not really matter to me. In the time to come, I must find a way to make my way back.
So, flip went the coin, and, and kerplunk it went into the fountain. This coin, I surmise, had been through many pastry shop counters, bus station collection bins, and train station cashier drawers. Maybe at some point during its journey, it could have felt that its worth wasn't adequately represented by the number stamped upon it. With its arrival in the surprisingly pristine waters of the Trevi Fountain, it had redeemed itself. It now represented the hopes and dreams of a man who had traveled halfway around the world to understand the true meaning of beauty, to become one with a world, seemingly, not his own.
I wonder how often Roman authorities actually clean out the Trevi Fountain? Where do all the coins in there eventually go? To the a fund for indigent youths, perhaps? To Roberto Benigni's tailor? Who knows? It really should stop wondering about that.
My Euro coin is probably in the hands of a rotund baker who works in one of Rome's many patisseries that line its ancient streets, and yes, it probably is in good need of a scrubbing. To eyes that aren't all too discerning, perhaps that coin just signifies monetary value at this point- nothing more. THAT coin could help
a weary student get home on a busy school day, or, help Anthony Bourdain buy his favorite pork sandwich off of a roadside eatery someplace. Tie that piece of loose change to the Trevi Fountain, and a goofball tourist, though, and what you get is a much deeper tale. All matter is stuck in a nexus of significance. Everything can be tied up with everything else. Ponder on that for a while as you sip your morning cappuccino.
A boy to Rome.
Rome feels like the stuff of dreams.
Dreams tied to a coin.
A coin to desire.
A desire to return.
Pronto.
MC
**Interesting Fact from Wikipedia:
"Coins are purportedly meant to be thrown using the right hand over the left shoulder. This was the theme of 1954's Three Coins in the Fountain and the Academy Award-winning song by that name which introduced the picture.
An estimated 3,000 Euros are thrown into the fountain each day.The money has been used to subsidize a supermarket for Rome's needy;however, there are regular attempts to steal coins from the fountain."
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