Aliyeva Elina

Tourist Attraction


It’s a sultry, parching afternoon in the middle of July in Rome. The sky is azure with a few splashes of white, and there is a warm breeze brushing against my cheek.

There are a few separated groups of people standing outside the Spanish Steps as the glistening sun hits their surface. The sandy white painted cement is tinted brown due to age but perfectly aligned with the structure of the steps with zero to no cracks. The pale, white building stands tall in front, its balconies sticking out from the sides and the large clock’s minute hand slowly ticking around the circumference of the clock.

It’s evident that the crowd aren’t locals,  because they’re standing there like children, astounded and observing their surroundings.  Some people have brand new vintage cameras hanging from their clammy necks and some have their phones out recording anything that the guide explains. 

Lots of families are standing there, moms and dads carrying their fussy children, tears streaming down their faces with a sour expression, as the guide talks loudly with a slight Italian accent. He is wearing gray linen shorts, a stained red cap and a white polo, and is visibly more comfortable than most people here.

The overflowing fountain is shaped like a ship with water splashing along the sides. The coins in the fountain all have luminous reflections that shine through the crystalline turquoise water on the white marble surrounding them. Meanwhile, the children were tossing pennies with hopeful and desperate looks in their eyes. The tourist group had just arrived, but it felt like hours they were standing there, appreciating the monochrome architecture. 

The sun is starting to scorch the atmosphere making many of the people wave their maps to their faces and chug water. A couple of exhausted-looking children sat on the creaky bench with the paint chipped off, breathing excessively with sweat beads forming on their faces. 

One of the older women stepped aside to anxiously smoke a cigarette, dripping the ash gracefully on the gray cement while chatting briskly with someone on the phone. The smoke wafted in my direction and the stench rested in my nose. The busy, extravagant café had already started to open,  jazz music was playing in the background. The waiters layed out the crisp, white tablecloth across the wooden table.


Envoyé: 14:54 Mon, 25 March 2024 by : Aliyeva Elina age : 15