There are some things in life you should never cut corners on—your flight, your accommodation, and most definitely, your tour guide. But let’s be real: when you’re a budget-conscious traveler with an itch for adventure, sometimes you end up with less-than-ideal situations. And that’s how I found myself standing in the middle of a crowded street in Rome, holding a hastily scribbled name on a crumpled piece of paper, wondering if this was a huge mistake.
“I’m Luca, your guide for today!” a voice boomed from behind me.
I spun around and nearly lost my balance on the cobblestones. There stood a man who could only be described as a walking disaster. Luca was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals that looked suspiciously like they’d been bought at a discount store during a two-for-one sale. He didn’t seem to mind that the Roman sun was blazing down with the intensity of a thousand suns, making the city feel like a giant oven. Instead, he was busily flipping through a stack of papers like he was searching for a particular book in a library… except this wasn’t a library, it was a historical city.
“Are you Luca?” I asked, trying to mask my growing concern.
“Si, si! I am Luca. You must be… ah… the American,” he said, pointing at me with a flourish. I nodded awkwardly. “Perfect! I have a very interesting tour planned for you!”
Oh no. The word “interesting” always means trouble.
We started walking toward the Colosseum, and Luca began with a series of random facts. Or, at least, I think they were facts. Something about Julius Caesar being the first emperor of Rome, or maybe it was Napoleon—honestly, I lost track after five minutes of him ranting about gladiators, interspersed with dramatic pauses that seemed designed for effect. His passion was undeniable, but the facts? Not so much.
As we approached the Colosseum, Luca suddenly gestured grandly toward a hot dog stand. “This is a very historic place,” he said with utter sincerity. “Right here, the very first hot dog was invented.”
I blinked. “The first hot dog?”
“Yes, yes! Hot dog. Very popular with gladiators before a big fight. They would eat a hot dog for strength and bravery!” He gave me a knowing nod. “A true Roman tradition.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”
Luca looked momentarily flustered. “Ah, well, maybe not true for everyone. But hot dogs were inspired by Roman sausages. You must appreciate this local delicacy.”
I nodded slowly, trying to stifle my laughter. Sure, Luca might have had his facts a little… off, but there was something about his enthusiasm that made me want to go along with it. And honestly, I could use a snack.
The day only got more surreal from there. As we walked down the narrow alleyways near the Trevi Fountain, Luca insisted we stop and “pose for a photo with the local cats.” It wasn’t an official tour stop or anything—it was just a random group of alley cats lounging in the sun. But Luca insisted that they were “the best kept secret of the city” and “knew more about the ancient Romans than anyone.”
“They’ve seen history unfold,” Luca whispered, crouching next to a particularly smug-looking tabby.
I barely managed to suppress a laugh, but I humored him. I snapped a photo of Luca petting the cat, and for a brief moment, I wondered if this was some kind of weird performance art.
As we made our way to the Pantheon, Luca launched into a long monologue about the building’s “true” purpose. According to him, the Pantheon wasn’t just an ancient temple—it was a secret meeting place for time travelers from the future. And the “hole in the roof” wasn’t just for rain—it was a portal to another dimension.
I stared at him, struggling to process his words. “Wait, so… time travelers built this place?”
“Exactly!” Luca said, his eyes wide with excitement. “They were way ahead of their time.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No, no! Very hush-hush,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with a wink. “But when you look at the Pantheon, you’re not just looking at history—you’re looking at the future. Maybe even your future!”
At that point, I was starting to suspect that Luca might have missed a few too many history lessons. But there was something undeniably charming about his absolute certainty. It was like traveling with an overenthusiastic child who had discovered a brand-new world, but had gotten all the facts hilariously wrong.
The day ended with a trip to a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that Luca swore served the “best pizza in all of Rome.” When the pizza arrived, it was a soggy, limp thing that looked as if it had been dropped on the floor and then rescued. But Luca was convinced it was a masterpiece. He even tried to convince me that the pizza was so old, it was actually “ancient Roman pizza,” dating back to the times of Caesar himself.
“Just trust me,” he said, “this is history on a plate.”
I took a cautious bite. To my surprise, it was actually delicious. Not ancient, not Roman, but definitely a hidden gem in a city full of culinary treasures.
As I finished my meal, I realized something important. Luca might not have been the most historically accurate guide, but he had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary. His heart was in the right place, and his energy was contagious. Sure, I wasn’t sure how hot dogs fit into the equation, but I couldn’t deny that his passion had made me fall in love with Rome in a way I hadn’t expected.
Maybe it wasn’t about the facts at all—it was about the joy of the journey, the laughter along the way, and the way even the most absurd moments could bring you closer to the soul of a place.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d let him convince me that time travelers had something to do with the Pantheon. After all, who could argue with a guide who saw the world with such infectious wonder?
So, in the end, hiring the wrong tour guide turned out to be exactly what I needed. Because sometimes, the best guides are the ones who teach you how to laugh at the chaos of travel—and, maybe, how to enjoy the occasional hot dog along the way.
4o mini