Do you believe in magic?

There’s a secret place in Roma. It’s no bigger than a ping-pong ball, but it’s completely worth the two hours it will take you to find. It is only known only to a select few, but three Italian guards monitor it while clutching their wartime ammunition. Don’t ask to take a picture with them (they will shoot youdown – figuratively). Instead, pretend they aren’t there and go up to take a peek. 

After you’re worn ugly from hiking through the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, the Circus Maximus, the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, the Pantheon and the Caracalla baths, make your way toward the Aventine keyhole.

Every local I asked raised an eyebrow at my mention of the magic hole, as if I, a lowly American, had been told some timeless secret I shouldn’t have known. After overcoming their initial shock, they then proceeded to direct me: passed the rose gardens, passed a park with orange trees abounding and passed charming Roman houses with lavender creeping up the facades. The further I trudged (stupidly in my flip-flops), the more I began to wonder where the hundreds of thousands of tourists that had been cramping my view of the ruins went. I assumed they were safe in the confines of the well-worn path of tourist nirvana - Hop-on, Hop-off busses – while I was walking nowhere fast but soaking in my scenery, nonetheless.

I caught a man exiting his fun-sized Smart car, and though he didn’t speak much English, I was able to cup my hand around my eye to signify that I was looking for the kaleidoscope-wonder through which I could see the dome of St. Peter’s basilica in the Vatican several miles away. It never ceases to amuse me how made-up sign language is the universal language. With a few finger points up and to the left from the local, my Spring break guys and I were on our way. 

Just as the local had indicated, that’s where I found the chipped, wooden, green door framed by cold, white stone that I had read about online.I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and pressed my eye to the iron keyhole, no bigger than an inch tall, to view a lane of trees framing the dome. The dome, miles and miles away, was in plain view. No tourists taking goofy pictures in front of it. No long lines. It was just me and the dome - the dome that millions visit every year to feel inspired or to reconnect with religion. 

Through my keyhole view, the dome appeared miniscule and unimportant, like yet another cone of gelato. Still, it appeared regal and majestic at the end of its tree corridor. For as massive as Rome is, looking through the tiny, magic keyhole for not even two minutes made me feel bigger than the world itself. No wonder the locals try to keep it a secret.