From Rome with (No) Film: Travel Fails, Spontaneity, and Love in Italy
By Morris Heney
You’ve seen those classic vacation photos—smiling faces in front of the Colosseum, bathed in that golden Roman sunlight, looking like something out of a travel magazine. We nearly had one of those. Nearly.
This is the story of how Rina and I set off across Italy with a camera that had no film, big dreams, and at one point… no pants. (Yes, really.) Because if there’s one thing travel teaches you, it’s that the best moments often come from the plans that fall apart.
A Roman Holiday, Interrupted
Rome was our first major stop on our whirlwind European tour. The city hit me like a warm, chaotic symphony—statues on every corner, mouth-watering food, and architecture that made you feel small in the best way possible.
We wandered the cobbled streets, sat in piazzas eating bruschetta and antipasto, and wandered into one museum after another. Rina, who had mapped our route down to the last espresso break, was in her element. Me? I was in love—with the city and the woman I was bumbling through it with.
Then came the Colosseum.
The grand amphitheater rose before us, steeped in blood, drama, and 2,000 years of history. I readied our camera, framing the shots like a National Geographic photographer. “Smile!” I told Rina. She did. “Move a little to the left.” Click. Click. Click.
Then, the horrifying realization: “Did we put film in this thing?”
The look Rina gave me was somewhere between heartbreak and homicide.
I opened the camera. Empty.
We didn’t return to retake the shots. Sometimes, you just take the L and move on.
A Vatican Wardrobe Malfunction
Rome still had a few curveballs in store for us. One afternoon, Rina and I were headed to the Vatican, excited to finally see the Sistine Chapel. We were just steps from St. Peter’s when a guard stepped forward, looked me up and down, and said bluntly, “No shorts.”
I looked at Rina. She looked at my knees. We both sighed.
Apparently, the gates of heaven require long pants.
So, off we went, wandering a few blocks until we found a little shop. The only thing even remotely wearable? A pair of hospital scrubs—baggy, shapeless, and held up by a drawstring that clearly had commitment issues.
As we toured the Basilica and inched closer to the Sistine Chapel, I kept tugging at my waistband, feeling less like a reverent visitor and more like someone who’d escaped a clinic.
But when we stepped into the Chapel and looked up, it didn’t matter. The ceiling was mid-restoration, half glowing with renewed color, half worn by time—and it was breathtaking. You could actually see the before and after side by side, like watching a 500-year-old masterpiece wake up.
Even with my pants slipping down, I was awestruck.
Venice, Florence, and Mosquitoes
Our trip continued through Florence, where we encountered Michelangelo’s David—his massive presence (and yes, his backside) commanding awe. We walked along the Arno River, crossed the Ponte Vecchio, and soaked in Medici-funded beauty at every turn.
Venice, however, presented a different kind of drama. Think canals, gondolas… and bloodthirsty mosquitoes.
At our hotel, the concierge asked if we’d brought repellent. We hadn’t. So I swaddled myself like a burrito, mumbling about malaria and Venetian death swarms, while Rina tried to enjoy the birthplace of her father. My incessant whining nearly ruined her moment. I was not the romantic gondolier she deserved.
Lesson learned: pack repellent—and humility.
Lessons in Love (and Letting Go)
Every missed photo, wardrobe malfunction, and bug bite became part of the mosaic that was our journey. And truthfully? I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything—because they reminded me that travel, like love, is rarely perfect.
There’s no way to script every moment. There are just too many variables—like forgetting film in Rome or being gifted pig’s feet in Switzerland (that’s a blog for another day). The magic lies in how you respond when the itinerary falls apart.
Do you laugh? Do you compromise? Do you agree to share your sausage platter when your partner mistakenly orders a slab of pâté and wants to trade? (Answer: yes, and you learn to savor that sacrifice.)
If You Go to Italy…
Here are a few tips from someone who’s made all the mistakes:
- Double-check your camera. And while you’re at it, bring extra batteries, memory cards, or whatever the future version of the film is.
- Don’t wear shorts to the Vatican. Or be prepared to buy elastic-waist hospital pants and suffer the consequences.
- Always ask Rina’s opinion. She’ll be right 99% of the time. The other 1%? She’ll still make you laugh about it later.
- When in doubt, order the antipasto. And always say yes to dessert.
Rome Wasn’t Built in a Day… But It Was Worth Every One of Ours
As we left Italy, we didn’t have a single perfect photo of the Colosseum. No souvenirs captured in pixels—this was the ’80s, after all. Just a hazy memory and a camera that had been empty the whole time. But we had each other. We had the laughs, the mishaps, and the stories we’d tell for years. And luckily, we had enough pants to make it through the rest of Europe.