They arrived back at the hostel after a few hours of window shopping, neither objecting to walking through Rome’s modern yet characteristically Roman-looking high streets. David and Carianna were nowhere to be seen. Yoshi mentioned that Carianna had left after just one night. Her bed had since been taken by Melinda, who requested to move into the room—apparently the liveliest one in the hostel, likely due to Daniel’s extroverted, Espanyol-like charm.
It wasn’t quite bedtime, so they struck up a conversation with Yoshi about his travel plans.
“I don’t know. I’ve never planned ahead before,” he said.
He explained that he might either fly to Poland or take a train to Venice, depending on his mood and budget. Cay was appalled by the lack of preparation—especially for a budget traveler. He himself had prepared files and a cost ledger to avoid overexerting their funds or energy. Yet, part of him admired Yoshi’s swaggering spontaneity. Judas, on the other hand, stayed silent throughout.
Cay told Judas he wanted to visit a few museums the next day. Judas said he had other plans. Slightly skeptical, Cay chose not to question him—this might be his chance to travel independently for once. He didn’t really know Judas all that well, and this seemed like an appropriate time to explore on his own terms.
That night, everyone went to bed early, except Cay, who stayed up reviewing plans for their next destinations. He hadn’t completed the itinerary in detail. There were simply too many attractions, paid or free, to consider. While he knew spontaneity often led to the best experiences, he still preferred at least a rough outline. It gave him peace of mind.
Outside, no moon could be seen—only a drab, eight-storey building from the post-war reconstruction era. Somehow, it felt authentically Roman, even if it was just another residence for tourists. Clothes, hung out to dry from balconies, flapped gently in the breeze, held only by wooden clippers. Cay imagined the cheap bed linens drifting away like yellowed leaves falling from a tree.
After finalizing the next day’s plans, Cay took a twenty-pack of Italian cigarettes he’d bought earlier and stepped out into the moist, stifling air. It offered a clarity that the inviting yet stuffy room could not.
He smoked a few in quick succession and went to bed soon after, hoping for a restful night. Just as he began to drift off, the room door creaked open. A dull orange glow from the hallway cut across his eyelids. Light footsteps padded past his bed, but Cay was too drowsy to care.
Whoever had arrived, he’d greet them in the morning.736Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6LeAhStTN2
Cay and Jenna had once taken a short trip to Frome, which she described as “boring—but in a good way,” known for its hill of independent boutiques and antique shops.
They caught the 8 a.m. train with standard government-issued orange-edged tickets. Coffee was a must, and Cay was grateful for the modest café on the platform. They also bought sushi—surprisingly fresh, much better than the stale salmon nigiri from Sainsbury’s or Tesco Express.
The ride was short, which left Cay slightly dissatisfied. He preferred longer journeys that led to unfamiliar places. Frome felt too close to Bath.
It was only a short walk from the station to the main street, where pubs had already opened and a fishmonger sold suspiciously fresh seafood in polystyrene boxes. They passed a wall of street art Jenna loved, and Cay could see why. The passion behind the anonymous artist’s work was obvious to anyone who took the time to look.
Catherine Hill was steep, paved in gray brick. Its sides were lined with quirky cafés offering vegetarian burgers and “healthy” chips, according to the menus on sidewalk lecterns. Handcrafted shoe stores and clothing shops stood behind clean glass fronts. Jenna disliked some of them, though Cay never understood why.
At the top of the hill, antique shops—some genuine, others less so—waited for browsing.
After several photo sessions and a few leisurely stops, they settled at a small café. They ordered standard burgers (Jenna’s was vegetarian—“more flavorful than the meat ones,” she said) and sweet potato fries. Tea, a staple of English dining, followed.
They later stopped by Jenna’s parents’ Chinese takeaway to say hello. It was Cay’s first time meeting her father—an older man with white hair tied in a man bun. The hairstyle seemed odd, a remnant of the hipster era. Built like a pillar—not from gym work, but from sheer weight—he surprised Cay with his soft-spoken tone and kind demeanor.
They had barely left when Jenna’s mother chased them down to give them a container of chow mein—“special” because Cay was her daughter’s boyfriend. That evening, they shared the still-warm noodles over pirated films on Cay’s laptop.
The trip left Cay with a warm fondness for Jenna’s parents—a kind, respected couple in a small but vibrant town. What was there not to love?
As he finished his free dinner that evening, Cay couldn’t help but recall fond memories of Taiwan with his own family.
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