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Dumb luck led us to the Via di San Basilio and the Aleph. Lavish and slightly cheesy in that endearing Italian way, the Aleph's décor is based on Dante's Inferno, and everything—bar, restaurant, library, lobby—is a brilliant shade of red. The hell theme seemed very appropriate when we checked in and found a message from the fun folks at Alitalia questioning the change in our departure date. After another hour on the phone, we were told that neither it nor our missing tickets would be a problem. I suggested that we have the documents FedExed from Florence, but the airline assured the boyfriend this wouldn't be necessary.

And so we set off to sightsee. Rome is a blend of the old and the new, with flashy, perma-tanned couples in Dolce & Gabbana inspecting the treasures of the Vatican. The streets smell like sautéed garlic and wine, and the pace of the city sweeps you from ancient monument to trendy restaurant.

Because a friend of mine spent six months in Rome working on Wes Anderson's The Life Aquatic, I knew about a few off-thebeaten- path places of which the cast and crew had grown fond.

Tucked away in a cobblestone courtyard on the Via della Croce, near the Spanish Steps, Otello alla Concordia was a favorite of theirs, and of Fellini's. The boyfriend stuffed me with Roman specialties: fried zucchini florets, fried anchovies, and zuppa de pesce.

For the boyfriend, an inveterate history buff, Rome is the cradle of civilization, the road map to the modern world. To me, it's a lot of crusty old buildings. But I was finding out what made him happy—and finding that that made me happy—so I agreed to learn about gladiators as long as I got to go to Gucci.

My shopping was strictly of the window variety (the Prada outlet and that ridiculously expensive grape lamp from Murano had filled my quota), but the boyfriend was in a buying mood. As he tried on an insane mustard plaid mohair suit at Etro, I remembered that a friend once compared my personality to a crazy outfit that many men might admire but few could, or would, actually wear.

But here was a guy not only willing to try on the crazy outfit, but also eager to buy it—if only it were his size. "They only made one for all the stores," said the apologetic shopkeeper. "Some things, too strong!"

Instead, the boyfriend bought a black wool Gucci coat (I hoped the metaphor ended there), and we had one last night out in Rome. We went to Trastevere, the bohemian district famous for its lively piazzas. As I watched the street performers, jugglers, and stilt walkers, the magnitude of the gift I'd been given began to sink in.

The trip wasn't just a vacation; it was an amazing life experience. With an amazing person. Who, despite everything, was still speaking to me. And I to him. Un miracolo!

Tues: Basta, Alitalia!

The next morning at the airline check-in counter, however, my warm glow turned into extreme anxiety. Despite the multiple, lengthy phone calls, the airline had no reservation information of any kind for our return. And since our tickets were still in Florence, we had nothing to prove we were on this—or any other—flight.