Thirteen Hours, One Sunset, and the Bus That Took Us to Rome
Thirteen hours in the air. Then Rome.
I stepped off the plane tired to the bone. My legs didn’t quite believe they were done sitting. But something else in me — something under the tiredness — would not sit still.
Hr felt it too. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to.
We collected our bags. Walked out of Fiumicino. And there it was — the sun, already leaning toward the horizon, laying that particular gold over the tarmac that Rome seems to save for people who have just arrived. We found the coach to the Vatican. Climbed on. Took the window seats.
No transfer booked. No route mapped. Just a bus, a window, and a city neither of us had seen.
The coach pulled onto the highway, and the sky caught fire behind the umbrella pines. Not metaphor — actual fire, the kind of orange that looks like it should be louder than it is. The bus was full of strangers. All of us tired the same way. All of us lit by the same light, saying nothing, watching the same burning sky like it was a film only we had tickets for.
Forty minutes. That’s how long Italy was just an orange line on the horizon and the backs of strangers’ heads.
It was the best introduction the country could have given us.
By the time the announcement called our stop, it was dark. We stepped off into a city we didn’t know yet — green pharmacy crosses glowing, shutters half-down for the night, graffiti gone soft under the streetlamps. We were tired. We were starving. So we did the only reasonable thing two people can do in a new city at ten at night: we walked into the first good-looking pizzeria we found, a little Naples-style place called o’Milionario, and ordered without ceremony. A quick stop at a corner market after — one beer, one bottle of water — and then home, if a rented apartment on your first night can already be called that.
The door closed. The city went quiet outside it. I sat there with a warm slice in one hand and a cold beer in the other, and the strangest feeling came over me: that morning, we had been in Seoul. Now we were here. It didn’t compute. It still doesn’t, a little.
That’s the thing about the first night of a long trip. It’s not one feeling — it’s all of them at once. The ache of the flight. The thrill of streets you can’t read yet. The quiet, dizzying sense of a life restarting, just for two weeks, from zero.
That’s where it really began.
Getting from Fiumicino to the Vatican, the easy way
We didn’t plan that first night, and it worked out beautifully. A little planning on the practical side, though, makes it easier to let go the way we did. Rome’s main airport is Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino (FCO), and from Terminal 3 you can take a direct airport coach straight to the edge of the Vatican — no metro transfer needed.
🚌 Airport bus — Fiumicino to the Vatican (what we actually took)
Operator: SIT Bus Shuttle / Terravision
Route: Fiumicino Airport (Terminal 3) → Roma Vaticano (Via Crescenzio)
Fare: about €6–7 one way
Journey: ~40 minutes, departures roughly every 20 minutes
Book / timetable: sitbusshuttle.com
The Via Crescenzio stop is two minutes from Castel Sant’Angelo and right on the edge of the Vatican district — most guides only mention Termini, but if you’re staying near the Vatican like we were, this drops you almost at the door. (Prefer speed? The Leonardo Express train runs FCO to Termini in 32 minutes, but only to Termini, and at a higher price.)
Don’t over-plan day one. The jet lag from Korea to Italy is real — a seven-hour swing. Book where you’re sleeping, know roughly how you’re getting there, and leave the rest empty. A slow bus, a first pizza, an early night: that’s a full itinerary for day one.
One safety note. Keep your bag in front of you on crowded coaches and around Termini. Rome is safe — but arrival day, tired and distracted with luggage in hand, is exactly when to stay sharp.