Sofia Costa

Rome is loud, sunburnt and very old, and it does not care whether you photograph it. I found that relaxing. I went to the Pantheon at first light, when the piazza is a street cleaner, some pigeons, and the portico columns throwing long shadows across the stones.

Mornings I walked through Campo de' Fiori as the market stalls went up, artichokes and bitter greens and men arguing gently about price. At golden hour I climbed the Pincian Hill, which looks over Piazza del Popolo toward the dome of St Peter's and is quieter than it deserves. At dusk I crossed Ponte Sant'Angelo between the stone angels, the river holding the last light. I walked everywhere. Rome forgives the feet eventually.