My parents made me an offer I couldn’t refuse: If I bought a ticket to Italy, they would spring for my costs on a cruise ship, where we’d spend two weeks touring the country with my aunt and uncle.

And the travel arrangements sounded fine: Upon landing, I would connect with a driver holding a sign with my name and would be shuttled to a bed and breakfast, where I would meet up with my parents once they arrived 12 hours later.

The plan seemed foolproof. But when I made it to Rome, everything that could go wrong did – in a span of eight hours.

All alone in the city of Rome

I don’t sleep much the night before the trip and sleep even less on the flights. So when my plane touches down at 9:30 a.m., exhaustion has set in. But soon after collecting my bags, I realize I’m all alone in Italy.

Fifteen minutes pass, and I don’t spot any sign bearing my name. It’s quite hot in this airport, but I feel ice run down my spine as I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow. Then it dawns on me that I don’t know the name of the bed and breakfast where I’ll be staying or the name of the cruise ship that I’m supposed to board.

But when, at last, I see my name and meet my driver, those worries quickly vanish.

The driver quickly weaves through traffic, narrowly avoiding pedestrians at times, until he comes to a stop in an alley. He unloads my things, points down a hallway and speeds off.

Retrieving my bags, I walk through an enormous green door and make my way to an elevator. On the third floor, I find a man working at a desk and, figuring it’s the bed and breakfast, go in. The man isn’t pleased that I’m not fluent in Italian, but he does speak some English so I tell him my last name and he searches for the reservation.

It’s not there.

Confused, I give him the name of my aunt and uncle. No luck with that either.

I explain to the man that I’m supposed to be at a bed and breakfast and that I was dropped off here, to which he replies, “They’re everywhere.”

Several other places in the area haven’t heard of me either, but at least the panic rush is keeping my exhaustion at bay. I decide to try the building with the green door again, hoping there might be another bed and breakfast higher up. As I reach the top floor, I find a lady working that speaks less English than I do Italian. A short language struggle ensues before I eventually understand that I’m to come back at 2 p.m.

She takes my bags and puts them behind the desk. But now I’ve got three hours to kill.

Seeing the Colosseum

A voice in my head whispers to me that I’m lost and should stay put. But a louder voice drowns out the whispers and pushes me to explore. So I pick the tallest sculpture in the distance as a reference point and start hiking. I’m not sure what the etiquette is for walking the streets, but when in Rome. …

After descending a flight of stairs, I come across a vast set of ruins. Towering columns still stand, and marble and granite statues litter the landscape. Brick walls also are nearby, possibly all that’s left of homes in the past.

After walking a couple of miles, the lack of sleep and direction suddenly overtakes me and I feel as though I’m going to faint. Then I notice the one thing I’ve always wanted to see.

The Colosseum extends towards heaven, its arches touching the sun and stretching as far as I can see. At once re-energized, I stumble down the uneven cobblestone path and follow the crowd toward the ancient stadium. Its size is remarkable, a sight to behold. So I back up to get the entire structure in view of the camera, click the button …

It dies. Of course.

Dejected, I return to the building with the big green door and head upstairs to meet with the manager. While not surprised when he tells me I don’t have a reservation, worry instantly builds up inside of me. I grab my luggage and contemplate my next move.

It’s clear. My only option is to return to the airport and intercept my parents.

A choice of airports

After hailing a taxi, the driver asks me which airport I need – because, of course, there would have to be two airports in Rome. My phone (and key to the outside world) is in Colorado and I have 400 euros to my name. The nightmare is complete.

Rolling the dice, I ask the driver to take me to the airport at which I arrived, knowing that if I can’t find my family, I’ll be stranded in Italy for two weeks.

Now I’m back to the place where the roller-coaster journey started, and my head is spinning. I buy two bottles of mineral water and choke them down like it’s the last liquid that’ll ever touch my lips. Hours crawl by, with me nodding in and out. Then I notice a man holding a sign with the names of my aunt and uncle, and I get a glimpse of my family coming down the exit.

Relieved, I reunite with my family and hop in a taxi. The driver quickly weaves through traffic, narrowly avoiding pedestrians at times, until he comes to a stop in an alley. The same alley.

I explain that I’ve been here and no reservation awaits behind the green door. We take a step back and peruse our surroundings, only to spot a partially hidden sign with a buzzer that connects to a bed and breakfast.

There, 25 feet to the left of the two places I had visited, sat another bed and breakfast – and our family reservation.

We drop off our bags and I serve as the tour guide, tracing the steps I’d taken hours earlier. Rome is no less amazing at night. Lights illuminate the city, bathing the structures of the ruins and the Colosseum.

We spent the next two days exploring Rome, visiting churches, fountains and gardens while marveling at the history on which we were standing. The subsequent tour offered even more memories that will last a lifetime.

But I’ll never forget the frantic eight hours I spent alone in Rome.