This beautiful essay in a form of letter from Toby Neilson marks a new entry in our ongoing #ForTheLoveOfTravel series, where we celebrate journeys that move us, slow us down, and remind us why we explore in the first place. In this chapter, Toby takes us to Rome, a city that doesn’t rush to impress but invites you into its rhythm. Through moments of stillness, heritage, and discovery, he reflects on what it means to feel restored by a place, and how travel becomes a form of nourishment for the soul.

Dear Milo,

This letter began at a table, beneath a sky painted in golden hues.

Before me, Rome revealed itself in silhouette, its landmarks unfamiliar, yet somehow deeply known. It is a rare feeling, that quiet awe of encountering a place you have visualised for years but never seen before. Aperitivo had just ended and I found myself suspended in a moment of complete contentment. The sort that asks nothing more of life.

I grabbed my napkin and scribbled down a few words:

“Moments come and moments go, I want this moment to never end…”

Rome resists the urgency of the modern world. While everything around us accelerates – technology, time and expectation – this city moves to an older rhythm. Its history is not preserved behind glass, it is lived within. Here, life has formed itself around the ancient walls, rather than walls built for the convenience of modern life. It is not always practical as cars edge through streets never designed for them, mirrors folding in as stone closes around steel but practicality feels beside the point. There is a thrill in it. Even the smallest scrape seems less like damage and more like evidence: you were here, you experienced this.

Travel, at its best, creates space. Not just distance from home, but distance from urgency. In Rome, mornings stretch. A coffee becomes an hour, then two, taken at a small café table with a refreshing morning breeze, as the city passes in unhurried procession. For someone from Scotland, where no morning is complete without all four seasons competing at once, this feels like a luxury bordering on indulgence.

In life, I often speak about my soul being fed. It is somewhat of a cliché phrase, but I know no better way to describe the distinction between somewhere that impresses and somewhere that restores. I have felt it before, on Saadiyat Island in Abu Dhabi, a place I return to often when I seek stillness. Rome, though entirely different in character, offers the same quiet recalibration. Two worlds apart yet arriving at the same end; renewal and inspired.

And then, unexpectedly, there is sanctuary within the city itself.

A special mention for Six Senses Rome, which quickly became a haven for me. After days measured in steps, twenty thousand and counting, it offered something rare: a soft silence. A true slice of peace, calm and tranquillity in the heart of one of Europe’s greatest metropolises. Within the spa, time loosened its grip. A Roman bath, warm and glorious, was enough to restore both energy and curiosity. I left not just rested, but with an appetite to begin exploring again.

Of course, Rome speaks just as clearly through its food. Pasta, tiramisu, simple words that barely begin to capture the experience. There is a reason Italian cuisine is admired worldwide, but admiration from afar is a pale imitation of reality. Here, indulgence feels appropriate, even necessary. If the carb-loading I’ve indulged in, resembles preparation for a marathon, then so be it. This is how it should be done.

And then there is the architecture.

Milo, I am not certain words can fully hold what I have seen this week. From the vast grandeur of Altare della Patria to the intricate intimacy of St Peter’s Basilica, there is a scale of human achievement that feels almost impossible. Not only in its creation, but in its endurance. These structures remain, unyielding and magnificent, after centuries of time and the passage of millions. You stand before them and feel, quite simply, small. And somehow, in that smallness, deeply connected.

Rome does not rush to impress you. It unfolds, patiently, moment by moment until you realise you are no longer observing it, but part of it.

And that is when you understand, some moments are not meant to last forever. Only to stay with you.

Arrivederci,

Tobias

By Toby Neilson