The adventure began almost immediately after we landed in Rome.

We climbed into a taxi to take us to our Airbnb near Campo de’ Fiori, tired from the flight, excited to finally be in Italy, and apparently unaware that our first official activity would be testing the limits of the human nervous system.

Within minutes, our driver was flying through the streets of Rome, weaving between cars, scooters, buses, and anything else that happened to be in his way.

Traffic lanes appeared to be more of a loose concept.

Turn signals were apparently optional.

And braking seemed to be reserved for absolute emergencies.

Sarah and I kept exchanging the kind of looks married couples use when neither person wants to say out loud, “Are we going to die?”

Every sharp turn sent us sliding slightly across the back seat. Every sudden lane change made us grip whatever we could find. Scooters appeared out of nowhere, cars squeezed through spaces that did not seem physically large enough, and our driver handled all of it with the relaxed confidence of a man driving alone on an empty country road.

Meanwhile, I was mentally reviewing everything I had ever heard about travel insurance.

At one point, I’m pretty sure we passed another car with only about three inches between us, although in Rome that may legally qualify as “plenty of room.”

Our driver never flinched.

He wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even particularly interested.

This was apparently just Tuesday.

By the time we finally pulled up near Campo de’ Fiori, Sarah and I climbed out of the taxi relieved, slightly shaken, and extremely grateful to still have all of our major organs.

We had been in Italy for approximately one hour.

We had not yet seen the Colosseum.

We had not eaten pasta.

We had not enjoyed a peaceful glass of wine in a piazza.

But we had already survived what felt like the opening scene of The Fast and the Furious: Rome Drift.

And just like that, our relaxing Italian vacation had officially begun.