It was the first time I’d done this, sitting at a cafe, watching. Just watching. Not talking and letting my sight wander while trying to follow some conversation with whomever I’m with. I mean just watching.

Just staring.

Without thinking.

And enjoying it.

I was in Piazza Navona and the skies rumbled with a deep bass tone to announce more torrential rain to come. I had just walked through the rain from the Vatican where it started as a few pregnant drops of water and a grey set of clouds, slowly building itself up into the torrent that was pelting down a tympanic tune on the sturdy canvas of the umbrella over my head.

Around me, the smell of a newly washed planet surrounded me and my fellow coffee-drinkers as we continued to watch the world go by.

I’d only been in Rome for two days and it had consistently surprised me.

First, I felt a little discombobulated. It is too close to Malta without actually being Maltese and it took an hour of pounding the Roman cobbles around the Piazza di Spagna before I began to make the mental distinction between the two.

The Spanish steps aren’t actually Spanish. They’re French.

The architecture, and the sheer quantity of history, is something that this place shares with cities in Malta like Valletta and Mdina. But in Malta, they are small (Valletta is barely a kilometre in length) so you cannot wander around in the same way that you can in the Italian capital.

The language is familiar to me but the mannerisms vary between being different and being typically Mediterranean at the same time. Certainly, the locals seem to be friendlier but perhaps that is because I’m in the tourist centre.

On this morning, I had visited the Vatican. My walk and my entire morning were characterised by a feeling of familiarity but I only realised this as I wrote it just now.

I felt comfortable; I knew my way around and even though the roads were new to me, I did not feel out-of-place.

Or feel like a tourist.

So over a plate of lasagna, on the terrace at the top of Castel Sant’Angelo, with a view of St Peter’s Basilica in front of me, I reflected on the fact that I was beginning to consider Rome as a potential place to live in.

A few hours’ earlier, I had dawdled in front of an estate agent’s and noted that the rents seem to be on the high side in that area. Without realising what I was doing, I had also started making a list of which neighbourhoods I would live in, if I did choose to move.

And then … And then, it started raining.

I had started walking away from the Vatican and the rain was still a light drizzle. I savoured the feeling of the large fat globs of rain splashing themselves on my head and grinned.

Nothing beats walking in the rain.

A tout approached me with a worried expression on his face. His outstretched arm dangled a few coloured umbrellas as he mumbled something at me, clearly hoping I would buy one.

He stood there, bemused, as I shrugged and told him I didn’t need one.

Then I turned to the imaginary image of my brother who was walking next to me in my mind, the way we used to as kids when it would rain and we would delight in getting drenched and watching the valley close to our home start to slowly flood.

My imaginary brother sniggered at the thought of needing an umbrella, as did I. It was at that moment that I realised that Rome is definitely a place to live in, if even my brother is enjoying it the way I am.

The rain increased its intensity as I meandered through the old Imperial ruins and, figuring that half an hour’s rain was enough fun, I took a table under an umbrella at a cafe along one majestically ornate side of Piazza Navona.

Rome will continue to surprise me, I’m sure.

But if, and when, I move to Rome, I shall have to make sure my brother visits in autumn or winter.

And hope that it rains.

When where you last in the Italian capital? Do you feel you could live there too?