MEMENTO MORI

Our correspondent arrived in Rome ready for high-octane adventure. Instead, she embarked on a journey of quiet contemplation, exploring a city in mourning.

- By Karen Tee

I was expecting la dolce vita in Rome; my suitcase was stuffed with oversized sunglasses, vintage silk scarves and the most groundbreaking of my spring florals.

The plan had been to attend the inaugural Anantara Concorso Roma, a glamorous vintage and supercar parade featuring icons such as the Lamborghini Miura from The Italian Job and a trio of Ferraris that had won four editions of Le Mans races, including 2024's.

Needless to say, I had envisioned myself sipping a Negroni sbagliato on the grand portico of the Neoclassical Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel — the event’s main venue — while watching a convoy of luxury wheels purr along cobblestone streets.

But just hours before boarding a red-eye flight from Singapore, news broke that Pope Francis had died. By the time I landed, the mood had shifted. The Eternal City, usually buzzing with tourists chasing bucket-list landmarks, had taken a collective pause.

By the next day, the Concorso was rescheduled out of respect.

Though not religious, I have always admired Francis. He met people on the margins, and spoke up for the overlooked. In an era of performative power, his compassion felt like quiet resistance.

Now, with three unscripted days in Rome and caught in the gravity of a global moment, I felt compelled to retrace the pope's steps in the city.