Rome Note: Ambiance

I don't want to let go of Rome without a word of appreciation for the general ambiance, at least as we got to enjoy it during a warm week in September. We settled into an apartment in what may be my most favorite location in the whole world--inside the elbow of the Tiber, in this case tucked between the St. Philip Neri church and the Anti-Mafia squad. The flat was a deconsecrated former bachelor pad, offered by the tallest Italian I have ever met (yes, it can be a problem sometimes, he said), fastidiously if somewhat quaintly appointed to personal taste. It offered, among other things, the tallest toilet I've ever, um, experienced though I guess I understand why. Also a charming little putto Cupid over the fourposter bed, and I wonder whether at appropriate moments he toots his horn?

I'm not precisely sure just what it is I like so much about his neighborhood, though the flavor is distinctive. Rome can be a jumble at first glance, and it certainly has more--and more diverse--visual history than any place else I've ever encountered. But as James McGregor points out in his admirable guidebook, it is not so much of a jumble at second glance, because the competing attractions more or less sort themselves out. There's the "ancient Rome: stuff right there in the center of things, just behind the gawdawful Victor Emmanuel monument. The Vatican is more or less off by itself on the west side of the river. The baroque is a bit more scattered around but you can usually identify it--or at least the Bernini statues--by the dynamism and drama (there is also a fair amount of Mussolini modern here and there, not without interest, although the most interesting is off the tourist track).

The bend-of-the-River neighborhood isn't any of these: it is Renaissance, which may be hard to distinguish in the blur of first arrival but comes into focus in time. The Pope came back here from exile in 1377 to find a city--rather more a network of semi-related villages--in a parlous state. He set off a building boom that left this part of town littered with private residences that are the very definition of understated elegance. Perhaps the most visible is the Palazzo Farnese, with its own piazza--Michaelangelo topped it off with a massive cornice which tends to draw together an otherwise somewhat unfocused melange. But aside from the Farnese, there are any number of other identifiable, datable and formidable early examples. A good many of the most dramatic are on the Via Giulia, the restored papacy's first great urban renewal project. But any number of other Renaissance examples persist in the sidestreets and alleways (not always distinguishable, one from another) beyond.

I suppose the neighborhood is going (has gone) yuppified, like the Trastevere just over the river. On the one hand I say why not? On the other hand, I'm not quite so sure that it has; the cabby who took us in from the airport said he was born right here, and lives now just around the block. You see plenty of boutiques and tourists; you see a whole world of adolescents in the Camp de' Fiori at night. But you also see school kids, and old folks who look like they have indeed lived here all their life.

I called it a favorite: I like its elegance and atmosphere. It's also convenient--just off the #64 busline, the pickpocket special that connects the Vatican and the Termini station. And the food--the back streets are awash with restaurants, and I haven't found a bad one yet. On the other hand, I know I'm kidding myself: I've only ever been here on vacation, and I can already begin to identify the things that would drive me crazy if I lived here. Better to go home, and write about it, and pine for a chance to go back.