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.

Graffito

Via Cartari at Via dei Banchi Vecchi, Rome.

SmartCar

Seems that every vehicle in Central Rome these days that isn't a motorcycle is a SmartCar. I first thought they were all rent-and-drop vehicles but no; these are virtually all owner-occupied. I did see one that was apparently a loaner from the tire store, and another that bore a Monaco license plate--does this mean a long drive, or is it just a tax dodge?

Smart cars make all the sense in the world in Rome, I suppose, because you can park a dozen of them in a cupcake tin--or (as above) in the middle of a parade of motorcycles. Exactly why they would not make any sense in Palookaville, which is still pretty much wide open spaces. You also see a fair number of Mini Coopers (or is it Minis Cooper?), I suppose for similar reason.

But wait, I can think of one more care at least as popular in Rome as the SmartCar: that would be the lurking, lowering, BMW, frequently with the little blue light on top that tells you the proprietor is a power guy whose need to Get There is more important than your own. Some of these are cops but some seem to be just guys in suits (with drivers). Way it was told to me, Rome now has some sort of permit system for vehicles in the Centro Storico. Apparently the limit was voted in by guys with BMWs who now find their own driving so much more convenient.

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Rome Note: Baccalà

Sighting in Rome last week: two ladies dining out in a wine bar. They were clearly old enough to remember Rome when it was poor,, but tonight, life was good. They had two rounds of wine-by-the-glass and a long, leisurely chat, laced with lots of hand-waving and clucks of disapproval. And paid with a credit card.

But here's the thing: they were eating mashed codfish and potatoes--poor people food if there ever was any. The stuff of their youth, one is tempted to assume. And here it is a signature dish on the menu in an upscale wine bar.

And two slices of toast, did I mention the toast?

Rome Note: Grub

While I think of it, three quick restaurant recommendations for the greater Campo de' Fiori area:

• Carbonara, right there at the west end of the Campo, is surprisingly untouristy, given the location, and serves a yummy osso bucco (and I am not that crazy about meat).

• Ditirambo a block away in Piazza della Cancelleria does innovative veggie dishes. I'm going to see if I can replicate the gorgonzola and pear soufflé.

• Cul de Sac on the Piazza Pasquino (off the southwest end of Piazza Navonas) has a capacious wine list.
  

Rome Note: St. Peter Styles

Every Rome tour book will tell you about the statue of St. Peter in the Vatican, and how tourists since the dawn of time have undertaken to make a connection with the place by stroking its foot.

From (admittedly brief) observation, I'd venture you can learn some interesting stuff about people from the way they do it. I'd infer that most simply stroke the foot once, cross themselves, and rturn quickly away. I saw one who did not cross himself: he was a buff young guy wearing a tee-shirt that said ITALIAN GIGOLO. He may have had more pressing concerns.

But what particularly interested me were the nuns: they didn't merely stroke it; they would cupthe foot and hold it, as if they were trying to give it comfort.

A tall order, IMOH. And BTW, a couple of nun footnotes: I'm impressed at just how many you still see in Rome these days, and what a variety of cool habits (I don't suppose I can recognize the ones in civvies, though it is tempting to try). I'd guess that about half that I saw were Asian. I noticed a couple of them in a market trying to pick out a nice bottle of wine, like housewives getting ready for a celebratory family dinner.

Rome Note: The Language Police

Back in the 80s, Roman shops used to sell--and, more amazingly, Roman consumers used to buy--a dreadful concoction of merchurecrome, shoe polish and sawdust that they passed off as instant coffee. As I recall, it was a Danish brand; the name was "Hag." The fun part of "Hag" (there weren't many fun parts to Hag) was that it was a word that no Roman waiter could prononce: It begins with an aspirate and ends with a consonant, two sounds a good Roman simply cannot get his glottis around. "You want a-guh?" was about the best they could do.

I thought of ag-huh last week when I picked up a few more tidbits for the language police:

• Well, I would too: the tour guide said "back then, the wine was 800 percent alcohol, so naturally they cut it with water."

• Tight union: the sign on the ticket office said "admission free to union members aged 18-24." On closer scrutiny, it appeared that the Italian text offered free admission to 18-24-year-olds who are citizens of the European Union. Well, I guess it is a kind of union membership.

• Here's a grimmer one from the footnotes to my copy of Elsa Morante's History: A Novel about life amid the devastation of World War II. Italian for "miss" as in "single woman" is "signora," with an "i." Evidently American GIs (confusing it with Spanish?) would regularly mispronounce it as "segnora," with an "e." (I bet I do the same thing myself). Apparently after a whole, "segnora" became a general synonym for "prostitute." Wonder if it still is.

Oh, and finally, from a Lufthansa flight attendant landing at Frankfort airport: "Please remain schtupid until the seat belt light is turned off." No problem there, big guy.

Fn: Come to think of it, I think I saw one forlorn little display of "Hag" last week in a forlorn corner of a Rome country grocery (!) store. From its position, I gather it wasn't selling well. Maybe it had been there since the 80s.

Rome Note: Campo de' Fiori

Would it be my imagination or--no, I think it would not be my imagination that the world-famous (and world-class) street market in Rome's Campo de' Fiori is slowly fading away?

No, not the Campo itself, which is still a lively place--in the daytime awash in happy tourists and busy shops; at night exploding with ragazze and ragazzi from around the galaxy.

But the market itself, a fixture of the Rome street scene since 1869, really doesn't look anywhere near as good as it did when I first traded there more than a quarter of a century ago.

Then, it buzzed with activity. These days--well, for one thing, the fishmongers appear to have disappeared altogether (or at any rate, they took last week off). There are still a lot of veggie stands, and the produce is still topnotch. But I don't think there are as many as there used to be. Some of been simply replaced by smalltime clothing or housewares operations. And the remainder are ever a bit more aimed at the tourist trade.

Why exactly, I wonder? For fish, I suppose the answer is just that there are fewer of them, and they sell at ever more astronomical higher prices. But as to the produce--are there simply fewer locals living in this best-of-all inner-city neighborhoods? Is market gardening just that much tougher in the EU, what with competing outside competition (I note that some, at least of the product is labeled "came from Italy!"--something I suspect they wouldn't have had to specify in 1869)? Is it tougher to find good gardening space in the Rome suburbs? Or are dollars--even little teeny emaciated American tourist dollars--simply a better opportunity?

No point in lamenting over this kind of change. Stuff happens. One door closes, another opens. I am consoled, however, by the fact that the melons do taste just as yummy as ever. For the moment, at least.

Rome Note: Seated Boxer

"[T]he Seated Boxer; an extraordinary bronze found near the Baths of Constantine on the Quirinal hill. His body slumps forward; his forearms ret on his thighs; his hands hang limp, pulled down by the weight of studded leather wrappings. His upturned face, cut and swollen, looks for a victory he does not expect.

"The Romans were fascinated by suffering, its representation in art and its recreation in the theater and amphitheater. They admired professional fighters like this boxer and the gladiators in the Colosseum. The writer Tertullian, who as a Christian was no stranger to the mystery of suffering, found the Roman fascination with such men paradoxical. "Men give them their souls, women their bodies...On one and the same account they glorify them and despise them, openly condemning them to ignominy and the loss of civil rights. The perversity of it! Yet they love those they punish and belittle those they admire." (De spectaculis 22). Such strong feelings suggest a sense of identification with the gladiator or the boxer, a feeling that apparently grew stronger as the Empire aged. As the empire monopolized power, individuals may have felt deprived of the same civil rights that gladiators were forced to abjure. And in the Seated Boxer's ability to endure pain, to survive or to die with equanimity and dignity, they mayh have found a terrible model of their own fate."

Text lifted wholesale from the best tour guide to Rome I've ever seen: James H.S. McGregor, Rome From the Ground Up 103-104 (2005, 2006). McGregor says that the Boxer is in the Aula Ottagona; he has been moved to the Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, and h/t to Steve for insisting that I seek out this superb museum, hitherto unnoticed by me.

fn: I see that McGregor also has books on Venice, Washington, and Paris

Rome

We're due back today in Rome, where I spent two of the pleasantest summers of my life, and believe me, it is not all that hard to ignore the weather. We've got dibs for a week in an apartment -just west of the Campo de'Fiori, home of some of the best melons I ever tasted, and not that-all far from the Piazza Navona which has to be the most lovely public space on the planet.