Rome, the Village
Over the past twenty years, foreign journalists stationed in Italy have made a habit of writing books on the ills of the republic and its residents. They frequently point out the differences between the Italians of old and the current lazy good for nothings, conveniently forgetting that the nature of these people has not changed very much (as a quick perusal of Luigi Barzini’s ‘The Italians’ would prove).I won’t cover up the facts. Italians are inefficient and costumer service is nearly inexistent (an Alitalia worker recently hung up the phone on my brother who was desperately trying to find out why his wife’s suitcase was still in Florida). Bureaucratic processes are unbelievably slow (try gaining permanent residence) and public transportation is not always reliable. Rome is covered with Graffiti and there are too many national holidays on which all stores must be closed (or pay a $1000 fine).
Some of this is changing. Rome’s mayor Veltroni (soon to be reelected for the third time) has cleaned up monuments, released new buses and planned new subway branches, widened sidewalk corners and much more.
Life in Italy could be frustrating if you go with the flow. When you ‘know people’ or are owed a favor, you can easily obtain a job, a doctor’s appointment, a cheap gym membership, a discount in your friend’s aunt’s boutique, a free table at the bar. Otherwise, waiting lists are long and functionaries will hem and haw at you for the next 5 years.
But all this loses its importance once I walk out into the streets of my Rome and notice how people all seem to know each other, in this city of 3 million residents.
In the nearby pharmacy, people call us by name and inquire about the health of other family members. Fruit vendors in the local open market save people’s favorites, gleefully pulling them out when a specific costumer shows up.
I walk up a main street, and notice a middle aged couple pass by a beggar from Eastern Europe. The man tosses a few coins. They miss the beggar’s dish. ‘You always do that to him’ says the woman. ‘That’s alright, Anna’ smiles the beggar, in heavily accented Italian. Anna sighs and follows her husband into the nearby building.
In a different part of the city, near the Ghetto, Carlo S. the optician serves costumers in his shop. Carlo is from an old Jewish Roman family. In mid afternoon, his 88 year old uncle walks in at takes a seat, silently observing the via-vai. Twenty minutes pass and he gets up and leaves, continuing on his walk.
A friend wanders in for a chat, followed by Carlo’s daughter home from school. The place is like a local bar. Relatives and neighbors come and go in between costumers.
Back on my block, my neighbour the retired cardiologist looks up as he passes by: ‘Buonasera, Signorina’ he beams.
I’ll take slow buses and cheerful hellos over punctual but falsely friendly people, any day.
posted by RomanWanderer @ 11:04 AM
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