The Colosseum and the Imperial Forums are fine, the Trevi fountain is fine and the mouth is open and sticky nose at the windows of Via Condotti but Rome has a soul: a soul that has to do with the Romans, those who call you shouting “aho!!!”, those who scream and jump until the city shakes when Rome scores, that of lazy cats and taverns that smell of pepper and red wine. That soul is Trastevere.
Trastevere by day, Trastevere at night, Trastevere at Sunset, you never get tired of living this place that always seems to be the same, always the same, so old, so crowded, so full of light in the squares and so dark in its driveways. Trastever like an old, wise and reassuring, long and filled speeches with words, experiences, memories, sometimes boring, sometimes hypnotic.
There’s never parking and if you get into one of its streets it’s hard to get out of it, turn or walk faster than pedestrians do.
“… Tattooed tombs S.P.Q.R
Around only Moroccans and metronottes
Neighborhood fools holding cocktails…”
Red walls and ivy walls, old bicycles leaning here and there and the sound of glass glasses toasting at the moment. Santa Maria, guarded by military trucks and smoking boys sitting on the steps, has a solemn air and a popular and good-natured look. The alleys are flooded with dialects and languages from all over the world: it is difficult to distinguish the children on holiday from those of a long Erasmus.
“… American to John Cabot,Abusive Parkers… The usual old Santa Maria…”
I walk and find the bar San Calisto, an old bar in Trastevere where I left memories, beer bottles and cigarette butts when I was celebrating the 30th of an exam with my beloved friend Giulia.
Comfortable shoes night and day but in spite of everything, stumbles and slips on the old satops and then rows and always rows: for the inn, for ice cream or for a short at the bar. Trastevere old so old that at dawn it seems abandoned and forgotten for a century. Trastevere old but old enough to have a timeless and indisputable charm like old Levi’s, the classic Rayban or the consummate All stars.
“… The sanpietrino slips me, in the bike skates
The wind blows us…”
Red sky fire at sunset and houses that look almost glowing while the first yellow lampposts light up and flocks of swallows drawing clessidre in the clouds.