A walk in the centre of Rome - Part 2

I'm on the site of the ancient stadium of Domitian, Piazza Navona. The piazza is oval shaped as the race track would have been. It is encircled by buildings and churches with narrow roads leading to and from it. Along its sides there are numerous restaurants and cafès, most are best avoided. 

Except for the famous Tre Scalini, with its speciality of 'tartufo' ice-cream.The restaurant claims to have created a dessert known as 'Tartufo Tre Scalini' in 1946. It is made according to a secret recipe and includes 13 types of Swiss chocolate. The ice-cream dish it sells is different from the bland supermarket version. Its a lot heavier and more consistent with shaved rolls of dark chocolate in place of the cacao dusting and served with a healthy dollop of cream (panna) and a wafer. The tartufo ice-cream dessert actually originates from Pizo in Calabria.

As I amble around the old stadium I'm pestered by waiters calling out in English to entice me to their restaurants.

" Pizza?"

"Pasta?" It's only 11.30.

"Too early," I answer back in Italian, but they don't hear me, their gazes have turned to the next lot of passers-by.

I pass the shops that sell multicolored pasta and scented olive oil - the type of shops where only foreign tourists can be found - I head to the northern end of the Piazza. That famous balcony is adorned in flowers. I don't know who lives there but every year they put on a great floral show for the passers-by who care to lift their gaze above the piazza.

I've been told that most of the flats looking on to the piazza are owned by the Vatican and inhabited by visiting members of the clergy and aspiring priests. Long gone are the days of living in sparsely furnished cell like rooms. Or maybe it depends on which order they are affiliated.

I start my walk down the piazza at the Fountain of Neptune where a gull is enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame as tourists snap away.Despite the circling people the bird seems perfectly content, maybe digesting a filling meal from one of the many over-flowering rubbish tips, maybe enjoying the slight breeze.

I head towards the piazza's masterpiece, The Fountain of the Four Rivers, designed by Bernini to represent the four continents through their principal rivers: the Danube, the Nile, the Rio de la Plata and the Ganges. The four river gods are supported by Travertine rock from which rises an Egyptian obelisk bearing the emblem of the Pamphili family: a dove with an olive branch in its beak. The work was commissioned by Pope Innocent I in 1650 whose family palace overlooks the piazza.


The making of the fountain was controversial. Pope Innocent I used public money during a period of famine (1646 - 1648). Hand written protests, known as Pasquinades, were attached to the stone blocks used to make the fountain.

"We do not want Obelisks and Fountains. We want bread. Bread, bread, bread!" Innocent had the protesters arrested.


Rising beside the fountain and adjacent to Palazzo Pamphili is the Church of St. Agnese in Agone. Pope Innocent I is also behind its construction, built on the alleged site of St. Agnes martyrdom in the ancient stadium of Domitian.

It was begun in 1652, the original architects' design faced much criticism and they were replaced in 1653 by Borromini, Bernini's rival for papal commissions. The church, after having gone through a number of architects (Borromini resigned in 1657), was completed in 1672 and consecrated on 17 January of that same year

The oft repeated tale I heard when in 1997 I took my one and only guided tour of Rome was that the statue of the Nile river has an arm thrown up in horror to protect his eyes from the vision of the dome which had been built by Bernini's rival Borromini. Some suggest that it is fear, as if the powerful river god were afraid that the poorly built edifice would crumble on him. The tales are apocryphal.
The fountain predates the building of the church's façade. Therefore, rivals or not, Bernini could not have intentionally designed the river god in such a way as to sleight Borromini. 

I admire the façade of the church and the dove statues bearing their twigs, emblem of the Pamphili family said to represent peace and happiness. I amble past the Brazilian embassy and stand at the piazzas southern end beside the Fountain of the Moor, which like that of Neptune was designed by Giacomo della Porta in 1575. The original design included the dolphin and the four tritons. The central statue ,the Moor, was added in 1653 by Bernini.

Pamphili family emblem

The clouds which have accompanied this walk are beginning to clear and the temperature is rising. I head down a narrow alleyway towards the traffic-congested Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. I pass a picturesque trattoria. The translated menu, display of plastic food and waiters calling 'hello, hello! You want eat," mark it firmly as for tourists only. The food will be over-priced, unoriginal,bland and far from good but will conform to a lot of tourists expectations.

I cross Corso Vittorio in front of the Museo di Roma in Palazzo Braschi. I pause at the famous Il Fornaio on Via de' Baulari to gaze at the Nutella cakes and pistacchio cakes. I can't help wondering why the Nutella tortine are sold by the piece whereas the pistacchio tortine, of identical dimension are sold by the weight. A large mortadella sausage is exposed in the entrance, large slices are carved off for lunchtime panini or to bring home

Piazza Navona from its Southern end

Ahead I can make out the bustle of people going to and from Campo dei Fiori Rome's most central and well-known markets if not its best. There are too many tourists for that. Inevitably, I find stalls selling multi-coloured pasta shapes, multi-flavoured liqueurs, and scented olive oils. Among them are stalls selling seriously marked up vegetables and cheese.

They are prettily displayed but a tomato sold on the market at Campo dei Fiori will be the same as a tomato sold on the market in Garbatella. There are mountains of Parmesan atop the counter of a cheese stall though it turns out that the owner is from the Piedmont region of Italy. His cheeses seem to be the only genuinely artisanal product on the market. The rest is there for the tourists who have read about the market in their guide books. As I head towards the far end of the Campo past the vineria and a delicatessen I see stalls selling Roma T-shirts alongside tourist T-shirts and I love Rome bags. 

The bronze, hooded statue of Giordano Bruno rises above the canopies. Giordano Bruno was tortured by the Inquisition, convicted for heresy and executed by burning on Campo dei Fiori in 1600.

I consider a drink at one of the bars that surround the square. In the end, I leave. It's getting hotter and hotter and hotter, the morning breeze has stilled and the air is heavy and cloying. The campo is busy but other than a few market sellers playing at being colourful by shouting out their wares in Romanaccio this really is tourist only territory. It's sad that such an attractive part of Rome, in its bid to attract tourists, should have lost so much of its genuine appeal.

A walk in the centre of Rome

I alight on Largo Argentina, outside the Feltrinelli bookshop. This time I ignore the large bookshop and head up a narrow side alley to start my trek through the 'historic centre' an area that is hard to define.

The best way is to consider it as the area most visited by tourists away from the obvious trilogy of the Colosseum, Palatine and Roman forum. I'm staying well clear of those three today. I'm also ignoring the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps both part of any top ten on Rome.

I walk past the lavish shop which clothes the clergy that throng the streets, especially the Vatican area just a skip and a hop away on the notorious 64 and 40 bus lines. The windows offer up dazzling displays of golds and purples, cassocks, vestments and fascia amid various silver cups and gold platters. It's all rather gaudy and tasteless.

I cross a small piazza with a news kiosk that sells international magazines and newspapers, and walk past Piazza della Minerva. It is famous for the statue of an elephant carrying an obelisk. The statue was designed by Bernini and executed by an assistant, Ercole Ferrata. It has stood on Piazza della Minerva in front of the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva since 1667. In November 2016, vandals broke off a piece of the elephant's tusk, an act which outraged many. However, they left the broken piece behind and the statue was restored to its former beauty.

Walking past the little elephant I can see the dark bulk of the back of the pantheon. In the days when I used to work in the city centre I would often take my lunch break sitting on the small wall that ran behind it. I'd nibble on a rather bland sandwich, one of the tramezzini which look so tempting when viewed in their wrappers all smartly heaped on trays but turn out to be rather tasteless. I've never worked out why: maybe it's the too oily too white bread (it contains lard, so not for vegans or vegetarians), maybe it's the under seasoned fillings with always the same predictable combinations.

More often than not I'd have a wedge of excellent pizza bought from one of the few genuine 'pizza al taglio' shops in the centre. There used to be a small plain shop, on its white washed walls were various certificates of excellence that the owner had won. The selection of pizza was simple but genuine. Sadly, the elderly couple that ran the place have retired. 
I was dismayed to see that it had been replaced by one of those cheap and nasty food places that have begun to pop up all over the centre,  all bright colours and loud music, with large fridges filled with cardboard sandwiches, soggy salads and over-sweet fizzy drinks. it was all sold for far more than the elderly couple had ever charged for their humble slices of pizza. They rarely had more than six flavours going: pizza bianca and margherita being daily staples while the other flavours varied according to the season.

Sill thinking of Rita and Gianni's little pizza shop I walk past a hotel featured in 'The International' a silly thriller starring Clive Owen and Julia Roberts, partly set in Rome where every scene managed to trot out a cliché. I can see on the next corner Tazza D'Oro, a famed coffee bar which graces the pages of every single guidebook about Rome. In the film a scene had shown in the alley next to it a gaggle of nuns with fully starched dazzling white wimples walking four abreast, just the type of scene one rarely really comes across.

I'm now on Piazza della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon, a truly amazing feat of ancient architecture which has survived intact to this day partly because of its conversion to a church in 609AD and partly because of the building materials used, akin to today's cement.
Today's version of the Pantheon was designed by the Emperor Hadrian and the architect Apollodorus of Damascus in 120AD. He ended up being executed by the emperor over a dispute about the building. The original pantheon, an altogether simpler edifice,was built on this site to honor the mythological founder of Rome, Romulus.

The most amazing thing about the Pantheon is its dome (43,30 metres in diameter) with a hole in the middle (7,8 meters in diameter) - the oculus - the eye of the Pantheon.

For Pentecost, a religious festivity celebrating the descent of the holy spirit to the disciples of Jesus, tens of thousands of rose petals are dropped through the oculus onto the floor of the pantheon 43 metres below
The portico is supported by 16 Corinthian columns each weighing  60 tons. They were taken from Egypt and transported via barges and ships to Rome. The triangular pediment above bears an inscription attributing the pantheon to Marcus Agrippa. It is the only remaining part of an earlier incarnation of the building which Hadrian left as a tribute to his predecessor.

On the beautiful piazza in front of the pantheon is the Fontana del Pantheon built by Giacomo della Porta in 1575. The design was modified in 1711 to include a different basin and the marcutio obelisk (dating from Ramses II) on a plinth surrounded by four dolphins

Nowadays, the piazza is always crowded with tourists taking photos, or having an overpriced snack at one of the many bars that fill the piazza. If you are visiting the Pantheon on a hot summer day, you will find in front of the fountain, one of Rome's 2000 drinking fountains fitted with two large spouts, known as 'nasoni', big noses.

Fill up your water bottles or have a drink at the fountain. The water is fresh, piped in from Bracciano Lake. If the Summer is very hot, and water levels in the lake are falling then the 'nasoni' are switched off. Though some nasoni are never switched off.

If you feel like splashing out, and you will here, trust me, you can sit at one of the terraces and order an over-priced beverage and snack, and enjoy for a while one of Rome's most magnificent sites. Just watch out for those selfie sticks!

I don't like to dawdle and the piazza is getting crowded. it's just an hour or so until tourists with their McDonald's takeouts, pre-wrapped sandwiches and sodas encamp themselves on the shallow steps that lead up to the fountain. I head off the piazza, on Via Giustiniani alongside the palazzo of the same name. It's a building I once knew well as I would get lost in its labyrinth of corridors looking for my students' offices.

Every Wednesday morning at 10 am I would head up to Doctor (Dottore) Lanzi's office. He was a slim, elegant man, well-turned out. He looked as if he could have have been cast as an oily mafia lawyer in a movie. He was well-mannered but there was a palpable sense of distress the day I arrived for the weekly lesson and it coincided with the British football team taking on the Brazilian one in a World Cup semi final. Didn't I want to watch my team play?, he inquired. I didn't. I stayed silent. Maybe I could teach him the relevant football vocabulary?, he suggested. I nodded. The next hour was spent comfortably seated on Dr. Lanzi's sofa, in front of his large TV screen watching the game. It also turned out he knew far more about football than I did.

On another occasion, I arrived and found him with his arm in a plaster cast. Gone was the smart expensive looking suit replaced by the type of knit wear a poorly sighted great aunt might have bought him. He was unshaven and distraught. Not only had he broken his arm on the annual skiing holiday by slipping on a patch of ice but his wife had broken her leg, actually skiing, and needed an operation on her knee. It somehow made him more approachable as a person. As a nice coda, years after I'd stopped working for the senate he phoned me. He needed a teacher for his teenage children. I was unavailable but passed him and his children on to a colleague.

I strode past the entrance to the building, thinking of the vast labyrinth of its corridors, stair wells and lifts which never seemed to end up in the right place. I saw its glass-fronted entrance-booth where I would leave my passport every time I entered the building, then pass under a metal detector while my bag was scanned. They don't muck about with security in a country which has had over the years many terrorist attacks, mostly of the homegrown variety.

I came out of the little alley onto the back of Palazzo Madama, yet another building that belongs to the Senate and in front of the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi which is noted for containing three Caravaggio's about the life of st. Matthew: The Calling of St. Matthew, The Inspiration of St. Matthew and The martyrdom of St. Matthew. To see  them in the darkened chapel at the back of the Church you must insert a coin into a box and a timed light flares up, like an old fashioned gas meter.

I know Caravaggio was supposed to be a dodgy chap, a murderer but I do like his work. Anyone wanting their fill of Caravaggio should head up to the Galleria Borghese after this. But that's not my destination.

I head down another narrow alley between the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi and Palazzo Madama and its entrance where once-upon-a-time I had an argument with one of the entrance lackeys. I'd presented him with a Belgian ID card (dual nationality possessor am I) but he refused it as a 'non-valid document.' I argued that I could travel abroad with it. He wasn't having any of it. He needed my passport. Eventually, he phoned my student, the head of a comission. From where I was standing all I could hear was an increasing chorus of chastened: ''Si, Dottore" ,"Certo, Dottore", "Si, Dottore." I was ushered into the quite phenomenal corridors of power. The lackey did have the last word:"next time bring a passport."

I walk on and out onto Corso Rinascimento. To my left rises the imposing facade of Palazzo Madama but I'm going on, across the road to Piazza Navona... (t.b.c)

Too darn hot

Summer is here. In reality, and as every year, it got to Rome early. People on the streets are muttering about the disappearance of the seasons. The mild Spring temperatures were replaced by the harsher heat of the Summer in the blink of an eye. 

Now Northern Europe is catching up as France and England hit record highs however they already know it's not going to last. In Rome, once the warm weather sets in there is no end in sight.

My first Summer in Italy, in 1998, was hot but there seemed to be a cooler evening breeze that reached the capital in the late afternoon. In recent years the humidity has risen and days can pass with barely a whiff of air.

Italians have had to adapt. In 1998, not many homes had air-conditioners, ten years later the power grid was so under pressure thanks to the elevated use of electricity that the authorities talked about imminent black outs.

In 2003 on the 20th June, there was a nation wide blackout attributed to violent storms in France and a tree falling on a vital part of the network. The only reason it made international headlines was that it coincided with the 'White Night' - an event that promotes spending by keeping shops, museums and restaurants open till very late at night.

When I first came here there wasn't any air-conditioning on the underground. In summer 2001 I went to Madrid and was astounded at how pleasant the public transport was though quite a few shops seemed to have cranked up the air-conditioning to cold inducing levels.I could imagine the comments of disapproval my Italian friends would make along with the concern at the risk of a serious cold addirittura a bronchitis.

Eventually, air conditioning found its way onto public transport in Rome. The newer underground trains are fully fitted while most bus lines function on two settings: aircon on with cold air blasting down onto heads and necks making scarves a Summer fashion item, or aircon off with subsequent beads of sweat rolling down bodies in large sticky drops and the accompanying smell of hot bodies.

The English, they say, talk the most about the weather. But Italians could give them a run for their money. Italians tend to be more preoccupied about the effects the weather has on their health: draughts are deadly leading to a colpa d'aria, the heat can affect the brain leading to the type of 'raptus' that will cause family fathers to murder their family in a rage and then blame it on the heat. It's no joke as every Summer violence against women and children goes up a notch and makes the headlines.

When the heat gets to be too much Italians head for the fresher air of the mountains or for the breezes on the coast, though the sea itself is an area of peril, both real and imagined. Along the Lazio coast at the wealthy resort of Fregene, once Summer residence of many a movie star,  the summer heat can bring tides of toxic algae. Beach goers are stranded on the beach wistfully gazing at the cooler waters unable to enter for fear of a nasty rash appearing on their limbs.

The Summer heat is a potent monster. Those who like the heat worship it regardless of the costly price it could enact. Indeed for some it seems to be a matter of pride. "I have never put on sun cream," is a familiar cry of the middle-aged male, tanned to a husky brown. Others are more wary.

Zucchini Flowers

'Tis the season for flowers. The markets are heaving with their pretty yellow and green bulbs, their fronds unfurling atop light green Romanesco zucchini. I'm talking about the fiori di zucca - zucchini flowers. I fiori di zucca, a misnomer as zucca translates as pumpkin, are everywhere. 

In the supermarkets, they are exposed too long and appear as dark sticky unappetising appendages on the zucchini, best chopped off and thrown out. On the market stalls, they are resplendent. Large elongated flowers just waiting to be stuffed and battered for one of Roman/Jewish cusines classics: i fiori di zucca farciti e fritti. That is zucchini flowers stuffed with mozarella and anchovies, dipped in a batter and deep fried. The batter should turn out light and crisp and should have a crunch to it.

The first time I tried them was at the famed pizzeria Formula Uno in the San Lorenzo district of Rome. San Lorenzo is next to Rome's first university, La Sapienza, and home to many students. 

Formula Uno caters to the students and locals and is a simple place. The white washed walls in the two large dining areas are covered in pictures of racing cars and their pilots. Large wooden rectangular tables are pushed up as close together as possible. The menu is printed on the table mats. Often there is a queue so it's worth getting there a little earlier (around 8pm) than most Romans would. Within seconds of sitting down, a waiter appears. The service is at Formula one velocity.

Fried zucchini flowers aren't much to look at - long wedges of light brown batter through which can be seen the striations of the underlying flower. At Formula Uno, they are served on a plain white plate - two forlorn looking pieces of batter. I picked one up and bit into it. It was a revelation. The crispiness of the batter gave way to the soft melted mozarella with at its heart an anchovy filet giving the dish the right balance of saltiness - its umami factor. I was hooked.

Everytime I eat out I order at least one serving of fiori di zucca. Not all places do it well. Beware the oily batter which will sit heavy on the stomache. Not all will have it with anchovies. 

Fiori di zucca can be used in an infinity of ways: chopped and added to a risotto, sprinkled over pasta, fanned out on a pizza, as the main ingredient in a frittata or as side decoration on an antipasto dish. But more than anything they are stuffed: stuffed with mashed potatoes in Liguria), stuffed with ricotta, stuffed with rice.... then steamed or oven-baked with maybe a light drizzle of tomato sauce. 

I sometimes wonder who first came up with the idea of stuffing them. The fronds are frail and easily tear. Removing the pistil - bitter in flavour - is frought with peril. One slip and the petal is torn.

 I'm willing to bet that Italian housewives have a special implement which allows them to dive down into the flower,  nick the pistil at its base and remove it without a rent to the flower. 

 Over time and with no small amount of practise I've learnt to prepare and stuff these pesky flowers. The turning point came when the teaspoon I used for stuffing was replaced by a piping bag. It takes time and patience and is worth the effort.

The Rose Garden

On the Aventine hill opposite the Circus Maximus is Rome's rose garden: 10,000 square metres covered in rose bushes from all over the world. There are about 1,100 different types of roses - from the gaudiest to the most exquisite, from China via Mongolia to Italy. Some of these lovely flowers are here for Rome's annual rose competition,  the 'Premio Roma', dedicated to the most beautiful new variety of rose, others are part of the permanent collection.

This year's competition took place on Saturday 20th May, rather unfortunately a warm muggy stormy day. This being Rome, the storms were so intense that they flooded several stations of the underground. 

When I visited the rose garden two days later, the aftermath of the storms was visible on the rose bushes with their water damaged petals bearing the marks of a serious lashing. 

I got off at the wrong stop which meant crossing two of the busy traffic-congested streets  which surround the Circus Maximus. I climbed back up the hill slightly annoyed. I'd always thought there was a stop on the highest point of the hill opposite the entrance of the rose garden. It turned out I wasn't wrong. The stop was for tourist buses.

I crossed the road and went onto Via di Valle Murcia. There were two gates one allowing access to the upper garden and the second to the lower. Last time I'd come here I'd started with the lower half so reason dictated that the upper half was the way to go this time.

To the left of the gate was a large sculpted stone plaque with Hebrew writing on it. On top of the stone were smaller pebbles and stones that were stacked in remembrance. It reminded me of the final scene of 'Schindler's List' ( the acclaimed Steven Spielberg film) where in the final scene, Jews placed stones on Schindler's grave. 

It's an unusual memorial to find at the entrance of a rose garden. But in the end not so unusual when I find out that the garden is set on the site of an ancient Jewish cemetery.

The hill was covered in bushes and vines until the 16th century. In 1645, it became know as the 'Orto degli Ebrei', though for many Romans it was the 'Ortaccio degli Ebrei' ( ugly market garden of the Jews). A small Jewish cemetery was established here. In 1934, the Jewish community obtained a section of the Campo Verano cemetery in the San Lorenzo district of the city. The cemetery was moved to the Verano. For many years the site was abandoned and left to weeds.

An American woman, Countess Mary Gailey Senni, married to the Italian Count Senni,  designed Rome's first rose garden in 1932. In those days it was on the Colle Oppio ( Oppian Hill). She faced considerable opposition and resistance but she was passionate about roses and very determined. She got her way (she was wealthy). In 1933, the first 'Premio Roma' competition took place.

But a great big monster called the second world war came along and the garden on the Colle Oppio was smashed to smithereens. The idea remained. In 1950, a new rose garden opened on the Aventine hill and the competiton was reinstated.

To thank the Jewish community who had allowed the use of a sacred area, a stelle ( commerative plaque) was placed at the entrance of both the upper and lower gardens to remind visitors of its original use.

The paths in the upper part of the garden are laid out in the shape of a menorah, the seven branched candelabra symbolic of the Jewish faith.

I turned right as I entered the gate and walked up towards a trellised tunnel adorned with various rose bushes with climbing stems of roses upon it. There was an English rose section followed by a miniature section. 

 A rather kitsch rose heart stood a the centre of the garden - a perfect photo op or selfie op for the gardens visitors. 

I paused at the information centre with its large photos explaining to visitors the process that went into growing roses. It was all very attractive but rather lacking in substance. I suspected that most visitors only looked at the photos anyway. 

I climbed further up past the rose adorned heart. A family posed as lower down on the central alley of the menorrah, a father snapped his wife and children. 

I left the trellised walkway and stepped onto a branch of the menorrah. Information was scarse. Where was the prize winner anyway? 

The garden is organised into different areas: ancient roses, modern roses and the new species, about 80, entered in the competition. It turned out the upper garden dealt with the permanent collection whereas the lower garden held the prize winners.

 I stepped off the menorah, crossed Via di Valle Murcia and walked through the gates into the lower garden. A small notice close to the gate indicated the names and numbers of the prize winners. But that was it. No indications as to where the winners were. I guessed maybe the central area, a large well-tended oval would house the winning bushes. 

It did. There was also no indication as to which was a winner. I walked around the oval, then walked among the competition bushes: from France, from the USA, from Italy.... and they were numbered. But, not having a pen, I hadn't noted the numbers of the winners as indicated on the photocopied sheet pinned to a post besides the entrance to the lower garden. 

They all looked beautiful to my eye though I've never been too keen on the oranges and yellows. This was where the rose garden failed. More information would have been welcome at this point.

An American prize winner (I Think)

I walked around the bushes. I watched a woman with a real camera take shot after shot. Some kids played on a tree - the perfect climbing tree. The hoses on timers chugged around, dousing some visitors. It was a hot day. Nobody minded.

It was time to go. The roses were beautiful but I couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at the lack of information so typical of Rome. Surely it wasn't that difficult to put up some kind of sign indicating the winners beside the winning roses? Even if, it was only two days after the competition?

I walked down the hill towards the bus stop. Yes. The rose garden was a beautiful place. Yes. Maybe even romantic (if one was into kitsch) as a number of websites suggested. There was some competition though: the orange garden on the Aventine, the view from the Gianicolo...

. As it turns out the site of the rose garden, way back when was dedicated to flowers. In his annals, Tacitus in the 3rd century ad describes the temple of the goddess Flora. The 'floralia', celebrations to the deity took place in the Spring on the Circus Maximus.
The Aventine hill had always been an oasis for the cultivation of flowers.

Dirt, degradation and beauty

I'm sitting on the bus. I was lucky. It arrived on schedule and wasn't too full. I'm sitting near the central door, the one from which people are meant to get off. The doors at the back and front are for getting on.

In front of where I'm sitting is a couple with two heavy suitcases. Their daughters are in the aisle. The oldest is swinging from the higher handholds. 

The mother glances up from her map, "Serena, stop that. We're not at home." She observes me observing her.

"Excuse me. can you tell me if we are far from our hotel?" She speaks slowly, over-enunciating the words and is clearly relieved when I answer in English.

"It's another 6 stops. that's where I'm getting off," and so a conversation starts punctuated by the loose rattling of one of the buses fittings as we bump over pot-holes and cobbles. They are from London and are spending the Easter weekend in Rome. They're already concerned about their early flight back on Tuesday and a little anxious about getting around on public transport. I reassure them, from their hotel the 160 bus will get them to all the tourist sites they can visit in a weekend.

"That is so ugly. And it's everywhere," the mother says. I follow her gaze to a graffitti covered wall alongside the road we are travelling on. 

"The train from the airport was covered in it," says her husband. I nod. There isn't much one can say. Buildings all over the city in all areas have been defaced in such a way. The authorities seem unable to do anything about it. 

 A judge in Milan recently let off two teenagers who were caught in the act. They came from a 'good family' as they say (i.e. wealthy) and their misdemeanour was to be ascribed to 'the high-spirited pranks of youth."

We have arrived at our destination and alight from the bus. I point out the large modern block of their hotel. Alas, the walls sport the works of the 'writers', the name given in Italy to people who squiggle lines all over buildings and monuments. I sadly observe the over-flowing bins, the weeds growing out of cracks in the pavements and the abundance of excrement from the neighbourhood dogs left there by their lazy owners.

There is in fact a rather bizarre rule which states that dogs can dump in the street provided it is in the area around the base of a tree. There the owners don't have to pick up. I know this because a magistrate, Labrador owner, had proudly told me he never cleaned up after his dog. He must have read my look of distaste. He reassured me and explained the rule. His dog was well-trained.

The family have one last question, "is there anything to visit here?"

Big City Life facade

"Here?" I echo. The 'Big City Life' project springs to mind, a group of buildings whose facades have been decorated by the works of street artists. The idea being to create an open air art gallery. Such works have cropped up, on commission, all over the city. I blame the graffitti artist, 'Banksy', for the craze.

I shake my head, "No. There's nothing much here." The murals of the Big City Life project aren't aging well.

Big City Life detail

I wish the family a pleasant holiday and cross the road. Here too, outside the gate to my appartment block, the bins are over-flowing. Large bin liners are lining the pavement. The crows have been at them, they are full of holes and remnants of food are strewn all over the place. Later, the rats will come and get their share. 

The newish mayor, Virginia Raggi, a proponent of the Five Star Movement was supposed to get to grips with the rubbish problem and clean up the city but  so far the problem seems to be getting worse. 

Discarded cups

It's hard to say what the mayor has achieved since she took office almost a year ago. She changed the austerity Christmas lights on the Christmas tree on Piazza Venezia after citizens complained, she signed an ordinance forbidding people from eating in cabins on the beach, and brought the speed limit on the Cristoforo Colombo down to an absurd 30kms per hour. She may have done a few other 'useful' things. 

Unfortunately, in many areas the city itself seems to have become a gigantic waste disposal plant: abandoned fridges and old TVs are left on street corners, filthy mattresses, stained sofas are left curbside as well as mountains of old clothes. Some roads and areas (such as Ponte Galleria or along the Magliana) are notorious for the amount of discarded household appliances and furniture that can be found on them.

The farmers' market in Garbatella

The centre, the area the tourists see, is the tidiest. The areas tourists rarely venture to are the dirtiest and the most run down. Not that that has stopped people blaming the state of the streets and the increase in rubbish on the tourists. 

But maybe it's the tourists the Romans should be thanking. In the last few weeks the dirt of Rome has made it to the foreign press, notably the New York Times. It's a real 'figuraccia' for the city. 

People have taken to the streets in some areas, brooms and  binbags in hand to do the work they pay for. Some politicians have tried to benefit from the situation. Finally, the rubbish trucks have rolled out and started clearing up the waste in the outlying areas. 

Let's hope it lasts.

 

Notes on Rione Trevi

I'm in the Trevi district today, Rome's second administrative area. It isn't big, only fifty-five hectares but there's THAT fountain. Rome's largest Baroque fountain and one of the world's most famous. Anita Ekberg waded into the fountain and cavorted under the gushing water in Fellini's La Dolce Vita. A scene which, over the years, has inspired many. 

Just this past April a young Italian stripped and swam across the fountain. A week later a young Spaniard stripped and dipped into the fountain to purify himself. Both were greeted by the polizia municipale and handed a 450 euro fine. Bathing in Rome's fountains is strictly forbidden. 

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 Trevi fountain facts  

1. The fountain was designed by Nicola Salvi even though he didn't win the contest for the commision organised by Pope Clement XII. Alessandro Galilei won the contest but as he was a Florentine, the Romans were  outraged so the Pope gave in. Salvi, a Roman, got the job. He never saw the finished work.

2. It is 26.3 metres high and 49.15metres wide.

3. It spills around 80 million litres of water a day. 

4. It is made of Travertine stone which was quarried from Tivoli (a town 35kms east of Rome).

5. It is situated at the junction of three roads (tre vie in Italian) hence its name

6. An estimated 3000 euros are thrown into the fountain each day. It is, of course, forbidden  to steal the coins that are thrown in the fountain though many have tried.

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Daily thousands of tourists gather round the fountain with their annoying selfie sticks. They try to grab a photo with the stunning white backdrop of Neptune but without the hordes of other people trying to do exactly the same thing. Sometimes I wonder: do they actually see the fountain, or is it just another photo op? 

But the Trevi district isn't just about a fountain. It encompasses the Palazzo del Quirinale, one of three official residences of the President of the Repubblic. 

Set on the highest of the seven hills on which Rome was built, it's a massive building (110,500 square metres), the ninth largest palace in the world.To give a sense of its gigantic size, the White House in the USA is one-twentieth of its size.

But what really catches the eye on Piazza del Qurinale is the central fountain - the Dioscuri Fountain. It features 5.5metre-tall statues of Castor and Pollux taming horses. They had previously flanked the entrance to the baths of Constantine.

The obelisk in between them stands 14 metres high and originally came from the entrance to the mausoleum of Augustus. As for the central basin, it was an ancient Roman shell which had been used as a trough on the Roman Forum.

I head down some steps onto Via della Dattaria and into the heart of the Trevi district. It is crowded as ever. A sign indicating the archaeological remains of the acqua vergine acqueduct catches my attention. But the entrance to the site is closed and hidden behind a metal shutter with no indication as to when it would open again. 

I beat a retreat and find myself in front of a Magnum store. I shake my head. Why in a country with the best ice-cream in the world would they do that? The store is full of young tourists all eager to dip their Magnums in melted chocolate, cover them in multi-coloured sprinkles and customise their treat.

I continue my walk and on a deceptively small Piazza dominated by the blinding whiteness of the sculpture is the Trevi Fountain. A police car is parked on a corner. The vigili are keeping an eye on the crowd.

This time I ignore the fountain and turn up a narrow alley way. People are ambling slowly up it. Some stop at the souvenir shops which line the streets, others queue up for an ice-cream from one of the many 'gelaterie' on the streets where even if they are not the best ice-creams in Rome, they will be more genuine than those on offer at the Magnum store.

Viccolo Scanderberg, one of many alleyways in the Trevi area.

But before heading for the last marvel of the area, I go and check out a curiosity, one I often took for granted as I would hurry to the 'Quirinetta'  theatre in its incarnation as an original version cinema. 

I first passed through it on a guided tour, a year before I moved to Rome. It was one of these mad dashes where in three hours the principal sites were covered: the Colosseum, Piazza Venezia, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and Piazza Navona. It was spitting with rain that day and our guide led us through some back alleys to the Trevi Fountain. We paused for shelter in the Galleria Sciarra. Our guide had little time for our questions, "it's just a passage way," she scoffed and waved her yellow stick to herd us along.

Galleria Sciarra which links Piazzetta del'Oratorio to Via Minghetti is in the Roman Liberty style. Its central part was painted between 1885 and 1888 by Giuseppe Cellini. The main theme is a celebration of woman as angel, wife and mother.

Most tourists tend to come across it almost by accident. It's not sign-posted as if the authorities want to keep it hidden.   

My final stop in the Trevi district has to be Piazza Barberini  and the Fountain of the Triton, sculpted by Bernini. It was commissioned by his patron Pope Urban VIII (Maffeo Barberini) to stand on Piazza Barberini near Palazzo Barberini which today houses the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica. The Galleria is well worth a visit.

Piazza Barberini is surrounded by streets and at certain times of the day jam packed with buses, taxis and other vehicles. It's also one of the most polluted areas in the centre of the city. The fountain has had over the years a number of expensive clean up jobs to remove the grime coughed up by the traffic.
 
The fountain bears the Barberini coat of arms: three bees under the Papal tiara and the keys to St. Peter's. The bees symbolised hard work and dedication. It was the last work Bernini did for his patron as Urban VIII died shortly after its completion.

As I wander through the streets of the Trevi district I realise that I haven't found the district's crest: a shield with three swords.

All the old bins, large metal containers with the district's crest in gold, in the central touristic part of the city, have been removed. No doubt another security measure. The new bins are plastic stands with large transparent bin bags. Unattractive but all the rubbish is visible so nothing can be concealed in them.

Eventually above a large McDonalds sign I find an old shield. But the symbols have been erased by time and all that can be read are the words 'Trevi'.