My current work situation requires me, from time to time, to make completely unnecessary detour in our wonderful capital.
When I go to Rome I can never not think back to a named tedescone Otto III. This, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, could sit quietly at his home in Germany to get his affairs, be the life of Emperor, and be concubines (we are in the tenth century AD). But he had a sore Rome. What's hard to explain, given that Rome in those years had become a real crap at its: the sewers, built by the Romans (and here we need a capital letter), now regurgitated crap everywhere and no one knew to fix it. The bridge collapsed and they were so bad that reduced c'avevano even a Bertolasum any that assigns jobs to his friends. The people, to build houses, because he did not know where to take materials easily disassembled the monuments of the Caesars (which is why the Coliseum is a sieve: Fuck them joints of iron that held together the bricks). Half the city was used as a pasture: the only professionals were whores. But
Brass could not help but love this city now, from caput mundi, became caput nihilo. So he could not help but go back on holiday whenever he could. Once the Romans promised that he would won the Hadrian's Villa, a beautiful residence remained miraculously intact in that the Tivoli, but then goes back on the offer, perhaps for fear that the Romans (lowercase letter) dismantle that, as the Barracks Fire brigade of Lego, to make us a couple of Lego Brothels.
Now, the Romans put up with everything, but that's not are prevented from removing a building . So took to the streets and surrounded the palace of Otto, that poor man did not own a television and had to miss how he could defend himself. He looked desperately to the window, glanced at the angry Romans who demanded his head, and fired a monstrous pistolotto on how much he loved the city, how you would bring to its former glory, that he was an Emperor Worker.
Now, imagine what the fuck could hear all the Romans his talk at the time that there were not microphones. Probably only saw a blond guy standing at the window that moved her lips and pointed to the leaders of the revolt.
The Romans really like the guys who speak on the balconies. So
lynch-insurgency leaders, who would probably accept it willingly. I mean, he had said a guy on the balcony: I'm ready to bet that it would be lynched by themselves.
Well, I do not know if it has something to do, but this image of Rome is the one that haunts me every time I get off the train, and immerse myself in the Roman crowd.
Rule number one: never get an enemy who speaks from a balcony .
The Romans are people deeply immersed in its history. They may not know who was Leo I (who drove Attila speaking from a balcony fake) may have no idea who he was Caesar (who had no balconies on the day he was stabbed). But feel at a subliminal level, to be heirs of something big.
type that when you arrive in Rome and it's raining, you're concerned about getting time the meeting place, and ask around in 45 minutes if you can do by taking public transportation.
And all you say, "eh, it rains in Rome when the traffic doubles."
"But I take the bus that runs every 12 minutes, I should do it!"
"yeah, but Rome's bus pass when they want them."
"all right, take a taxi, hoping to pay as little as possible"
"yeah, but in Rome taxis cost a lot."
I climb into the taxi. The driver starts the meter and 2-euro something.
"yeah, but Rome is the base rate when starting from Termini," he says.
"Patience" I say. "I have to go away so and so, you know?"
"yeah, but in Rome is impossible to know all the streets. "It opens Tuttocittà .
Gambling timidly to tell the driver that I come from Naples, in Naples and also when it rains there is more traffic, the buses do as they like, and taxi drivers are thieves and the city is great.
"eh, not in Rome but can you imagine how much".
coming back to the Termini station, this time with the bus, look around. There's a lot of people do about his business and looks at you in the face.
while waiting for a train traveling gives me an umbrella to 2 €, I refuse politely.
then begins to rain, and another walking gives me the same umbrella to 10 €. Here is a super Bignami economy.
I a walk with the nose: there you see the altar of the Fatherland, and to my right there are the Baths of Diocletian, which has been converted into a church designed by Michelangelo. The most surprising thing about these Romans are passing in front of all these good things and there not even throw a glance . At best, we throw an empty plastic bottle. And suddenly I understand
Otto III. The inexplicable feeling that even if you are the Emperor of the Galaxy, even if you're from New York and you are a Warrior of the Night in Rome you'll always feel a provincial. Why " eh, but in Rome ... " means, " here in this city, have happened so many things of global importance, that I miss the know, and I do not give a shit to know them, but happened here, and tell us a safe and discover that happened here, or even if it has not happened here, then if happened here would have been better. Because these streets we walked a lot of people in history, and we came up with so many things that I do not know, but there are the invented us. And even if it happened a thousand years ago, I still somehow got to do, and yet you do not. So I do not break my balls with Napoli, because here we are in Rome, and if you do not come from Rome, you're not a fucking .
And I silent under .
Then I take the train, and after a few miles, when in Rome do not just have a line on the horizon, I recover Dalo stunning and me angry. And I think back to Otto III.
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