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Giovanni
’
s
favorite
word
in
English
is
half
-
assed
.
Luca
Spaghetti
’
s
is
surrender
.
There
’
s
a
power
struggle
going
on
across
Europe
these
days
.
A
few
cities
are
competing
against
each
other
to
see
who
shall
emerge
as
the
great
twenty
-
first
-
century
European
metropolis
.
Will
it
be
London
?
Paris
?
Berlin
?
Zurich
?
Maybe
Brussels
,
center
of
the
young
union
?
They
all
strive
to
outdo
one
another
culturally
,
architecturally
,
politically
,
fiscally
.
But
Rome
,
it
should
be
said
,
has
not
bothered
to
join
the
race
for
status
.
Rome
doesn
’
t
compete
.
Rome
just
watches
all
the
fussing
and
striving
,
completely
unfazed
,
exuding
an
air
like
:
Hey
-
do
whatever
you
want
,
but
I
’
m
still
Rome
.
I
am
inspired
by
the
regal
self
-
assurance
of
this
town
,
so
grounded
and
rounded
,
so
amused
and
monumental
,
knowing
that
she
is
held
securely
in
the
palm
of
history
.
I
would
like
to
be
like
Rome
when
I
am
an
old
lady
.
I
take
myself
on
a
six
-
hour
walk
through
town
today
.
This
is
easy
to
do
,
especially
if
you
stop
frequently
to
fuel
up
on
espresso
and
pastries
.
I
start
at
my
apartment
door
,
then
wander
through
the
cosmopolitan
shopping
center
that
is
my
neighborhood
.
(
Though
I
wouldn
’
t
exactly
call
this
a
neighborhood
,
not
in
the
traditional
sense
.
I
mean
,
if
it
is
a
neighborhood
,
then
my
neighbors
are
those
just
-
plain
-
regular
-
folk
with
names
like
the
Valentinos
,
the
Guccis
and
the
Armanis
.
)
This
has
always
been
an
upscale
district
.
Rubens
,
Tennyson
,
Stendhal
,
Balzac
,
Liszt
,
Wagner
,
Thackeray
,
Byron
,
Keats
-
they
all
stayed
here
.
I
live
in
what
they
used
to
call
"
The
English
Ghetto
,
"
where
all
the
posh
aristocrats
rested
on
their
European
grand
tours
.
One
London
touring
club
was
actually
called
"
The
Society
of
Dilettanti
"
-
imagine
advertising
that
you
’
re
a
dilettante
!
Oh
,
the
glorious
shamelessness
of
it
…
I
walk
over
to
the
Piazza
del
Popolo
,
with
its
grand
arch
,
carved
by
Bernini
in
honor
of
the
historic
visit
of
Queen
Christina
of
Sweden
(
who
was
really
one
of
history
’
s
neutron
bombs
.
Here
’
s
how
my
Swedish
friend
Sofie
describes
the
great
queen
:
"
She
could
ride
,
she
could
hunt
,
she
was
a
scholar
,
she
became
a
Catholic
and
it
was
a
huge
scandal
.
Some
say
she
was
a
man
,
but
at
least
she
was
probably
a
lesbian
.
She
dressed
in
pants
,
she
went
on
archaeological
excavations
,
she
collected
art
and
she
refused
to
leave
an
heir
"
)
.
Next
to
the
arch
is
a
church
where
you
can
walk
in
for
free
and
see
two
paintings
by
Caravaggio
depicting
the
martyrdom
of
Saint
Peter
and
the
conversion
of
Saint
Paul
(
so
overcome
by
grace
that
he
has
fallen
to
the
ground
in
holy
rapture
;
not
even
his
horse
can
believe
it
)
.
Those
Caravaggio
paintings
always
make
me
feel
weepy
and
overwhelmed
,
but
I
cheer
myself
up
by
moving
to
the
other
side
of
the
church
and
enjoying
a
fresco
which
features
the
happiest
,
goofiest
,
giggliest
little
baby
Jesus
in
all
of
Rome
.
I
start
walking
south
again
.
I
pass
the
Palazzo
Borghese
,
a
building
that
has
known
many
famous
tenants
,
including
Pauline
,
Napoleon
’
s
scandalous
sister
,
who
kept
untold
numbers
of
lovers
there
.
She
also
liked
to
use
her
maids
as
footstools
.
(
One
always
hopes
that
one
has
read
this
sentence
wrong
in
one
’
s
Companion
Guide
to
Rome
,
but
,
no
-
it
is
accurate
.
Pauline
also
liked
to
be
carried
to
her
bath
,
we
are
told
,
by
"
a
giant
Negro
.
"
)
Then
I
stroll
along
the
banks
of
the
great
,
swampy
,
rural
-
looking
Tiber
,
all
the
way
down
to
the
Tiber
Island
,
which
is
one
of
my
favorite
quiet
places
in
Rome
.
This
island
has
always
been
associated
with
healing
.
A
Temple
of
Aesculapius
was
built
there
after
a
plague
in
291
BC
;
in
the
Middle
Ages
a
hospital
was
constructed
there
by
a
group
of
monks
called
the
Fatebene
-
fratelli
(
which
can
groovily
be
translated
as
"
The
Do
-
Good
Brothers
"
)
;
and
there
is
a
hospital
on
the
island
even
to
this
day
.
I
cross
over
the
river
to
Trastevere
-
the
neighborhood
that
claims
to
be
inhabited
by
the
truest
Romans
,
the
workers
,
the
guys
who
have
,
over
the
centuries
,
built
all
the
monuments
on
the
other
side
of
the
Tiber
.
I
eat
my
lunch
in
a
quiet
trattoria
here
,
and
I
linger
over
my
food
and
wine
for
many
hours
because
nobody
in
Trastevere
is
ever
going
to
stop
you
from
lingering
over
your
meal
if
that
’
s
what
you
would
like
to
do
.
I
order
an
assortment
of
bruschette
,
some
spaghetti
cacio
e
pepe
(
that
simple
Roman
specialty
of
pasta
served
with
cheese
and
pepper
)
and
then
a
small
roast
chicken
,
which
I
end
up
sharing
with
the
stray
dog
who
has
been
watching
me
eat
my
lunch
the
way
only
a
stray
dog
can
.
Then
I
walk
back
over
the
bridge
,
through
the
old
Jewish
ghetto
,
a
sorely
tearful
place
that
survived
for
centuries
until
it
was
emptied
by
the
Nazis
.
I
head
back
north
,
past
the
Piazza
Navona
with
its
mammoth
fountain
honoring
the
four
great
rivers
of
Planet
Earth
(
proudly
,
if
not
totally
accurately
,
including
the
sluggish
Tiber
in
that
list
)
.
Then
I
go
have
a
look
at
the
Pantheon
.
