Leaving
aside for a moment the cultural, historic, aesthetic, gastronomic,
cinematic and other wonders of Rome, on this return trip I was struck by
the invasion, occupation and dictatorship of the automobile. It’s
universal of course but I saw it in sharper focus in this city to which
all roads, ironically, lead.
Double parked everywhere no matter
how narrow a street, looming impatiently over your shoulder as you cross
on white lines, cars seemed like a plague of giant cockroaches. All
the comforts of having private transport bubbles furnished with
entertainment, navigation, air-conditioning etc. become absurdly useless
because in a city with a zillion private bubbles they will, of course,
compete fiercely for space and speed and the result is hell: road-rage,
traffic-rage, parking-rage, accident-rage, fuel-rage, pollution-rage,
drunk-driving-rage, death-rage and so on. Obviously. If cars are allowed
to rule the world humans become their slaves.
But the best thing
about Italy is the Italians. I love the warmth, the ease, the wit of
communication, the way words roll deliciously on the tongue before becoming speech. I do very little talking in my normal life so Italian
verbosity is always both thrilling and overwhelming. I forget a lot of
words in Spanish and Portuguese which I used to speak easily but Italian has
stayed whole. Maybe because of intense conversations, many letters
written and received but most of all the family connection: my older
sister Anne, creatrice of the
Teatro Club di Roma, her
late husband, the writer and polymath
Gerardo Guerrieri, their two talented
daughters Selene and Indira with their inimitable spouses and
children. I am grateful that destiny landed me in an international
family in which every single individual is memorable, so memorable that I
really should do a portrait of every one of them. Okay I will. I’ve
just put it on my To Do list.
My niece Selene Guerrieri Martinelli and my sister Anne d'Arbeloff Guerrieri. Rome, October 2017
This trip was a totally unexpected
gift from an old friend who rang me out of the blue saying he had booked
tickets for us to attend a performance of
Tosca and he was offering me
the return flight to Rome. An absolutely un-refusable offer. Why Tosca?
Some years ago, when Gaetano was in London, we listened to the dramatic
aria "
E lucevan le stelle" (
Pavarotti does it brilliantly) and were
especially fond of that deep BOOM just before the condemned Cavaradossi
sings "
E non ho mai tanto amato la vita". Afterwards we fooled around
imitating the BOOM. That's all there was to our Tosca experience -
neither of us particularly an opera lover. But Gaetano remembered
that long-ago moment and I was deeply touched by his gesture.
Gaetano Trusso, Rome, architect, painter, poet, with two of his paintings inspired by Persian texts. He has translated some Persian poetry into Italian.
Unfortunately he was cheated by one of those online ticket
fraudsters who sold him very expensive balcony seats in which Gaetano could not
see the stage at all and I, perched on a high stool, saw only a corner
slice of the action. It didn’t matter - the evening and the whole trip
were still memorable.
Rome, National Opera House.
My view of the stage, Tosca.
Finale. he cast of Tosca takes a bow.
The bar at the Rome Opera House.
Romans eating lunch in the sun.
Irresistible temptation in Roman cafe.
I haven't mentioned the wonderful family
reunions because those are private but I also finally got to
meet in real life a longtime blogging friend,
Cynthia Korzekwa, Mistress
of Transforming Into Art Everything You Throw Away. Her blog is Art for
Housewives but her talent cannot be categorised. I only spent a very
short time with her but it was enough to cement our friendship.