Rome, that awkward capital that’s been stumbling over its beauty for years, as if its beauty didn’t fit it anymore. Every day violated but, at every dawn, reborn. Every day incestously offended by its citizens, but its charm is more ancient than evil.
We went back to via Nazionale. Piazza dei 500 doesn’t have its hardcore porn cinemas anymore, but instead luxurious hotels and globalized brands. I thought about past beautiful parties, the ones I used to go to while at University. Sometimes they took place in beautiful villas, on the Appia Antica: maritime pines all around and the roman aqueduct in the back. Another life, which incites a charming sensation of alienation. Trastevere, the Accademia dei Lincei and via della Lungaretta; spine-tingling places.
It’s a sunny day in Rome, the ochre-coloured facades stand out against a terse blue sky. We arrived at la Barcaccia and started to go back to the Piazza di Spagna’s staircases. At the top of them a unique view of the outstanding roman terraces: like beautiful gardens suspended in the air, where I was drinking champagne wrapped up in a black dress some years ago, dizzying back neckline, twelve cm sandals. In Rome it’s always 20 degrees in winter, perfect temperature for women’s vanity. I sit on the edge of the balcony, lost in the magnificent view, and can’t but think of someone else who was sitting in the same place a couple of years before.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This