{"id":77,"date":"2021-07-09T08:36:28","date_gmt":"2021-07-09T08:36:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/?p=77"},"modified":"2025-04-22T04:45:46","modified_gmt":"2025-04-22T04:45:46","slug":"7-going-out-with-a-roman-and-his-friends","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/?p=77","title":{"rendered":"7. Going out with a Roman… and his friends"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I mentioned in my first \u201cLaurenissima\u201d post<\/a> that my Roman boyfriend Dario had \u201ctried\u201d to break up with me days after I\u2019d moved to Rome. We\u2019d met during my semester abroad in Italy over one and a half years earlier. Most of our relationship had developed over Skype conversations and a couple visits to California so by the time I actually got to Rome, the relationship which hadn\u2019t been built on a whole lot to begin with was on shaky ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However much sense it might have made to go our separate ways, I had literally JUST gotten to Rome and knew nobody else in the city. He agreed to \u201csee how it went\u201d which, as you can imagine, wasn\u2019t exactly what I\u2019d been imagining when I moved across the world to be with him but \u2026 I\u2019d take it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Luckily for us, Rome has to be one of the most romantic cities in the world. I dare you to go on a walk with someone in the evening as the lamps turn on and moonlight shines over the fountains and not at least half fall in love with that person. As neither of us had any money, going on strolls was all we could afford to do anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We hardly ever went out in the city center. Romans in their 20s aren\u2019t going to marvel at the Fountain of the Four Rivers in Piazza Navona or have a gelato in Piazza di Spagna on a typical Friday night. We\u2019d go to clubs down the Via Ostiense or in Testaccio, to places in the periferia<\/em> that I never knew the actual location of, to Tiburtina and to Pigneto.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

East of the Esquilino district and Termini station, Pigneto lies roughly between Via Casilina and Via Prenestina where I took my tram rides<\/a> into town in that first month after moving to Rome.  This was a former working class neighborhood which at that time seemed to be peppered with grungy hole-in-the-wall bars and restaurants with spindly little tables and chairs threatening to tip over in the wind. Nothing was permanent so everything was possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now you can take the metro to Pigneto, emerging from the underground up escalator after escalator right into the center of the neighborhood but at the time you had to get there by car or tram. Dario drove a tiny blue car that was perpetually out of gas much like his phone was perpetually out of minutes (any American woman who has dated a Roman is laughing and crying right now, I guarantee it) so our return to romance would start with driving for what felt like an hour, looking for a gas station to fill up on \u20ac5 of gas then continuing to drive around looking for a place to park that inevitably would be a 30 minute walk from wherever we wanted to go. Maybe not the stuff of dreams but to me everything was new so everything was interesting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We only ever went to Pigneto at night and we always drove which meant I could never find my way around. To me Pigneto felt like a labyrinthine honeycomb of alternative hang outs, overflowing with students and hipsters yelling passionately about\u2026 something\u2026  words I couldn\u2019t understand. There was a low, sunken, abandoned building that was so old the street level had grown up half the height of this shack-like house. We used to peer in as we hurried past our neck craning, finding only windows of jagged glass and ivy snaking down the walls, begging the question: what happened here? There was a pedestrian bridge over train tracks and I wondered where those tracks went. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

New to the city, the language and the people I followed Dario and his friends through clouds of cigarette smoke and past graffiti I couldn\u2019t read to buy cheap bottles of Peroni and plastic cups to drink it, sitting on plastic crates on the side walk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is this graffiti?\u201d I asked, followed by a typically American assumption: \u201cAre they gang related?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo!\u201d Dario said, \u201cThis one is: \u2018The stars are in your eyes, Vittoria,\u201d this one says, \u201cYou are my sun and my moon, I love you.\u201d He explained to me that the girls probably lived across the street, the idea being they would open their window and see love messages from boyfriends and admirers the next morning. At night, we all become poets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We couldn\u2019t afford anything so we ordered \u201cjust appetizers\u201d at an Indian restaurant with dark cobalt blue walls which I\u2019ve never been able to find again. I talked about writing, he talked about music and we got to know each other again. On other nights we shared a drink in the garden of Bar Necci once the waiters finally acknowledged us, trying to somehow soak up the essence of the writer Pier Paolo Pasolini who had frequented the bar, (it also appeared in his film Accattone). I\u2019d read his book \u201cA Violent Life<\/em>\u201d during my semester abroad in Rome and I\u2019d brought my copy with me. It had moved me and I hadn\u2019t really understood why which I think is a testament to what great art can achieve. When I\u2019d first read it, I understood only a fraction of the desperate lives he had captured in those pages, the halting poetry of Romano dialect completely lost in the English translation, a universe I couldn\u2019t understand of the poor, the dispossessed, the frightened, the people whose lives were steamrollered by storms of corrupt politicians, mafia and hatred that eventually led to the murder of the artist himself, now martyrized in street art throughout the city.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019d usually meet Dario\u2019s friends, which was something of a mixed experience and an education in and of itself about how different I was from these Romans. When you are learning a foreign language you feel like you have no personality. You can\u2019t make jokes and just when you think you can interject something clever into a conversation, more often than not you\u2019re met with a quizzical arched brow that tells you that you totally didn\u2019t get it. Forget trying to understand Pasolini, I was just trying to understand the people around me whose language I could barely speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All of his friends in their mid 20s still lived at home, something that was almost inevitable following the 2008 financial crisis. In 2010 youth unemployment was nearly 30% and in subsequent years would only rise. Some were in university some not, but none of them had met in there. They\u2019d met as kids and that entitled them to a lifetime of friendship of which some were closer (\u201ctrue friends\u201d as I\u2019d have categorized them) and others were just \u201cthose people you hang out with forever because that\u2019s how it works in Italy.\u201d Really, you hang out with these people for the rest of your life. While teaching English I met a man from a small town near Bologna who said he had to go home every weekend to see friends because he didn\u2019t have any in Rome. I responded, \u201cI know it\u2019s hard to make friends when you\u2019re new in town.\u201d Oh no, he explained. I\u2019ve lived here for over 20 years. Meeting new friends is a whole other ball game in some parts of Italy and Rome seemed to be one of those parts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Almost all of Dario\u2019s friends from both the inner and the outer circle were in various bands so we made the rounds of small dive bars listening to rock to metal to folksy blues. Many of them sang in English even if they couldn\u2019t speak it but while crooning pronunciation seems hardly noticed. They all smoked so I learned to roll cigarettes just so I could have something to do though I wouldn\u2019t smoke any of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were such characters as tall, lanky Ivan who played the sitar, smoked roughly a small forest of weed every week and at one point got completely obsessed with a particular type of free range eggs which became all he wanted to talk about\u2026 the ritual of preparing them, how he\u2019d drive out of town to get them, why they were so great. Georgio worked for his father\u2019s antiques shop and hated it but when I asked why he didn\u2019t get another job, Dario just laughed. How could he? There was Francesco with Bob Dylan-esque nest of hair who was the most talented musician of the bunch but who always seemed to squander musical opportunities when they came his way. He and his band cancelled a gig because they didn\u2019t \u201cknow the owners.\u201d This revealed another part of some Italian psyches I would get to know over the years: Risk-aversion to the point of nonsense. I asked what they had to lose. Are they worried they won\u2019t get paid? \u201cNo, they weren\u2019t gonna pay us,\u201d they said. \u201cBut you just don\u2019t know how it\u2019s gonna go, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The concept of \u201cbromance\u201d is very real in Italy. In the world I saw of nagging mums, half absent fathers, and an economy in shreds, they know they\u2019s always have each other. In some ways, male friendship can be a more important relationship than your significant other and you see it just in the way they interact, kissing, hugging, joking around. There\u2019s a freedom and consistent love that supersedes the little tiffs and minor infractions of the friend code. Your male friends accept you and all your shit and they always will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were other friends from the outer circle who didn\u2019t talk to me much, to the point of sometimes not saying hello or acknowledging I was even there. When I asked Dario why he started by apologizing on their behalf and said,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey probably don\u2019t want to offend me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOffend \u2026 you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBy talking to my girlfriend. I know,\u201d he hastily added, \u201cit\u2019s stupid.\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not like we\u2019re flirting or talking all night. Just a small conversation. Just a hello.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey are really old school,\u201d he said. \u201cThey look young, but they have the old mentality.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An old mentality that seemed to think girlfriends were the property of their boyfriend and therefore were to be left alone out of respect for the man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of these, we\u2019ll call him Fabrizio (I actually don\u2019t remember his name) was clearly uninterested in talking to me since his entire focus and drive in life, the thing for which he lived, was to hook up with a different girl every night we went out. After some hellos and a cigarette with the group, he\u2019d quickly disappear like a dog on the hunt. He\u2019d circle back around occasionally but eventually he\u2019d vanish and we\u2019d know the hunt had been successful. \u201cGuess he found one,\u201d they\u2019d say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You can imagine my surprise when one night he had a girl with him. \u201cWow, did he actually get a girlfriend?\u201d I asked Dario as we ambled over to the entrance to \u201cIn It,\u201d essentially a cement cube that specialized in the kind of throbbing techno I could have lived without.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s been his girlfriend for the last three years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait, what about all those other girls?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBasically he just\u2026 cheats with them constantly.\u201d The rest of the guys were moving towards the club and beckoning us to hurry up. My main role as girl in the group was to help us get into places that would balk at a group of Roman dudes showing up at the door. With me and any other girls around positioned first, they had a chance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t get it. Why? Why not just be single, what\u2019s the point in having the girlfriend?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think it\u2019s for blow jobs.\u201d He said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stopped in my tracks. \u201cOk, you gotta explain that. She won\u2019t give blow jobs so he thinks he should go get them elsewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot it\u2019s more like\u2026 he doesn\u2019t want her to give blow jobs AND he gets them elsewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone of this is making sense to me.\u201d Someone from the group was actually coming back to hurry us up. We had to be in \u201cIn It\u201d soon or we risked being stuck waiting outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOk, this is another one of these old school weird things,\u201d Dario was saying. \u201cBasically, to summarize, there\u2019s a phrase that explains why you don\u2019t want your girlfriend or wife doing things like this: These are the lips that kiss my children.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe doesn\u2019t HAVE children!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo of course not. It\u2019s an expression. It\u2019s stupid.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then we were into the crowd, me and the non-blow job girl in the front, the guys following. His friend stayed with the group all night, paying no attention to the girlfriend and looking surly. She herself also paid no attention to him or to any of us. I didn\u2019t get it at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Much later I\u2019d hear a similar story via one of Dario\u2019s co-workers who was complaining to colleagues during lunch that her husband would only ever \u201callow\u201d her to do the missionary position. (I guess everything\u2019s up for discussion around here.) When I\u2019d exploded in incredulity his response was, \u201cI don\u2019t get it. Maybe\u2026it\u2019s a Catholic thing? It\u2019s stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Having other girls in the group wasn\u2019t the bonding fest that it was in college where the fact of being female seemed to instantly connect you in a new group. There were some girls who were friendly, eager to talk and commiserate about the fact that nobody ever had minutes on their phone or gas in their car. Then there were accessory girls, the ones who didn\u2019t interact with each other or with any other guys there. They gave other girls looks and they posed and flipped their hair and sometimes said a few words to their man. I didn\u2019t get them at all, and I\u2019m sure they didn\u2019t get me and that was just fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a typical Saturday night we started coordinating at about 8 or 9pm but Giulio was still at dinner with his father, Marco was meeting his girlfriend in Monti for one drink that took four hours, Ivan was just preparing his nightly free range eggs and Francesco\u2019s car had broken down somewhere. We\u2019d finally meet up but couldn\u2019t find Marco cause his phone was dead so oh well. Then we tried to park, giving a few coins to a guy to not key the car while we were away. Then we needed to get food for Francesco who hadn\u2019t eaten anything since yesterday. Then Ivan needed to find a tabbachaio open to get papers. Then they all smoked. We\u2019d try to get in somewhere but they\u2019d turned us away, \u201ctoo many guys.\u201d \u201cNext time Lauren should speak English to them, show them we have an American with us!\u201d they joked. We finally ended up somewhere around 2am and it would feel like all of Rome had just arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it didn\u2019t matter that I didn\u2019t speak Italian as the music was too loud to hear myself speak anyways. Crowds of people are pushing, I\u2019m exhausted. I just spent my \u20ac10 for the night on a vile cocktail and someone has spilled most of it down someone else\u2019s dress. \u201cMi dispiace!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some nights dragged on until 5am when I\u2019d be dizzy with words I didn\u2019t know, music I loved, conversations with Dario whispered and shouted all night long. We went to hidden jungle courtyards like Circolo degli Artisti or Angelo Mai (both since shut down though Angelo Mai keeps popping back up again before the police get to it) where you hung out in a garden chatting then danced until you were soaked in sweat then lounged in the garden to dry off, then danced again then all crammed into a car to go to the 24 hour cornetto place with people on the sidewalk, one faint pink light shining from a neon sign and everyone holding cornetti or donuts, sugar glistening on noses, that heavenly baked smell and a smiling man passing out pastry in white paper yelling, One euro! Two euro! Vai Vai! Eccomi! Arrivo! While cooks in the kitchen jumped around the ovens as sweaty as we\u2019d been dancing and we shared sugared kisses in the warm dark summer smiling at each other and remembering why we\u2019d fallen in love. Roman summer nights have a magic if you can catch them, like a soap bubble in the sunshine, ethereal and delicate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally we\u2019d go home and collapse into sleep. The next day was my day off which meant Sunday lunch with\u2026 The Family. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I mentioned in my first \u201cLaurenissima\u201d post that my Roman boyfriend Dario had \u201ctried\u201d to break up with me days after I\u2019d moved to Rome. We\u2019d met during my semester abroad in Italy over one and a half years earlier. Most of our relationship had developed over Skype conversations and a couple visits to California so by […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-77","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/77","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=77"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/77\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":78,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/77\/revisions\/78"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=77"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=77"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.laurenmouat.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=77"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}