Trouble in Via Panama: What's a car to do?

 There's trouble on via Panama. Congestion. Delays. Honking horns. And most of it was   avoidable.

The street is located on the edge of the swank Parioli neighborhood. It may have been intended to be used mostly by locals, but instead it's a busy thoroughfare, running along the south end of Villa Ada (a massive park). Because it connects two main roads/places—the notorious via Salaria and the very popular, heart of Parioli, Piazza Ungheria—some motorists would be tempted to use it to bypass always hectic viale Liegi, with its buses and trams. 

Last year, the city decided to reconfigure about half of via Panama, adding a wide new lane for bicycles, turning the existing bike lane into a pedestrian sidewalk, and adding cut-outs for buses. Already a one-way street heading south, vehicular traffic on via Panama was smushed into one lane. Locals don't like it.

As it turned out (reading the papers the next day), we arrived to inspect the damage just after a protest demonstration occupied the still-under-construction street. We found a remnant of the manifestazione: a chalked sign on the street, reading "Con le stampelle/Niente Bici/Serve Auto!!!" ("With the divisions, no bicycles, cars are needed")

In our humble opinion, there's just too much build-out, too much concrete (especially to provide space for people to wait for buses), and too little space for cars and trucks and scooters. 

The photos that follow (and the one above) are more or less in order, beginning at the "top" of via Panama (at Piazza Ungheria) and continuing down the street, to the point where the reconstruction ends. The photos were taken in October, 2025.

In many cities, including ones with nasty winters like our own Buffalo, New York, municipal authorities are bending over backwards to provide bicycle lanes, as if the bicycle is the solution to to the automobiles that clog our streets. It's beginning to happen in Rome.

The idea that bicycles can materially replace cars in Rome is questionable, at least, and the reconstruction of via Panama demonstrates that it can be taken to an unhelpful extreme. There is already talk of redoing the project, of cutting it back. That won't be cheap.

Bill 

Grazie, Ciao--or Ciao, Grazie? La Scoperta del Giorno

 The latest in the now-and-then RST feature, La Scoperta del Giorno (the discovery of the day or, better put in English, Today’s Discovery). The Italian word “scoperta,” and its English equivalent, “discovery,” are similarly constructed; each is based on the verb “to cover” (coprire/to cover) and each is converted into “uncover” or “discover” with a prefix (the “s” in Italian, the “dis” in English).

Above photo is from the Fattori café on the \eastern fringe of Pigneto, Piazza dei Condottieri

When entering a café, a bar, a newsstand or any other business other than a super-market/big box store/large appliance store, it's the Rome custom to announce one's presence with "buon giorno" or, later in the day, "buona sera." 

But what to say when you've drunk your espresso, enjoyed your cornetto, and paid the bill (that is, if you didn't pay before consuming), and you're headed out the door? 

"Grazie, ciao" would seem the obvious choice. It has the proper order: thanks [and] bye. 

But according to our informal survey, which included several neighborhood folks and 3 carabinieri, the appropriate closing is (and what Romans actually say):

"Ciao, grazie" (bye [and] thanks), even if the order seems wrongly inverted (to these Americans, anyway). Roman friends confirmed our observations over dinner. 

                                                            CIAO, GRAZIE!

                            And that's the Scoperta del Giorno for November 4, 2025. 

Valco San Paolo. A Fascinating Walk and a Street We Should Not Have Taken

Valco San Paolo. Most Romans haven't been there, and won't know where it is. We returned in October, 2025, having heard that the Rossellini Film Institute that takes up part of the area had been the site of pro-Pal (pro-Palestine) demonstrations. 

Valco San Paolo occupies several acres inside a bend in the Tevere river, bounded on the other side by multi-lane viale Marconi. Coming from the Marconi neighborhood, we crossed the bridge over the river and, bypassing the first road (Lungotevere Dante), took the 2nd road, via della Vasca Navale. Ahead on the right, some boys were playing basketball and, courtside, a table of after-school high school kids were chatting and looking at their cell phones. 

Just ahead to the left, what remains of a greyhound racing track (fading decoration by the artist Blu), and its modernist signature sign, "CORSE di LEVRIERI." 

To the right, the CINODROMO (dog-racing track).  

A graffiti-lovers paradise.

Just across the parking lot is vicolo Savini, a long straight street that we wouldn't take again. (We took it, and wrote a post on it, 10 years earlier, here.) On one side of the street is a massive, modern, recently-constructed building, running the length of the street, which we assume (we don't know) will house all or part of the Rossellini film campus, now located in other buildings. A few feet down Savini we passed by a colorfully dressed woman, having a walk with a young boy. She greeted us with a healthy "buona sera," which we returned. Ahead, some activity on the street. Dianne advised turning around. We kept walking, taking no photos. A man, noticeably uncomfortable, was delivering a newish automobile. Excited children opened the doors and reclined on the shiny hood.

Across from the long modern building were the homes of people (we assumed) senza fissa dimora (with no fixed residence). As we entered this "neighborhood," a man we had just passed called out, "dove andate?" (where are you going?), said with a genuine smile. I turned toward him and said (my Italian mostly failing me), "un giro," meaning (to me) "we're just taking a walk." Still smiling, he replied "girare!", perhaps to suggest that "taking a spin" on that particular street was a curious thing to do. And it was. We were not threatened, but neither did we feel safe. For a few minutes, we were unusually vulnerable. 

When we reached the end of the street (and the residences, and the activity), I took a photo from a distance of about 100 meters. 

Here, enlarged from the above photo, is the street action we walked through:

At the intersecton, a man was rummaging through some trash.

Turning left, here's what the long modern building looks like from the other side.

Not far ahead was a sports complex linked to the community of Garbatella. Just to the right of the entrance to the complex, a woman entered another area of informal housing of those without "fissa dimora."

Around a bend, several departments of the University of Rome (Roma Tre), including nuclear physics!  

Then, and still on via della Vasca Navale, a mural of Alfred Hitchcock, the first of many that signaled our arrival at R. Rossellini State Institute of Cinematography and Film. 

This one, referring to Robert DeNiro's famous scene in "Taxi Driver," seems to have gotten the line wrong: "You talkin' to me?"

Around another bend (and heading back toward the dog track), several massive pieces of wall art:

Above, "Work kills you because life is perilous" - at least one translation (from us).

Across the street, the entrance to still another encampment, this one looking more permanent, or at least more "fixed." 

And the parking lot, with vans and campers serving as homes:

Up the road and out, and across viale Marconi, to a corner bar and a shared bottle of Peroni.

Another world.

Bill 

Strange Public Monuments: to Alcide de Gasperi, Europeanist and Founder of Christian Democratic Party

 

One of the stranger monuments we've found in our walks in Rome is this one of stone and grass, to Alcide De Gasperi, a giant in the political history of Italian and European politics, especially immediately after World War II.

We came across the bronze and grass (yes) monument by accident while trying to find another structure on the west side of the Vatican.

The monument is low and the "park" in which it's placed is surrounded by streets and cars. If you look closely, you can see the green of the grass in the photo below of the nameless piazzale - though the short street coming into it on the right here and around it is named via Alcide De Gasperi. The large street to the left of the pie-shaped building is the busy via delle Fornaci, coming off the Gianicolo.

As many times as we've zoomed down via delle Fornaci on our scooter, we had never noticed the monument. It took a trip on foot and some daring crossing of streets to see it.

De Gasperi (1881-1954), an anti-Fascist jailed for years, is considered the founder of the Christian Democratic Party, was Prime Minister in 8 successive governments, and was also a founder of the European Union.

It's difficult (for us, anyway) to read the inscriptions on the brass. They are a mix of quotations from the politician. According to the official Rome tourist website (Turismo Roma) "A number of quotations were engraved in lost wax, in capital letters and without interruption, on the covering, summarizing well De Gasperi's vision of the European community and calling for brotherhood, tolerance and the spirit of sacrifice in community service."

Our photos were taken in 2022. We've been back a few times, and the monument continued to be unkempt. It was restored in 2024, apparently. We also learned, from an article on the restoration, that the monument is within sight of where De Gasperi lived when he served in Rome, at via delle Fornaci 18.  He was from - and died in - Trentino, the very North of Italy. Per the restoration information, the artist Maria Dompè attempted to reproduce a valley in Trentino "with a sloping meadow enclosed by bronze slabs."

An overhead shot on the sculptor's website is perhaps more revealing of her vision:

Dianne

PS - Google's AI thinks the monument is in EUR; it isn't.

Pasolini's Last Supper, in San Lorenzo

Yes, Pier Paolo Pasolini, and, yes, his last check, yet uncashed.

Legend has it, and the legend is not controverted, that Pasolini had his last supper at Pommidoro dal 1890, a San Lorenzo restaurant now run by the 5th generation of the Clementina family.

Pommidoro, especially since the artist and filmmaker's murder in November 1975, has been famous for being one of the haunts of the controversial artist and filmmaker--controversial to most of the world, pretty much simply revered in Italy (at least on our and our friend's side of the cultural spectrum). We've posted about him several times, tracing his body as icon, his activities around and near Rome, and the site of his death in the coastal town of Ostia.

A vintage photo of artists gathered at Pommidoro.

He paid with a check, which seems quaint these days. The sign in the photo at top above, attested to by then owner Aldo Bravi, says he was a frequent customer and was in the restaurant that fateful night until he went to the train station for what would be the encounter with his assassin.

The title of this photo is "Oscar stars at San Lorenzo." In the photo, along with Tucci are Edward Berger, Ralph Fiennes, and the Bravi owners.

Since being discovered by Stanley Tucci, Pommidoro attracts more tourists, but it's still very much a local, family place, full of nooks and crannies as well as a large, disordered dining room.

Tucci declared its carbonara the best in Italy, and in his paean to it, used the word "cazzo" many times. More like "hot damn" I suppose.

I can't say we found the carbonara the best--in a city known for it, btw--but certainly serviceable. Enough so that we went back. Or maybe we were just enraptured by the atmosphere that Pasolini loved so much.

Often crowded, but also you usually can get a table. 

Pommidoro dal 1890: Piazza Dei Sanniti 44/46, San Lorenzo, 

+39 06 445 2692.