The Roman Newsstand: A Sad Story, with (some) Happy Endings

It’s a world-wide story, played out in Rome: the decline of the newsstand. Visually, the decline takes different forms, depending on the place. In Los Angeles, where the one-stop newsstand has not been an important phenomenon for decades, it’s most obvious on streetcorners, where once-active newspaper boxes stand empty and abused, sometimes full of trash rather than the penny saver, a Latino publication, or the Los Angeles Times. There are still many newsstands (edicole) in Rome, but fewer of them every day. In the first 10 months of 2025, 25 edicole closed in the Centro—the city center—and no doubt many more in surrounding areas, even areas that are densely populated. According to Il Messaggero (a Rome daily newspaper), there are 100 newsstands remaining in the city center, and 54 of them are at risk of closing.

Last year, while living near the University of Rome (La Sapienza) we noticed this closed newsstand:

And another that had been decorated on its sides by PONE and HUBE (those words or names appear throughout Rome and usually are a death knell of the enterprise).

This newsstand, also in the University district, is probably open (it still sports advertising) but has been the target of graffiti writers.

We passed by the one below, located on the Lungotevere and (conveniently) associated with a bus stop, on a busy Sunday evening. It was closed, perhaps permanently. 

In 2017 we lived in Ostiense, near a former newsstand was located at the intersection of via Ostiense and via del Gazometro. When we last looked, the structure was still there, side-by-side with outdoor seating for Doppio Zero, the pizzeria (we used to like) on that corner. Here it is in June 2017, for sale (the green sign: vendesi).

The Rome newsstands that still exist couldn’t possibly survive through the sale of newspapers alone. At our local edicola this year at Piazza dei Re di Roma (intersection of Via Pinerolo and Via Vercelli), our giornalaio (news agent) told us that on the average day they sold only about 40 copies (at E1.40) of the most popular newspaper, Il Messaggero, and only about half that of the next most popular, La Repubblica. The Friday edition of La Repubblica sells better, but only because it contains a supplemental magazine (at extra cost). We read the print edition of Il Messaggero every day.

From observation, it appears that many of today’s newsstands make money by selling sunglasses, hats, and souvenirs to tourists, as well as Metro tickets to tourists and some Romans. One of those below is strategically located in Piazzale Flamino. The other, in Tuscolano at the intersection of Via Tuscolana and Via Gela and not far from the train station, appears to specialize in children’s toys—and its awning says it’s open 24 hours.

The local press (yes, it still exists) has taken notice of the problem. Il Messaggero led us to one of the stories of a recently closed edicola, off Metro A in an old stomping grounds of ours (we lived in the area a few years ago), not far from the Cipro Metro stop. We found the edicola at Piazza Francesco Morosini.

It was opened in 1940 (!), surely before some of the surrounding structures were built, and had a role in the 1962 Dino Risi film “Il Sorpasso,” starring Vittorio Gassman. Cesare Monti, the owner since 2000, did well with the edicola for the first years, and was able to buy a house with the earnings. According to Monti, things went downhill with Covid, when clients began abandoning the printed newspaper for the online version. The license to operate, which once was valued at 300,000 Euro, declined in value to about 12,000 Euro—and even then nobody wanted it to purchase it. Monti’s mother, who helped out in the store, added that even the gadgets and toys for children stopped selling—victims of Amazon and other online sellers. The current offer to sell includes the “chiosco” (the physical edicola or kiosk) and the license.

A few weeks ago we spent several hours investigating two edicole that had been featured in the newspaper for having found new uses after ceasing operations as newsstands. On Prati’s Via Cola di Rienzo, two men with restaurant chops have converted a long-standing edicola into the centerpiece of Le Sicilianedde, an indoor/outdoor gourmet restaurant serving breakfast and dinner and featuring Sicilian cuisine (from cannoli to caponnatina) and promoting “Aperi-Edicola.” At streetside, the chiosco, rather than housing diners or drinkers, presents the ceramics of the Sicilian city of Caltagirone.

What looks like another success is in the Centro near the Spanish Steps, where a smallish edicola has been converted into a bar where you can get an on-the-street spritz—and pay for it with cash from the built-in ATM. 

A third converted edicola is in our own neighborhood this year, in Piazza Imola, off Via Taranto a few blocks from our place. Dianne had read that the edicola had closed but been transformed into an art space—a gallery of sorts. Here’s what we found:

When we returned on the evening of October 18 for the opening, the same view confirmed the success of the transformation. 

And here's the view from in front:

And from the side:

Wine was served, and inside a dj presenting a lively dj set. The group involved in this conversion, and apparently others, is known as "Santedicola." This show features photos of the community of Lanterna Beach. 

Among the strangest edicole in Rome is the one standing in the corner of Piazza Colonna in the city center. This newsstand was once the flagship edicola of the Rome newspaper "Il Tempo," founded in 1944 and still published, albeit with a minimal circulation (about 8,000 copies in 2021). Just steps away is Palazzo Wedekind, which housed the offices of "Il Tempo" for many years. Today one can still purchase newspapers and magazines at the kiosk, but only through machines; there is no giornolaio, no one selling newspapers or anything else. The last photo is of the edicola's interior. Kind of eerie. 

Bill 

For a story of a couple owning a newsstand in Ostiense (the one we bought from when we lived there), and their pessimism about their future (the kids don't want to work that hard), see Dianne's post from 2017 here: https://www.romethesecondtime.com/2017/06/open-at-530-am-close-at-9-pm-no.html

La Scoperta del Giorno: a Halloween Surprise

La Scoperta del Giorno (Today’s Discovery)

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).

It wasn't so long ago that Halloween was a non-event in Italy, and Rome. No more. McDonald's is into it, and when McDonald's gets on board, you know it's a thing. We noticed the electronic poster on the wall of a bus stop in Flaminia (we're all about buses now).

But that isn't today's Scoperta. 

Returning to our Piazza dei Re di Roma abode on the evening of Halloween, we noticed--on busy via Appia Nuova, a major thoroughfare, that Moms were escorting their costumed little ones into stores--commercial establishments--that line the streets, including a PAM supermarket and a flower shop. 

Faced with the difficulties of penetrating apartment buildings that line every street in most neighborhoods, Rome's kids trick-or-treat at area businesses! That's La Scoperta del Giorno for October 31, 2025!

 Bill 

From Quadraro, 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).

Yesterday we returned to Quadraro, a center of street art that occupies both sides of Via Tuscolana in the heartt of Tuscolano. We  couldn't resist a look at the short tunnel that runs under Via Tuscolana between Via Decio Mure (on the west) and Via Lentuli (on the east). Below, what the west entrance looked like 9 years ago, in 2016. Even then, the black interior of the tunnel had been painted white, probably to encourage pedestrian use. The artist is Mr. Thoms.  (See our post on street art in Quadraro, including a now-defunct app, here: https://www.romethesecondtime.com/2016/11/quadraro-street-art-center-of-romes.html) 

Here's what it looked like a few weeks ago:

And that's the Scoperta del Giorno for October 9, 2025!

Bar Latteria - Bar and "Milk Store" - What's Up?

Latteria? Having spent 2 months each year in Rome for more than 2 decades, we had seen the word hundreds of times, often in combination with Bar, as in "Bar Latteria," or with Caffè, as in "Caffè Latteria," or even, curiously, with Cocktails, as in "Cocktails Latteria," And we knew enough to know that a "latteria" meant a "milk shop" or a "milk store." OK. But one can buy milk at the supermarket or at any mini-market. So what's the deal with the "latteria"?

Through conversations with our Roman friends, we pieced together the story of the Roman latteria.  

It was the consensus that the Bar Latteria (above) located in the large via Catania public market (in the orbit of Piazza Bologna), 150 vendor stalls, was "authentic." One could downplay the "Bar" part of the name, if only because the market itself closes for the day at about 1 p.m. No late afternoon Campari Spritz to be served here, although, as the bottles on the shelf would suggest, you can still get an a.m. Scotch.

A "milk board" posted outside (photo below), listing milk products that seemed to be unusual, also lends the place an air of authenticity. Then we learned that those milk products weren't so unusual—in fact they could be purchased at any supermarket, or even down the street at the mini-market. So much for authenticity.

It was not long before the very concept of authenticity was undermined. And that brings us to the history of the Latteria, insofar as we know it. A friend and professional chauffeur, who drives us to and from the airport, grew up in the 1970s in San Lorenzo—Scalo San Lorenzo to be precise. He remembers picking up milk for the family at the neighborhood latteria—one of about 4 in San Lorenzo at the time, as he recalls. He also remembers that in those days there was a central latteria in Rome, a distribution center from which all the city's latterie (the Italian plural of latteria) were supplied. 

It's unlikely that the signage of this Bar Latteria on via dei Sabelli in today's San Lorenzo dates to the 1970s—we think the term "Snack Bar" is a more recent invention. In the mornings it's full of mothers who have dropped their kids off at the school just down the block.

The first coffee bar we tried in San Lorenzo was a traditional establishment on Piazza dei Sanniti. Later we noticed a sign on the via dei Volsci side of the caffè. Missing the "L," it reads "atteria" (below the word "BAR").We asked the barista, a man in his 70s, if the bar was a latteria. "Not for a long time," he replied. I asked how long it had been since it was, in fact, a latteria. "Cinquant'anni" was his answer—dating the end of its days as a latteria to the mid-1970s. Indeed, the city's latterias ceased to exist as legal entities in 1975.

Before 1975—how far back we don't know, yet—milk distribution in Rome (and doubtless other cities) was regulated for health purposes. Milk was available only through licensed vendors—the latterias. When it became clear that this regulatory regime was no longer necessary, the latteria as a legal entity ceased to exist. That was, as the barista—and our driver—confirmed, almost 50 years ago. The year was 1975.

Even then, latterie didn't just disappear. The "milk store" was by then a tradition, and milk stores continued to exist, and even to open anew. This latteria, on via Tiburtina in San Lorenzo, was—according to its window signage—founded in 1980, 5 years after the law changed.

In our fall, 2025 Re di Roma neighborhood, a small, old sign suggests that a coffee shop we frequent, Anima Nera (Black Soul), was once a latteria:

The latteria survives in the memories of Romans, and in the signs of an earlier era. So, stop into your local milk store—and have a Jack Daniels. 

Bill 

Toilet Equipment, and 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).

We reported on gentrification in 2019, and one of the neighborhoods we included was Quadraro, which occupies both sides of Via Tuscolana just south of the Porta Furba Metro stop on the A line. Quadraro made some sense as a locus of anti-gentrification sentiment, because it's a leftist, working-class neighborhood, while also being one of several Rome street art/murales centers, and hence associated with artistic elites.

That said, Tuscolano to Quadraro's south had always seemed to us relentlessly middle-class, impervious to gentrification. Until yesterday, when, window shopping, we were shocked to realize that we could have walked into a store in the heart of Tuscolano and come out with a $400 toilet brush! 

                    And that's La Scoperta del Giorno for an afternoon in October, 2025!

The Orecchiette Wars and the Search for Authenticity

Made in Italy is a label that still attracts attention, and buyers. Italy has been very protective of its country’s indigenous food products, and we’re not talking just wine here.

A recent article on the front page of a daily Rome newspaper, Il Messaggero, brought this point home to us as it proclaimed that the authenticity of orecchiette, the “little ear” pasta form, was at risk. Orecchiette, as we learned, should be a product of Puglia. Moreover, the “nonne della pasta” (“pasta grandmothers”) of the region are accused of making it only partly by hand—"ma loro negano”—“they deny it.”

In Bari, according to the Messaggero article, which was based on a UK Guardian article, there’s been a “blitz” of authorities going after the pasta makers. I like the Guardian headline: “Barricades in Bari: why the city’s ‘pasta grannies’ are under scrutiny. Sellers of fresh orecchiette in southern Italy are fighting back after being accused of tricking tourists with bought wares.”

The blitz, which started in January and has continued, includes the local prosecutor, the local police, the national Guardia di Finanza (tax police), and the Carabinieri (national police force). Says the Guardian, “Authorities said the most conspicuous evidence was piles of cardboard boxes for factory-made pasta found dumped in wheelie bins on the outskirts of the old town.”

The full article on the inside of Il Messaggero started with a typical—and enticing—yellow journalism approach:

“Not everything that ends up on your plate is truly Italian. From Parmigiano Dop* that hides foreign milk, to wine labeled from Tuscany but produced elsewhere to mozzarella ‘made by hand: sold as ‘artigianale’: the risk of being cheated is around every corner, and it doesn’t hit just tourists. Olives, salami, dried tomatoes, fresh pasta. The “made in Italy” label at times is corrupted by deceptive brand labelling, in stores in the center of Rome that are tourist traps, and on packages both in windows and on tables. And the case of the ‘orecchiette wars’ in the oldtown of Bari [in Puglia] is just one vivid example.”

The full newspaper page, which had an overall headline of “Add Doubt to the Table,” also featured wine from Pantelleria (an Italian island about halfway between Sicily and Tunisia) that was in fact made in Germany. And a third piece on adulteration of cheese products—Mozzarella and scamorza in Barletta (also in Puglia)—another blitz by Carabinieri, in this case specifically by their Nas division. We were unaware of this division of the national police force (we knew about their division that finds stolen art, and have appreciated and written about it). Nas, or Nucleo Antisofisticazioni Sanità, is the department of the Carabinieri responsible for controls of foodstuff, drinks, medicine etc. from adulteration, impurities, and fraudulent labelling. We couldn’t tell whether the Nas division of the Carabinieri was involved in the orecchiette wars, but they were involved in this cheese product adulteration.

It seems the cautionary tale is to watch what you eat, or don’t believe everything you’re told. It would be hard for the Italian authorities to keep up with the counterfeit products, we think. That won’t stop us from eating what we like here in Rome. Though maybe we’ll pay more attention to the recommendations of food experts like Katie Parla. Unfortunately, learning about these scams, while entertaining, adds a bit of cynicism to the table. 

Dianne 

*”DOP stands for Denominazione di Origine Protetta (literally “Protected Designation of Origin”). As the the name suggests, this certification ensures that products are locally grown and packaged.” Walks in Italy, a tour provider with a rich website, has a good piece on Dop here. (Italians tend not to use upper case for all the letters in their acronyms.)

La Scoperta del Giorno (Today's Discovery): Inside a Nasone

 

La Scoperta del Giorno (Today’s Discovery): Inside a Nasone

Today we’re launching a new (and not daily) 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).

The big event of September 20 was a huge pro-Palestine demonstration starting in Piazza dei Cinquecento in front of Stazione Termini, which we attended along with about 50,000 other people. But La Scoperta of that day took place about an hour after the “manifestazione” had left Termini to proceed through the city to the university. We were not part of the ongoing march, but headed home on foot, through Piazza Vittorio, where we took a break for a coffee at a sidewalk bar just outside the Piazza. There, sitting at a table, we could see dozens of those who had been at the demonstration—or were still part of the ongoing march—pouring out the gate of Piazza Vittorio and heading for a nearby nasone (one of thousands of “big nose” water fountains in Rome, most of them flowing constantly) to have a drink and fill up their water bottles.

 

The line was long, because a second nearby nasone wasn’t working. Then a man reached inside the top of the non-functioning fountain and, within no time, it was working! How did he do it?

By inspecting other nasoni, we soon learned that some but not all of them have a handle inside that turns the water on and off. 

The handles were likely installed in 2017 during a severe drought when more than 2,000 of the nasoni were “turned off.” Since the handle revelation, we have often tried, usually without success, to remove the cover to access the handle—or just to see if there was one. Here's a nasone without a handle:

Most of the covers appear to be fixed—that is, not easily removable by a passer-by. It looks like one needs a special round tool with a triangular interface to get the cover off.

Some nasoni have handles to turn the water on and off! That’s La Scoperta del Giorno for September 20, 2025.

Bill 

 

An Evening in Rome. Best-laid plans, and all that....

What do you do in Rome? As a friend once said, “you walk out the door.” So true, though these days we often walk out the door with a plan. Sometimes things go “according to plan” and sometimes, especially in Rome, they don’t. This is the story of one of those days—an evening, to be precise. With a “lieto” (happy) ending.

Our day began, as usual, at our coffee bar of choice, based on a couple of good experiences we had had there over the past two days, including one just the day before, when we had enjoyed a couple of Campari “Spritz” in the cool night air. The bar, on Via Pomezia at Via Cerveteri, is Bar Anima Nera (Black Soul), though we call it the "Mad Hatter," after the fine drawings that grace the inside walls. The structure in front of the bar is on most days a vegetable stand.

A chilly morning drove us inside, pleasant enough with our daily newspaper (“Il Messaggero”) but when we went to pay the new Italian guy got the price of our caffè Americani wrong (E2.50 rather than the customary E1.50), and another new Italian guy served us our cornetto with a cough. Perhaps a harbinger of things to come.

Our mid-day adventure—a Metro A excursion to Aurelia and Prati to see a couple of closed edicole (newsstands) worked out fine. After doing some work at home in our rented apartment at Piazza dei Re di Roma, our plan was to take the Metro to Piazza Repubblica and a 64 (or 40) bus to Chiesa Nuova for an opening at Maja Arte Contemporanea, via di Monserrato 20, then tack to nearby Bar Peru, a favorite of ours in years past, for an aperitivo and cena—apericena, a one-price drink and plate of good food selected from a variety of prepared dishes available at the bar.

The opening was well attended and the wine (a Ribolla Gialla) was nice, but the art, while colorful and organic in a Victorian sort of way, was not of the sort to invite our serious consideration.

After a few minutes, we departed for Bar Peru.

Lo and behold, Bar Peru had, so it seemed, changed hands and look. The stools on the street were gone (maybe the police objected), replaced by tables across the street in the piazza. Inside, there was no apericena to be had.

We ordered two Campari “Spritz,” took a raised table inside, and lamented the changes. The new ownership appeared to be Asian.

The Spritz were excellent (the bar is amply supplied with Campari), the bartender terrific, and we enjoyed the chips and the peanuts in a Depero Campari & soda bottle. But what to do now, early in the evening. Via Giulia was just a block away, toward the Tevere, and we headed there, not knowing what we’d find. The street was dark and mostly quiet. The Accademia of Hungary in Rome, in a palazzo designed by Borromini mid-17th century and one of our favorite places, was open, and a sign mentioned a concert of piano, violin and flute. “First floor,” said the bored attendant, and up the stone stairs we went, just as the flautist was wrapping up the first performance. We took seats and for 45 minutes were thoroughly entertained by a remarkable 24-year-old woman violinist (Ludovica Mastrostefano) and her equally compelling piano accompanist (Sara Damiani). Popular Romanian tunes by Béla Bartók; Sonata n.3 by Edvard Grieg. Delightful!

So far so good. Afterwards, Dianne wanted to eat, Bill to drink, and we settled on Il Goccetto, our favorite wine bar (on nearby via dei Banchi Vecchi), which has both. It was absolutely full, spilling out onto the street (as it usually does). Disappointed, we left. Checked some other places, then decided (it was about 8:30) to head home. Caught the 64 bus (the "watch your wallet" bus) on Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. A man on the bus warned a tourist with luggage that a sciopero (a strike) of some transport services had already begun. Rumor was that the subway wouldn’t run after 9 p.m. We thought he was wrong. We ended up near the controversial Pope John Paul II statue/sculpture in Piazza dei Cinquecento, where a small ProPal (pro-Palestinian) protest was going on. 

Walked toward the lit-up Termini station, avoiding the buses. Found 5 clustered Carabinieri (state police) just outside the station, and we inquired, in Italian, if there was a strike going on at that moment. Yes, said one of them, a woman, authoritatively. The Metro (the subway), she added, was not running.

What to do? Dianne’s app said it was a 40-minute walk to our Re di Roma digs, and, having done the walk just the other day, we headed off on foot, down Via Cavour and into the piazza behind Santa Maria Maggiore, soon coming upon a Metro entrance. The electronic signed warned that service was "non garantite," but people were entering, and so we did.

Below, at the turnstiles of the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele stop, we asked a woman employee if there was service in our direction. Before she could answer she scurried away to deter several people whom she deemed not to have paid. We decided to give it a try. The train came. We took it. Finally secure at home, and having reached 19,000 steps (about 8 miles) for the day, we relished a plate of cold cuts and cheeses and a bottle of Circeo doc, as Bill called it, in our cozy living room, excited at having “sopravissuti” (survived) and had such an exhilarating time doing it. What do you do in Rome? Walk out the door!

Bill

PS from Dianne: Sometimes you get what you need.