Immersion in Rome: Sari Gilbert's new mystery "Deadline Rome: The Vatican Kylix"

If you want to immerse yourself in Rome but can't get there yet, Sari Gilbert's 2021 mystery novel, "Deadline Rome: The Vatican Kylix" is a perfect way to do it. 

Set mostly in Trastevere, Gilbert's novel features a British archeologist turned journalist and part-time detective, Clare Phillips, whose knowledge of Rome's news and police systems is deep and fascinating.

The story opens with a kidnaped young man, who has a head wound, and follows shortly with Clare and her archeological buddy discovering an ear in an Etruscan tomb, where they are picnicking near Tuscania. We've been in some of those tombs - and one can picnic in them - many are simply open. And Tuscania is a gorgeous town in northern Lazio. Hopefully that will  prick your appetite for this delightful book.

Etruscan tomb in Cerveteri

You can follow Gilbert's attractive protagonist as she scooters around Rome and its environs, interviewing everyone from bishops to tombaroli (grave thieves - those who plunder ancient graves for valuable artifacts). For those who watched the British TV series, "Fleabag," you'll be pleased to note there's even a hot priest in the mix.

Enjoying Tuscania

Gilbert's novel intertwines several historically important stories: the questionable provenance of ancient relics, in this case a signed Greek wine cup or the Kylix; corruption in the Italian banking system; and the anni di piombo, or "years of lead," in which kidnaping for political and monetary gain was a plague in the country - the novel is set in 1980. The author, a retired American journalist with years of experience in Rome, adroitly uses these historical themes to remind the reader of critical facets of contemporary Italian history. 

The proposed unveiling of the Kylix reminded us of a big show of recovered artifacts in the Carabinieri headquarters in Rome. Clare visits some of the same places we did, and interviews officials we - mostly unsuccessfully - tried to interview. - photo right; our post here.

On a more playful level, Clare traipses around Rome (as noted, by scooter, but also on foot, and by car), taking the reader to specific streets and locales that evoke the Rome of Romans, not of tourists. Her favorite barristas, coffee bars themselves, small restaurants, pasta, all are a delight to anyone who loves Rome. And if you don't know a specific street, you can get out your Google Map (or Tuttocitta') and follow along. She also slings the Italian slang, some of which was new to us, but some of which we were pleased to see on the page, including "conosco il mio pollo" - "I know my own chicken" - i.e. I know of what I speak; let me do it.

One complaint might be that Clare is a little too attractive, especially to the Italian men; though I suppose Gilbert might say, that's her Italian experience. One gets a little weary of Clare constantly being noted for her good looks, and those good looks opening doors for her. And a mystery fan with whom I spoke thought there were a few too many characters and that it was difficult to keep track of them all. That wasn't my experience. In any event, these are small criticisms in a wonderfully written book with a good mystery at its heart (you'll note I haven't spoiled it for you). I'm looking forward to more from Gilbert. 

At the bar/cafe Ombre Rosse, in Piazza di Sant'Egidio,
where Clare lives.

Dianne

Gilbert's book is available on Amazon and elsewhere.

ELFO in Rome

 

As those who follow Rome the Second Time may know, the administrators of the website are keen observers of Rome's WALLS.  Over the years, we have learned a great deal about the city's politics, about its heroes and villains, its neo-fascists and do-gooders, its martyrs and activists.  

And so, when we landed in the neighborhood of Pigneto in the spring of 2019, we were pleased to find an area dense with posters, graffiti, wall art and wall writing. Much of what we found was familiar.  But not the word ELFO, which appeared in several places, sometimes simply as "ELFO," but also as "ELFO AMOK" and "ELFO AMOK/LF.LF."  A mystery to be sure: possibly the initials of a local activist, or those of an anti-fascist martyred in the "Anni di Piombo," the "Years of Lead," a reference to a decade of ideological conflict and violence, assassination and murder, that began in the 1970s. Another layer of Rome's political onion, peeled away.  

Alas, none of that proved to be true. As we later learned, ELFO (which means "elf," a mythical being), refers to the animated television series "Disenchantment," written and produced by Matt Groening (best known for "The Simpsons," whose characters also appear on Rome walls), which premiered on Netflix in August, 2018--just in time to inspire the person or persons who chose to celebrate it on Pigneto's walls.  

It's in the genre of medieval fantasy, and it's set in the kingdom of Dreamland. As far as I know, it has nothing to do with Rome.  Sorry about that. 

Bill 

Villa Certosa: A Hidden Rome Neighborhood

Railroad tracks are usually the enemy of community.  They cut through and divide neighborhoods, bringing with them dirt and noise and a certain trashy, industrial ugliness, leavened, if barely, by the graffiti that often covers their sides.  Paradoxically, rail lines can also create neighborhoods and nurture community, doing so by isolating an area and, effectively, protecting it from outsiders.

Railroads explain the charm of a Rome neighborhood known as Villa Certosa.  Villa Certosa is a spit of land bordered on one side by the multi-track Ferrovia Urbana Roma Giardinetto, which runs adjacent to the busy via Casilina; and another--even more impenetrable and isolating--track to the south and west that eventually passes through the Parco degli aquedotti (Aqueduct Park).  One can access Villa Certosa at several several places along the Casilina line, but the other track is a solid barrier.  Because one can't get through Villa Certosa to go anywhere else (there is one exception to that), there's no reason to go there--unless one lives there.  Or unless you're in quest of "authentic" Rome, the "real" Rome that tourists--even clever and committed ones--never see.

Even then, those looking for a spectacular site are likely to be underwhelmed.  The houses are simple, the pace deliberate, the noise and bustle of via Tor Pignattara, while not that far away, fails to intrude - that's also Villa Certosa's charm.

Perhaps the best place to access Villa Certosa is through Largo Alessi, a stop on the Casilina/Giardinetto line.  Wander southwest on via Galeazzo Alessi, along the tracks. As it turns left, take a right at the first or second street--the second one is via Savorgnan, which runs the length of Villa Certosa. As you turn onto via Savorgnan, you'll see a restaurant that is one of our favorites, Betto e Mary, about which we posted several years ago (recognizing the very Roman food - innards and horsemeat, and the bell that rang for our large "mancia" or tip - which we gave because the bill was so small).

Quiet, unassuming streets.

Not far ahead you'll begin to see more commercial activity, including Bar Shakespeare, with benches outside.  There's beer and wine, and the wine list is surprisingly long and good; so get yourself a glass of wine and sit out front with the dog-walking locals, or in a very funky outdoor back room.

A few paces beyond, and you'll be in the "town center," Largo dei Savorgnan, also known as Piazza Ciro Principessa.  Here there's another bar--less hip and cool than Bar Shakespeare, but no less authentic.

The other bar.

--as well as the seat of local government. (below).

A large mural identifies Villa Certosa's local hero son, Ciro Principessa, in whose name there's a yearly festival, held in May.  Raised in Naples, Principessa had been living in Villa Certosa for two years (he was 17; the year was 1979).  A committed anti-Fascist, he was working in a library on nearby via Tor Pignattara when Claudio Minetti, a militant neo-Fascist, entered the library with a companion and asked to borrow a book.  Principessa asked for his library card and Minetti ran out with the book.  Principessa gave chase, and in the ensuing struggle, Minetti stabbed Principessa in the chest.  He died in the hospital.

Below, the poster reads: Fascism is not an opinion, it's a crime.

Having absorbed the minimalist delights of the piazza, continue on the main street until you hit the "T," where you can go right and under the tracks to the famed via del Mandrione in Tuscolano, or left (which we suggest), working your way downhill until you reach via Tor Pignattara, and Villa Certosa ends.   If you turn right at the T, at the end of the tunnel you'll find yourself on a particularly intimidating section of via del Mandrione, with few outlets.

Maybe a hundred yards before you get to via Tor Pignattara, there's an entrance to some older buildings on your right.  In back--you have to be a bit intrepid here--there's ANOTHER wine bar.  This one looks like a back yard, and it was closed when we came through, but apparently it exists.

The other wine bar.  

Villa Certosa has TWO WINE BARS, and all without a hint of gentrification.

We first heard about Villa Certosa from our friend Patrick.  Otherwise we might never have found it.  Thanks, Patrick!

Bill

Mikis Mantakas: a Prati Story

In April, we found ourselves for the first time living in the della Vittoria quartiere of the city, with Prati--also more or less unknown to us--only steps to the south.  Neighborhoods have their own stories, and we came across one of Prati's stories on our 2nd day in the city.  We were strolling around Piazza dei Quiriti when we saw this poster, which from its condition had been put up some time ago:

We knew then that Mikis Mantakas was no longer alive.  But who was he?  Two days later, in the same area, we found another poster.

Now we knew that Mantakas was, for some, a martyr ("Europe in the struggle for liberty does not forget its martyrs"), and that he had died on February 28, 1975--a victim, it seemed likely, of the political turmoil and violence known as the "Years of Lead, the "Anni di Piombo."

Here's the rest of the story, or some of it.

Mikis Mantakas was born in Athens, Greece on July 23, 1952.  In the 1970s--probably 1974--he came to Rome to study economics.  An activist and militant in Greece, in December 1974 in Rome he became attached to the Greek contingent of FUAN, the Fronte Universitario d'Azione Nationale ("the university front for national action"), a right-wing group known for militancy.

On February 28, 1975, he was shot twice with a .38 caliber pistol by a leftist extremist (some claimed a communist) in front of the offices of MSI, located at via Ottaviano 4, in Prati.  MSI (Movimento Sociale Italiano) was a neo-fascist political party, founded in 1946.

A hostile crowd had gathered around the building, and Mantakas had moved to another side of the building and another exit, this one at Piazza del Risorgimento, 4, close to the walls of the Vatican.  He was shot and killed there by Alvaro Lojacano.  Lojacano was proved to have committed the crime and was sentenced to 16 years in prison.  But before being incarcerated, he fled abroad and never served his sentence.

It's not just a few people who care about Mantakas' death and seek to keep his memory alive.  If one can believe today's right-wing websites, each year on February 28 "nationalists" from many European countries gather in Rome to celebrate Mantakas and affirm their nationalist ideals. They post banners and march west along via Cola di Rienzo to Piazza del Risorgimento, where they rally in front of the site of Mantakas' death, what is now a Foot Locker store.

We're almost never in Rome in February, so we can't confirm that these marches take place every year.  But images on one website make clear that a march did take place in 2015 (the 40th anniversary of Mantakis' death), and that there were dozens, if not hundreds of participants.

"Your memory does not allow surrender." 

And that's the story of Mikis Mantakas, a Greek young man who died in Prati.

Bill

Piero Bruno: Political Soul of Garbatella

"A Piero Bruno...Chi Sogna Non Muore"  (To Piero Bruno...those who dream, never die)

A stroll through Garbatella--a neighborhood south of central Rome, built as public housing in the 1920s and 1930s, and then as now strongly identified with the political left--will inevitably introduce
one to the name and face of Piero Bruno.  In a sense, Bruno represents Garbatella's radical, militant, in-your-face history and image. Knowing something of Bruno's past, you'll understand better what Garbatella is about, and better appreciate the political fissures--rooted in World War II and the postwar era--that continue to divide Romans and Italians.

Marchers from the Armellino Technical Institute

Piero was born on 8 December, 1957.  He lived with his parents and two sisters in Garbatella and attended the Armellino Technical Institute in the next suburb to the south, San Paolo.

The 1970s was an intense political era in Italy--not unlike the late 1960s and early 1970s in the United States.  Piero was involved with the Lotta Continua ("the struggle continues"), a far-left organization founded in 1969 as a spin-off of the student/worker movement in Turin.  Lotta Continua encouraged radicalism and militancy and had a hand in setting up social centers in Italian cities.

Possibly a photo of the demonstration in which Bruno was shot.

On November 22, 1975, Piero participated in a large march/demonstration--some 2,000 people--in support of the Republic of Angola's struggle for independence from the colonial power, Portugal.  As the marchers passed the intersection of via Muratori and largo Mecenate--near the gate of the Zaire embassy--violence broke out (that's vague, yes).  Piero was shot twice--apparently in the shoulder and the back--one shot fired by a Carabinieri (state police) and the second, while Piero lay on the ground, by a Rome police officer.  He died the next day.  No charges were filed.  The website "Maverick" sees the larger issue as the "violence of power" and blames the Christian Democrats (the party that held power through most of the postwar era), including Giulio Andreotti and Aldo Moro, high-ranking Italian politicians, both prime minister at times, for employing a "strategy of tension."

Ahead, the school named after Bruno.  The artwork has changed
little over the years.

Piero is remembered in Garbatella not only through wall paintings and a plaque--and in marches in his honor--but also through La Scuola Popolare Piero Bruno, an after-school help and social center where university students assist middle-school students with their homework on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Marching to protest Piero Bruno's death.  Judging from the winter clothing, probably fall/winter (1975).

via Passino 20

An element of what may be a Piero Bruno
walking tour in Garbatella

To locate the Piero Bruno images in Garbatella, start from Piazza Pantero Pantera, follow via Luigi Fincati southeast, past the central market and onto via Francesco Passino.  The "Chi Sogna" wall, above, is further ahead in Piazza Damiano Sauli.
Bill

A Tale of Two Suburbs: Balduina, Trionfale, and the 1977 Killing of Walter Rossi

I went for a walk today, and found myself back in--1977.  Alone, abandoned by the wife who had chosen the London granddaughter over me, I headed west from our new digs in Piazza Gentile da Fabriano (Flaminio quartiere, end of via Guido Reni), over the Ponte della Musica and across the Lungotevere to the base of Monte Mario.

My plan was to take the stone path up the mountain (it's on Itinerary 9 in Rome the Second Time) and, once over the top, explore the nearby fringe of Balduina before heading north/northeast for a look at another near-in suburb, Trionfale.

The Flaminio quartiere, seen from the bar/restaurant Lo Zodiaco on Monte Mario.  The rounded buildings in the center are
Parco della Musica.  The large mountain at center-left is Monte Gennaro, "Rome's mountain."  

All that worked.  Wearing my altimeter watch, I measured Monte Mario at precisely 400 feet--to the bar/restaurant Lo Zodiaco on top, with great views of the city and surrounding mountain ranges.  On the other side,

Piazza Walter Rossi.  The painting, by Spanish artist, Borondo, is on all four
sides of this small building.  The red increases until on the last side, it
obliterates the image.   

I found my way down to Piazzale Medaglie d'Oro, took a left on viale Medaglie d'Oro, turned around after a few blocks and, 45 minutes later, was in Largo Cervinia, a thriving business district. I turned east (right) from there. Two blocks further on, I saw this painting--and there I was, back in 1977 and the Anni di Piombo ("years of lead").

I was in Piazza Walter Rossi. Once known as Piazza Igea, it was renamed in honor of Walter Rossi, killed on September 30, 1977 at age 20, on viale Medaglie d'Oro--I had been there less than an hour before--by a bullet in the back of the head.

Rossi, right.

There is a bit more to the "full" story.   Like so many young people at the time, Rossi was a militant Communist, affiliated with the group Lotta Continua ("The Struggle Continues"). The previous day, September 29, 19-year old Elena Pacinelli was shot 3 times and killed in Piazza Igea--that is, today's Piazza Walter Rossi, in the Trionfale Quartiere, right where I was standing--while in front of an [illegally] occupied house (i.e., one occupied by squatters).



The next day, September 30, the leafletting in which Rossi participated was organized, and the participants, including Rossi, were handing out their leaflets in viale delle Medaglie d'Oro. They were in Balduina, an area known as a stronghold of the MSI-DN [Movimento Sociale Italiano - Destra Nazionale], a militant right-wing group.

Affixing a plaque commemorating Rossi.  Date unknown.

They were near a "section" (local offices) of the MSI when a fight--mostly rock-throwing--broke out.  Merchants quickly closed their metal shutters and bystanders fled.  At some point in the melee, Rossi was killed.

Despite the presence of about a dozen police, no charges were filed with respect to Rossi's death.




Besides the painting, there's a piece of sculpture in the small park that centers Piazza Rossi.  It appears to feature Rossi, dead yet struggling for life, encased in cement.  A plaque on the sculpture

Sculpture in the piazza, dedicated to Walter Rossi

reads:  "Hanno spento la tua giovane vita/Hanno fermato il tuo forte corpo/Ma non potranno mai/Distruggere i tuoi ideali/Che rimarranno sempre vivi nel tempo" ("They snuffed out your short life/They stilled your strong body/But they will never be able to destroy your ideals/Which will always remain alive").

A torn poster from the previous September features a photo of Rossi--and a call to his memory and ideals--and describes a 3-day program of anti-fascist events, including speakers on the history of the struggles of the 1970s.

I found nothing in the Piazza related to the death of Elena Pacinelli.

Alemanno (left), Francesco Rossi (center)

Perhaps because Rossi's killer was never found, his name, and the piazza that now carries it, remain political lighting rods.  At a commemoration in the piazza in 2009, right-wing Mayor Gianni Alemanno, once a militant ring-wing punk himself, attempted something of a rapproachment, and did so in the presence of Francesco Rossi, Walter's father.

Right-wing mayor, father of left-wing son, shaking hands

"This day is very important for me," Alemanno said in a brief address, "because it's the first time that I have honored and commemorated fully ("fino in fondo") a young man of the left killed in his city."  Alemanno saw his action as "breaking a tabu."  He and Francesco shook hands.

Two years later, at the 2011 commemoration, members of Lotta Continua--Walter Rossi's organization, 34 years later--prevented Vice-Mayor Sveva Belviso (Alemanno's 2nd in command) from entering the piazza to present a wreath, arguing that her presence involved a "false pacification" and that she represented the "fascist" mayor.

Bill

A demonstration on behalf of Rossi, the banner reflecting a case still open

Rome's right-wing Graffiti: the 2014 Collection

We're not fans of people tagging and writing on Rome's buildings.  But not writing about it won't make it go away.  We doubt the graffiti writers are reading the RST blog and rejoicing in their having been discovered, or recognized.

Most of the casual graffiti writing--maybe 90%--is right-wing.  Disaffected youth expressing their ideas and concerns, such as they are.  Here's the rightist stuff we found on Rome's walls in 2014.

"Tutto il resto e' noia"/All the rest is boredom or, perhaps better, All that remains is boredom.
When we first saw this, the meaning seemed obvious.  The young rebels of the right--and the Sun Cross/LS (see below) signature suggests we are dealing with the radical right--are bored. It's not clear why they're bored.  It may be because they're not involved--unemployed, not in power, doing uninteresting, menial work.  And the "resto" implies some previous state, or other state, of non-boredom.  According to our Rome friend Massimo, the phrase expresses "a sort of existential ennui,...extended to cover a political stance: everything that is not (political action), everything that is not 'us' (that is, il resto, with their lazy and bourgeois life) is just plain boring." 


We agree.  But there's a complication, though one that doesn't change our sense of what the phrase means: "Tutto il resto e' noia" is also the title and chorus of beloved singer-songwriter Franco Califano's (1938-2013) most famous song.  Although written in 1976 during the anni di piombo, it seems to have no political valence.  It's just a love song.  Correspondent Massimo adds, however, that Califano the man and Califano the songwriter expressed something like a right-wing view of relationships between men and women.  So perhaps there is a link. 

"Vita, amore, guerra"/Life, Love, War.  Echoes here of the vitalism of Nietzsche, the Italian
Futurists, the cult of Mussolini and Fascism, even Hemingway.  You can add to the list.  If you're really bored, you can get some relief by going to war against the Austria/Hungarians.  Or driving an ambulance.








"Eredi di terza posizione"/Heirs of the Third Position.  The "Third Position" was a right-wing group founded in Rome in 1978, during the anni di piombo.  The "Third Position" reflected the group's goal of grounding a society in neither capitalism nor socialism--hence a "third" position--based on the ideas of Julius Evola.  The main ideas, which seem straight out of 1920s Fascism--are nationalism, tradition, militarism, and opposition to parliamentary government.  The Third Position now has a theme song, "Inno della terza posizione"/Hymn of the Third Position (2014), which you can listen to online--if you can stand it.  You can learn more about the "terza posizione" on Wikipedia, in English.

"Passi securi, passi pesanti e lenti"/Sure steps, heavy and slow.  This slogan suggests that the group will move in a gradual but determined way toward its goal.  We also have a signature: the LS - Lotta Studentesca (Student Struggle), a right-wing organization and one of the "Eredi di terza posizione" [see just above], this one focused on changes in the educational system. Appropriately, we found this grafitti on a school building. Perhaps this, too, is from a popular song. 

"Arma la tua anima"/Arm your Soul/Arm your Spirit.  We're not entirely sure what this means, though the schematic fasci at the right of the slogan mark it as right wing.  Also, it's likely from the right because that side seems particularly interesting in being armed.  We think it means "Toughen Up."  Note, too, that around the fasci are two letters--B and S--likely standing for Blocco

Studentesco (Student Bloc), a ring-wing organization similar to the Lotta Studentesca.  Those enamored with this organization can purchase a T-shirt bearing the words "Arma la tua anima," along with the words "absentia lunae."  This phrase is the name of an affiliated black metal band, whose website describes its "lyrical themes" as "negativity, emptiness, sadness"; its enemy as "modern scum"; and its goal as "resistance against the modern world."  Very earnest.   


"Valentino presente."  We haven't been able to pin down who Valentino is or was.  But from past experience we do know that the word "presente" (Present) means that Valentino is dead--likely some time ago, and likely as a consequence of his commitment to the values and goals of the right.  (We first saw the word "presente" used in this way on a poster in the Tuscolano zone, paying tribute to 3 young rightists killed there in 1978).  To say "Valentino presente" is to say that Valentino is alive in the hearts and minds of those committed to the cause.  The word was used by the Fascists in reference to Italian soldiers killed in the Great War. 

Bill