Not Quite a Christmas Story: A Bar and a Church

In the early years of the last century, a Roman family bought a nice piece of land in Monteverde Vecchio, then sparsely developed.  They hoped--indeed, expected--that the parcel's location, just a 10-minute walk from the Trastevere train station, and on what they knew would be the main road up the hill, would position the family to serve and profit from the expected traffic.  Location, location, location. 

Bar Vitali, modestly promoted
(the sign says only "BAR")

And it happened that way--or sort of.  The Vitali family started a business there that evolved into a bar, on Via Lorenzo Valla, and it's still there, and very successful, more than 75 years later.  Today it's owned by Mario Vitali, a grandson of the original owners, and it's become a bar/restaurant (lunch only), and one of more than local reputation, if only because Italian movie director Nanni Moretti lives nearby and eats there from time to time.  On the MAP below, Mario's bar lies at the intersection of Via Lorenzo Valla and Via Pindemonte, the dog-leg street coming in from above.

Monteverde Vecchio in 1935.  The photo hangs
in a back room of Mario's place. 

The flow of automobiles and scooters by the bar is substantial, too, certainly all that one could expect in an area of one-way streets.  But it is not what the Vitali family had in mind when they purchased the property.  They believed then, and it seemed a very good bet, that traffic flowing uphill into Monteverde Vecchio would move straight out of the small piazza fronting the train station (and off two major thoroughfares, the Gianicolense and Viale Trastevere, which come together there) and directly northwest, onto Via Lorenzo Valla: a straight shot to the bar.  Visions of coining money. 

But it didn't happen that way.  If you look at a map, or stroll the area, you'll see that there is no street running straight uphill from the train station.  Instead, there's a church (on the map, the blue rectangle at lower right, with a cross).

The church was built in 1942 (Mario knows the date, all too well), in the last years of Fascism, and it's situated right where the anticipated road would have been.   It's an undistinguished, late-Fascist-era building, just the sort of place that Bill enjoys and to which Dianne must be dragged.  I don't think you'll ever get Mario Vitali inside.  And now you know why.

Bill

PS from Dianne - Mario is something of a local historian and has written (in Italian only and now out of print) an intriguing family history.  His grandmother, widowed young with 4 very young children, simply started cooking for local construction workers, then selling anything she could buy and break up into smaller lots.  Her home turned into a luncheonette, then a store, then the bar and tobacco shop owned by Mario's father.  Mario's grandmother, who had built her business from scratch, was the one most upset by the church's closing off of via Lorenzo Valla, Mario told me when I asked.  But she did attend the church and her burial procession, down via Lorenzo Valla, ended there - a touch of irony in the whole story.

The "Retro Snobs" find themselves with the "in" crowd (and where to find a good lunch)

We’ve been called a lot of things, but “retro snobs” may be the best fit. Imagine our shock – and delight – to find that the tiny no-one-knows-its-name bar some Roman friends took us to turned out to be THE bar of the rich and famous, well, somewhat rich and famous – like Nanni Moretti (for those of you not into Italian cinema, we call him the Woody Allen of Italian film; author/director of Caro Diario (Dear Diary) and also The Son’s Room - the latter won the 2001 Palme d’Or at Cannes).

So here’s how the story beings. Our Roman friends who call us retro snobs invite us to lunch at a bar with no name outside, giving us directions to a corner in Monteverde Vecchio (considered a classy neighborhood, it's above Trastevere). “I think it’s called Bar Vitali,” she says, “but there’s no name – just ‘Bar’ on the sign. On via Lorenzo Valla. Vitali is into history; you'll like him." We arrive to find what we think is the place, but it doesn’t look like a lunch place – just a bar. We inquire and a smiling rounded Italian in his 60s who appears to be the owner gestures through a small door. We peak in, and there are our friends, awaiting us in a small lunch room.

Mario Vitali (right) talks Monteverde Vecchio history

We have a delightful full Italian meal and look at some old photos on the wall (see photo at end of post). The owner, Mario Vitali (in photo left, at right) is an amateur historian, especially of this part of Rome, where his family has lived for multiple generations and his father started with a small tobacco shop in the location. Mario has written a book about the area as well. We pause on the way out and buy his book. He likes our enthusiasm so much, he gives us another – in manuscript copy. The whole lunch and talk with Mario seem very low-key and perfect for us. As we leave and approach our scooter, we pause because we see a great view of the gazometro – across the river in Ostiense, but it seems close from this wonderful hilltop (as in “monte” – a mountain) view (photo below, right). What a great end to this mid-day treat. (And, did we mention we love talking with these friends?)

Gazometro from via Lorenzo Valla

Part two of the story. Imagine our surprise at a dinner party a few weeks later with some friends, in another part of Monteverde Vecchio, when they begin talking about filmmaker Moretti, how he lives in the area and frequents a bar… they describe the bar as being completely nondescript, no name outside, and having almost a hidden lunchroom. Says one friend “you go through a door that looks like it leads to the toilet” “…aaah,” say we, “perhaps we’ve been there…. Bar Vitali?” “YOU, YOU’ve been there? You Americans? How did you find it?” So we take on new luster with our Roman friends.

Old photos and Moretti film posters inside Bar Vitali

Part three of the story. A week or so later we’re telling this story to yet another Roman friend (this one an American who has lived in Rome for 30 years), especially the part about surprising the indigenous Romans that we’ve actually been to this “hidden” place. “Oh,” says he (the American/Roman friend we’re now regaling with the story), “I used to live on via Lorenzo Valla and know that bar. There’s no lunchroom there.” “Oh, yes,” we reply, “indeed there is… through a small door.” “Well,” he says, “I need to go talk to Mario.  I went there every day for morning coffee. And he never told me about the lunch room!”

As Monteverde Vecchio looked before building boom

Part four of the story. We go back to the Roman friends who first introduced us to Bar Vitali and tell them they were conning us into thinking we were going to a nondescript place. They chuckle over all parts of the story.

Ah, the pleasures of being a retro snob in Rome.

Dianne