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 

A Few Adventures in Renting an Apartment in Rome

No, the authors of Rome the Second Time don't own a place in Rome.  Rome apartments are expensive--on the order of New York City--so we rent.  Indeed, our book and this blog owe a lot to our experiences renting more than 20 apartments in different areas and neighborhoods of the city. 

Until a few years ago we rented on Craigslist, and for the most part that worked out fine.  But not always.  Perhaps a decade ago we landed in Rome on the Friday before Easter, took a taxi with our 8 pieces of luggage to an apartment we had rented behind the Vatican, and within an hour had been thrown out of the apartment, basically for asking for a receipt for the E1500 we had just handed to the 80-year-old owner (we weren't "cultured," she said).  That's a story worth telling in detail, some other time. 

Who is that woman?

Another rental, in San Paolo, worked out great in most respects.  It was 5 minutes from Metro B; 2-minutes from a vibrant shopping era, yet off the beaten path; came with a gated and covered communal garage for our scooter; and had a sweet living room/dining/kitchen space--that "open floor plan" that's so "desirable" these days--in a "modernist" mode (see pic at left).  Because parts of it were semi-"interrato" (below ground level--the building was on a hillside), our internet connection wasn't the best, and we had to hang out the window to use the phone.  

Sky drain

The apartment had one other characteristic that's common in Roman rentals: not everything functioned perfectly.  It's a cliche, but here it is: Italians love design but don't seem to value engineering as much.  So things look good but sometimes don't work.

Our San Paolo apartment had two dysfunctional systems.  The door to the sky drain, which allows the person washing dishes to place rinsed dishes directly above the sink for natural draining--actually Swedish technology, by Ikea--was sprung and useless.  We solved this problem by holding the door open with a pasta roller (photo, right). 

Another pole to the rescue

The second problem was the small washing machine in the bathroom, whose "on" button would not stay depressed by itself.  Here, too, a pole came to the rescue, this one wedged between the "on" button and the nearby sink, spanning the bidet. 

So be prepared to be creative.  And pack two poles. 

Bill

Truck Shopping in Rome

The 'shop'  name is "Melandra...Moving Shop." The "ape" or "bee" is a
3-wheel commercial vehicle, based on the Vespa scooter and produced,
as is the Vespa ("wasp"), by Piaggio.  I once said we mainly saw them in
the countryside, but maybe not!

The joys of shopping in Rome, for us, are mainly the visuals.  We love looking at the multitude of ways in which petty capitalism operates in this city of 3 million people. A method new to us this year was the mobile clothes store.  Yes, we have pop-ups in the U.S., but the Italians as usual, take it one step further.



We had seen vendors selling batteries (see photo towards the end of this post), glasses, flowers, fruits and vegetables out of trucks.  But a mini clothing store? That was new.


The "ape" trucks  above and below were parked in and close by the large Piazza Mazzini near our apartment this Spring, and came around periodically to sell their wares - and the Italians were buying.

Quite a combination of Italian and English words here, plus a take off : "Fruit of the Loom" (right), then "Fruit on the Road" (left). We didn't check  to see if the goods were authentic or knock-offs, but we can guess.

Below, not a shopping truck per se, but likely a delivery truck for a Sicilian (mostly) take-out restaurant in Prati (near where we lived).  Unfortunately, we never got there, but the arancini look amazing! (To say "arancini" are stuffed rice balls doesn't do them justice.)

The paintings are of Orlando and Rinaldo dueling for Angelica's heart in the classic "Orlando Furioso"
tale.  The story resonates with Sicily and the Sicilian puppet tradition, emphasizing these arancini
are going to be Sicilian to their rice core. The restaurant name is MondoArancina - with an "a" at the end,
 apparently the Sicilian spelling. The truck enlivens an otherwise rather soulless piazza in della Vittoria.

And then there's the use of a Fiat 500 to sell vinegars--again, just down from our apartment.

"Wine without sulfites...Wine and apple vinegar..." etc.
And, apparently, he doubles as a clown at night.

This van houses an Orologeria, a store that sells watch-bands and watch batteries.
A piazza in San Paolo.  Eager customers, including me. 

And, left, not exactly shopping from or out of a truck, but shoe sellers who use their truck to carry all the shoes and the stands and tents they put up to sell - they do this every day of the week - up in the morning, down in the evening.

I thought the arrangement of shoe boxes could have stumped a Rubik's cube expert.

Dianne

Bill has also written about some of Rome's trucks and vans:
https://romethesecondtime.blogspot.com/2012/02/tiny-trucks-of-rome.html
https://romethesecondtime.blogspot.com/2011/08/white-vans-of-rome.html

Quest for the Cupola: Exploring San Paolo

There it was, on the horizon: an enormous cupola (dome), but belonging to what?  RST had rented a 9th-floor apartment in Ostiense, complete with terrace, where we spent many pleasant hours with our bicchieri of white wine, taking in the view--including that cupola.  In the photo below, the cupola is under the crane, at right.

One day in May we set out on foot to locate the building housing the cupola.  Our journey took us through Garbatella (which we've written about extensively), then into the neighborhoods of the next jurisdiction--San Paolo.

San Paolo is large and diverse, home to the dramatic, reconstructed basilica, San Paolo Fuori le Mura (Saint Paul outside the walls), and to new buildings of the Universita' degli Studi Roma Tre, which provides commercial energy to a few blocks.  But on this occasion, our focus was singular: we just wanted to find that cupola.

On the way, we came across one interesting, older building: the Azienda Tramvie Autobus del Governatorato, on via Alessandro Severo.

The name on the building refers to an agency, created in 1927 under Mussolini's fascist regime.  The agency was intended to develop and change Rome's system of trams and buses, and it did that, closing trams lines in the center and opening new ones on the periphery, including some in San Paolo.  The building was basically a tram and bus barn.  It opened in 1930 and was in use until 2003.  It housed Rome's first electric tram cars.

The building was designed to be in the Liberty (art nouveau) style, and there are hints of that.  But some of the Liberty elements proved too complex and expensive to produce, and the design was scaled back and simplified.

Something in the agency's name identified it with Fascism, and when the regime fell in 1944, the name was changed.











The facade includes two nice renderings of Rome's founding myth and symbol-- Romulus, Remus, and the She-wolf--here, embedded within an elaborate sculpture.  .























A distraction from our quest: one of Rome's nasoni, painted in blues and reds.

 And another distraction: an anti-theft device at the entrance to a private residence, rendered in modernist style:

Despite its prominence from a distance, the dome proved remarkably difficult to find and approach, perhaps because it's located on a hill with somewhat limited access. The photo below was taken from behind the structure.

Still, we persevered, and there it was: the Basilica di Santa Maria Regina degli Apostoli alla Montagnolo: Basilica of St. Mary Queen of the Apostles at Montagnolo (Montagnolo, likely named after the hill on which the basilica sits, is also the name of the Rome suburb--apparently a sub-division of San Paolo--in which it is located).  The address is via Antonio Pio, 75.

Construction was to begin in 1943, but the war--especially the bombing of Rome--intervened, and no work was done until 1945.  The church (designated a minor basilica in 1983) was completed in 1954.  The architect was a native Roman, Leone Favini, who took his inspiration from the style of Roman baroque, but with a modern feel.  Favini was one of several architects who worked on the Quartiere Ina-Casa Tuscolano I (a major public housing project) in the early 1950s.

In square feet of floor space, the structure isn't all that big.  But because the dome is almost as tall as the church is wide, the volume of interior space is among the largest of Rome's churches.  The dome is nothing short of spectacular.

 The frescoes on the cupola, by A.G. Santagata, feature Mary seated among the apostles, as the Spirito Santo (the Holy Ghost) descends among them. 

To get to the Basilica, take bus 715 from Teatro Marcello, or the Metro B to the San Paolo station, and walk.

For more on the structure--in English--try the website http://romanchurches.wikia.com/wiki/Santa_Maria_Regina_degli_Apostoli_alla_Montagnola

Bill

Daniel Gelo, San Paolo

Here at RST we've decided we're done with the "best gelato in Rome" debate.  We played that game in our book, Rome the Second Time, and we've been sorry ever since.  In the short run we regretted our choice; in the long run, we came to the conclusion that the question isn't interesting enough to justify all the answers and opinions.  Chorus: "You elitist snobs!  The people who love ice cream are the people who buy your book!"

Anyway, thanks to Katie Parla, we recently found a gelato place worth writing about.  It's in the San Paolo area, about 5 minutes from the Metro stop by the same name, and if you're a gelato freak you can find it easily enough, using the address on the sign in the photo at the end of this post. 

The name is Daniel Gelo.  The shop intrigued us because it's got an old-fashioned, but not old-timey, look.  It's just a shop.  Lots of flavors, including "Spaghettti Gelato" and some frozen things, presented in a semi-chaotic setting featuring lots of hand-lettered signs. 









The gelato is gelato: tasty, and better than most everything in the States.  It's made right there in the back of the shop. Where Daniel Gelo ranks among

Rome's hundreds of ice creams parlors we have no idea--and palates that would not be of much help in finding out.












One distinguishing feature of the shop is a sign on the front window (below).  It looks like it's from the Chiquita Banana/Lena Horne era of the 1950s.  But it's probably more recent.  You won't find a sign like that elsewhere in Rome, or for that matter, in the U.S.   Bill

                      "Sempre Aperto"--literally "always open."  Take that with a grain of salt. 

Parking in Rome

While thinking of something to say about the soap opera "Parking in Rome," I was reminded of evenings spent some years ago in the Re di Roma area, sitting on the window ledge of our 2nd floor apartment, watching at dusk as frustrated drivers circled the block, then circled again, and again, hoping against hope that a space would open up.

Especially in the neighborhoods, where parking enforcement is weak or nonexistent, drivers are not particular about where they park.  If the regular spots are occupied, the crosswalk will do (see above left, with the car directly astride the white pedestrian-crossing lines), or the sidewalk (at right).  Another
technique, though one that undermines the value of owning a vehicle, is to never move the car. 

Some neighborhoods, like Piazza Bologna, have taken measures to prevent these transgressions, installing raised curbs guarded by sturdy posts at the four corners of intersections, and sometimes extending the sidewalks into the intersection to minimize the area available to rogue parkers.

In the near-burb of San Paolo, where these photos were taken, authorities met the parking crisis by converting a major vehicular underpass into a parking area (left).  All the vehicles in the photo, including those in the foreground and center/back, are parked.  Bill

Graffiti Report: Howen



Howen, on the Metro viaduct, at San Paolo

 We're rank amateurs in the complex, fast-moving field of Rome graffiti.  Still, emboldend by a recent visit to MOCA's daring new exhibition on graffiti in several of the world's major cities, we're offering this report on one of Rome's most talented and prolific writers.  He has two names: Howen and POISON.  In a 2002 comment that we found on-line, a fan wrote, "this dude has got to be one of the kings of the b-line in rome, every photo I have of it he's up in it, even  after the buff he still had stuff running so ive heard."  (We're not sure what the "buff" was, but suspect it was an effort by the city to cover up/erase graffiti).  Sure enough, it was on the b-line--actually a viaduct carrying the b-line through the suburb of San Paolo--that we first saw Howen's work (see photo at left). 


Dianne, pensive at the Pomezia cafe

Then, on a scooter trip to Pomezia, a modernist village created under Mussolini and the home of a massive cemetery housing German dead from World War II, we found another piece by Howen just over our shoulders (see the bottom of this post) at an outdoor cafe in the city center. 

As you can see, Howen appears to enjoy writing his own name (at least what we assume is his name).  Sometimes he also writes his other name, POISON. 

We also found an on-line profile for the guy.  It lists POISON's interests as: "Graffiti, muri (walls), treni (trains), e la mia metro (and my Metro).  The profile notes his mood as "implacable" and offers this bio:

                POISON

                male
                102 years old
                Roma, Roma
                Italy 

Bill


Howen, in Pomezia



   



The Colors of Rome





Rome has more than its share of pleasures, but it isn't an especially colorful city.  It's not Mexico City, or Quito, or Guatemala City, places where an Indian heritage has infused these cultures with bright and bold costumes and striking carvings of painted wood.  The Romans love their flowers, and the shops that sell them brighten many street corners.  But by and large, Rome is whites and grays and browns and even yellows, leavened here and there by the light, tasteful pastels of newer buildings or the dignified, Mediterranean Siena red that found favor with Mussolini's architects.  

Yet there are exceptions.  Some are high-tech intrusions, best observed at night, others aggregations of color.  Some are temporary--the product of holidays--and some intended to be permanent--as permanent, that is, as petty capitalism can be.  Some are offerings by fans of the Roma soccer team, others by the city's graffiti artists.  And some--a red car parked in front of a red door--are just coincidence.  They are only accents, to be sure, but delightful ones, we think.

Bill

The Red Bar at Parco della Musica





A wall painted by Roma fans, in Monti.  








A coffee bar, San Paolo

  


Serendipity. A kind of found art.

 





A bar in Monte Verde Nuovo, decorated for Easter

 

Graffiti, on a highway overpass south of the city