some other people you'll share your holiday in rome with..

beggars in rome

It's hard to resist the Roman beggar pictured above, isn't it? She was invisible until she suddenly lurched towards us from the shadows at the side of the street. Her face is completely hidden under her hood, and she walks uncertainly so she could be blind, or her face could be eaten away with leprosy. She has a walking stick and limps, so she could be lame. She's dressed in black rags, so she could be a poor widow. Her voice is an almost inaudible hiss, so she's probably terribly ill. Her hands are wrinkled and she walks with a stoop, so she must be incredibly old. She hobbles straight up to you and shoves the begging-bowl right in your face! And I would like to believe her -
But it's difficult, for unfortunately, she is just one of hundreds of such characters who buzz like flies round Rome's tourist-congested city-centre.

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culture shock

Being fortunate enough to be born in England, it’s hard for us to know how to react to such widescale scenes of begging and poverty as there are in Rome. It’s not in our cold self-righteous Protestant culture to easily find a place for beggars in our heart. It’s difficult to know what to do. Sometimes it is morally heart-rending to see these people, yet statistically, while many are genuine cases of poverty-stricken cripples and aged unemployables without pensions, many could be merely rogues and opportunist ne’er-do-wells who prefer begging and stealing to working.
There is a terrific range of style and technique amongst beggars, ranging from the comic to the tragic. The woman pictured above is a hard-working beggar, a real pro, keeping on the move all day, conscientiously working the streets in and around Piazza Navona. Though her clothes are old and simple, they are not bad quality and appear quite clean. She does not smell. She is conscious of her image as the classic Mediteranean beggar with almost Biblical overtones and presents herself with just as much style as a street performer; She is really a bit of an actress and it has to be admitted that she contributes greatly to the local colour. She’s good value.
There are other beggars who simply lie across the pavement, haggard and filthy, looking at death’s door. These are the most upsetting - Are they really dying?
Others take up regular stations around the city; On my way to work every morning I pass a middle-aged gentleman who stands in the doorway of a church passively holding his begging-bowl under the noses of priests and early-morning mass communicants. He is quite well dressed, looks clean and cultured with well-groomed hair and has the manner of a librarian or civil-servant to him. Remove his begging bowl and you would never suspect that this is how he makes his living. Yet he stands quietly staring down at his feet with an expression of utter self-hatred. Surely this presentable and intelligent looking man can find something less demeaning and soul-damaging to do with his life?
If I approach my place of work from the other side of the block I pass an equally well-dressed middle-aged woman in a smart summer dress every morning, who sits on a low wall, wailing loudly and weeping real tears holding both arms outstretched with her bowl to passers by. How can she find strength to go through this strenuous theatrical routine every day?

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subway

Any possible moderate enjoyment you may take from riding on Rome's subway trains (which is extremly doubtful) will assuredly be quickly marred by the beggars and buskers who ride the trains too, as of course, you can't get away from them in a railway carriage. (By the way, if you were actually looking for a subway map and train information, it's here).
There seem to be no public transport bye-laws prohibiting or moderating begging and busking on the trains (as there are on the London Underground for instance), and if there are, then like every other law in Italy short of the prohibition of murder, they are not enforced. Beggars and buskers work the trains, getting on at stops, working their way through each carriage before alighting to catch another train. One woman in particular claims to be a Bosnian refugee (she displays her passport in her begging bowl). She gets on the train with one or two small children, flings herself to her knees, and with her face drawn and lined in bottomless grief, bewails her hunger and misfortune. The children pass through the carriage collecting coins in a McDonalds paper cup, or slouch on the floor picking their noses. What kind of childhood is this? They’re obviously not in school.
As this tragic woman gets off the train and onto the platform, the granite mask of grief suddenly leaves her face as she notices a couple of guys who appear (by their uniforms) to be railway employees . She goes up to them and they all have a good laugh together. She’s probably throwing it to them behind the ticket office in return for a blind eye turned to her begging exploits. But who knows? - I thought only high-class hookers made the time to share a joke with their johns. From my own sheltered corner of the world I'm either naively wrong or else this woman is a real pro.
Feel sorry for her if you like. Or praise her for her diligent resourcefulness in providing a crust of bread for her kids. And be happy for her that she was able to escape from the horrors of war-torn former Yugoslavia. Me? I just get angry at the uncaring hypocrisy of a system of civic government which allows, constrains and even encourages people to live this way within its 'hallowed' walls: One might expect such savage negligence of government in cities of more eastern longitudes and southern latitudes, but it rather appears that Rome, while lauding itself as the geographical and spiritual centre of Christianity, is more truthfully to be found at the demographic and geographical extremities of that faith's European dominion, where grace, truth, charity, human dignity and liberty of conscience lie in as ever sparser deposits as water lies at the geographical extremites of a monsoon belt.
Rome makes plenty of room for beggars but affords them no dignity, lasting assistance or anything resembling 'a leg up'. Rome and the Church of Rome make themselves look good and feel better about themselves by opening their arms and welcoming helpless dependent refugees, migrant workers and beggars into the community; But by providing no real assistance and taking no responsibility for such, it can make this grand gesture of refuge and asylum on the cheap.
As all Machiavellians have discovered, a little philanthropy yields the greater monopoly.

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buskers

Their are numerous buskers who also board the trains - accordion players, guitarists or Peruvian nose-flautists doing their Paul Simon world-music bit. There’s even an Asian gentleman who does conjuring tricks (with English commentary) He’s so bad, he’s a scream!
Concerned to reach an ever wider audience, most busking musicians now carry electric amplifiers cunningly built into rucksacks to give true concert-hall sound to their performances. It’s a thoroughly aggravating din. They play a couple of numbers before passing through the commuters with the mandatory McDonalds cup. No matter what the act of the day is, everyone always puts something in the cup.
I am astounded at the lack of public resistance to these tiresome opportunists. An occasional busker can be a charming embellishment to the hustle and bustle of city life, an oasis of art in a concrete jungle, yet it must be acknowledged that the busker is operating outside of the system. Much of the enjoyment of art and music lies in its being a passive experience for the imbiber; From the rich spectrum of art and music, we can choose what we wish to view or listen to. If I am to pay to listen to music, I will buy a CD, and it’s okay on the radio ‘cos you can turn it off.
But the fact that the source of music heard in the street or on the train is a live performance by the musician himself makes it no more meritorious than if it were coming from a ghetto-blaster at inappropriately high volume in a public place; it is a nuisance to either you, me or a fourth party, and as such, unless I am enjoying it, I am not morally obliged to subsidise its continuance.

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hookers

Prostitution is also rife in Rome, and with popular pick-up points at the roadside of certain busy city highways after dark, it even presents something of a driving hazard - 'customers' cruising in the inside lane will suddenly pull over to the kerb without signalling and stop their car in front of you without warning.
The trade does not appear to be restricted to one particular part of the city, nor even to the hours of darkness; On the outskirts of Rome, and even in rural Lazio and Umbria, many miles from the city, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, girls can be seen in broad daylight plying their trade by a busy roadside, often near wooded areas...
It's all a bit sordid, and I've had to answer my children's questions by explaining that these ladies are waiting for their boyfriends to come and give them a lift into town.
Most street-girls are not Italian however, but immigrants in straitened circumstance.

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street traders

Next on the list are the unlicensed street-traders, usually Africans or Asian and far-eastern-looking types who carry little portable stalls in a sack or a large folding wooden tray. The Africans usually sell the big stuff like African wood carvings or hats, replica designer handbags and nice leather sandals. The Asian and eastern guys prefer to deal in smaller stuff, trinkets, watches, jewellery, cigarette lighters and sunglasses.
They all pitch out on the sidewalk wherever they can, until someone spots a policeman, at which alarm, they all quickly scoop up their wares and run off. I can’t see how they can make much of a living off this - There must be a ceiling beyond which it's impossible to make real money, but I suppose it’s better than risking their lives everyday living in some of the politically murderous holes they’ve come from (Ruanda, Somalia, etc) so I’m happy for them that they’ve at least escaped that. Some of them sell quite nice stuff as well, particularly the Africans, of whom most are usually jolly decent chaps, who also speak English.

But some street-traders seem upsettingly unimaginative and unproductive - There are fellows who go around all day with nothing to sell but a tiny bag of garlic heads which they wave in your face, or a handful of plastic cigarette lighters, or folding umbrellas if it’s raining. Okay, so they don’t have overheads - They live in large squats or sub-letted apartments, ten families in one room, taking it in turns to go out on the street with the merchandise each day while someone else stays home to mind the children.
But what a waste of energy! How many heads of garlic is he gonna sell each day? Ten maximum? (I never see him sell any) For what? 50 cents each? Five dollars a day? Three quid? Twenty quid a week? What’s the point? What a waste of manpower! Don’t they get depressed, frustrated by such a way of life? Surely there’s a higher paying job than that somewhere in Rome? How can someone just piss their life away walking around with a bag of five garlic-heads all day every day! It would hurt my very soul.
I know that I’m privileged, and that but for the grace of God, I would be in their shoes (and probably will be one day), but from where I’m standing now I can’t comprehend the mindset of these people.

In contrast however, Rome's favourite and most industrious street traders are the pirate CD vendors, who sell copies of Sony Playstation games or Top 20 chart music CDs at €5 Euros each, or DVD movies for €10 Euros. The CD pirates are usually African, Albanian or Turkish, and unlike all the other street traders discussed here, these guys are not just targeting tourists in central Rome, but also proliferate in neighbourhoods off the tourist track and in all Italian city suburbs. They often set up 'shop' on the sidewalk outside or even in the doorway of supermarkets, and locals flock to buy their pirated discs. They are eager to please (I'm told), give service with a smile, and are usually happy to exchange a faulty disc for a replacement, if you bought it from them.

Also nice guys are the Africans who sell dresses and clothes on the beaches. Some of it's interesting and exotic silk or chiffon lightweight shifts and wraps, and some are fake designer replicas, or pehaps even the genuine articles, but from questionable sources. Nobody knows for sure and nobody asks, but its all there for the buying. It's actually possible to strike up a relationship with these wandering beach vendors - Like the CD pirates, they're very friendly and obliging (if a little pushy sometimes) and you can even 'order' specific items from them. They'll bend over backwards to find you something you like, if you're coming back to the beach the next day. Some will even call at your house to deliver or show you some of their latest mechandise if you ask them.

It's ironic that all these foreign transients working on the wrong side of the law actually give better customer service than most Italian shopkeepers. And why? Because most Italian busineses are family run and family staffed, based in real-estate commercial units that have been in the family for years, often with living quarters over the shop, and with these low overheads and a stable domestic economy, they are not hurting for your money. Thus they just don't try hard to please customers, but instead sit complacently behind their counters ignoring any out of the ordinary customer requests.

Romebuddy says BRAVO for the street traders of Rome, who for their sheer hard work and marketing ingenuity in the face of adversity, put Italians to shame! While Italian storekeepers close shop for their siesta every afternoon, the migrant street-vendors are still working out there in the sun, making a buck with the tourists. Nice work guys, keep it up! It's a shame that much of what the street-vendors sell is illegal, but for the hours they put in, and their business savvy and customer-care, they deserve the rewards. More power to them!

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opportunists

There are other more industrious street people. For instance, most petrol (gas) stations are closed by seven or eight in the evening, leaving open only self-service pumps which accept five or ten thousand lire banknotes. Gas-station owners will allow one of these immigrant street-people to stay at the pumps all night to change customer’s money (if he has the correct change) for the machines or pump the gas for them. He is not paid for this, but makes a few dollars a night in tips.

On the Isola Tiberina (the island in the middle of the river in Rome) is a little old man who is the self-appointed parking attendant on Sundays. He has one of those iron riot-barriers that cities line up along pavements to hold back crowds whenever The Queen or Bruce Willis is in town. His is painted red, and he will fence off a vacant parking space with his little barrier and open it up for you in exchange for a couple of thousand lire (about 50p). For a couple of thousand more he will ‘keep an eye’ on your car. Or not, if you decide not to pay the extra two thousand.
At supermarkets there are also people who will ‘keep an eye’ on your car for you, for a small fee while you shop. Or they will stand at the supermarket exit and offer to push your trolley to your car for another small donation. I mean, do I look that stupid? Do I look like I have no arms to push it myself?

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begging and welfare problems...