Sitting here in my tiny little hotel listening to a gorgeous Italian man speak fluent French.
He propositioned me for sex ten minutes ago, but like most men in Rome he didnt mean it. I looked him right in the eye and said "I have a rooftop terrace and 40 minutes before my cab. Can't think of anything that would make Roma better."
He walked away.
The men in Rome are big teases. I'm finding they all have a shtick for tourists (like the man who insisted on taking my photo in front of the ruins because "You are a more beautiful stone.") But when you call them on it and say let's go big boy, they have girlfriends or cold feet or morals or whatever. My only real propositions were from three different men in their 50s, and that gave me the eebiejeebies.
I tried, guys. Your living vicariously through me will, alas, not include lovemaking in Roma.
I am quite ready to leave. It is a wonderful city, but too touristy. I tire of the game. Camucia and Cartona were authentic, and filled with locals who were actually interesting and interested in me. Wonderful conversations there. Roma itself is easy to navigate and interesting, but the tourist game is so false and ugly.
Oh, and I skipped Vatican City. I'm sure the art would have been stunning, but as an ex-Catholic whose childhood friends were molested by priests, I couldn't stomach adding seventy-five dollars to the Pope's coffers. Sad enough to see all the stolen obelisks from Egypt. Booty makes me sad. But so did the Colloseum, with the happy tourists playing Marco Polo in the ruins. I wonder if in two thousand years there will be tourists playing freeze tag in Auschwitz-Birkenau?
No, I contented myself with wandering and eating and touching the ancients stones. Dreamt of Ciaran Hinds and Agrippa and Titus and the wonderful ROME commentary by genius Carl Franklin.