Chiasso

We are amazed at the chiasso (noise) that the Romans can make.

It begins each morning as we are awakened by metal doors rattling up on the caffes and bars opening for the day. Delivery trucks arrive with supplies and begin unloading, accompanied by shouts from drivers and the clattering of metal carts over stone. Young and old roar into the piazza on motorini, motorbikes, and in small cars at furious speeds. Soon, there is a situation of too many Romans trying to occupy too little space. Horns begin to blare, voices rise, and insults and opinions are exchanged. Throw in for good measure the car alarms that will be set off an average of every 15 minutes, the siren of an occasional emergency vehicle, the background noise of the construction project down the street, and, of course, the church bells ringing throughout the neighborhood, but rarely on the same hour.

In this calcophany of sound, the biggest culprits of chiasso are the Romans themselves. A part of Italian life involves having one big chaotic conversation with everyone around you. This need to manifest sound of all types seems to be a part of their self-expression and well-being. Conversations among friends, a customer's appraisal of merchandise, vendors hawking their fruits and vegetables, shop persons talking across, and up and down the street at one another, waiters shouting orders, lover's quarrels, a chorus of children's voices and their Mamma's reproach or compliments, float up through the air to our terrazo during all hours of the day, at a decibel level that often seems to verge on the edge of hysteria or violence.

Their love of sound is also augmented by modern technology through the use of the telefonio. The cellular phone is a necessary accessory for any Roman of any age with the faculty of speech, and it is used constantly and loudly with absolute oblivion of personal privacy, or of that of anyone else. Whether in the street, museums, public toilets, restaurants, bars, churches, offices, buses, riding a scooter, driving a car, alone or in groups, the telefonio is used with abandon.

As the day progresses,and the passagiata, or evening stroll commences, noise and momentum builds, and a carnival atmosphere ensues as everyone pours into the streets to shop, snack, drink and converse. Street musicians began playing jazzy little tunes on various corners, groups of sports fans head toward the bars singing their club's anthem, and at least one political assembly parades through the streets, gathering followers and beating drums.

All activity culminates every evening in the Campo dei Fiori. The market stalls have been cleared earlier in the day, and as the night progresses, the tables of the bars, enoteca, and trattorie that line the perimeter fill with tourists and locals. Everywhere is evidence of the bella figura, the art of looking and appearing well, one of the most singular traits of Italian people. One notices the shot of color in the sleeve of a well-cut suit, a scarf flung casually over a shoulder, the dress that complements not just the figure, but the color of the stone of the buildings, women in layers of jewelry and impossibly high-heeled shoes, who have mastered the art of walking tiptoe across the ancient cobblestones. Everyone is talking to each other, or on a telefonio, or both at once. There is a great sense of choreography in the gesture of the free hand that emphasizes the conversation, coupled with pacing back and forth and the pirouette of turns. The Campo is the stage that fulfills the Romans' need not only to be seen, but also to be heard.

Later at night, Italian teens and foreign students pour in from all over the city, filling the bars and crowding the center of the square, shattering it with a noise and boisterous energy that will reverberate until early morning hours. In the middle of it all, sits the somber and morose statue of medieval philosopher Giordano Bruno, marking the spot of his execution, his head bent, black hooded cloak hiding his eyes from the present spectacle.

At the end of the night, Jeff and I make our way back through the crowds streaming down the street toward the square. Every evening we marvel that the pulse and energy and noise of the city seems to only continue to grow as the summer holidays have come to a close. We shut our bedroom doors to the terrazo to shut out the sounds, and fall quickly asleep, already becoming accustomed to the chiasso that is part of our life in Rome.