Is there a vita more dolce than getting paid to wander around the Eternal City sampling its culinary and architectural delights? Journalist and tour guide Andrea Strafile thinks not 

I wake up quite late almost every day, around 11am, today even at noon. Staying out at night, drinking and watching others while pretending to read a book is my true passion, my real life. People are different at night. I live in Rome, and everything in Rome is different at night. It is powerful, beautiful, silent – three things that, as far as I’m concerned, are worth more than anything else.

I get up and make coffee using an Italian moka pot, which I only have to turn on because I prepare it the night before (the feeling of ground coffee on my hands when I first wake up really annoys me). No food. Food in the morning is unnecessary. Mornings are unnecessary: they are for those who have decided that going to work at set times is normal. To me, they are a bunch of lunatics. Working is not normal, pleasure is.

Today I am actually working, if accompanying Americans around the centre of Rome to eat and explaining to them the history of what they are putting in their mouths for three hours at reasonably high prices can be considered work. In any case, it is, and I couldn’t ask for anything better.

I like to dress well for my job because I’m an aesthete, but I’ve discovered that I also like the fact that these Americans, all work and sneakers, look at me as if I were a unicorn. They believe that style and efficiency don’t go hand in hand. They look at my loafers with envy, and I look at their New Balance with horror, and the knowledge that they will hang on my every word.

My tour starts with a coffee, as always. I like to organise it together with my clients, but above all I like to study them dispassionately and understand how to adapt my speech, what to say, what not to say. I always start from a specific building, a very sober noble palace that stands out for the bas-relief of a bee set on one side. I find it amusing because, from being a noble palace, it then became the headquarters of the Italian Communist Party and today it’s a public primary school, a stone’s throw from Campo de’ Fiori.

We walk a few hundred metres to reach the square with its market, accompanied by dozens of stalls for tourists and two selling excellent fruit and vegetables. Mrs Mirella has spent 70 years of her life selling fruit. And she always has her hair done. I approach the Campo de’ Fiori bakery, telling my clients how it has been in business since the time when buffalo last thrived in America. White pizza with mortadella is a perfect example of Roman cuisine. Simple, freshly made, it has everything.

We walk in the heat to reach Piazza Navona, the most beautiful square in the world. I let the Americans taste the porchetta sandwich and tell them that even in the city centre you can find authentic things. Like the wine bar across the street. We buy a bottle of wine to take away. They’re always amazed to discover they can drink in the street. I smile at the thought that America likes to call itself the land of the free.

We walk towards Trastevere, passing through secret passages and eating pizza with baked potatoes. I love this tour. I always say it’s my favourite because I can show them that even in the city centre it’s possible to live like a local, that it’s not just Disneyland. I also like it because every detail of every monument or building is extraordinarily beautiful. Beautiful in a violent way, at times almost vulgar, pornographic. What I see as harmonious and sweet at night is as beautiful as Satan during the day.

On Ponte Sisto, I point to St Peter’s dome. “Would you like a group photo? When in Rome…” I always say that. They always laugh. From Trastevere, I show them my red Vespa. There is a young girl in this group, and I ask her if she wants to get on it for a photo. A tip is guaranteed.

They are full, they are starting to get tired, it’s time for ice cream. No matter the season, ice cream is always the perfect way to end my tour.

Give me an Italian hug, I tell them. It’s just a hug like any other, but they think it’s deeper.

I’ve finished my working day. Finally, I can light up a cigarette behind their backs after saying goodbye. I touch the indecent paper of the banknote they left me as a tip. I enter my favourite bar. I don’t even have time to sit down before I’m already drinking a Martini Cocktail with a good dose of vermouth. The light from above reflects in the clear liquid. How wonderful it is to be Italian.

Andrea Strafile lives in Trastevere, Rome. He writes for Identità Golose, Standart, and National Geographic, has been Munchies Italia’s editor-in-chief, and runs food and cocktail tours in Rome (dolcevitafoodtour.com). Also he can’t say no to a Gibson. Wet, please.

This article is from Idler #105.

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