Rome killed my curiosity

ROME: I was in the city famous for heterosexual passion, but would it also have room for queer love? Since Rome is a very religious place, why not stay with nuns? I felt like a lesbian undercover cop. I was convinced it would help me understand Italian culture better. As lesbians, nuns also live in a segregated world, and that similarity made me smile. However, the results of my two-week investigation left me with everything but my dream scenario.

One morning, a sister knocked on my door, saying something in Italian I didn't understand. She then grabbed her phone and spoke into it in Italian, waiting for it to translate into English. She gave me the phone, and I read: "The police will come!" The police? Now? Why? After a few minutes of total confusion, I realized she was asking: "Do you need cleaning?"

The nuns were always smiling, but we couldn't have a conversation beyond "ciao" and "arrivederci." The strange thing was that in France and Greece, I'd been able to communicate and understand people who didn't speak English. Now, when I look back on those scenes to track the differences, I see there was a willingness to communicate that didn't exist in Rome. It was as if they did not have that spare energy or curiosity. What was going on?

One day I was enjoying the sun while waiting for the tram when an Italian lady approached me. She asked something related to the tram, but I had no idea what. "I'm sorry, parla inglese?" "Fantastico!" she exclaimed, refusing to even look at me. Then she turned around and took off.

On my way to St. Peter's Church, I saw a sculpture of Mussolini in an antique shop close to Ponte Sant'Angelo. I spent some time looking at it, thinking it would not be possible for an antique shop in Berlin to have a sculpture of Hitler in the window. How is it possible in Rome?

Later that evening, a friend told me that two men had been attacked in Rome right after their wedding ceremony: "Persone hanno paura" (people are afraid). Afraid of what?

By now it felt like I was a part of a mystery. It took me a whole week before I understood the problem of the language. I had a lot of my meals at a local, family-owned restaurant close to the nuns'. I was the only tourist, and I took that as a good sign. I was sitting at the table eating and drinking heaven: red wine, carbonara, cacio e pepe, homemade tiramisu, espresso. I was so happy that I didn't care if they didn't want to speak with me.

I took my space and filled it with the happiness they so generously had given me on a plate. So, the language that connected us was the food. I always had the same waiter, the youngest son, who actually could say a few words in English. He used those words politely, and that was it.
Every morning, I went to the same place to get my coffee. It took one week before I was greeted with a smile. I all of a sudden understood it! I had become Archimedes who screamed "Eureka!" "I have found it!" I realized I had traveled back in time at least 50 years or more.

"The problem with Italy," a friend (born in Italy but now lives in Sweden) of mine said, "is that you pay and you pay, but you don't get anything back. In Sweden, we also pay, but we get something back like healthcare, education, and a functioning infrastructure. In Rome, they literally live in the ruins of the great Roman Empire. A time that is long gone. Italy is going through many crises. There is high unemployment among the youth, many have to live at home until an older age, and then you have the mafia that dips its fingers into everything. Women don't want to get pregnant. Then you have the church. It's everywhere and affects everyone. Add a right-wing party to the mix." The plot thickens.

ON A WALL IN ROME

The refusal to speak English does not make sense to me. The whole world comes to your city, yet you refuse to let your guest in. How is it possible? If it's this hard to get in contact with the mainstream society, how hard is it to get in contact with the queer and lesbian community? I mean, anyone who has walked alone into a room of lesbians knows that it's not a piece of cake. It can be a very tough experience and not the friendliest crowds. And by the way, where were the queers?

I was told they hung out in the Pigneto area. Here is also the only openly lesbian place: Tuba. The area was modern. The houses seemed shabby and run down. I came to this street with no cars. In the middle, groceries were being sold. It looked poor, and further down the street was Tuba. I had heard so much about it - I had a drum roll in my head while I opened the door.

TUBA is a feminist and lesbian-run bookstore, cafe, and bar in Rome's Pigneto district.

I saw a small room with perhaps four small tables. The walls had shelves that were filled with Italian books about queer topics, feminism, poetry, etc. At one table, a woman was sitting working on her laptop - next to her sat a dog guarding her, barking at anyone getting too close. At the bar, a man and a woman were engaged in a conversation. I managed to make my space and order a Cappuccino. The woman behind the counter put the coffee on a tray and put it at the end of the counter in the opposite direction of where I was standing. She did not give me any sign that the tray was for me. I paid and had to ask. I did not feel any inspiration to talk or start a conversation. My gut was not impressed with the systematic ignorance.

TUBA

The room was small. I could not even imagine them having parties here, though I'd heard in the evenings they arranged different culture events and parties. On this day, half the guests were what looked like cis men, but it’s hard to tell. Some people were sitting outside smoking, engaging in conversations. The woman I'd noticed earlier was still sitting with her dog, and it barked at me as I moved. "She is always protective," the owner said. Happy to escape not being bitten, I felt I had seen enough.

I knew there was another queer bookshop not far away, so I decided to take a walk to check it out. I passed motorways in the sky. The houses were covered in graffiti. After a 20-minute walk, I found the bookshop in a corner in an area that seemed lost and forgotten. I walked inside and found that all books were in Italian. I asked the person behind the counter if she knew where the lesbians were. She said:
“Tuba.”
”Is that the only place?”
”Yes.”

ANTIGONE is a queer bookstore in Rome and Milano specializing in gender studies, art, and queer theory.

The next day I went to the famous gay street, Via San Giovanni. It's located in a touristy part of the city, and at the end of the street, you see a part of the Colosseum. There were three gay restaurants on this street. I went into one of them, ordered a beer and arancino. Next to me was a gay couple having brunch. On the other side was a family of four speaking Dutch. They were in for refreshments and were obviously tourists. 

I had been told that the gay men compete with tourists to claim their spaces, but it was just an interesting difference that the gay men's spaces were in a very good location with a view of the Colosseum, and the women's place was hiding in an area where you saw the motorways in the sky, it was filled with graffiti, and nobody would have known it was there unless you really wanted to be there. You would not meet any heterosexual family tourists just popping by for refreshments.

The good side with the gay street is that the gay restaurants and bars have become successful, the bad side is that they are full of heterosexuals, so they are no longer community spaces.  And If you want to meet a lesbian my best bet is you will find them in "normal" bars or restaurants.

I am a person who visits bars on my own when I am traveling, and I do my best to connect. It's not my favorite thing, but I put on the journalist hat and go. I am just making a point of being vulnerable because many queers have this experience and know the challenge.

In Rome, I did not even want to put myself in that situation. I would not even go out by myself at night to any of the queer events I had read about. I just did not have it in me. I had enough difficulty just navigating mainstream society. I did not have any energy left to navigate the queer one. I suspect that if I picked it up so quickly, imagine how the lesbians in Rome must feel. In my dreams I have already started building a pink Road directly to Malmo, Sweden! You are all invited!

I travel in Europe using my gut, surfing on inspiration. Often, small talk is the glue that keeps me going, and when that was cut off, my inspiration faded away. Rome killed my curiosity. In the end, I just wanted to go home. I was tired of being left out. I felt naive, and Europe had never felt further away from a cosy family feeling. What I'm about to say might be controversial, but it's important to state honestly how it felt: Rome is for Italians. Heterosexual Italians. That is how it felt and that is my conclusion. Rome, you are the true beauty in the world, but I don’t need to visit you again.

While this was my experience, a snapshot coloured by my own perspective, I wonder how it resonates with others who have navigated Rome's queer scene. I would love to hear from you and learn more. If it's one thing Rome taught me, it's we need to share our stories and cultivate compassion. I know it is hard, but I do believe that is the pink Way. Please share your tips on queer spaces in Rome, thoughts, and impressions!

Feel free to check out my lesbian/queer list for Rome and for LGBTQ+ festivals in Italy. If you know of any more places or festivals, please let me know.