I Vagabondi

Another aspect of Rome worth noting is the homelessness, which is more quirky and colorful than what we have at home. Some appear to be gypsies. I can recognize them because I dressed as a gypsy for Halloween nearly every year when I was growing up. This might have been due to my mom's extensive flower-child clothing collection, but the long skirts and patterned scarves I see on the streets here actually resemble my old costumes.

Beggars must make something of a living at it, because I see the same people regularly. A woman, perhaps about my age, sits on the street with her baby and stares at people doing their morning marketing. Italians can't resist children, and older women stop to coo with the little one. Some seem to have a rapport with the rest of their neighborhood. One woman was making her rounds with her outstretched palm and stopped to chat with other ladies at a cafe.

Children are a big draw on the begging scene. Kids trail their parents with tiny open hands, or mothers carry their small children when they approach you. More cruelly, I saw woman sitting with what appeared to be a borrowed toddler, roughly forcing her to sit and be still. The girl's face was bored and sad, and she looked older than she must have been.

Another marketing approach is the use of dogs, often puppies. Nearly every crew of bums or lonely homeless man will have at least one animal at their feet. A woman near the Spanish steps trained her German shepherd to carry a basket in it's mouth -- the dog was begging!! Lately I've been seeing ads discouraging people from abandoning their dogs during the summer. This is apparently a rampant problem, especially when everyone goes away for vacation in August. I also heard that homeless people will abandon their puppies - even throw them in the trash - when they grow up and are no longer as cute. One couple has a new addition to their two mutts: four or five tiny puppies, piled up like weisswurst. What will be their fate?

In this Catholic capital, many beggars assume a stance of prayer, with a box for coins and perhaps a picture of the Virgin. They kneel on colorful cushions, and are often dressed in jewel tones, making them sad if strangely beautiful statues in the movement of the city.

The men peddling roses, books, and other more random things also belong in this category. A woman walking with a man, or even a group of mixed men and women, will be pestered to death by the rose guys, who will push the flowers into your hand. Outside of Feltrinelli, the big bookshop with air conditioning where I spend many hot afternoons, Africans are trying to sell books of anti-apartheid poetry. Once, in a pasta place with two friends, a man came to our table selling what appeared to be rubber bras. Needless to say, we died laughing.