Campo dei Fiori is an odd little anomaly, for it is one of those few places in Rome where tourism and genuine Italian culture live together without stepping too much on each others toes. Certainly, the reputation of the Drunken Ship bar, infamous for being a hub for drunk Americans (although why this more than others, I fear to wonder) and the coinciding nightlife, is apt to cause one to assume that it is just another spot for college students looking for a party.
However, going to Campo dei Fiori during its regular market hours, one finds an atmosphere that is really rather calm. There are typically many “stranieri” (“foreigners”), who come to this piazza to witness a glimpse of Italy’s outdoor market culture. At first glance, the market could easily be mistaken for a tourist trap – a large stand, selling trinkets and Roma T-shirts, as well as Michelangelo’s “David” apron or boxer-briefs, dominates a large portion of the piazza to snatch tourists. And the number of blond-haired, sneaker shod, sun-burnt (although not so much at this time of year) SLR-Camera-laden tourists stumbling through the piazza with shiny wallets and awkward Italian phrases offer an entertaining distraction.
Looking beyond the shiny, skin-deep exterior, however, the outdoor market is nevertheless authentically Italian. After three years, the street vendor knows me, and has long lost his initial impatience with my Americanness. In spite of the fact that he has the smallest selection of vegetables of everyone, I can’t go to any other vendor in the piazza without feeling as though I’m being unfaithful. Then there is the large lady who sells cheese and cured meats. Regardless of what I am ordering, she always offers a piece of parmagiano or prosciutto, helping herself to a piece saying “molto buono. E’ molto buono”. At one hidden corner of the piazza is the best pizza alla tavola one can find – Pizza del Forno. It is the San’ Eustacchio of Pizza, except it lives up to its reputation even better (in my opinion). And if one is not in the mood for pizza, the Forno offers fresh-baked bread – as reasonably priced as you will find – and extraordinarily hearty and fresh and perfect. The Campo is scattered with little specialties of Italian cuisine, simple or exotic, all flavoured with the good nature of the Italians who offer them.
One feels oddly safe in Campo dei Fiori (despite being brooded over by the dark, hooded, melancholic little heretic, Giordano Bruno). The Italians are friendly and generous. These are men and women selling food on the street, or from hole-in-the-wall shops, and the take pride in their work – for good reason. Through the clutter of tourism, the life, the genuine heart of Italy, still flourishes.
