I ADMIT it — much of my knowledge of Rome has been shaped by the movies. Romance, love, sex: They go hand in hand with the atmospheric streets of the Eternal City.
Think Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck zipping around on a Vespa in “Roman Holiday.” Or Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg in “La Dolce Vita” cavorting in the Trevi fountain. Maybe even the schmaltzy “Three Coins in a Fountain,” where three American secretaries in search of husbands toss coins in the famed waters.
And so, I conjured my own celluloid fantasy: My boyfriend and I strolling over the Bridge of Angels and down the Spanish Steps. Long, candlelit dinners over pasta and Chianti in cozy trattorias. And of course, gobs and gobs of gelato. In other words, for several days, I’d be living la dolce vita.
Well, as we all know, life isn’t always sweet, and rarely is it like the movies. When my trip to Rome rolled around, I found myself flying solo — literally, with an empty seat beside me — boning up on basic Italian phrases: Buon giorno. Parli inglese? Un tavolo per una persona, per favore. (Good morning. Do you speak English? Table for one, please.)
If I was going to conquer Rome on my own, at least I’d be doing it in high style. Which meant staying in very glamorous hotels of the five-star variety. The first was the Hotel de Russie, which has a stellar location, right next to the Piazza del Popolo in the city center. Everyone from Pablo Picasso to George Clooney has frequented this neo-classical building; on my stay, the clientele, while not bold-faced names, were wealthy, well dressed and most definitely not American.
After check-in, it was down to the Hotel de Russie’s legendary courtyard bar for Thursday l’apertivo (kind of an upscale happy hour with free snacks, running from around 7 to 9 p.m. daily). Surely some Gucci-loafered man would approach this lone woman, seated below the terraced gardens and grand marble staircase, sipping red wine as night fell — you couldn’t ask for a more cinematic tableau.
By my third glass, it was clear this story line was going nowhere. Instead, I dug into a plate of spaghetti and eavesdropped on neighboring tables: the Italian hipsters drinking Heinekens, the gay German couple with piles of designer shopping bags, the British fashionistas talking shop.
I was grateful when morning dawned, and it was time to get busy sightseeing. Who needed a guy around at the Colosseum anyway, messing with my gladiator fantasies? In fact, after a whole day spent trudging around the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill, it was a relief to be on my own. All the warmongering emperors building temples to their equally combative gods — there was entirely too much testosterone swirling around these ancient ruins.
Come evening, I again felt the acute anxiety of being alone in a city not conducive to solitary dining. Most of the restaurants and lounges don’t have that solo traveler’s best friend, the bar. Instead, there are tables — at which sat couples, rowdy groups of young Italians and occasionally, families. Still, I was determined not to do what a girlfriend of mine does on her frequent work trips to Italy: order room service.
On a quiet side street, Via della Penna, I spotted what looked like a locals’ favorite; the Hotel Locarno. Well-heeled 30-somethings were scattered around the courtyard’s patio tables, smoking furiously, as bad American pop music played overhead.
Asking for a seat for one, I felt not unlike Steve Martin in “The Lonely Guy,” in the scene where all the diners turn to stare, conversation stops and a spotlight follows him all the way to his table. The waiter who took my wine order looked pained every time he walked by and asked multiple times if I was OK. The check (il conto) came quickly, much to my relief.
I spent the rest of my Friday wandering among the 20-odd churches that were within walking distance of my hotel. Why wasn’t it like that iconic photograph, with the pack of men ogling the lone pretty girl on the street? Where were all the Italian lotharios? Why, instead of fending them off, was I spending a night in Rome with a bunch dead saints?
The next morning was kicked off with a cappuccino (never after 11 a.m., of course) at a café on the busy Campo dei Fiori, where the outdoor market was in full swing. There, next to me, was a sight for sore eyes: a guy sitting alone (gasp!) at a table. Never mind that he was old and reeked of cigars — we were totally simpatico!
Another full day of seeing the sights: the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Palazzo Colonna, the Piazza Navona. Again, I relished the freedom of walking around on my own, especially when I passed tourists bickering over their maps (granted, Rome is very difficult to navigate).
On the recommendation of a colleague, I had an early dinner at Pierluigi, tucked away in the tiny Piazza de Ricci, just off the residential Via di Monserrato. My waiter, who, fortunately, was quite fond of speaking English, asked quite a lot of questions about New York, while serving me an excellent Farfalle al radicchio and doling out complimentary Limoncello. I realized it was the first extended conversation I’d had with anyone in days.
For the last stretch of the trip, I checked into the Rome Cavalieri, with jaw-dropping views from its perch high above the city. Built as a Hilton in 1963 (and now part of the Waldorf-Astoria Collection), it’s where Don and Betty Draper rekindled their marriage, however briefly, in “Mad Men.”
The hotel retains some of that swinging-60s vibe, though the stools at the lobby’s Tiepolo Lounge (yes, an actual bar!) were occupied by square, mostly American businessmen there for a Blackberry convention. (It is, after all, a Hilton.)
But after days of saying not much more than “grazie” and “ciao,” and understanding little of what was being said around me, I reveled in the conversation. And it was made all the better thanks to a better-than-expected prosciutto di Parma piadini and a gruff bartender who was generous with his pours of amber-tinged “Moscato” grappa.
And while I wouldn’t exactly say my starring role as a single gal in Rome was perfect, I’d definitely give it “8½” stars out of 10.
SINGLE IN THE CITY
Here are five places to experience the romance of Rome without a plus-one.
1) The servers at Pierluigi brought out plenty of extras (both food and liquor) for this solo diner; it’s also worth it for the charming, medieval setting (Piazza de Ricci, 144; pierluigi.it).
2) Maybe because of its non-touristy location, Virginiae Cucina Romana, off the busy Corso Vittorio Emanuele, didn’t take issue with seating me at an outside table. Plus, it’s got the best bucatini all’Amatriciana in town (Via di Parione, 41; 06-68-75-150).
3) Self-service cafes are scattered around the Villa Borghese, sort of Rome’s answer to Central Park. Look for the one near Giardino del Lago, where you can grab a coffee and a snack under the trees, with views of the small lake and the faux-ancient “Temple of Aesculapius” in the background.
4) There are no Starbucks in Rome, so no sipping and walking with a “vente.” But there’s also no need to drink yours alone at a cafe table. In fact, you’ll pay more for the privilege (on average, it’s two additional euros to have it served to you). “Be Italian” and take it at the counter, standing solo; it’s been done since 1938 at Sant’Eustachio (Piazza Sant’Eustachio, 82; santeustachioilcaffe.it).
5) The craftsmen’s workshops and stables along the Via Margutta now house chic art galleries, and Babette Ristorante pays homage to this artists’ street, decorating its walls with a rotating selection of young and emerging painters. Save room for a slice of the famous Babette cake (Via Margutta 1d, babetteristorante.it).