mind the generation gap

warning: this post contains descriptions of scenarios involving homosexuality. it is not appropriate for relatives over the age of forty, or for others infected with homophobia.

A typical Saturday in Rome involves a trip out to the beach; trains leave every half hour for Ostia full of people already suited up and ready to sun themselves. The beach at Ostia is crowded and dominated by stabilimenti, private lengths of beach where you must rent your space and pay to use toilets and changing rooms. These can have very nice facilities, fancier bars and fresher snacks than places that don't charge admission.

I prefer to take a bus further down the coast to the gay beaches. There are a few advantages: first, I can go alone as a single woman and not be harassed. There is quite a pick-up scene, just none of the pickers are looking at me. Second, I love the anything-goes-ness populism of it. Go naked, wear a Sumo wrestler's thong, who cares! There are pre- and post-op transexuals sporting bikinis, body-building heterosexual couples with terrifying amounts of plastic surgery, fat people, skinny people, foreigners, Italians, everyone is welcome. Except, another plus, children - or at least very few and usually buck naked which makes it more ok somehow when then run by and kick up sand in their wake.

This time was a little different because right off the bat the lifeguard was flirting with me. Huh? He wasn't too creepy, so I chatted with him a bit. He turned out to be Rumanian, only been in Italy for one month. He was very nice when I signalled I didn't want to talk, but if I stood up he'd rush over to see what I needed.

African and Bangladeshi vendors came around on the beach to offer sunglasses and towels and other beach accoutrements, some carrying cold beverages. There were also Chinese women who offer massages. I'd seen this before and watched curiously. Yesterday I asked the prices, and upon seeing the woman in the chair next to me enjoying hers, accepted a 15 euro massage. A little treat for myself. Aside from the inevitable grit of sand, a massage on the beach is great. I just listened to the waves and went limp.

After this afternoon of relaxing in the sun, a nice breeze off the water keeping me just the right temperature, I was ready to return to the city. On my way back to the bus a Roman man presented himself to me, to my chagrin. I was very sharp and said, yes, I'm taking this bus but listen, I have a boyfriend so I'm not interested in anything like that. Ok. He said, fine, but continued to talk generally about the beach etc. It turns out that he's quite nice, an astrophysicist (how many astrophysicists can a girl know? I must know almost all of them by now between Maurice and Paolo and this Costantino). We had a pleasant conversation about American vs. Italian universities and then took a detour on the way home to take a walk through Garbatella.

Garbatella was fascinating! It is a suburb of Rome begun in the fascist era and has marvelous examples of architecture of the 1930's. 'Find the fascist iconography' makes a fun game there. Many of the streets are shaded by tall pines, homes have gardens and fruit trees growing in back. It was very charming. I'll include pictures when I have them. Today it is a strongly left-wing area, as evidenced by the institutions and graffiti I saw there - hammers and cicles,
refounded communist party branches, the democratic party of the left, etc.

So I returned home having had some unexpected adventures, having made new friends; I was exhausted, and slathered myself with fake tanning cream for good measure. Mission accomplished.