The Rose Man in Rome

Rome, Italy
Spring, 2012

It was our last night in Rome. It was one of those lovely spring evenings when the air is the perfect mixture of warm and cool which feels like a perpetual kiss to the cheek. We were sad to end our time in such a beautiful place and we had spent the evening stalling our goodbye. We wandered the quiet streets from the Trevi Fountain, to the Spanish Stairs, and through winding back streets until we finally found ourselves at the Colosseum.

The ancient structure was at full aesthetic advantage in the soft glow of the street lights; the crowds of the afternoon vanished–leaving open space to amplify its majestic stance. We made our way to a secluded bench where we could sit and bask in the beauty around us. As I sat there, under the walls of the Colosseum, with the arm of the man I loved around me, in one of the most beautiful, romantic cities in the world, I had one of those moments of utter surreality that sometimes overwhelm me. At these times I am simply in awe of the present beauty of my life and feel almost distant from myself–marveling at my own experiences as an outsider.

As I was processing all of this I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked and saw a man carrying a bundle of roses walking in our general direction. He caught my eye. I looked away quickly; but it was too late–we had made eye contact. His trajectory changed from generally in our direction to straight for us. If you have ever been to Rome than you know why I was horrified with my mistake.

Most cities, especially tourist cities, have plenty of street vendors and peddlers continually trying to sell you their wares. But in Rome, more so than most cities I’ve been to, some of these peddlers can be particularly persistent and aggressive in their attempts to make a sale. And of all of these, the rose men are the worst. They prey on the unsuspecting tourist, offering a rose as if as a gift, when the victim accepts the rose the peddler then demands money, but refuses to take back the rose and, unless you throw the rose on the ground, the only way to get rid of the salesman is to give him the money.

Even those who are wise to this trick have a hard time escaping the rose man. Once you make eye contact you are doomed. He swoops in like a hawk, with a rose held out in your face, and when you dismiss it he follows with continuous cajoling and flattery–insisting you take the rose. I’m not exaggerating to say you either have to run away or curse him out to escape. It is a miserable interaction every time.

And now, in the middle of this perfect, romantic moment, I had drawn one toward us. I turned to Tyler, and thinking quickly, said, “Make-out with me, now!” We immediately embraced, eyes closed, pretending to be oblivious to the man’s approach–surely he wouldn’t want to harass a gross, sappy, couple. But with dread we heard the continued sound of footsteps on cobble stone approaching us. But we persisted–we were committed now. The footsteps grew closer, and closer, and then they stopped–right in front of us. I’m sure I blushed, feeling his eyes on us, even though mine were closed. But we clung to each other–determined to make him so uncomfortable that he would leave. Surely he would leave.

The silence continued for what felt like an eternity, but could only have been a moment’s pause before we heard, “Ah, romantico.” In complete surprise and indignation we broke apart and looked up at the man standing over us. He was looking down at us with a grin on his face, rose extended toward us.

Our mouths hung open for a moment in shock before we began the usual chastising dismissal. Finally, Tyler said, “GO AWAY.” The rose man shrugged, still grinning, and  walked away. Tyler and I looked at each other in utter amazement and horror and I said, “I was sure he would go away!”  Then we burst into uncontrolled laughter–the sheer ridiculousness of the situation overwhelming us.