Being a major city and tourist attraction, there are many performance artists on the streets of Rome. Most all of them have boxes beside them and you are to put in a donation if you photograph them. There were mimes, the elevated saffron robed meditators, the invisible man, the bubble man.
There was this beggar woman. John said that if we held a mirror down under her face we would see a very healthy 18 year old. Maybe so, but I put a euro in her cup.
My favorite street artist was the accordion player at the Portico d’Ottavia. We were able to walk to many of the sites we visited and found that cutting across the ruins of Ottavia’s Portico was a shortcut back to our hotel. The accordion player was always there. There was something about him that felt genuine to me; his humility and joy were authentic, and not just an act.
There was the lady in white, who was really a photographer taking photos of others, but ended up being the photograph herself.
I fell in love with this sad street sweeper:
And so many others. Italian men, in particular, seem to like to congregate and hash it all out. Perhaps like in the sports bars of America.