Oh my God.
I’m heartbroken. I’m devastated. I have been betrayed by the city I love. I’m not even playing.
Please join me after the jump; I need a moment to collect myself.
I just finished reading this piece of tragic news, from Jaunted:
Starting this month, tourists in Rome will have to get their pizza-and-pasta fixes in before hitting the bar scene, as late-night snacking will be officially outlawed.
Authorities in the Eternal City are looking for ways to quiet the town’s rowdy tourist-fueled bar scene. They already go against the European norm by closing most bars by 1 a.m., but apparently that isn’t doing enough to stem the party tide, as revelers tend to just move the fun out into the streets, soaking up the alcohol at the city’s omnipresent roving ice cream and snack trucks.
But not anymore—a new city ordinance that goes into effect this month orders all food vendors in the city—mobile stores and more traditional ones—to shut it down by 1 a.m. as well.
Why? Why, in the name of all that is good and sacred in this world, would you want to do something so cruel?
(Imagine me, fully bejeweled, spinning around with accusatory pointed finger like a soap opera star, when I say the following:)
It’s YOU, you annoying, bleating, drunken students and hostelers, who spend all of Daddy’s Money on liquor you can’t hold, who think the city is one big bar, who think you’re loud and fabulous but instead you’re loud and immature and annoying.
YOU understand nothing. NOTHING! Nothing of the inherent, heartbreaking beauty of a city that has survived much more formidable foes than the likes of you. Rome is not your parent’s house while they’re on vacation. It is a city. It is MY CITY, and YOU have ruined this most treasured late-night tradition for the rest of us.
YOU have taken away from me something that I loved dearly. Something my friends and I shared. Something that was a rare treat when we found ourselves out late at night… as we walk to his car, along beautiful, decrepit, aqueduct-lined streets, laughing and changing words to songs and tired and full, and we pass a tiny, lit niche with a statue of the Madonna and candles and flowers.
That. You’ve taken that away from me. You ungrateful little drunken bastards.