The very first thing that a new resident of Rome is confronted with is the traffic. Roman drivers are notorious for driving excessively fast, often making for hair-raising experiences while in taxis and crossing the road. They are all very skilled drivers, don't get me wrong, but they all love speed. To add to this, it seems that a third of the population of Rome, everyone from old women to young males with stylish haircuts to priests in vestments, drives around on little scooters, Vespas and their knock-offs. These little things, which to Americans who know the girth of the Harley-Davidson seem like toys, are able to weave in and out of traffic at incredible speeds, many times avoiding collision by merely a hair's breadth. Crossing any street in Rome is an adventure unto itself – you have to read the traffic, make eye contact with the drivers coming your way, and time your walking (or running) so that you yourself weave around the Smart-cars and motorbikes careening towards you.

But every street in Rome has its own character. The Via Vittorio Emanuele, for instance, is a broad, four-lane thoroughfare, leading from the Tiber to a monument to a man of the same name. It is lined with tall, official buildings, shops of artists, towering hotels, and looming Renaissance-era churches. Then there is the Via del Corso, a narrow street that styles itself as the most fashionable district of the city. Few cars traverse this street even though it is a major artery of the city, due to the fact that large numbers of Italians are constantly walking in the road, entirely unconcerned with traffic in front or behind. Upper class fashion designers, like Gucci and many local brands, as well as big corporate names like Nike and Adidas, make sure to place their wares on this street.

Then there are the streets of Trastevere, one of the oldest sections of the city. Here the buildings are old, small, and humble. Mostly built during the late Renaissance, they are covered in a terra-cotta colored plaster and are themselves the borders of a thousand tiny, narrow streets. Across these streets every morning can be seen the day's laundry, placed out to dry in the sun. Here the sound of traffic is not heard, the din of the city disappears altogether, and is replaced by icons of the Madonna with child, preserved for hundreds of years, installed in simple walls at intersections. Especially at night, when the alleys filled with restaurants are lit by candlelight and torches, you feel as though you just stepped backwards four hundred years in time. On warm nights, vendors selling everything from jewelery to flags, from touristy trinkets to wine set up tables on the cobblestones, tempting passersby with shouts of special discounts.

So perhaps the drivers speed dangerously. Perhaps the traffic signals lie. Perhaps even the city's fleet of mopeds don't stop for a owly pedestrian crossing the street. But those same streets are robust, are unique, are alive with a vigor that surpasses that of the cold iron and concrete of the modern city. To marvel at the life held by seemingly inanimate urban topography, that is poetry.