What better place to look for Eurotrash than a club - excuse me, discotheque - in Europe? This Spring Break, the Traveling Lush crossed several time zones to bring you the latest from Rome, Italy, where fashion, gelati, and techno reign supreme.
Thanks to a hint from a student studying abroad in Rome, we got in a taxi and headed toward Piper, supposedly Rome's oldest and biggest nightclub. Actually, we got into three cabs and drove, single file, like a funeral procession to the dark street where we found Piper closed, doors locked and lights out. This seems to be how Europe operates, where nothing runs by a coherent schedule or order, but rather by some kind of ancient, underground bureaucracy that involves lots of formulas and paperwork... but I digress.
Our convoy continued, undaunted by this glitch in our plan. Have we mentioned that it's about 1 a.m. at this point? Since Romans don't eat dinner until eight or nine, everything is significantly pushed back in the evenings. They also enjoy the luxury of clubs and other establishments that stay open all the way into the morning, so you can start your evening at 1 a.m. and finish after dawn.
Our cabby looked to us for directions; the destination was a bust. The other two cabs were quickly heading towards... well, somewhere else. One brave passenger shouted, "Follow that cab!" (Really. Lucky soul, how often does one find the opportunity to say that in real life? It's like saying, "Stop the presses!")
One not-so-brave passenger asked the cabbie, "Do you speak English?"
"Si."
"Um... sir, do you know where we're going?"
"Si."
Well, at least one of us knew. Upon further inquiry, he divulged to us our new final destination, "Ah Lyen." Huh?
"Is it cool?" (Let's establish the important things first.)
"I don't like it," Mr. Cabbie explained. "From the outside, it looks... not so nice."
Just our kind of place: a seedy Italian club where we'll get a taste of true Roman culture. What could prove a better contrast to an afternoon spend wandering among the ruins of Augustus and Julius Caesar than to reaffirm our youth and vitality by immersing ourselves back in the modern world? We expected something shocking, some kind of clubbing experience completely different from what we're used to in Boston. Something real, something just a little bit naughty, and very new. Tired, weak and hungry for the dance, we expected Ah Lyen to shake the dust of the ancients off us.
Mistake number one: "Ah Lyen" proved to be a misunderstanding. Think "Alien" pronounced with an Italian accent. Mistake number two: high expectations. Alien, according to Let's Go Europe 2000, is one of the biggest discos in Rome. After seeing it, though, it'd be interesting to see the others, or even to see the rest of Alien. Could this small room, the size of Hotung, with a low ceiling and only one bar possibly be one of the biggest in Rome? After paying L30,000 for cover and one drink voucher (don't worry, it's only about $15), we soon discovered why we would come to enjoy this small venue, and why we wouldn't want to leave when others started tiring.
The all-important ratio: About 95 percent of the clubbers in Alien were male. Which meant that our three cabs constituted about 3 percent of the population and 60 percent of the women. Yes, the ratio was very much in our favor. That and being blatant American tourists made for an evening full of slick approaches and hasty getaways, sly glances and unwelcome advances. All attention was on us - well, perhaps not all of it. A lot of the guys were watching the professional dancers on stage. How could we compete with high boots and negligees?
Other than the fact that we couldn't communicate with most of the people in Alien, the scene was identical to clubs in Boston. Girls tend to stick together, and those who stray from the herd are quickly pounced upon by flocks of men... or boys. One thing to note is that although the average age of the patrons was about our age, this range included both teenagers and skanky old men. One persistent older fellow (actually sporting a plaid sport coat) attached himself to our flanks for a solid two hours, content to dance behind us despite the fact that we kept migrating away from him.
The communication in Alien, as in most clubs, is non-verbal. When a guy wants to dance with you, he comes at you from behind, hangs out for a while, and then starts in on your butt. If you don't say no, you've accepted his advances and the two of you dance. If you want to say no, you either wait for a male friend to rescue you, or you quickly switch places with a female friend and hope your suitor gets the message. You don't need to know Italian to pick up on the blatant body language of wandering hands, bedroom eyes and, well, tight pants.
When attempting to order a drink, however, the language barrier makes things a bit tricky. How do you say "gin and tonic" or "Cosmopolitan" in Italian? When in doubt, rely on a faithful standby and international ambassador: Coke.
"I'll have a rum and Coke, please." That should be simple enough.
[Blank stare.]
"Rum and Coke please." Why is this so difficult?
[Blank stare.]
"Rum. And Coke."
And for some linguistic reason unbeknownst to us, this technique works, and we get our Rum. And Coke.
So Alien is not about drinking, as evidenced by the fact that the small bar is relatively unpopulated by the clientele. Rather, it's about dancing - on the floor, on the stage, and even on an aluminum table we assume was put by the speaker for the precise purpose of deafening those who would dare to venture atop it.
But we got up anyway (would you have expected anything less?). Though we didn't pretend to compete with the professional dancers - who by this point were in thongs and lingerie - we were still surprised by the lack of attention Americans dancing in the air roused. One curious onlooker seemed interested in the goings-on up there, but wait - was he smiling at me or at the guy in front of me? Huh.
We danced the night away to techno, enjoyed some familiar favorites like "One More Time" and "Around the World," and watched as throngs of Italians chanted choruses of "Money, money!" And they say capitalism isn't the imperialism of our age.
