Making merry and making music in this eternal city

Seattle Times Travel editor Terry Tazioli is off to Rome for a while, on his annual quest for good food, good wine, good friends and a new Italian verb form or two.

It's late at night here and I was just hanging out a window in the apartment watching about 40 guys march by in the street below, all with matching T-shirts, singing at the tops of their lungs. I have no idea who they were. They were pretty good, certainly on key. They threw in some rhythmic claps and chants, to add some spice.

I started to laugh. I could just see someone trying this on a Friday night in downtown Seattle. I looked around. I was the only one in the surrounding buildings watching them march by.

Just another Friday night in Rome ...

If you sit outdoors at a bar or restaurant long enough, you will realize this truth: There are only five songs in the world (okay, maybe six). Il Sole Mio, New York New York, My Way, Arrivederci Roma and Besame Mucho.

You also may be lucky enough to hear Torna a Sorrento or Funniculi Funnicula — on a good day. They will either be sung to you, played to you or both — a cappella, with accordion, with guitar, with quartet, with microphone, with boom box, you name it.

If you linger long enough over your dinner, you may get to hear every group that happens to be playing in the area play every one of those songs.

If there's a way to make a buck on music, Rome has the corner on the market. Your personal, impromptu balladeers are everywhere. Some of these guys are pretty good. Some even have their own CDs. It's up to you, when they finish and wander among diners, whether to tip them or not. If I have the change, I almost always do.

The best, though, was yesterday. I was sitting outside at a local bar, poring over my homework one last time, when I heard accordion music. There was a young guy about 10 feet away from me, squeezing in earnest. He squeezed and he smiled — - and he played the exact same bass line over and over and over again, never changing, within one song or from one song to the next.

I started laughing. I gave him the biggest tip I've ever given a street musician in my life. He was bad. Really bad. He had guts. ...

The other night I sat outside with about 50 fellow music lovers and listened to a sublime piano concert at Teatro di Marcello. A stunning archaeological site near the Roman Forum, this ancient theater served as a model for the eventual construction of the Coliseum. And that's where you sit, under the stars at night, in the midst of a history that feels as if it's trying to talk to you. It's magic — no Hollywood set is lit like these ruins.

And then, you hear someone like Thomas Schwan, a 22-year-old pianist from Milan, who at an early age has won many awards for his playing.

I stopped reading his bio. I could hear what others have heard in him. Tall and lanky with very long fingers, as he played the piano, the platform and the light standards shook with his effort and emotion.

When he finished, he stood and bowed from the waist; I thought his head would hit the floor, he bowed so low.

I thought my head would sail away.