You cup your hands under a nasone, a cast-iron street fountain, and cold water runs as it has since the 1870s. Press a finger on the spout and it arcs up for a drink. Later you put an eye to a keyhole on the Aventine Hill, and St. Peter's dome sits at the end of a garden lane of clipped trees.
Beyond the ruins, Testaccio cooks cacio e pepe around its covered market, Trastevere fills its cobbled lanes at night and Pigneto pours aperitivo for young Romans. Summers are hot and dry, winters mild and damp. When your list of sights runs out, a Local Friend picks the next stop, often a corner you had never heard of.
