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Rating: A slight breeze blows at two in the morning on that 11th of May, 2003. Waiting for the night tram at Viale Regina Margherita. The day before, the weather was not very kind, and we hope that at least today Zeus doesn't get caught by Hera during an escapade. At least he'll spare us one of his solemn outbursts, which usually turn into torrential rains. I arrive at Via dei Fori Imperiali around three. A few thousand people, out in the cold, are bringing life to the street already lit by the colorful lights that illuminate the facade of Vespasian's work. We eat a sandwich. The wait is nerve-wracking.
We sleep little, very little. The street begins to crowd, and many people who speak your same language present themselves with the same wonderful calling card. A worn-out classical guitar continues its life cycle. Everyone wants to sing their piece, and others want to join in chorus. Beautiful feeling guaranteed also by the merciful weather that doesn’t waste a minute shining upon us the hottest sun of May. Acquaintances are made, opinions exchanged, songs are sung, and guitars are played. Works of the Beatles, works of Paul memorized fill the sky of those spaces once crossed by consuls, vassals, praetorians, centurions, legionaries, merchants, and harlots.
The heat starts to hit hard, and the police begin to take the situation head-on. On the horizon, a second group of people can be seen, at the height of the outlet from Via Cavour. Ours faces a few dozen meters from the stage. To our surprise, Paul steps onto the stage for the soundcheck. We see little but hear very well. Let it be, Michelle, and the magic begins to seep through. Some cry from emotion, and it's beautiful. The heat beats down, and the police catch sunstroke when they decide to open the barricades of the second group to merge it with the first. A mad decision that in seconds pours a river of sun-baked barbarians. Everyone wants to grab the front row at the cost of crushing us. The situation becomes serious, and there's no more free space like before. A pin can't fall without touching someone before hitting the ground. In return, I get a headache accompanied by knee pains due to others' arbitrary upright position. I can do nothing but rest the weight of my body from one side to the other. It's just 16:00.
Another mad decision by the police: they open a passage, capacity of one and a half people, to let the crowd flow to the stage. Like passing olives through a funnel. With not a little difficulty, I manage to reach the second row. Someone falls, someone gets tugged, and thank God no one gets hurt. Only thanks to Him. The sun hits even harder, the headache advances, and the pains spread to other joints. Civil protection, moved to compassion, sprays us and distributes bottles of warm water. Someone faints and is carried away. Fortunately, I don't suffer diuretic or laxative effects. Abandoning the precious spot would mean exclusion from the second row and thus re-entry from the queue presumably located at Piazza Venezia! Lose Paul above my head for an overflowing chemical toilet? Noooo. Paul is a train that passes only once in a lifetime. Maybe twice, but you have to be lucky.
Around 18:00 a scrolling number appears on the giant screen to send some messages to kill time. Joking remarks, comments on Juventus fresh from the championship, Roman supporters irked, fanciful comparisons between Paul and the Oasis, the search for a bathroom, greetings, setlist requests. My skull is about to burst when RAI comes to interview the lucky ones in the front row. People start to get "impatient". Paul!!! Without realizing it, the sky starts to lose contrast with the sun and images begin to swell. Characters from Renoir, mimes, dancers, athletes, and colorful characters begin to tread the stage. The colors grow stronger, the wait turns into adrenaline, and emotions begin to flow. The headache goes on a bit of a break, and the pains vanish. A magical white screen appears, and the silhouette of the Hofner bass cuts diagonally across the stage. The cheers are countless. When from the silhouette, a man materializes calling out to the crowd, voices break. PAAAAAUUUUUUULLLLLL!
"You say yes, I say no, you say stop and I say go go go...." and emotions cannot be described. Magical. With all the sacraments. Magical. No need to list the long setlist dotted with timeless hits belonging to the Beatles' era and his solo period. Special effects in "Live and let die", the audience choirs in "Hey Jude", tributes to John and George with the ukulele, to Domenico Modugno. Tears of emotion and uncontrollable happiness. Until around 00:30. The headache and pains return, but who cares! Thank you, Paul! Thank you for everything! Words don't suffice, thank you! And if you can, come visit us again...
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