A new generation of journalists

As I walk in the Auditorium on a chilly September day, I can’t avoid feeling as if I am anywhere but in Rome. The red brick buildings, the trees, the cafés. Everything seems more European than Italian. And I love it. I love being here, leaning on a column, waiting for a person whom a close friend of mine defines “the new journalist.” Our appointment is in front of one of the cafés, at 12 pm. Simone has two precious hours for me. At 2 pm he must “run to work,” as he says in one of his emails. Fair enough.

I see a young man passing in front of me. Simone? He walks by glancing distractedly, then he turns back and comes closer. “Alessandra?” I smile and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you!”

Simone, a free and easy guy, dressed comfortably yet with attention to minute details, leads me inside the café and treats me to lunch. “You can pay for the coffee,” he tells me after a faint protest of mine. We sit in a quiet corner of the café, close to some big windows overlooking one of the massive mouse-shaped concert halls.

So, here we are. The aspiring would-be journalist and the new journalist. Simone warns me that if he starts talking, he will freewheel for two hours without interruption. But that’s what I want. And that’s what he does. I just require him to start from the beginning. How did he get to where he is now? And why does he represent the new generation of journalists?

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