
My family moved from Vermont to near New Haven, Connecticut in 1964. I was just starting to consider myself a photographer and I would often explore around the city with camera in hand. It was during one of those expeditions that I found the Savin Rock carousel. The way I was exploring around with my camera wasn’t too different from what I do now except that in those years I was rigidly dedicated to black-and-white photography, which actually was a shame with a subject as colorful as these horses.
I remember Savin Rock in two guises: a brightly colored hill of red clay that overlooked the city, and a desultory semi-abandoned amusement park that was on the water’s edge down in the dock area. It was there that I found this magnificent merry-go-round, known officially as PTC No. 21, which began its life in 1912.
In the early 1900s Savin Rock was a carousel lover’s paradise. Beginning in the 1870s, the resort attracted millions of visitors annually with its mile-long midway packed with roller coasters, fun houses, and an extraordinary collection of carousels. At its peak in 1919, Savin Rock welcomed 1.2 million visitors a year, rivaling even Coney Island.

The park was so rich in carousel history that it housed at least a dozen major carousels throughout its existence. But among all these magnificent machines, PTC No. 21 would become the most famous – affectionately known to generations of riders as the “Flying Horses“.

The Philadelphia Toboggan Company manufactured PTC No. 21 in 1912, during the golden age of American carousel production. This wasn’t just any carousel – it was a four-row masterpiece that arrived at Savin Rock as part of Fred Wilcox’s Long Pier. The timing was perfect, as carousel innovation was revolutionizing the amusement industry. These were truly different times.
Just five years earlier, in 1907, the famous Murphy brothers had introduced “jumpers” – horses that moved up and down – to Savin Rock carousels. This innovation forced every other carousel owner to upgrade their rides to remain competitive, and Fred Wilcox’s decision to order the spectacular PTC No. 21 was likely a direct response to this carousel arms race.

PTC No. 21’s most dramatic chapter came in 1936 when a major hurricane hit New England, causing significant damage. For many antique rides, such destruction would have meant the end. But the beloved Flying Horses were too important to Savin Rock’s identity to abandon. The carousel underwent extensive restoration and triumphantly resumed operation in 1939, continuing to delight families for nearly three more decades.

As the 1960s arrived, changing times and waterfront development began to threaten Savin Rock’s future. The grand amusement park that had survived the devastating 1938 hurricane and plans for 1950s expansion could not withstand the pressures of modernization. Savin Rock officially closed in 1966, and PTC No. 21 took its final spins at its original home in 1967, the year I took these pictures.

“1912-PTC-21-4-Row-Carousel-Savin-Rock-Amusement-Park.” Carouselhistory.Com, n.d. Accessed October 21, 2025. https://carouselhistory.com/west-haven-looks-to-bring-historic-carousel-back-to-savin-rock/1912-ptc-21-4-row-carousel-savin-rock-amusement-park/.
Six Flags Wiki. “Grand American Carousel.” October 20, 2025. https://sixflags.fandom.com/wiki/Grand_American_Carousel.
Various. “A Brief History of the Carosel and Other Topics.” 1985. https://carousels.org/CRG/NCA_Carousel_Resource_Guide005.pdf.
WHVoice. “Historian’s Corner.” West Haven Voice, April 26, 2018. https://westhavenvoice.com/historians-corner-47/.
WHVoice. “Historian’s Corner.” West Haven Voice, May 3, 2018. https://westhavenvoice.com/historians-corner-48/.
When we arrived in Naples my first impressions were of physical deterioration, vandalism, and filth. When thrown suddenly into the chaos and traffic just outside the airport the contrast with Montreal felt like too much! A visceral body blow.

Looking back now I can see how wrong I was. Yes, Naples is chaotic, smelly and, in ways, a maddening place but its lifeblood and character transcend its drawbacks. I came away feeling lasting affection and respect.
Disclosure: Alas, I have no blood connection to Italy, so what I write is based on a short period – nine days in the city, though I’ve had other visits to the country. Italy, and Naples especially, inspires strong opinions so chime with your experiences.

What I saw in Naples and what excited me the most was life unfolding in a continuous present. Damascus had a similar feel, but lacking the lively social give-and-take. History is not a frozen backdrop but a living participant in the present. The city’s streets compress centuries of urban life into a narrow, vertical spaces in which architecture, religion, commerce, and society are densely layered and constantly in motion. Everyday life spills outward from apartments and courtyards onto sidewalks, alleys, and piazzas, turning public spaces into hybrid spaces of living rooms, marketplaces, and theatres. It’s a feeling that I’ve fractionally experienced in other cities, but nothing like what washed over us in Naples.

Naples’ street culture is inseparable from its urban fabric, especially in the historic center. Narrow streets and tall palazzi push life outward: balconies overhang the stone alleys, laundry stretches from window to window, and voices carry easily across the void. The result is a public realm where boundaries between inside and outside are porous, and where residents use doorsteps, stoops, and thresholds as extensions of domestic space.

Street shrines – dedicated to the Madonna, local saints, and more recently figures like Diego Maradona – punctuate corners and facades, anchoring a popular religiosity that is both deeply felt and casually integrated into routine. Grief and celebration remain visible rather than privatized. Processions, move through the same streets that serve as commercial arteries, briefly reorganizing traffic and commerce around communal rites.

Street-level culture in Naples is also a culture of commerce, from formal shops along Via Toledo and other main arteries to informal stalls, barrow vendors, and door-front sellers. Food is central: pizza al portafoglio, fried snacks, and pastries are eaten on the move, reinforcing an urban tempo in which eating, talking, and walking blur into a single activity. Small businesses – tailors, repair shops, artisan workshops – often have doors flung wide open, allowing passersby to watch work in progress and which favors a network of long-standing relationships.
Sound is one of the principal mediums of Neapolitan street life: motor scooters, shouts, arguments, laughter, and music densely fill the acoustic space. Conversation easily becomes performance; the theatricality has roots in a real culture of gestural communication and public argument, where disagreement is aired loudly but does not always imply rupture.

Walls, shutters, and street furniture function as a visual gallery of tags, murals, stickers, posters, and hand-painted signs, through which individuals and groups claim presence and allegiance. Football imagery – especially around Maradona and SSC Napoli – intertwines with political symbolism, memorials, and commercial advertising, producing surfaces that narrate loyalties, losses, and local pride. Municipal regulation and cleanup are uneven, so these layers are rarely erased; instead, they accumulate, reflecting a city in which informal expression is both tolerated and expected as part of the everyday street-level environment.


There’s almost no obvious overlap between Naples and Montreal. If I pulled my car out into an intersection and acted like a normal Neopolitan driver, I would so shock my fellow Montrealers that counseling teams would be called in by arriving cops, to say nothing of where I’d end up. But even though we sit like silent glum blobs glued to our phones while we ride our public transport, I still ask if we’re not chronically depressed because we don’t have an easy life dealing with northern-latitude weather. There’s no light a lot of the year and grocery stores ask high prices for food that in Naples would be classified as road kill. If we were en masse moved south and fed the foods of Italy I could see us lighting right up – sparking around with high energy collisions off each other and making noise in the metro. We have the spirit, just not the environment. Watch out, dear residents of Naples!

The bustling Catania market in Sicily moves an astonishing volume of fish, produce, and meat, but for me the real spectacle is the people. These markets are unimaginably old; fishmongers have been selling in Catania since at least Roman times, if not earlier. The current location, tucked behind the fountain near the main square, is only about a century and a half old because the market has shifted around the city over its long history. In its present form—with fish being butchered in full view, boisterous vendors calling out, and the activity focused in a sunken pit—it carries forward a tradition woven through Sicilian history, feeling at once utterly contemporary and stubbornly traditional.
At first, I hesitated to descend into the pit, but I am glad I did. Beth ventured down as well and bought swordfish for our dinner. As you can see, women appear here only as customers, though they, too, often command the space with large, forceful personalities.
I noticed the place because it always seemed to be closed, metal-shutters drawn tight to the ground. Since it was nearby the apartment we were renting and I passed by it frequently, wondering what was this phantom pizzaria. A failed business? A front for some nefarious project? It was hard to tell.
One evening I was out in the neighborhood and to my surprise the shutters had just been pulled up and the pizzeria was open. Not only was it open but it was large, bright, and beginning to fill up. I went back to the apartment and alerted Beth, and together we returned just early enough to get in among the first sitting.

Ai Marmi is my dream pizzeria. Not self-conscious, delicious food, with an easy, social atmosphere. It should know what it’s doing, it’s been in business in the same place for over 90 years, serving thin crust Roman-style pizzas. It’s easily one of my favorite restaurants on earth.

Ai Marmi has been serving pizza since it opened its doors in 1931 as an ancient wood-fired oven bakery. The restaurant was originally known as “Panattoni Pizza,” named after its founding family. Since 1980, it has been operated by the Panattoni brothers – Paolo, Renzo, and Carlo – who inherited the business and continue to use pizza recipes handed down from their great-grandfather.

The establishment is affectionately known by Romans through two distinctive nicknames:
“Ai Marmi” (The Marble Slabs) – This name derives from the restaurant’s signature marble-slab tables that have remained a constant feature since its opening. These thick marble surfaces serve both functional and aesthetic purposes in the pizza-making process.
“L’Obitorio” (The Morgue) – This more colorful nickname was coined by renowned Italian poet Pier Paolo Pasolini, who lived nearby and frequently dined at the its tables. The moniker refers to the cold marble tables that resemble those found in traditional morgues or classic old-style Neapolitan pizzerias.

Throughout its nine decades of operation, Ai Marmi has maintained its authentic Roman character, creating a gastronomic and cultural experience that to me puts it at the pinnacle of the pizza world. The restaurant’s bustling, hectic atmosphere, where tourists are consistently outnumbered by local Romans, creates an authentically chaotic environment that’s part of the Marmi’s charm.
The pizzeria serves as a time capsule of Roman dining culture, with fluorescent lighting, no tablecloths, and communal marble tables where diners sit elbow-to-elbow. This unpretentious setting has remained largely unchanged since its founding, maintaining the authentic experience of a working-class Roman pizzeria.

Ai Marmi specializes in traditional Roman-style pizza – characterized by its thin, crispy crust that’s rolled out with a traditional rolling pin and baked in their original wood-fired oven dating back to 1931. The restaurant continues to prepare pizza using time-honored techniques, with pizzaiolos working continuously to serve the constant stream of customers who nightly queue outside. Being there when Marmi opens, just when the shutters are rolled up, is an exciting experience and not at all like what’s happening at the more curated restaurants in Trastevere and Rome.

Beyond pizza, the establishment is known for traditional Roman appetizers including supplì (rice croquettes), fiori di zucca (fried zucchini flowers), and baccalà (fried cod), maintaining the full spectrum of authentic Roman street food culture.
This is pizza authenticity at its best – a restaurant serving the same style of super-thin, slightly burnt crispy Roman-style pizza that has been its signature for nearly a century. It’s no wonder that it’s a beloved institution for both locals and visitors seeking an authentic taste of Roman culinary history.


Knezovic, Jasmina. “Roman Holiday: Pizza Mia!” Zamezi, May 28, 2013. https://zamezi.wordpress.com/2013/05/28/roman-holiday-pizza-mia/.
Macchioni, Phyllis. “This Italian Life: AUNTIE PASTA: When in Rome.” This Italian Life, November 15, 2012. https://thisitalianlife.blogspot.com/2012/11/auntie-pasta-when-in-rome.html.
Old Friends, New Places Pizzeria Ai Marmi Trastevere. July 5, 2013. http://www.gillianslists.com/2013/07/old-friends-new-places-pizzeria-ai.html.
“One Last Pizza in Rome, Italy-Trastevere’s Pizzeria Ai Marmi Is Magnifico!” The Pizza Snob, October 11, 2015. https://thepizzasnob.net/2015/10/11/one-last-pizza-in-rome-italy-trasteveres-pizzeria-al-marmi-is-magnifico/.
Roma food, dir. The INCREDIBLE Work in the Roman Pizzeria “Ai Marmi” in Rome Trastevere Since 1931 – SUBTITLES. 2023. 9:09. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGMVmetvHXA.
So Hungry Italy, dir. For Over 90 Years! Rome’s Artisanal Iconic Pizzeria! “Pizzeria Ai Marmi.” 2024. 26:05. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwFjj-OtXd0.
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