Rome may be one of the most visited cities in the world, but its clichés make for great theatre among the neighbourhood enclaves.

You arrive at an airport. Lost. Do you taxi splurge or scrimp your way into town via public transport? Given the next bus is in an hour, and I have the patience of a caffeinated child, straight away, I opt for the Roman cab.

Little did I know that such a decision would cause an outpouring of Italian drama on par with a Puccini opera.

I flag the services of a dirt-spattered smart car taxi with a driver who looks too cool to drive a fridge on wheels. I look into his blue lens aviator eyes and see myself pleading with him to wait for me as I collect my luggage. I return, carting and wheeling my way down stairs, to find he has picked up another broad and is accelerating, albeit slowly, into the sunset.

Italian men. Yours until someone with less luggage comes along.

But wait. A silver-haired saviour who has witnessed the betrayal swoops in and physically blocks the fleeing taxi, yelling with orangutan arm gestures and vocal projections that only come from diaphragm breathing.

A standoff ensues, as the Italian escalates louder and faster, peppered with the one swear word I know in Italian, faff-un-gulo – disclaimer: that’s the phonetic pronunciation, not the correct spelling – we wouldn’t want to teach you naughty words now.

It’s all very Italian, emotional in the extreme and a trifle embarrassing to any stiff upper-lippers. But it’s as great a welcome to the capital of passion as any.

The thing is, with Italian, you never know if it’s as aggressive as it sounds. With a tendency toward the dramatic, a conversation about whether the weather will be hot or cold can sound like one has found out the other is sleeping with his wife.

While my first encounter with Roma lives up to the cliché, I have arrived on a mission to move beyond stereotypes.  I am resigned to doing nothing touristy on this trip.

That means following locals maps drawn on napkins, and insisting on being the only foreigner at restaurants, no matter how much my hunger argues back.

My modus operandi is to avoid the tourist districts and stray to the districts that have no icons to boast beyond a local and village atmosphere. They include Trastevere and Monti. You won’t find the Spanish Steps or Colosseum in these areas, but they are within walking distance of the emblems of Rome.

Trastevere is a low-rise district that bucks the trend of the Roman cityscape, a black sheep that as such has been overlooked enough to foster its own personality.  Locals in fact, do not identify as Romans, but Trasteverini.

Traditionally a working class area, it has a rough and ready charm that has produced a crop of traditional and trendy venues.

It became an irresistible pilgrimage once I heard it described as a village in the city. It did not disappoint. It’s charming enough just to walk the cobbled streets and feel the sense of community.

Fiats and smart cars are parked bumper-to-bumper along the side of one-car width streets. Peeling paint villas are camouflaged by lilac wisteria and magenta bougainvillea. Large loping dogs on canvas leads are tied to posts. Men play cards in the street using chairs as a table. Virgin Mary shrines stare at graffiti that reads “I saw you on tinder”.

Bar San Calisto is as modest a place as you could find, and is packed with locals drinking Peroni in the sun at 11am on a Saturday. The price of the Peroni may have something to do with where it is served, coming in at less than a third of what you’d pay in the tourist districts.

Located just beyond the Piazza di Santa Maria, all the tables are in distressed wood with a retro red, green and cream Peroni emblem painted atop. It’s a shabby chic dream, although I would suggest they were not trying too hard for that accolade. The modesty is such that they serve alcohol, coffee, croissants and white no-crust sandwiches in single flavours – ham or tuna.

Walking around the streets, there is articulate graffiti that has been stencilled and sprayed. Find Via Dei Fienaroli, a street where planter ivy has reached overgrown bush proportions, and where Vespas politely park on the diagonal, for two must-stops.

The first is Libreria del Cinema, a café-cum-film vault that evokes Fellini with vintage cinema posters, a piano, melted wax candles, VHS, books and coffee.

It is apt, as Trastevere has a legacy of stardom as the backdrop for Federico Fellini’s Roma and Woody Allen’s To Rome With Love.

Next, hit up Meridionale for lunch or dinner. In a retro Italian style that seems to be favoured in Trastevere, the canary, red and mint formica tables come complete with undersized chairs. Vintage newspaper and magazine cuttings serve as wallpaper.

Sit at the solo table for two at the front entry if you can nab it. Here the table is set with basil and cacti growing out of chipped teapots, brown paper bags and a tomato tin. These are local spots where tourists rarely venture.

A restaurant in the area has been known to display a chalkboard that reads: “We are against war and tourist menu”. At dusk the venues with metal shuttered doors at street level switch into desirable night spots. Locals converge on the cobbles to smoke, holding grease-streaked glasses of red wine from nearby trattorias.

Then there’s Monti, which has been described as the hipster heartland of Rome. But don’t let that put you off if you didn’t pack a beard and tattoo, for no-one is judging you here. Locals don’t care to be cool, and the community is a mix of older residents who will be found sitting on stone bollards in piazzas reading thin broadsheet newspapers. They take just as casual an approach in the evening when they are joined by young residents who have finished work.

The Piazza del Madonna dei Monti is the place to people watch with drinks from a nearby bottle shop.

Feel free to join them.

Now, young designers have set up shop next to old-school operatives selling knives in dusty packaging. But it wasn’t always like this. Monti used to be the colourful part of town, an underbelly for a less salubrious cast of characters, from criminals to prostitutes.

Via Dei Boschetto is the road that leads to the main square and is strewn with restaurants and bars among residential villas. Medieval town planning means that the best way to master the streets is to walk, and you won’t be disappointed walking along Boschetto. Dine later in the evening when the kitchen has calmed down and you’ll likely meet the chef, who visits each table.

Il Peperoncino D’Oro is one restaurant that serves up enticing Calabrian food with authenticity, and no tourist menu in sight. Italian families break bread and share dishes set in the middle of the table.

The thing is, even if you steer clear of the icons that define Rome, you will still find the city’s stereotype alive in its people and its innate style of shambolic aplomb. Don’t fight the cliché, it’s a glorious one that you just will not find anywhere else.

Passionate, ramshackle and lusty Rome. Embrace it like the lover it is.