This is my last full day in Italy for the foreseeable future.
I'm choosing to spend a good deal of it indoors. I'll probably venture out for a stroll through the filthy narrow streets for an hour or two later this afternoon, but my primary goals for today are:
a) pack my bag for Barcelona
b) practice a bit of yoga
c) sum up my feelings on Southern Italy
My bag can wait.
Yoga shouldn't wait, but I'll postpone my practice a few more hours.
So I'll work on C.
Southern Italy.
Let's start with "THE FAMILY".
Because it's probably the second most important thing in Southern Italy (clipping the heels of "the espresso").
Families in Southern Italy are very close. Stiflingly close, for this free-spirited, strong-headed lady from the American west who does as she likes when she likes where she likes with whom she likes (generally). The stereotype rings very true that children often live with their parents well into their thirties and sometimes dip into the retirement pension of their mothers and fathers. This is partly because of the stark lack of jobs and partly because.. well... most Southern Italians would prefer to be relaxing on the beach, eating granita and complaining about the heat. As many homes in Southern Italy are owned by people rather than banks, it's simpler to stay where they are than to move out and start paying rent. But if they have moved out and are independent (relatively speaking), they usually live in the same city as their overbearing parents. If they don't live in the same city, then they live in the same region and visit their families on the weekends. Mothers will often do laundry for their children, cook dinners, etc late into adulthood.
I was washing all the laundry for a family of seven when I was eleven. I started cooking dinners when I was eight or nine. I got my first real job at a chain restaurant when I was fourteen. It boggles my mind that some people can reach their thirties without wanting to do their own laundry, cook their own dinner or work for themselves.
But this is my cultural bias and I have to remind myself that there is nothing inherently wrong with eating granita on the beach. The way I walk through life just... requires a different kind of stimulation in order to be fulfilling. I can't imagine really knowing myself if I still lived in one of my many childhood homes, had all the same childhood friends and ate my mama's lighter than air lemon pancakes every Sunday after church.
In my heart, I know that there's an abundance of self-discovery to be achieved in stillness. In community. In living in the same house and eating the same damn pancakes. It's just a manner of self-discovery where the stakes feel higher and the pieces of me are harder to find.
Anyway.
(I'm failing at segues today)
People are loud. I'm sure most of my readers are already well aware of the fact that those from Southern Italy speak with a few more decibels tagged on than the rest of us, but humor my reiteration. And it's not just the volume -- the intensity with which they parley around the dinner table makes me dreadfully uncomfortable (especially because I only understand a word here, a gesture there).
My mother (sorry, mom) once chucked a fork across the table and it impaled my uncle in the neck, bobbing up and down atop his Adam's apple.
This is what I expect to occur at every Italian dinner.
THE FOOD (a better segue)
The natural products in Southern Italy are sumptuously sweet, satisfyingly salty, fat, fat, fat and generally bursting with flavor.
The cheese. The fish. The wine. The fruit. The veggies. The nuts. The sausages.
However, many Italians are moving in the seductive direction of fast food.
Calabria is surrounded by sea. Fresh fish is abundant.
I ate gluten-free fish fingers in Calabria.
Sicily is surrounded by sea. Fresh fish is... ummm... not rare.
I ate canned tuna for the first six days.
Calabria is a region of fried food. For nearly every pranzo and cena in the Zema family, Margarita deep fried something in a couple inches of bubbling sunflower oil. Deep-fried chicken, deep-fried zucchini flowers, deep-fried mushrooms.
But each meal is washed down with some of the sweetest, freshest fruit I've ever tasted. Melone from Calabria is exquisite -- it melts on the tongue like pistachio gelato. Fresh figs, still warm from soaking up sunshine that morning are absolutely irresistible.
Dear Southern Italy,
Your natural ingredients are unrivaled in deliciousness. Don't turn them into fish fingers.
Sincerely,
Aimee
THE CITIES
The few big cities I've visited look like sloppy, sweet history parfaits.
Each historical building holds innumerable stories from numerous civilizations.
I love to wind my way through the narrow streets, licking gelato and imagining what happened in each layer of parfait.
But I can never truly relax whilst meandering. Else I would probably be hit and flattened by a horse/scooter/Fiat Panda.
Because the traffic. Goodness gracious me, I don't even know where to begin with the traffic. Driving through Palermo makes me think of the "Crazy Taxi" video game my brother played when I was a kid.
Doesn't matter how you get there -- just get there fast. Bonus points if you almost hit cars and fly over buildings.
THE COUNTRYSIDE
Dry.
Small vineyards, cacti, figs, vegetable gardens.
Mountains full of mushrooms and fragrant pine.
Patches of golden melone and green anguria.
Seasides of hot sand and colorful umbrellas and bronze Italians.
Goats.
Wrinkled shepherds.
Garbage.
THE WASTE
It's a plastic cup culture. Plastic cups for water, plastic cups for espresso, plastic cups for wine. It's a culture wherein you use a different plate for each course, and there are generally three courses.
At least one course is served on a plastic plate.
I've yet to witness any manner of recycling (but perhaps I just haven't been paying attention)
As I've spent a lot of time volunteering in eco-friendly campsites and environmentally conscious countries such as Ireland, Germany and Denmark, I am uber sensitive to waste.
Dear Southern Italy,
I understand that you're in the middle of a crisis and recycling is complicated, but do you really need all
that plastic? And how about using the same plate for multiple courses?
You're kind of in the middle of a drought and it would make more sense
to wash just one. Just sayin'. Especially since you already use bread to
mop up all that pasta sauce and your plate already looks like its been
licked by an extremely enthusiastic puppy.
Sincerely,
Aimee
Plastic
waste makes its way onto the streets, and the bases of the parfait
buildings are gilded with cups and plates and soda bottles. I haven't
seen so much litter since my two months in Morocco, and Southern Italy
makes Istanbul look sparkly clean.
Photos from yesterday's stroll:
 |
| I started obsessing over the texture of trees |
 |
| It rained on and off all day yesterday. Whilst most Italians and tourist popped open umbrellas or hid in souvenir shops, I happy danced down the muddy streets. Rain. Sweet, sweet, cool refreshing rain. I am SO ready for Holland. |
Dear Southern Italy,
You're
a pretty great place. People like Luca live in you. You have more
history, sunshine, sumptuous fruit, gorgeous beaches and exquisite wine
than I've experienced in my 25 years.
Plus, your cappuccino and gelato have forever ruined coffee and ice cream for me. I both love and hate you for this.
However,
I'm starting to feel just fine about leaving you behind for a time. I'm
tired of the noise, the trash and the traffic. The heat is getting
oppressive and the language barrier can leave me a little lonely. The
cloudy skies, structure, excellent English and quiet of Holland will
come as a relief after your colorful chaos.
Ciao for now,
Aimee
p.s.
Thanks for making my last host in Sicily so fabulous. Last night's meal
of octopus, fish and melone more than compensated for all the canned
tuna.
No comments:
Post a Comment