195. More scenes

Flying through the air:

I am a person who is basically afraid of everything: heights, speed, being out of control. I can’t ski and I can barely ride a bike. So, in Cortina, when I saw the vehicle that I would be expected to ride in, my first thought was “No way!” But I took a deep breath, pulled on my big girl pants, and off I went. As long as I didn’t look straight down, or straight up at the wires with which we were suspended, it wasn’t half bad.

Street music

I am always charmed by the music one encounters on the street, both formal and not. In Trieste, there was a concert in the piazza every night of the summer. Our first night, there was a full orchestra playing movie music, all of which coincidentally (?) was written by Italians, or at least by people of Italian descent. Crowd favorites were the Pink Panther theme and Moon River, by Italian-American Henry Mancini.

Less formal but just as much fun is when someone plays and sings along to a boom box playing popular favorites karaoke-style, and spontaneous dancing breaks out. Here’s the scene at the Duomo in Milano.

And of course, there are buskers everywhere.

A Country of Readers

I am always struck by the number of bookstores in Italy.

One can always find a wide selection in Italian, of course, and a more interesting English language selection than I can find within ten miles of my house, even though I live in a college town. The magazine sections are three times the size of ours. But most striking was the book section at an Autogrill highway rest stop, presumably meant to appeal to the tastes of travelers headed on holiday. Nestled among the beach toys and the huge bags of snacks were Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams and Erica Jong. No Danielle Steel and Stephen King for these folks.

Laureates

I am always charmed by the laurel wreaths, a symbol of honor for at least 2000 years, that Italian students wear to their university graduation ceremonies and the parties afterwards. Graduating students are known as laureati, and hereafter entitled to be called Doctor, or in the case of women, who make up 57% of college graduates there, Dottoressa.

Eataly

In the U.S., we think of Eataly as a high-end purveyor of expensive Italian goods and food, located only in our sophisticated cities, and bearing the unsavory whiff of Mario Batali, no matter how hard it tries to separate itself from his image. In Italy, where the original was founded in Torino in 2007, it is simply a place to do one’s shopping for excellent quality, locally-sourced products. It is certainly not a bargain, but not much more than what one would pay in the local supermarket for many of the items. At the Trieste version, locals met friends for coffee, and enjoyed its beautiful setting on the bay.

Jesus on the Cross:

I have been in hundreds of Catholic churches in my lifetime, so I am very familiar with Western depictions of the Crucifixion. I was struck, then, in the Dolomites, by all of the shrines depicting Jesus on the cross in a way that really emphasized His suffering and death, even to the point that my Jewish husband took notice. As the Dolomites region has only been part of Italy for barely a century, I wonder if this is a more Germanic depiction? I would love to hear if others have thoughts on this.

Young love

In my mind, the best part of travel is watching daily life unfold around you. Museums and scenery are fine, but so much better is paying attention to the kids head off to school in the morning, the old men sitting on their usual benches in the town square, the shopkeepers sweeping the sidewalks, and the nonnas carrying their shopping bags with that day’s fresh supplies. (Does it count as eavesdropping if you don’t know the language and can’t understand what they’re saying?) Here’s a story I saw unfold: