This is a guest blog written by Mary Scipioni. Her original post appeared on Medium.
People love reading about Italy. There is a whole mythology around the Bel Paese. It is the land of wine, and pasta, and mandolins; of Cary Grant driving Audrey Hepburn around Rome on a scooter.
It’s tempting for a writer to skim such impressions off the surface, like the foam on a cappuccino. We have Eat, Pray, Love and Under the Tuscan Sun as evidence. I think any title with Tuscany in it is bound for glory.
What I understand is that it is not so understandable. Sure, pleasure is probably the word that would describe the expectation that most of us have about Italy, whether it is food, wine, or romance. But the art, well, it’s so ubiquitous that you get tired of entering yet another church to look at the frescoes. Not to mention how tiresome Roman ruins can be on a hot summer afternoon. (Have you wondered why none of the locals are out wandering around?) Venice smells bad. The lines are long everywhere. (Oh, wait, these people don’t know what a line is.)
Read Heather's article on off-season travel in Italy.
Dinner may not live up to your expectations. They don’t actually have sun-dried tomatoes in everything. And, why is the waiter snickering at my request for a cappuccino at 8PM?
You see, it isn’t exactly as publicized in print.
I studied Italian for two years before I moved there, on the D train from Park Slope to 53rd Street in Manhattan. I grew up around Italian immigrants, trying to catch what they said when the conversation got confidential and they switched over to their mother tongue.
After I had lived in Italy for two years, I thought I was beginning to understand the language. I was totally immersed. I even wrote my shopping lists in Italian. After five years, I thought I was beginning to understand the Italian people. And yet I still had, and still do have, a long way to go.
Italy is my favorite place to be. I love the landscape, the architecture, the understated trattoria with the good food. I love the crazy congestion, and the guy who shouts something out that is the funniest, most clever insult you have ever heard. I love the way the men dress. I love the way the women wield power and kick ass. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world, you know. Just point to the picture of the Madonna, and he’ll be grabbing his balls in fear.
Italians are cynical. Although, isn’t that just jaded romanticism? They have a history that gives them wisdom they don’t even know they have. Their artistic culture has been more pervasive and influential than any in the Western world. Everyone has an opinion about beauty.
You may think their system is a hopeless tangle. This sometimes acts in your favor. When you can’t get something done one way, there is always another route. Besides, it slows things down a bit, maintaining the ecology of things. Rules are there, but the force of people’s actions drives events in a parallel universe.
It is a country with atheists that baptize their kids. You know, grandma…and they shrug their shoulders. Personally, I think they do it just in case.
Italy is a country of fiercely individual people who do what everyone else does. Don’t be surprised if none of this makes any sense; I am still trying to figure it out myself.
There is one thing I know: to an Italian, the heart is the center of the self. That is what you need to reach out and try to hold.
Oh, and give yourself a little extra time.
You might also enjoy these Italy quotes.
