Italy is an amazing mixture of then and now, of history and the present. It feels surreal walking through the ruins of an ancient civilization that still stand in the midst of a very modern city. It was a poignant reminder of the continuity of life and of change, of progress and history.
I went to Italy with four other women, one of whom was my roommate in college. We had a lot of history ourselves, as well as a lot present, if you know what I mean. We stayed in Rome (Roma), Manciano, and Naples (Napoli). We visited the Amalfi coast, the Isle of Capri, Pitigliano, Sorrento, and many other small towns in between. We made pizzas at a cheese farm, rode Vespas to a winery, and snorkeled in the Mediterranean.
It was a magical trip.
The villa where we stayed was a three-bedroom apartment on the third floor in the heart of a small town, with beautifully well-appointed living and dining areas and a small kitchen. We slept with the floor-length, balcony windows open – no screens – shutters completely open to the street below. It was beautiful. We could hear neighbors talking to each other from balcony to balcony and friends enjoying a glass of wine at café tables in the street below.
We were in a quaint and beautiful mountain villa high up in the country overlooking miles and miles of rolling vineyards and small groves, a tapestry of colors and textures. Clouds settled over the distant sea, just beyond. All the colors of green and brown contrasted with the blue and gray mountains on the horizon. We were facing west, so the sunsets were exquisite.
Our first monring, by some good fortune, I was the first one up and had coffee on the tiny balcony off the kitchen overlooking the town. A woman was walking from the market with a rolling cart up the winding street, probably with the day’s groceries. Being up before my flat mates was so peaceful and gave me time for this morning reflection before the bustle started. I was lost in thought that in Italy some parts of life have not been tainted by modernity. Every person in this village was capable of sitting in isolation with all the modern conveniences we have in the US. They could close their windows and doors, text and email all their communications in efficient solitude, order from Amazon, and screen surf all day long. But they chose to be out with each other, to connect, to be present in person all day every day. The sense of community was profound. The scent of freshly baked bread rose up to the balcony, enticing me out of my reflections, reminding me it’s time for breakfast. I head out for a walk to explore the town.
The town was made up of kilometers of small, narrow, winding roads and alleys, all stone paved and built on hilly terrain. There were no yards or even spaces between homes. The doors were open, so I could see inside. Most had a washer but no dryer. Laundry was hung on almost every balcony to dry. Tiny cars were nestled in tiny garages. A continuous frontage of warm-colored stone and stucco, dotted with lush potted plants and geraniums in hanging baskets, lined the cobblestone alleyways, and kept ascending, climbing up and up. The clay roof tiles created a continuous line that followed the path of the winding roadway.
The people were out and about, puttering in their garages or working on community projects together. They were staining furniture, having coffee, chatting. Beautiful young, Italian women with no makeup and hair under their arms worked the shops and cafes. I passed a group of neighbors painting neon green lines on the pavement for what looked like an upcoming competition.
I return to our villa and my flat mates are all up and ready for the day. While they head to a spa for massages and facials, I hike several miles into town past vineyards and orchards and stop in a little, out-of-the-way osteria for lunch. I got the feeling this was not a café that catered to non-Italian speakers often. I was not unwelcomed, but the customary pleasantness that accompanies the tourism industry was not employed here. Meals in Italy are broken into many parts including small plates, salads, main course, dessert, and coffee. It’s bad form to skip any of them, and it’s customary to spend hours at the table. I had the good fortune to sit for a long time and observe. I watched people order their meals, eat slowly and leisurely, then spend hours talking, laughing, and having café together. It was not at all like an American restaurant, set to serve you quickly and run you out so the next table can be served. I marveled again at the sociability and sense of community among Italians.
That night, back in our villa, was a wine festival. The whole village was out, listening to live music, drinking, feasting, and participating in a wine barrel rolling competition. Apparently, this is an annual tradition, and the villagers roll full barrels of wine through the streets and up the hills. We met some local sheep farmers who bring their sheep cheese every year. All had a strong connection to the agrarian past in stark contrast to the modern world right at their fingertips.
On days when my group of girlfriends had nothing planned, we planned to get lost. My college roomie would get in the driver’s seat and say, “Let’s go this way until we find something!” One of the first places we discovered was Pitigliano, a city built into the cliffs. We walked through the town streets and gazed out the turret windows at the countryside below. The people who lived in the town were all out talking to each other, warmly greeting each other, and gossiping or catching up on family news. It was absolutely remarkable how a city that old, built into rock, had the infrastructure to support modern lifestyles. The wiring was mostly external, threaded through holes drilled in the stone that was twelve-inches thick or more. The whole city lights up spectacularly at night, so when you’re driving past, you see the illuminated city in relief against the cliff face. The confluence of old of new was as apparent here as it was everywhere else.
We visited a lemon and cheese farm in Massa Lubrense, outside of Naples. The owner was born there, married there, and raised his family there. His recipes for provolone, mozzarella, and ricotta, for infused olive oils, lemonade and limoncello were all handed down for generations. We visited the cows and watched the cheese makers. Then we were invited to make our own Margarita pizzas, tossing the crust, adding the red tomato sauce, the green basil, and the white mozzarella – the colors of the Italian flag and named for Queen Margarita. Delicioso!
From there we spent our last night in Naples. Never was I more impressed with the confluence of past and present, history and future, as I was there. It is a fascinating city! In Rome, the ruins are hallowed, preserved, and most of the time off-limits to hands-on exploration, and for good reason. In Naples, there was almost an irreverence toward its ancient past. There is a mix of solemn respect for the past and of flagrantly taking their history for granted. Graffiti was everywhere. On statues, ancient castle walls, new structures, it really didn’t seem to matter. It took me aback at first until I remembered stories I learned in the fifth grade about graffiti unearthed from ancient Roman times that gave glimpses into life as they perceived it way back in the day. I realized the graffiti of Napoli was continuing a long tradition of free expression that has endured and thrived. It made me smile at the continuation of society and its mores.
Another impression of Naples that stands out is the amount of scaffolding everywhere, as far as the eye can see. You really can’t tell if it’s a city on its way up or on its way down! What stood out to me again is the melding of the old and new. The old structures would always stand but would continually be upgraded and updated to keep up with society in its most useful and efficient iterations.
People were pouring into the streets after riposo, ready for the night’s social activities, for connection with their neighbors and friends. At 9:00 in the evening, the shopkeepers were just putting out the café tables for the evening’s meal, as if to remind the world that the day shouldn’t end without associating and relating with your people. It’s what has built true stability and permanence here in the modern, ancient society of Italy.
