Bella Italia, It’s Really the End

Less than twenty four hours until my forced separation and I am racked with anxiety. Ok a little dramatic, but truly I am dreading tomorrow. How can I say goodbye to my little Italian city and ideal Italian life? The farewells have already begun with my friends and that alone is killing me. Dying on each side of the ocean - I can’t wait to go home and see my family and friends and at the same time I am dying to plant my feet in a meter of cement and never leave this country. As I look out my third story window onto our narrow cobble stone street, Via Orologio Vecchio, I can’t help but think I am doing this for one of the last times. In total I know I have spent hours leaning against this haggard window frame, gazing out onto Viterbo alive and beautiful. I was never struck by any profound thoughts or floored by earth shattering revelations at this window. It has always been simple, easy thoughts that pass in and out of my mind like the slow, methodical passing bye of the people below. Mostly I just reminisce like I am now, on the charmed days I have been privileged to spend here. Many of them have been shared in this forum, alive eternal and made so by the sustaining power of written thought. Also quite a few memories I will never jot down. For as long has I can remember them I want to hold on to them in case of those moments where I need a spontaneous laugh, or quiet smile. Perhaps I will make them alive in story and rendition to entertain myself and those around me. In truth there has been too much packed into these four months for me to ever tell in entirety.

Like last night for instance, our landlords Cesare and Giovana invited us to their restaurant for a farewell dinner. They are an older couple and nice as can be. I have grown especially fond of Cesare because whenever we go to their restaurant, which happens to be below our huge, ancient castle of an apartment building, he always sits down with us and jokes around with his wily, old man wit and tries to make us laugh first in Italian if we can comprehend and then in English when all else fails. He invited my roommates and to dinner and proceed to bring us a full four course Italian meal complete with his own house wine and he did it all for free. That is the kind of people that are in this city. They are so generous and are literally dying to give at any chance to people they care for not matter how well they know them. It’s things like this and the memories that are attached that I will miss most I think. Sure Italy is beautiful, the history is unrivaled, but it’s the people, Italian friends and strangers along with my dear American friends that have painted these fours months for me and whether they know it or not they created a masterpiece that can never be matched. So it is with these final words that I close my Italian experience and say goodbye to this country I love, it could not have been better. Arrivederci.

Venice at Carnivale [Extended]

The following is an expounded text from one of my former posts:


Shoving, pushing, tripping among a myriad of masked faces filling constricted streets and arched canal bridges. Antique buildings rise from cobblestones and hem in the traffic jam of vibrant clothes and merry voices. My body together with a million more stack and pile forming chokepoint damns in a city bursting at the seams, ready to implode from the inner pressure of so many people filling such little space. Such is Venice, Italy in March and such is Carnivale, the word’s most renowned masquerade party. I spent two days in this city turned circus drinking, eating, soaking up ‘La Dolce Vita’ in age old Italian fashion. For me it was impossible to separate the city from the festivity because they appeared to me as one. The costume adorning, street performing masses lived Carnivale aloud every moment I witnessed, and I lived with them.

Carnivale is the event and Venice the venue but the people are what bring the weekend to life. While I was there, I could feel their energy pulsated through the city. I felt the hum of the crowd from where I stood on the crest of the entry bridge to the city. I gazed down into the mobs of people rushing in and out of the center and thought of the body’s cardiovascular system. People united in their experience of Carnivale with their costumes, masks, and songs where the lifeblood of the party. Saint Mark’s Square was the heart through which all the people circulated, going in and out, to and fro. The intricate labyrinth of narrow streets and winding canals became the veins and arties through which the surging current flowed. Wherever the current went it brought vitality, even to the most quiet, numb regions. One moment I was watching safely from the bridge, the next I plunged head first into the swollen stream of people. Submerged in the rush, my body sparked, electric and alive. I laughed, cheered, and danced not because I felt like it but because I was infected. No one asked me nor did I inquire. With no choice in the matter, I simply let go and felt my blood grow hot and boil from the charge sprinting in my veins. Excitement shot through my limbs and exploded from my mouth in song and laughter because that was the only place it could escape.

I wore my mask black, white, and gold always pulled closely over my face. The disguise was not to be lifted. From behind it I could watch and take in Carnivale unfiltered. You see everyone wore a mask with the inner desire to live, if only for one weekend, uncensored. That is the secret of Carnivale. With inhibitions removed the world looks, tastes, and smells all the sweeter. My mask afforded me the richest experiences possible including the most genuine conversation with a stranger I have ever had. Stripped of pretence we simply reveled in our party relationship injected with mystery. Sure I was speaking in broken elementary Italian to a native speaker, but with my mask on I burst into a fountain of chatter unchecked and unruly. I did not think of my appearance so my experience was painted by the real energy and beauty around me rather than my diluted perception of it. When the focus is removed from your insecurities it is truly incredible how much brighter the world around becomes. My experience of Venice at Carnivale was so exciting and memorable solely because of the sheer mystery and energy that originates from thousands of people embracing this freedom reality all at one time. That is the source of the infection. Venice is unique and timeless in itself, but Venice at Carnivale transforms into something totally different. Contagiously, the very streets, buildings and canals brim with party delight and seem to wear the colorful people that cover them as their own festive costumes. I have never seen anything to compare it to. There is for me no urban occasion to match.