Dear Jeril... Love, Dad. Wayne P. Anderson
the Italians for a marcia (march) or group run with medals for all competitors. There is a charge for entry, the proceeds of which go for medals and wine halfway through and at the end. What is left goes to charity.
This last weekend the girls and I went through a beautiful mountain pass, narrow, steep and scary, to a mountain village where the marcia was held. The biggest excitement of the day was at the parking lot where the first arrivals had carefully filled two rows down the middle of the lot completely cutting off the other half. The police kept directing traffic down the narrow drive to the lot expecting them to find a place to park.
This allowed us to see Italians at their most exuberant—waving arms, shouting, honking horns and generally having fun. The cheerful(?) shouts my friends translated for me consisted of “idiots,” “insane bastards” and other terms they felt would be inappropriate for the girls to hear.
Anyway, eight hundred Italians and many Americans were led off by a full Italian military band for a 14k (8.5 mile) walk. The band dropped off after four blocks and went back to wait for our return two and a half hours later.
Small change is a chronic problem in Italy as anything less than a one hundred lira piece (thirteen cents) is rare. As a result some strange things turn up; telephone tokens, sticks of gum and small candies are used for change. My baker just takes turns with me taking the loss my turn today, her turn tomorrow. The bread as expected is great so I’m out of the bread baking business for this year. Their pizzas are tasty and cheap so ditto on that.
I certainly can’t complain about being overworked with my teaching assignment. My three classes of three, nine and fourteen students respectively have been a problem to instructors in the past. The students are very close knit and had evidently worked out ways to manipulate instructors, who were seen as outsiders unless they became part of the local party cycle. My predecessor, who saw the conflict of interest in this, seems to have shaped them up since I find them a hard working, cooperative group.
There has been a real problem in our getting organized to see Italy. I’ve been like an addict who has just discovered a new source of drugs, except its books to read and the time to read them. I’ve probably read a dozen books in the last two weeks. I’ve just had a long talk with myself and expect we’ll be moving out to some real adventures in Italy this weekend.
Love, Dad
Aviano, Italy, October 1978
Dear Jeril,
Italians are people watchers—sitting in a sidewalk bar or café, standing in a group on the corner—they watch. They have even organized, unofficial and somewhat spontaneous, their watching into a promenade. We’ve been involved in these promenades that take place in the main public square and streets in at least four cities. The women get dressed in their best, and where we’ve been their best is very nice. They wear high narrow-heeled leather boots, well-cut dresses and marvelous makeup, and parade in pairs and threes.
The young man and woman who have found each other walk with arms around each other showing off the magnificence of their catch. The young men who parade in groups are not as well dressed, but are better dressed than the men who stand with their motorcycles on the corner and look masculine.
Everyone looks and admires and is admired. In spite of the stories I’ve heard about Italian men as rather aggressive women watchers, I have only seen the most polite behavior.
The beach appears to be something else. Our time on the Italian Riviera, after the official season, allowed me only minimum chance to watch the watchers. Italian men wear the briefest of jockey bikinis. Women also leave little to the imagination. But here there is little staring except by American males who wear walking shorts or long bathing suits. In fact, if you want to talk to an American, just strike up a conversation with the man in the long drawers.
As a consequence of some of my watching here and there, I have drawn some conclusions. While women in Italy are rumored to know their place and to give appropriate respect to men, here are some of my observations.
1. There appear to be many women disk jockeys and announcers on the radio.
2. Even older women ride motorcycles and Vespas (motor scooters) cutting in and out of traffic with the best.
3. You do not step ahead of Italian women in a line at the market, else you will see what a few assertiveness training programs do for women in America.
4. Women do not wear slacks or shorts; younger women do wear bright colors and shoes with high platforms.
5. As Italians put on weight they seem to distribute it fairly evenly over their bodies as opposed to Germans who put it all in a few places.
As Italians still like demonstrations, in both Florence and Venice we were treated to protest marchers. In Venice the hospital workers for the area were on strike and paraded. Since there was no vehicle traffic to block, they blocked the grand canal with small boats.
We’ve really been traveling the last three weeks and have touched base in a fair number of cities. We are still overwhelmed by the number of things to see and the richness of art, architecture and history in even small cities like Lucca, Ravenna and Rimini. I’m too lacking in observation skills and knowledge to deal with all I’ve seen in any meaningful way; instead my memories are of sharp little moments such as these examples:
Venice: The old street singer with a black eye and a slightly alcoholic demeanor (rare in Italy) was singing in a charming, rich voice to a very appreciative audience.
Pisa: My eyes were fighting my sense of balance as I walked the winding staircase to the top of the Leaning Tower, where my cowardice at heights was fully aroused by the feeling that if I got too close to the lower edge, the whole thing would topple over.
San Marino: In the mythical kingdom of my youth, streets were so steep a mountain goat would be challenged, but then so were the many armies that tried to conquer it, but it remains after 1300 years the oldest republic in Europe. Also, in Charlie’s Bar and Grill in a room full of British voices, we ate fish and chips that would not have passed muster in any sidewalk stand in England.
Rimini: The gang and I were sitting on the steps of a church eating hot chestnuts from a corner roaster as we watched the promenade.
Padova: I was impressed at being in the cathedral in which St. Luke is buried since, to the best of my knowledge, he’s only been buried in three other cathedrals. I mean, after all, that’s not bad—one-fourth of a saint. St. Sebastian is claimed by nineteen cathedrals.
The pastas continue good, and we still eat more than our fair share. The wines continue excellent, and we now know which ones to look for in the stores. So we continue to be content with our lot.
Love, Dad
Aviano, Italy, October 1978
Dear Jeril,
This is a special, limited edition letter with the inside information on what it is really like for a family of four to be ripped from secure moorings in mid-America and set adrift in a sea of foreign faces.
One area of deprivation that is a cause for concern is the lack of TV for a TV addict. How does one deal with the withdrawal symptoms? I personally have handled it by a change in my dreams, and I now have reruns, commercial breaks and trouble with the color adjustment.
It’s been hardest on Stephanie (twelve). When an attack is coming on, she starts to sing TV jingles and then goes on to recite a beloved commercial. But this does not hold, and when we can no longer restrain her, she goes to the base thrift shop and buys big piles of old comics that she eagerly devours by the hour. After that she loses some of her tensions and is relatively normal for awhile. Rosie (fourteen) is less of a problem since a weekly PG movie seems to hold her. Carla doesn’t seem to notice that we don’t have a TV set.
Our life has fallen into a pattern now, and we can pretty much predict what will happen on any day in at least a general way. Much of the pattern revolves around food and eating. The theory is that when man’s basic needs for food and shelter are taken care