We are Italian party animals of a different sort. We seem to go from one thing to another with sweet abandon. So — let me tell you our lunch today,, as ordered by the prete (priest) Don Salvator, in whose church we have been trying to record baptisms from 1626-1700 today. He recommended the place; we followed him, where he was warmly greeted by the diners and the owners both. He is so welcoming and apparently at home here after 2 years in this parish that although he is the only black-faced person in sight, people smile at him with genuine affection. He ordered, quicker than we can stutter our broken spanish/italian/english. Bottles of wine. Bottles of water. First plate is pesto for 5 with green beans and potatoes swimming in a pesto sauce. Second plate is spaghetti carbonara — a favorite as well; then he ordered a meat dish, with a potato flan-like thing, then they — not I — stuffed to the gills already — had various types of dulce; sweets like tiramisu, panna cotta, and something I couldn’t catch the name of, with our coffee, and a topper of something to go into the coffee, Sanbucco I think. Holy moly — nap time The cost for five was 94,00€.. Less than 25 per person, and no tipping.
For entertainment, we watched a large 16-wheeler-type truck turn onto a bridge meant for two small cars, and see all of the restaurant patrons rush out to move their vehicles from their car parking on the sides of the bridge while we all stared at the front window watching this driver demonstrate amazing feats of skill to eventually drive across. Inches and seconds lay between him and a disaster, but he cooly slid across.
Tonight, another adventure in being Catholic. We attended a local celebration — the piazza below a friends house was turned into a mass for the upcoming church celebration, which the local men have been working on all day below our B&B window. Lights are up, all around the patio, and the church, tables are raised, a small stage is ready. Tomorrow is the day. But today, following the piazza mass, was a ten-piece brass band that showed up to play a concert for everyone; typical Ligurian songs/tunes/ and some movie themes. Unexpected.
I also noticed that there were only a few of the young there The majority were people of grey hair, and then a few musicians, a few children, young men of the family hosting, and a big gap of under 45s. I think at first this doesn’t bode well, but then wonder- are they not here? Did they go elsewhere to work? Do they not practice the religion of their country? I have no answers, but realized that in some of my own home arena, the same things occur — where are the young, the strong, the engaged with life, the future? (Church, organizations, events)
Bells are ready too. The bells are amazing to watch clang — resounding, and deafening, First one bell CLANGS, then a chorus of them peal a tune for another minute, then another CLANG, and then another tune, and on and on and on. Repeat… Did I tell you the bell tower is outside our window?
The house I wanted to buy for a couple of years has not yet been unraveled from the 20+ heirs that have interests in it — descendants of in-common relatives, the Lavezzo family, Raggio Family, et al. It’s probably a good thing that I could not buy it — I would still not own it, and the time necessary to remodel would be a problem eventually.
Ah, life — you wily devil.
5:45 pm on Friday, San Michaele’s Chell-a brahtch-i-own-i (celebrationi) is to start at 6 PM, and people have been streaming in for an hour. The church bells, in an orgy of enthusiasm, have only stopped to breathe every ten minutes or so before beginning again mere seconds later. The word stentorious mind comes to mind! But, later fireworks, parades, sandwiches, frittinelli — dough brought in large buckets, hand thrown, then fried in a larger bucket of oil — desert, and wine. We are welcomed, invited to be a part of, to belong, for a short while. Good stuff.
10;00 pm – addio, party. Lots of kids this time — the most beautiful children in the world it seems — dancing and waving their arms with and without rhythm. Lovely fun. The infectious Guido came to pretend to dance, and to smile, and make people like us welcome. No fireworks tonight — its too dry.
But as I write this, the accordion still plays, a girl is singing, and people still dance and drink, but I am done. Not a late evening person anymore, darnit. Why isn’t there a name for the non-party person that appeals, like party animal? Early to bed animal sounds suspiciously weird.
nitey nite