Why do they cross the street?

20 Marzo 2006, Lavariano

Why is that when Gigi and I walk down the quiet, empty streets of the small village of Lavariano people walking towards us cross to the other side of the road?

Gi tells me it has something to do with being a stranger in such a small, close knit community, and that doing so they respectfully make it easier for us to walk in a straight path, without having to be inconvenienced by getting off the footpath. Apparently, after seeing us around a few times they’ll stop. I’m yet to be convinced.

There was no coffee in the house this afternoon (only decaf, imagine that, and this is Italy) so we ventured out for a stroll to one of the three bars in town. It’s a bit like a small town in Australia where you’ll find a post office, service station and three pubs. Anyway, we are enjoying our 30-second hit of caffeine (yep, no sitting down lingering over a cup of coffee chatting with friends for 2 hours in this country) when in walk two gentlemen. One was upstanding, stern and dressed in a sombre, black dress. The local priest, I assumed. His companion was a man of lesser stature, slightly shabby who appeared to be propped up by the priest, if not physically then at least by association, perhaps psychologically. The priest sweeps in to the café, recently renovated to a surprisingly modern décor, surveys us with surly, unwelcoming look and promptly places his order, completely ignoring our presence in the otherwise empty café. I was struck by the coolness of his assessment of us, for even in a ruthless city like Naples the locals, as strangers, greet each other with a salutation.

The bells of the local church seem to be always ringing here. In fact, Gi’s aunt said this morning that they know I’m in town and will thus make a point of tolling regularly to ‘break my balls’ (as the Italians so eloquently express it). She was joking of course, but it does seem that I’m constantly aware of the nearby clanging. I mentioned over dinner that we’d run into the local priest at the café. Gigi had completely missed that one of the gentlemen had been a priest. I’m not sure how he missed the long, black dress! I described his attire, and his facial expression to the family, and yes, they confirmed that it would have surely been the priest. After such a warm welcome I can only imagine what would happen if we turned up to mass on Sunday.

After the coffee we strolled in the direction (according to Gi’s teenage recollections) of the local water-powered mill. Gigi remembers taking the local girls to the stream beside the mill as a boy, his agenda purely focussed on stealing kisses. It’s now a local heritage site, with only one of the water wheels in operation, and not really an inspiring or particularly romantic spot. But I can see what lured the young Gigi.

Everything is a bit strange here at the moment. It’s been years since we last visited and it feels like the family I remember has been taken away by aliens and replaced by a new one. My memories of Gi’s aunt Marina are as a happy woman, light hearted, at the very centre of her young family. Marco, her husband, seemed to be conservative but interested and engaged. Caterina was a teenager, but is now 24, has moved out of home, is part of a band and lives independently. We are yet to catch up with her, as she lives in Trieste, some 1 ½ hour drive from here. Nicola was about 9 years old the last time we visited; he is now 19 and definitely a young man. Confident, finishing high school, long hair and an eagerness that is charming. The youngest, Marianna, I recall from photos we took of her as a toddler dressed in a nappy and singlet in a shopping trolley, with delightfully curly hair. Upon reflection I’m sure we must have taken photos of her on a subsequent visit when she was slightly older but the toddler photos are firmly etched into my memory bank. Marianna is 13, expressing herself through her clothes, her pale complexion offset by a mass of dark thick hair. Her eyes take in everything. Australia is her favourite destination. English is her favourite language. Needless to say we seem to be the favourite distant cousins. The clue? My handwritten cards and our photos pasted to her bedroom wall! Marianna is keen to practice English but is caught up in the shyness and unfamiliar awkwardness that comes from speaking a language you only use in the safety of a classroom. I catch her looking at me, or Gigi, when she thinks we are unaware. I remember being 13 and enamoured with my older cousin…and suspect that Gigi is having a bigger impact on her that he realises.

Things have changed in this house. Marina and Marco are separating, and while they continue to share the same living space the irritations and frustrations are increasingly obvious to Gigi and I. Marina is in the process of starting a new job, and moving into a new house, but it obviously can’t happen soon enough for her. Her health is suffering and I can only hope that with Gi’s support and treatment we can help her move through this change.

And so it is that we are staying for longer than we anticipated. The six days I packed for is turning into more than two weeks. Needless to say I will end up buying socks and underwear, but the up side is that we are only 7 hours drive from Lucie, our Swiss AFS daughter, so a quick visit to Switzerland is very much a possibility…and a distraction from the civilised mess in which we find ourselves.

Oh, and for those that are interested in a culture update (read comparison) below is a quick list summarising my current assessment of what is better where:

Naples does it better….
Food
Pizza (you’d think it would be under food, but it really is a food group of its own)
Drama
City views
Demonstration of emotions
Coffee
Locals with personality
Buildings with character (read run down, but colourful)

The Udine area shines at….
Civilised driving
Hot chocolates
Clean air
Clean streets
Clean waterways
Organised, correct street signs
Taller locals with manners and varying hair colours (the tall bit is relevant if you don’t want to always stick out like a sore thumb, the hair colour is the same)
Well-maintained buildings (read, lacking in character)