I've not forgotten the places I've been, especially L'Isola di Ventotene, from which my grandparents emigrated in the 1950s when they left for the "land of opportunity."
Ventotene is small, according to wikipedia, having only 1.3 square kilometers of land area. Evidence of its volcanic origins can be seen in the steep cliffs, the black beach sand, and the endless hillyness in general. Being so small, I can hardly imagine growing up there or living an entire life there as many have.
Before
But the Ventotene I have experienced is worlds apart from the Ventotene experienced by my grandparents. Theirs was a close-knit community. Everyone knew everyone. Families were large. Families had plots of land outside the city center for cultivating.
Now
What I experienced was a tourist depot for Italians. Indeed most of the tourists were Italian, I suspect because it is still in its infancy of its age of tourism. Today, expensive restaurants occupy the peripheries of the main piazza. Hotels line the main beach with chairs and umbrellas for their guests. Souvenir shops attempt to sell ceramics with classic scenes of the landscape. And teenagers on vacation wander the streets at night and dance at the outdoor kiosk/discoteca.
Ventotene will never ever again be what is was before tourism. Tourism will continue to encroach in the coming years until any sense of the lifestyle that existed before is lost.
In reality, I haven't a clue as to how my grandparents lived there for 40 years before moving to NY. Did people wake up early and tend their gardens? Were the women in the kitchen and doing laundry? Was there a siesta after lunch until the heat gave way? Did the kids play in the caves? Were their heated arguments in the bars? Did the entire town gather in the piazza every night for a social hour?
Many times I asked myself, "Why would my grandparents want to leave such a place?" Especially, after having lived there for 40 years. Zia Serafina explained to me that after the war, although there was economic development in some parts of Italy, the island was not one of them. Being off the mainland and having no significant export item, the net movement of wealth was always away from the island. Nonno inherited a bar, and I would suspect he was pretty content with that job. But like I said, there was no money to be spent on beer, so profits were probably low.
Top: Former residence of nonno & nonna
Bottom: Location of nonno's bar
At a certain point, Nonno and Nonna acquired both permission to immigrate to the US and a loan from a family friend in order to take a ship to America. Before leaving, they left their house (a building occupying a side of the main piazza) to nonno's brother, and other belongings such as the bar and probably a garden to other people. My grandfather, I am positive, thought he would get rich in America. He knew there were opportunities. He also knew he had determination. (In his mind, I think, he was sure of success.)
I figure he was probably a lot like a bus driver that Lisa and I met in Torino. It was a day in late July and all the buses were on strike until 9 pm. After it was over, Lisa and I took a bus to a place where we were meeting a CouchSurfer. But when the bus let us off, the driver got off too to take a break. Upon asking if the strike had been successful, we entered into an interesting conversation. (I understood about 50% b/c he spoke fast-ish Italian.) He was content with his actual labors (he worked 7 hours a day on a bus), didn't mind it. And also would have been content w/ his pay if the government did not take 50% for taxes. He said it was not enough to support his family with education and all the other expenses. When we told him we were from the states, his eyes opened wide and he said we were so lucky. Turns out, he had applied for a green card and was waiting for his acceptance. He was trying to move his family of 4 (or5) to the states. We proceeded to tell him that many Americans would consider the Italian lifestyle very desirable as well. And that Americans work too much. And there are all sorts of other problems. And we have taxes too. But he wouldn't hear it. America, to him, was the answer to all his problems. I understand his position, I think, but I daresay he had blinded himself a bit.
I figure my nonno was a bit like that guy. America was an luring advertisement in his mind, a solution to all his problems...
Little did he know he would become a barber for the rest of his working life and would be paying of debts to the "family friend" for years to come. At the same time, I doubt that he ever viewed this as a failure. For the one thing, I've noticed that Italians take pride in their work (this contributes to why they never rush things), even what we Americans would consider the "bad" jobs. Here in Italy, the baker, the butcher, the bus driver, the grocer, and the garbage man all do their jobs (usually) quite well. And more so than quality of work, they acquire a contentedness regarding their labors. It is a certain attitude that I believe is a quintessential part of the Italian lifestyle: That is, their work does not govern their lives (as in America). Work is never a priority within someone's life. It is a necessary essential. It is important but never urgent.
Finally, I have one more story of an encounter with an Italian that reminded me of nonno...
Lisa and I were on a quiet street in Verona (possibly my favorite town of those visited) when we stopped into a Salumeria (cole cut/cheese shop) to buy sufficient food for a supper. As soon as the salumeriere discovered we were American, he was so happy (to meet any foreigners) and was really interested in us. He was also very proud of his products, and gave us free samples (generously) of prosciutto crudo (the aged ham) and parmesiano. He showed us pictures of his grandchildren and wanted to know what we thought of him. Of course we bought some ham and parmesian. But he also insisted on giving us free bread. And on our way out, free kit kat bars. He was incredibly jovial and we left the shop feeling meraviglioso (wonderful). He had no reason to be nice to us. He knew he would never see us again.
Since then, Lisa has told me that the man was a lot like nonno. Very generous. Not really worried about money. More interested in joviality, good times, family, meeting people. And I picture him now in his bar on Ventotene pouring wine for a friend having marriage issues, and saying, "no, don't worry. It's on me."
Now, I'll leave you with pictures from Ventotene....
Federica, Maria, and Felice fter an awesome dinner made by Maria. And good discussion, aided by the dictionary sitting between Lisa and I. I think Maria and Felice look a bit similar to what my grandparents probably looked like when they were young.
This trip was made possible by Zia Serafina. Thanks for cooking delicious lunches and introducing me to everyone on the island. James North, thank you for your brotherly attitude and your frequent analysis of Italian culture ("ehh, I'll do it later"). Cale, don't worry; you will get many Italian girls kisses on the cheek next time.
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