L'Italo-Americano

L'Italo-Americano THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 2017 www.italoamericano.org 6 anecdotes of our childhood and teenage years are set. It is a sea- son made of scents – the sea and sunscreen, the crystal clear air of the Alps and rhododendron, songs, special places and, of course, of people. Summer is also a mirror: to the passing of time, to the many social and cultural changes a country may encounter through- out the decades. It is into this mirror, where Italian Summers have been checking their beauty before walking into the streets of June, we are about to look into. Think of the late years of the 19th and of the early decades of the 20th century, of balmy "Belle Epoque" evenings, when the Ligurian coast was the place to be for the rich and beautiful of Europe. Indeed, there was a time when the glitzy VIP status of modern Côte d'Azur extended to the shores of Liguria: British nobility and intellectuals, artists and their muses, fell in love with the heady beauty of this equally charming and wild region, where the Alps seem to rise straight up from the deep blue crystal of the sea. Oscar Wilde enjoyed the haughtiness and class of Genoa, as well as the exclusive atmos- phere of Santa Margherita Ligure shortly before passing away, in 1899. When writing to his long- time friend, Robert Ross, he waxed lyrical about the beauty of the place and, well, of Italian men. Constance, estranged wife of the poet, spent the last years of her own existence in Genoa: it is here that she rests, in what is known as the "Cimitero Inglese" in the city's monumental ceme- tery of Staglieno. And what about Italians? Well… up to the mid 1950s, only the wealthy could think of Summer holidays. Common peo- ple lived Summers as all other seasons: working. There were, however, special moments to enjoy. Yesterday as today, a bit everywhere in the country, Summer is synonym with tradi- tional fairs and celebrations root- ed in the country's deep ties to Catholicism. My own grand- mother remembered fondly the Feast of Saint John (on the 24th of June) in her own village, immersed in the Monferrato hills of Piedmont, when people danced the night away under a bright Summer sky. Of course, this would happen after the holy procession with the statue of Saint John, patron of the village, had concluded. It was at one of these summery events, I am fair- ly sure, my grandparents met. Strikingly, the years of the war did not stop Italians from taking comfort in the coming of Summer: there was normalcy and relief in the warmth of those lin- den-scented evenings when the tragedy all around seemed to dis- appear, if only for a few hours. In the 1950s, the people of Italy discovered affluence and Summer holidays became a thing. It was only a few days for the majority, spent by the sea or on the mountains, often hosted by relatives or in small, family run guesthouses. Photos of those years would show you women with perfectly curled hair, in one piece dark bathing suits, or high waisted bikinis: all incredibly beautiful, all with breezy, care- free smiles. Who cared if legs were not toned and the skin not yet golden: in those years, physi- cal appearance was not one of our main obsessions. If you could not afford a week long hol- iday, a one day trip to the seaside was just as pleasant: hopping on a train with a bag filled with home-made sandwiches and a sliced fruit tart was common. The only expense allowed? That for a big, fresh ice cream on the beach. Italian Summers became icon- ic in the 1960s: music and fash- ion of those years remain to us Italians a symbol of the season, even today: it was the "Italietta Yeah Yeah" of the "urlatori" singers, who moved and sang like Americans and made youth dance along the rhythm of twist and Italian style rock and roll. Almost 60 years have passed, but when the Summer comes, it is the notes of 1960s Summer music coming to mind to each and every one of us. Foreigners came back to our beaches, the Germans and Scandinavians becoming a fixture on the beauti- ful coast of the Adriatic sea: so many Italian movies set in those years tell us about the light heart- ed love stories between Italian men and statuesque northern beauties, epitomized for us all by Anita Ekberg, the blonde goddess walking into the Fontana di Trevi in one of the most rec- ognizable scenes of Fellini's "La Dolce Vita". Step after step, memory after memory, here we are in the 1970s. Camping became a popu- lar choice for cheap, wholesome Summer holidays. Every family had a tent, some so big they looked like small houses: packed tight onto the car roof, along with a camping stove and a bunch of sleeping bags, some travelled hundreds of kilometers to enjoy the perfect spot on the beach. My family, for many Summers before I was born, would load its trusty Renault 4 with its camping gear and drive all the way from southern Piedmont to Tropea, in Calabria. On its sandy beaches, my mother would wear, as most women than, white bikinis, poker straight hair and little beads necklaces; Italy was wealthy for the first time since its unification, Italians felt on top of the world. Vacationing abroad became a thing in the 1980s: young people would choose the Balearic Islands, where a music scene made of synths and British djs dictated what was to be popular or not: trendy singers would come out with their hits rigorous- ly during the Summer and would sing rigorously in English, start- ing an obsession with the lan- guage that very much continues today. Contemporary Italian Summers are not much different in their essence, albeit the 10 year long economic crisis means we may travel closer to home and spend a little less time under the sun. We complain about the heat, queues on the motorway and we cannot stand Summer TV. We are terrified –women, at least - of the "prova costume", the bikini challenge, yet once we are on the beach we all feel like Botticelli's Venuses: we love eating and the "sea is fantastic today" so who cares about cel- lulite. We eagerly wait the mid- afternoon run of the "cocco bello!" boys, selling freshly sliced coconut directly on the beach, or of those carrying around less healthy but equally delicious bomboloni, the Italian equivalent of custard cream donuts. Summer remains Summer, in spite of time passing. Surrounded by water on all sides, Italy has a unique coastline with nooks and crannies that create quiet swimming coves and picturesque seascapes. (Putignano a Mare, Puglia) One Hundred Years of Italian Summers NEWS & FEATURES TOP STORIES PEOPLE EVENTS Continued from page 1

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