CAMPIONI DEL MONDO
Candy and I are roaring up the A1 in a navy blue Mercedes CLS 320 CDI. We are flying and she is enjoying the view listening to the Velvet Underground and Nico at moderate volume. I am trying my best to get used to driving 160 kph and managing various turns in these European lanes. (They’re narrower goddamn it and I am looking quite the fool.) The countryside becomes rural so quickly here. Fucking beautiful. I rented a small house about 10km from a town called Todi. Place has a pool and a stunning view of the rolling hills of the Umbrian countryside. I am relentlessly hung over but looking forward to two things: a glass of the Pio Cesare 2000 Barolo Ornato in the back seat and getting a look at Candy in a bathing suit. Why this second desire you might ask since I’ve seen the package sans envelope? The only answer is that I am depraved and odd things excite me.
Back to the countryside. Did you know Italians embrace the tradition of local agriculture so significantly that there are firm laws in effect which prevent the kind of suburban sprawl that has transformed the American countryside into an identical conflagration of corporate outposts and planned residential communities? True story.
If you want to build an addition, or build a house at all in the country, there is some sort of golden proportion of meters of arable land you must own. Want to add a rumpus room or three car garage? Too bad. You’re going to need to buy up acres and acres of additional land. Making the matter worse is the historical fact that Italians don’t believe in primogeniture. They just divide all the property up equally among children. As such, most farmers have dozens of small tracts of land to work. So, say you only need one hectare. You’ll need to identify an army of farmers and land owners (some of which may be dead) contact them, get them to agree to your terms, secure a hearing, get them all in the same room (a sticky part of Italian law) and then pay the appropriate taxes. By which time you’ve given up on your silly improvement project and decide to move to Texas and buy a McRanch which is what you should have done in the first place. In the end, it sure makes for great scenery. If only I could look at it and not be afraid I will go careening off through the guardrail to my death.
Okay. Didn't I promise a little more on the World Cup? I mean...the fucking guys WON for chrissakes. Do you have any idea what it's like being in Italy during the world cup and having them walk away with the championship? People in Boston in 2004 do.
Anyway. We watched the finals in the Piazza de Populi in an Umbrian medieval hilltown. The rear lit projection screen hanging from the archway of a palace loomed as the announcer rumbled over loud speakers. The square was filled with everyone from the surrounding villages, ages 8-80. It wasn't Berlin, or Rome but give me a break. What an experience.
The Italian flag was everywhere. And made into capes, skirts, turbans. Girls strode through the square with the green white and red painted on shining tan faces. Men threw back Nastro Azzuro, wearing Italian Blue: Totti, Del Piero, Cannavaro. They roared and cheered and filled the streets. Every bar, restaurant, cafe, and gelateria had monitors and loudspeakers. You were immersed in the event. When the game ended, it was a riot of joy and madness. Fireworks, screaming, kissing. The winding roads leading up the hill to the square zoomed with speeding scooters and cars, waving flags, honking horns and screaming CAMPIONI DEL MONDO! I will never forget it.
Back to the countryside. Did you know Italians embrace the tradition of local agriculture so significantly that there are firm laws in effect which prevent the kind of suburban sprawl that has transformed the American countryside into an identical conflagration of corporate outposts and planned residential communities? True story.If you want to build an addition, or build a house at all in the country, there is some sort of golden proportion of meters of arable land you must own. Want to add a rumpus room or three car garage? Too bad. You’re going to need to buy up acres and acres of additional land. Making the matter worse is the historical fact that Italians don’t believe in primogeniture. They just divide all the property up equally among children. As such, most farmers have dozens of small tracts of land to work. So, say you only need one hectare. You’ll need to identify an army of farmers and land owners (some of which may be dead) contact them, get them to agree to your terms, secure a hearing, get them all in the same room (a sticky part of Italian law) and then pay the appropriate taxes. By which time you’ve given up on your silly improvement project and decide to move to Texas and buy a McRanch which is what you should have done in the first place. In the end, it sure makes for great scenery. If only I could look at it and not be afraid I will go careening off through the guardrail to my death.
Okay. Didn't I promise a little more on the World Cup? I mean...the fucking guys WON for chrissakes. Do you have any idea what it's like being in Italy during the world cup and having them walk away with the championship? People in Boston in 2004 do.
Anyway. We watched the finals in the Piazza de Populi in an Umbrian medieval hilltown. The rear lit projection screen hanging from the archway of a palace loomed as the announcer rumbled over loud speakers. The square was filled with everyone from the surrounding villages, ages 8-80. It wasn't Berlin, or Rome but give me a break. What an experience.
The Italian flag was everywhere. And made into capes, skirts, turbans. Girls strode through the square with the green white and red painted on shining tan faces. Men threw back Nastro Azzuro, wearing Italian Blue: Totti, Del Piero, Cannavaro. They roared and cheered and filled the streets. Every bar, restaurant, cafe, and gelateria had monitors and loudspeakers. You were immersed in the event. When the game ended, it was a riot of joy and madness. Fireworks, screaming, kissing. The winding roads leading up the hill to the square zoomed with speeding scooters and cars, waving flags, honking horns and screaming CAMPIONI DEL MONDO! I will never forget it.
posted by Chas Chesterfield Esq. at 8:10 PM
1 Comments:
Compadre, you travel through the land of fast unreliable cars in a fast reliable car with a beautiful woman. You eat Italian food and drink their wine. You patronise their hotel and experience Italian waiters on home turf.
It don't get a lot better, realise that and enjoy.
Nut
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