Italians seem, to me, very into sensuality ‘ but they keep it generic. I was told that in Italian, rather than differentiate and talk about hearing, smelling, or tasting things, they talk about “sensing” them (“sentire”): Did you sense the ambience as you walked by? Wow, sense this wine. Oooo, sense these flowers. Rather than ask, “Are you listening?” they’ll ask, “Do you sense me?”
With that in mind, I’m noticing how most of the police I see on the streets in Florence are women; I sense that I find gun-toting Italian police women strangely attractive.
Noting how pleasant Florence is, now that the center of town is essentially traffic-free (and patrolled mostly by female cops), I said “very cool.” My guide then said, “We have no word for ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ in Italy. I think we should invent them.”
Later, we were talking about someone having “soul.” My guide referred to it as “animality.” He just assumed we had a word for their word, animalità, which means “soulful.” He insisted that the word “animality” exists in English. “Perhaps,” I said, “but I’ve never heard it used.” Then Robert, who’s really into word derivations, said, “‘Anima’ means soul. Your animal-ness is your soul. If you feel your animality, your mind is free. When your thirst and hunger are properly dealt with, you can deal with an Etruscan banquet of philosophy/sex/politics/religion freely. After the Last Supper, Jesus could offer a proper last goodbye. First eat and drink, then it is easier to properly elevate the interpersonal connections. For example, in the Irish wake, first you eat and drink. Then you really connect with anima.”
I’ve long said in my lectures that different countries have their own dreams. But here, I’m told, Italians have the American Dream, too. According to their “sogno americano,” life is good and your dreams can be possible if you work hard. I find that in 2011 people are working hard, and, while Italy is still Italy, there’s an efficiency sweeping the land.
It was wonderful celebrating Easter in Italy. I’m glad I’m not like the old women here who, when they hear their pope speak on TV with a German accent, change the channel in disgust.
I found a great restaurant (Trattoria de Tito on Via San Gallo), which helped me put my finger on why Italian restaurants in the USA just can’t compete with the eating experience here. It’s a matter of many factors: The quality of ingredients is unbeatable in Italy, the local life-loving crowd creates an unmatchable ambience, the power of the owner’s personality keeps the energy right, and the terroir of actually eating after the foreplay of a day in Tuscany is something you can’t get anywhere but here. Another advantage restaurants here have over their American counterparts: When dining under medieval vaults, there’s no cell-phone reception.
I learned to order my food first, and then let the waiter choose an appropriate match of wine to create “a good marriage.” With wooden plates of pig’s cheek salami, salami with fennel, and having the “walnut, ricotta cheese, and honey 1 + 1 + 1 = 4” experience, we were on to the second bottle before the first course was finished.
At that restaurant I heard a newlywed woman give it the wildest compliment. She told her husband, “Marrying you was fine, but this dinner makes the entire honeymoon.”
One reason travel is so endlessly fun and entertaining for me is that I am pretty naive. I can’t believe that, when my waiter brought a nice plate of cheese and said, “this is Parmesan,” I asked where it was from. That’s like asking who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb. And the camera was rolling.