Il Giorno della Repubblica

On June 2 Italians celebrate  Il Giorno della Repubblica (the Day of the Republic), which is  something like 4^th of July in the United States.  Following the fall of fascism at the end of WWII, Italians voted on whether the new government should be a reinstatement of the monarchy or a constitutional republic, with “republic” winning.  This year Italy is also celebrating the 150^th anniversary of the unification of Italy in 1861, so the celebrations are doubly meaningful. 

In Bologna the event was celebrated in Piazza Maggiore, the big square in the center of the city right in front of the Basilica of San Petronio.  First there was a ceremony at the wall of the caduti (fallen) from WWII, near the Neptune Fountain, with local survivors carrying their military unit banners in a short procession.  

Here is one of the vecchi (old ones), a veteran of the Bersaglieri (sharpshooters), the Italian Army’s high mobility infantry corps, distinguished by flowing black feathers on their combat dress helmets.  This fellow was riding the bicycle he used during the war and had a recording of Verdi’s Và pensiero playing.  It was the unofficial anthem of the Italian unification in the 1860s.

Then, at exactly 11 o’clock a fine army band began the parade of military squads and civil authorities into the piazza.  Italy has a few more of these than the US does, including the Carabinieri, which is a national police force but part of the military, and the Guardia di Finanza, which is the taxing authority, but which also has military strike forces for action against organized crime, drugs and smuggling.

We had a great view as they all marched past us. 

When all the military units had assembled, the veterans marched in again bearing their banners, and then came banners of all the communities in the local region, headed by Bologna.  All this was accompanied by a fine series of “Attention” and “Present Arms” by the military squads and an urgent cadence from the band that was impossible to ignore.

When everyone was present and official speeches had been made,  the Italian national anthem was played and sung, ending with a rousing Si!

During all of this a curious, and I would say typically Italian, atmosphere pervaded.  There were lots of kids there, and everyone made special efforts to let them see, and no one paid much attention to children not quite under control.  The crowd, which had edged right up to the honorary blue carpets was easily persuaded to move back by gentle urging from a single army captain walking up and down, but it would edge forward again if he didn’t pay attention.  But he was the most temperate man you could imagine, pausing to talk to many and to give affectionate pats to each child he came to. You might say there was an abundance of authority present but sensible enforcement.

Finally all the troops and dignitaries withdrew leaving only the band, which, much to our delight started playing a Sousa march and followed that with several more crowd-pleasers, including a great WWII-era swing number.  Here are a couple of pictures of the band.  The leader would start each piece by raising his hand and snapping his fingers only two or three times to set both the tempo and rhythm.  In the end they too marched off, to great applause.

Later we saw on TV that there was a much bigger parade with more ceremony in Rome, but we went away happy to have participated here in Bologna.

Roberto

Siamo Qui!

We are here!  In Bologna.  We arrived Wednesday afternoon as planned.  All our travel connections worked, and the baggage arrived on time and intact (though we found a Notice of Inspection from TSA left inside one of Cinzia’s bags).

Getting out of town involved a marathon day of cleaning the house, loading the storage container and packing our luggage.  Here’s Cinzia sitting amidst all the potential clothing before triage.

And here I am standing in the empty PODS container about to start loading.

After a few hours sleep at a hotel near SFO, we flew off to Italy via Dulles (United 777) and Munich (Lufthansa A333), with the last leg on Air Dolomiti (Embraer 195) into Bologna.  The taxi dropped us in front of the portone (literally, big door) of our apartment building, where we were soon met by the rental agent Simone to give us the keys and help get us settled.  

Our apartment is charming, though not without quirks.  We’re one story up from street level, but it’s a tall story, especially carrying baggage.  Our main rooms face an interior garden courtyard, with a big conifer just outside the bedroom window.  There are exposed sections of old fresco painting on some ceilings alongside ancient chestnut wood beams, and the floors are rich, old herringbone hardwood.

The neighborhood is full of shops, ristoranti, bar/cafes, and small business offices.  A few doors away is a fruttivendolo (small fruit and vegetable market); farther along is a wonderful gastronomia, a sort of fancy food shop with house-made (fatta a casa) pastas, cheeses and cured meats.  There are a lot of these in Bologna.  We bought cute little pasta called caramelle (because they're shaped like small candies in twisted wrappers) for our first dinner here.  We also have a high concentration of gelato shops around us.  We got sort of a late start yesterday but still managed to try a couple of them.

For our friends at Caffè del Doge, please know that we miss you but found lovely cappuccini with beautifully fine-textured foam at Bar Pasticceria Impero on Via dell' Indipendenza.  Roberto had his first bombolone of this trip—a cream-filled pastry like those he enjoyed on our first trip to Bologna undici anni fa.  And Cinzia had conchiglia pesca—a shell-shaped pastry filled with peach (not fish) jam.

Thursday, June 2, is a national holiday here and is likely the subject of our next entry.

Ciao, Roberto e Cinzia

Why Bologna?

When we tell people about our plans for our year in Italy, they often ask, "Why Bologna?" It's just not high on the list of places to visit for most Americans. But for those who are interested in architecture, culture, and good food, Bologna offers an abundance of  pleasures.

In 2000, after taking a few Italian classes in California, I decided that it would be helpful to take some language lessons in Italy, and for reasons that neither one of us can quite remember, we chose a school in Bologna. It turned out to be a great choice, and we're looking forward to returning.

Bologna has three nicknames - La Dotta,  La Grassa, and La Rossa: la Dotta (the learned)  because the University of Bologna, founded in 1088, is the oldest university in Europe; la Grassa (the fat) because Bologna is known for the quality and richness of its cuisine; and  la Rossa (the red) because of its red tile roofs and also because Bologna has traditionally been on the left /Communist side of the political spectrum.  It's big enough to have lots to do but small enough to feel manageable.  When we're looking for activities, we can visit an array of museums, historic churches, parks and gardens.  When we're hungry, there are wonderful food markets and restaurants. When we need a bit of culture, there's  music and opera at the Teatro Comunale. If we want to go farther afield, Bologna is on a main railroad line, so it's a good home base for visiting other places in northern Italy.

A Bologna porticoed sidewalk

One of our favorite activities in Bologna is walking the porticoed streets.  These porticoes first came into use in the Middle Ages as a way to provide housing for students at the University by building out over the sidewalks, and today they are found throughout the historic center and beyond. They have the very practical advantage of providing shelter in bad weather, but they also create an air of refinement and a pleasant orderliness and continuity.

Once we arrive, we hope to document some of the things that make the city so appealing, and if you follow our blog maybe you'll find out "why Bologna."

Cinzia

Fish and Peaches

The Web address for our blog stems from a trip to Italy molti anni fa —many years ago—and the slightly cryptic journal notation I made for 31 May 1998:  “Metro and bus to Via Appia Antica.  Walk up and down.  Gelato + peach (fish).”

It was a lovely, warm Sunday afternoon.  We had worked up a gelato craving as we poked along the ancient Roman road, marveling at sections of paving stones still in use after 2000 years and pondering the Imperial-era stone tombs, when per fortuna, we came to a small shop offering not only gelato and cool drinks but also luscious fresh peaches.  I got gelato, but when Cinzia asked the vendor for a peach she got only a look of mystification and disbelief.  She pointed at the peach, the man paused, gave a little shake of the head and a double eyebrow shrug and sent us on our way with a fat, juicy peach.  As we walked on Cinzia puzzled out the  interaction, finally giving herself a symbolic forehead slap. 

“I just asked for a fish, not a peach!” 


In Italian, a peach is pesca (pays’-ka), while a fish is pesce (pay’-shay).  But a shop that sells fish is a pescharia (pays-ka-ree’-ah).  It seems like a strange quirk of the language, but the memory still makes us laugh.     


Roberto