Susan Bocock

ITALY THROUGH THE REAR-VIEW MIRROR: Finding Connection and Belonging

by SUSAN J. BOCOCK

PREFACE

I consider myself relatively conservative by nature. At least I thought I was. But reflecting on my adventures exploring all corners of Italy, and how I searched for every possible way to stretch my travel dollars and extend my stays, I was forced to revisit that assumption. Perhaps I am in fact more of a risk-taker than I thought. Or perhaps my inexplicable passion for Italy allowed me to override any inherent fears and to live out my dreams, one Italian region at a time. Either way, the journey has forever changed me.

This book began as an effort to share real-life experiences from travels through the twenty regions of Italy with those who have an interest in Italy, a zest for travel, and a yearning to pursue their passions. It continues to fulfill that commitment, but as I scratched beneath the surface it turned into so much more.

Before you turn another page, I want to be clear about what this book is not. You will not find highlights of the best places to visit in each of Italy’s twenty regions or lists of the top ten things to see and do. Certainly, you will read about fascinating places and learn something of the geography and history of Italy; but you will discover, as I did, that those are just the backdrop for a more compelling narrative.

As I pursued my passion, Italy and its inhabitants helped me discover the real reasons behind my growing attachment to this sun-drenched Mediterranean country, and what the drive behind my dream of exploring its twenty regions was really about. At some point it was no longer a question of if, but when I would get to all of them. I focused my vacation time on Italy, convincing my husband to come along when he could, and together we spent more and more time abroad. My extended travels often took me off the beaten path. Though not entirely by design, this served me well. Where I went, and when, was a rather organic process. At times I toured with friends or family, depending on their availability and interests. I was happy to return to the places I loved, over and over in some cases, getting something more out of each experience.

I also explored diverse interests of my own, including participating in a yoga retreat in the southern region of Apulia and working as a volunteer at an agriturismo (working farm) in the northern region of Piedmont. I reached out to friends and family of Italians I knew, who were scattered throughout the peninsula and on three of Italy’s main islands. I set off in search of small towns and rustic experiences I heard about from locals and sought out cool-looking places I came across on the internet. As the stories will show, it was often out-of-the-way places and lesser-known attractions (the ones that people don’t necessarily go to Italy to visit) that offered the greatest rewards. As years passed, I managed to find an ‘excuse’ to travel to Italy almost every summer for fifteen years. Molto fortunata lo so! Very lucky, I know!

So, what then is the essence of the book I felt itching to get out of me as my Italian experiences mounted? I knew there was something far beyond Italy’s picturesque landscape and miles of beaches that was drawing me back year after year. Beneath the obvious beauty, amazing food, and spectacular cultural and historical sites, there was something more building my sense of connection to a country I otherwise had no connection with. And although I have been imagining this book for several years, it took what felt like an eternity to figure out what that ‘something’ was.

Then one day I picked up a book by the inspirational speaker and writer, Brené Brown. It was about connection and belonging, a surprising place to find the theme I had been unable to articulate. But there it was. As Brown put it, ‘We are different in many ways, but underneath it all we are deeply connected.’ I was going to have to do a lot more reading to understand why, but I knew instantly that this sentence spoke directly to the hold Italy had on me. I also knew that while Italy was my teacher, and the vehicle that helped me understand how deeply we are all connected, that undeniable sense of connection was the more compelling story I wanted to explore.

My travel blogs created a foundation for this book. Stories were supplemented through research and from conversations with those involved. I prepared a chronology, which provided a challenge of its own, albeit an enjoyable one—figuring out the when and where, the who and the what. The process was illuminating. It reminded me of details I’d forgotten, and at the same time provided a bird’s eye view of the bigger picture the stories were telling. This wider lens opened my eyes to how traditional and everyday aspects of Italian life that I had been experiencing throughout my travels were fostering a sense of belonging—the ties that were binding it together for me, and me to it. Had I started writing years ago, when I first began visiting Italy, this would have been an entirely different book, if written at all. I simply did not know then what I know now. But as is often the case with the benefit of hindsight, I am now connecting the dots. That ‘something’ is now shouting at me. And I am listening.

I’m convinced that comparable experiences (and lessons) can be found wherever we choose to travel, if we are willing to open our hearts and embrace what we find. In the interim, and as I wait with you for that opportunity to travel again, I hope you will join me for a journey that took me from a wide-eyed child to a fifty-something, attracted at first by the beauty and diversity of the country, only to realize by the time I had explored every region that the attraction had much more to do with their similarities than their differences, and the people much more than the places.

Particularly during fragile times, when our capacity to travel is limited and our ability to connect feels distant, the message is more relevant than ever. It will inspire those with a desire to cultivate authentic relationships along their journey, whether that involves travel or not, and in the process learn about our connection to this global community we call humanity. In uncertain times, there is always the option of travelling vicariously, from the comfort of your own home. Whatever you choose, the rewards will be waiting.

INTRODUCTION

One way or another, I think we are all destined to learn the same lessons in life. Universal truths are universal truths. —Richelle E. Goodrich

I am not Italian, although friends would joke that I must have been in another life, as they maneuvered their wine glasses out of reach of my waving hands. But a lack of Italian ancestry did not prevent me from developing a passion for Italy that has profoundly shaped my life. For whatever reason, Italy kept pulling me back. As W. H. Hudson concluded after journeying to the outer reaches of Patagonia in the 1860s, ‘Desert wanderers discover within themselves a primeval calmness, which is perhaps the same as the Peace of God.’ Similarly, North American Indians went to their mountains to find their spirit. I related to these sentiments. My energy was different in Italy. In a place many might generously describe as chaotic, I found a deeper sense of calm; an ability to exhale. I felt more present, even more so than in my morning meditations or the many yoga classes I have taken and taught. I felt a freedom to live a fuller, richer, more authentic life.

Perhaps a seed was planted my first time in Italy. I was ten and my dad wanted to buy an Italian car in Milan. My recollections are not so much of the details, but of my feelings and impressions from that visit. I remember being fascinated by the strange-sounding Italian language, and the charming accent of Italians struggling to speak English. I remember the exotic look of the tall, dark-eyed man behind the counter at the airport, talking passionately with his hands as customers came and went. I remember the flaky cornetto con cioccolato, and those tiny coffee cups. That seed has been fed by various experiences since, to a point where I wanted to spend every holiday in Italy. My lofty goal was challenging since I live across the pond in Canada, but I found ways to make it happen. I also wanted to learn the language (a work in progress), to hang out in Italian cafes, and I always looked for the Little Italy neighbourhood of cities I visited. At some point along this journey, it struck me that I needed to visit every region of Italy, all twenty of them. That became il sogno (the dream).

When people asked me what I loved about Italy, I would recount the feelings and emotions it elicited. I loved the pulse of life I felt in the streets, the parks and piazzas, and the cafes. I cherished the reliability of cloudless summer skies and the warmth that the Mediterranean climate offered. I welcomed greetings from shopkeepers and neighbours. Other than perhaps afternoon riposo (siesta) and family meals, it seemed that much of Italian life happens outdoors, in its public spaces. The piazza can leave you wondering if you are at home in your living room, and a trip to the local cafe feels like a visit with friends. Neighbours hang out on their balconies chatting endlessly across narrow streets and alleys, some even gathering on the sidewalk. My best recollection of this is in Fondi (Lazio), where I have stayed numerous times. Every morning without fail, or at least in the warmer months when I was visiting, and often every evening, a group of neighbours would drag their plastic chairs out onto the street corner to socialise and watch the world go by. It was their version of going out for coffee and aperitivo (a pre-dinner drink), just without beverages or a trip to the cafe.

As cafes and stores re-open in late afternoon, people stop on their way home from work or emerge from their houses, ready to shop, meet friends for a drink, or perhaps enjoy a gelato with their kids. On weekends they wander downtown for evening passeggiata—that quintessentially Italian evening stroll—and to meet up with friends. They congregate on the steps of the chiesa after celebrating baptisms, weddings, lives passed, and parade in the streets for saints’ days and festivals. In contrast to the more socially restrained culture I grew up in, their lives seemed more tethered to social interaction, centred around friends and extended family, and their many religious and social rituals. Through these time-honoured traditions, Italians cultivate and embrace their connections, turning towards each other rather than away, finding any reason to celebrate family and community—‘living life in the piazza’ as I like to say.

But why did I find this all so appealing, almost addictive? I discovered from further reading that there may in fact be scientific and physiological reasons behind the attraction. I am anything but a science nerd, but what I read intuitively made sense. These examples of in-person interactions that I loved about Italy are what Brown refers to as ‘collective assembly’, which she says meets a primal human yearning for shared social experiences. She adds, ‘Not only do moments of collective emotion remind us of what is possible between people, they also remind us of what is true about the human spirit—we are all wired for connection.’

Brown’s quote made me think of Frances, Diane Lane’s character in the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. When the story begins, Frances may not have realized what she was looking for when moving to Italy, but to my mind this is exactly what she ended up with by the time her derelict Tuscan villa, Bramasole, was restored—an amazing feeling of connection and family and belonging. I knew there was a reason I liked that movie!

Intrigued, I did more digging. My research has meandered rather erratically, but it has also presented some solutions to my dangling participles. Take Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. How I got onto that topic escapes me, but I found it enlightening. Maslow believed that fundamental physiological needs (food, water, and shelter) must be satisfied before we will be motivated to achieve what he saw as higher-level needs, such as those related to social belonging (friendships, family, intimate relationships). That said, more recent research, such as that of developmental psychologist Susan Pinker and social psychologist Matthew Lieberman, support a contrary view—that humans are hard-wired for connection, and that social bonds are a fundamental human need essential for our survival.

On the issue of what we need to get us through more challenging times, I stumbled on an interesting phenomenon referred to as the Roseto Effect. Unlike anywhere else in the United States, residents of the Pennsylvania borough of Roseto were one hundred percent Italian, the vast majority from Roseto Valfortore in southern Italy. What drew scientists to this otherwise unremarkable town was that its mortality rate from heart attacks was roughly half that of other towns in the area. After several years of study, where diet, age, occupation, income level, and every other conceivable explanation was ruled out, researchers were left with only one possibility: Rosetans were less susceptible to heart disease than their neighbours because they maintained their traditional way of life and strong family and community relationships. Despite eating a high cholesterol diet, working in heavy industry, smoking stogies, and drinking wine, Roseto was populated by closely knit Italian American families who nourished and supported each other in good and bad times.

This theory was bolstered by later studies demonstrating an almost perfect correlation between the Americanisation of Roseto (meaning less close, less modest, less interdependent) and death rates due to heart disease. The magic ingredient had been family and community support that allowed Rosetans to manage stress more effectively. The progressive dismantling of social ties, growing conspicuous consumption by those with wealth, marriages outside the Italian community, and lack of adherence to common values eroded the Roseto Effect. Within a decade of the first study, the town experienced heart disease on par with every other town in America.

In the same vein, Pinker discusses why the secret to living longer is less dependent on one’s diet, or numerous other factors commonly associated with longevity, and more linked to one’s social life. In The Village Effect, she described her research on the island of Sardinia, where there are apparently ten times as many centenarians as in North America, and even six times as many as on the Italian mainland. She identified two key factors to longevity—close personal relationships and in-person connections. Because of the conventional design of their ancient towns, the lives of the villagers she studied constantly intersected. With their narrow, interwoven alleys and tightly spaced houses confined by protective medieval walls, residents were more likely to have face-to-face social interaction and close, long-term, relationships. They were impossible to avoid. And while the physical limitations of these ancient villages helped create an environment conducive to social interaction, Pinker also witnessed an important social network where residents were surrounded by extended family, friends, and neighbours throughout life. These factors combined to form what she referred to as their ‘personal village’. As with the close-knit network in Roseto, villagers were rarely left to live solitary lives, and were healthier for it.

I came across this theme in other places as well—that social connection is a bigger predictor of physical and psychological well-being, including longevity and happiness, than factors such as obesity and high blood pressure. Something as simple as smiling, making eye contact, or shaking hands can have a positive neurological impact on our body’s chemistry, increasing levels of trust and lowering stress. It doesn’t seem to matter whether the interaction is with family or mere acquaintances, as much as how integrated you are socially and how much you interact with people throughout your day. Through the rear-view mirror, I’m wondering if this might be the reason it didn’t matter that I was not connecting with family in Italy. I was connecting, and that was what counted. And if this is not enough, even the Dalai Lama has pointed out on many occasions that we are all social animals, and our happiness depends on our community.

So, how does all this social connection talk relate to my travels through Italy? Quite simply, it made the tug I was feeling make sense—like finding the missing piece of a puzzle that has monopolised your dining table for far too long. What I found in Italy was a culture of community and social interaction beyond anything I had experienced previously. And my unscientific conclusion is that I have been experiencing what Pinker describes as the ‘biological imperative’ we all possess to know that we belong. The point is not that I belong in Italy, though the idea is appealing. Rather, the opportunities my trips to Italy afforded me to interact and connect with locals in some very personal ways fed that biological quest. Like all of us, I am wired for connection.

[image] Elderly ladies in a narrow street in Sperlonga, Lazio

CHAPTER 1 L’Inizio – The Beginning

Open my heart and you will see, engraved inside of it, Italy. —Robert Browning

My introduction to Italy as an adult was during a trip to Switzerland, when we decided to visit the city of Lugano in Ticino, a predominantly Italian-speaking canton of Switzerland. ………………………………