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Published: February 19th 2010
holy teat
Baby christ nourishes himself on the holy breast of MadonnaFreezing mansion
"This room smells like Vicks Vapor rub," I wrote in my journal. At least the bed is warm. I am frustrated with myself that I cannot remember the new words I learn the first time I hear them. She said it several times, the name of this metal device that warms your bed for you. It would be a luxury in America, but if you live in a 200-year-old concrete mansion in the mountains of Spezzano Albanese, you may really grow to depend on it.
I just spent a frustrating couple of hours communicating somewhere between bad English and bad Italian, mixed with a little poor French and Spanish. By the end I myself was confused and exhausted. When I am communicating with someone who speaks poor English, I say each word individually, waiting for each word to register. Then she turns around and blasts out many sentences in Italian and there is no way that I can even tell what the hell she is talking about. Mariella was obsessed in asking if my clothes were dry, and I told her many times that they were dry, but SPORCO (dirty). I haven’t washed them since Torino I think… but
Mariella and me
Check out my new hat then even in Torino, I think they were just WET, and not cleaned. That means I haven’t washed them since… Montlucon??? No way, can’t be true! It was Firenze. I don’t believe I have washed my pajamas on the whole trip though, because I would have nothing to wear while they dry.
My host, Mariella met me at the Eurostar market near her home and led me back to her mansion. I was freezing, of course. Many people have attempted to dissuade me from the notion that Southern Italy is warm in the winter (including my host Picot), but statistics show otherwise. You can’t honestly make a case that there are any/many warmer parts of this continent than the Ionian coast of the Mediterraneo, can you? I gladly invite suggestions on this point.
Mariella, a language teacher, made some pasta for me, and pork from a pig that was raised by one of her former students. She had been advised that this would be a particularly tasty pig. Speaking of pig, I was introduced to a Salami spread at Francesco’s home in Lauria that comes from Catanzaro, Calabria. It was very good and spicy, but I noted on the ingredients
Bright Christ
Most people don't know: Baby Christ was an avid reader where someone tried to translate into English “Fat from the pig.” The first ingredient is listed as “Fat pig.” Hilarious.
The strangest religious art in the world
The next day, Mariella took me to a mountain town called Altomonte (tall mountain). It was quite incredible. The rain obscured the stunning view, but there used to be a couple of convents in the town (Franciscan and Dominican). She took me to the civic museum, and I saw some crazy stuff I won’t forget. She and the guide kept telling me how incredibly important a couple of uninspiring pieces were (dating about 1,000 years), saying, “most important, most important.” While these pieces were mostly uninteresting, what WAS interesting was this crazy painting of baby Jesus with an adult face (and weird neck fat), reading a book.
In addition to this, there was a painting of Jesus being circumcised, and another of him breast-feeding. It’s so odd to see this perspective on these very human events in the life of Christ.
As we came down from this town, famous for its convents, someone with a very sharp sense of humor had opened a nightclub at the base of the mountain. I say he
Circumcized christ
Who would paint a picture of Christ being circumcised... and why? had a sharp sense of humor because he had selected an English name for his innocent dance club: “Club Lap Dance.”
Funny hosts and our trip to Cosenza
I have realized that my host is one of the most boisterous people I have ever met. She is taller than any woman I’ve met in Europe, full of opinion, and has a pension for talking loudly.
Mariella decided to ditch her English class this afternoon to ride with me and her niece, Cristi to the regional city of Cosenza. She is taught English by a couple of Mormons.
I met her brother today, and he also asked me what she had asked me earlier: “Do you speak Albanese?” WTF. Do I LOOK like I speak the rare dialect of your language in a place I’ve never been before last night? I’d never HEARD of Albanese, and I hardly speak any Italian. No I don’t f+ng speak Albanese. Is it some inside joke or something? Why would you even ask me that question? How many Americans randomly show up in your obscure village fluent in Albanese?
The trip to Cosenza was fun. Cristi is 26, speaks a little English, and is studying
to be a public attorney up in Perugia. The two of us enjoyed remarking about how ridiculous Mariella was being.
There is one benefit to having a boisterous and unrestrained member of your party - they bust doors open for you. We went to the old part of Cosenza and found the town theatre closed. But Mariella wanted to show me the building, so she barged in through the coat-check room, and demanded a tour for us. Like magic, we were inside and admiring the classic style and chandelier. Cristi told me that her aunt had what translates into English as a “fresh head.”
Next she pushed our way into the duomo, and ranted about Frederick II of Hohenstaufen and how much she loved him for his contributions to the arts in Calabria.
I said something I liked about Che Guevara, and Mariella almost flipped. I said I wanted a sticker with his outline on my Vespa, in honor of his motorcycle diaries. I told her that he was an intellectual, and violence was not his preferred method. The two of them joked about having me sleep in the garden that night. Cristi’s mother is Cuban, and came to Italy
to study for school. Her family had to flee when Castro came to power.
Final insult
On the next day I was set to ride to the city of Badolato, south of Catanzaro. I mapped out the best route to take, but asked if Mariella could lead me to the highway entrance because I found the local streets confusing. I took great pains to show her
exactly where I wanted her to lead me, and
exactly which route I wanted to take. The next day, she led me to the road I had come into town on, leading the opposite direction of my destination.
I was furious. I called her every name in the book. Taking advantage of the fact that she understood no English, I unleashed a stream of obscenities that would be out of place outside of a Tarantino or Rudy Ray Moore film. When I was finished, she looked at me with a thoroughly puzzled expression.
I smiled and said, “Thank you very much for everything!” She said, “prego!”
I rode off in the direction she insisted I follow (until I was out of sight). I stopped, waited, and then rode the right direction to Badolato.
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Picot
non-member comment
Albanese
Shame I was right about the cold, but it just goes to show that statistics can lie. By the way, albanese means Albanian, so you'd have had a hard time getting your tongue round that version of Italian. Did your host or her nephew explain this? These were small communities of Albanians that arrived in Italy in the 15th century and stayed in some parts of Calabria and Sicily. Have fun.