Part 7: Dancing through the snowstorm of the century in San Marino

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I’m exhausted. It’s a bad combination when you mix back-to-back eight-hour motorcycle rides and lots of snow.
I’m staying with my friend Sara in San Marino and her visiting her Dutch amica Willers. They’re old friends, and I feel somewhere between accepted and a third wheel.
When I arrived in San Marino, I was too jumbled and frozen to accurately describe my whereabouts to Sara over the phone. I flagged down a passing driver, who was able to interpret my location for Sara. Then the driver motioned for me to follow her, and led me about 3km back the way she had come, to a warm coffee bar where I would await further instructions. It took almost fifteen minutes for me to thaw out, and while I thawed, a tall, well-dressed friend of Sara’s came in to introduce himself. Elvin is a motorcyclist himself, and had great sympathy for my situation. He led me to his home, where he and his wife entertained and fed delicious pesto penne to me for several hours.
Here I was introduced to a special alcoholic drink of their creation, a combination of melted chocolate, milk, melted butter, sugar and strong alcohol. Serve in ice-cold shots and enjoy.
It was dark when my wild-haired host, Sara arrived with Willers. Together they would host a dance workshop that weekend in the nearby Italian city of Rimini.

The dead cat: it was a beautiful moment

Willers wanted to suggest a place for us to eat, which they had enjoyed together during a previous visit. “There was a pizzeria..,” she said. Sara struggled to recall the place. Willers continued, “It was special..” Sara still drew a blank. “I think we found a dead cat…” That did it. Sara remembered. “…It was a beautiful moment,” Willers said. They both agreed while we drove off to find it, only to discover the pizzeria was closed and blockaded by snow.
I tried to pry out of them an explanation in regard to the beauty of the dead cat, but they said it was something only to be understood by those who experienced it.
The blanket of snow that coated the valley the next morning was tremendous. Sara dropped me off near the musical institute, and I waded through the deep snow, looking on all sides of the building, searching for the way inside.
As I fumbled around lost, I encountered an elderly

woman with a muscular dog. The dog was gaining much better traction than the woman, who was being pulled across a sea of ice in the same fashion as the ice ship in the 1968 Barbarella film. I helped her across the patch of ice, and led the animal into a field where it was able to take care of some natural business. As if to reward my services, she led me to the correct and hidden entrance to the musical institute.
Inside I met Marco Capicchioni, the director, and his assistant. Neither of them spoke much English, but we were able to understand each other. He assisted me in finding information about and recordings of Sammarinese artists. The solid conclusion seemed to be that this country, with a population of just 30,000, was simply too small to have much of an organized community of musicians or a unique musical culture.

The wild west of Italy

There are gun stores everywhere. Perhaps because guns are much more heavily controlled in Italy, the Sammarinese border seems to be the Italian equivalent of the American “gun show loophole.” After seeing no weapons stores at all throughout most of Europe, it is somewhat alarming to see these finely groomed streets dotted with gun shop after gun shop.

LOR

Alone, I trudged precariously over the frozen steps to the top of the hill where I found two of the famous towers perched above San Marino. With great effort, I reached one of the towers. Usually, these welcome tourists from all over the world. Just days before my arrival, Prince Albert of Monaco, son of Grace Kelly (or is it grace Jones, I always confuse those two), arrived for the first time and was greeted with pomp and fanfare. I was greeted with a sign on the tower that said, essentially, “closed for snow.” Here I’d crossed the planet and climbed the icy and treacherous stairs in a snowstorm… and they wouldn’t even open the door for me.
Feeling forlorned and inconsequential, I drifted from the door of the tower. Another group of tourists lingered in front of me, smoking and chattering in a language unknown to me. One of them decided to be daring. He marched through the powder and scaled a massive stone that leaned over the abyss. I paused, snapped a couple of disingenuous photos of myself looking deliriously happy, and followed after him.
Slithering along the edge of the rock, and craning dangerously off the side of it, I pondered the eventuality of death. What lay behind? What lay ahead? What was the difference between holding on and letting go, and would any of it really matter?
When I peered off in the distance, and saw Mordor.
These towers are the most famous landmarks of San Marino, and they are immortalized in a special dessert called Torta Titano. I ate one of these delicious triple-wafer snacks, and wrote a postcard.

Extreme dancing

My hosts were teaching a dance workshop for the weekend in the nearby Italian city of Rimini. I was invited to attend, and given directions on how to find the retreat facility where it would be hosted.
Located in a gym on the edge of a man-made pond was the workshop. A cafe bar was attached to the building, and boasted only a few a tables with an uninteresting family confined to the left corner. A fantastically gay bartender was happy to find me something to eat; I ordered a single beer and sat on an unexpectedly comfortable couch.
We danced all night. Willers had meticulously created a playlist designed to help all 25 or so dancers evolve their style from a kind of loose-armed ramble into a full-on rhythmic melting. The lights dimmed and shadowy figures made animal noises as they blindly bumped into each other. Willers had us choosing partners, touching each other, feeling free. There were many beautiful people, most of them staying for all of the three-day workshop. I made a friend named Thea, who invited me to stay with her on a future visit to San Marino.
When it was all over, I rolled out my Oregon Bedroll and slept on the floor of the gym. By 10am, I was on my way to Ferrari town.

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Photos

Tower of San Marino
One of the three famous towers of San Marino.

Mordor
From the peaks of San Marino, you can see the fires of Mordor.

Comments

[maurizio]

bernardo sei matto. affettuosamente maurizio e maria da roma Ps .In a certain way I am gelouse of your experince. some time I wish to be a bit yonger and start such a life. ciao m+m from roma