Bologna, Italy—
Ciao. I’m in Italy. I studied Spanish for a year at Wesleyan, but I got on the wrong plane in September, so I arrived here in Bologna instead of Barcelona where I was originally headed. No, no, no. I’m not writing fiction. I apologize. I thought that was a terrific lead, though. I am here in Bologna by choice. This is an old medieval city, known for many things, among them, the porticos (covered walkways) that line most streets, as well as the University of Bologna that was founded in 1088 and is regarded by many scholars as the oldest in Europe.
The guidebooks say that Bologna is noted for three things: “la rossa” (“the red”), “la dotta” (“the learned”) and “la grossa” (“the fat”).
The red, because of the predominance of reddish tones throughout the city: the dark red of ancient brick, the clay-tiled roofs, the red canvas canopies that cover windows and the otherwise red or orange painted buildings. Of all the written observations of Bologna I have read by famous thinkers of the past (including one who wrote, “the red of Bologna is red like blood,” which it is not), I think this explanation is quite accurate. You see the colors of Bologna when you close your eyes while looking at a bright sun— all shades of red, orange and yellow. As this tradition has it, the red of Bologna also denotes its general leftist, and at times, Communist, leanings.
“La dotta” (“the learned”) represents the city’s long history and academic culture. Traditionally, Bologna was known as a center of research in medicine.
And Bologna as “the fat” (“la grossa”) stems from its cuisine, which is famous throughout Italy and the world. The most widely exported Bolognese culinary creation is their ragu, or Bolognese meat sauce, bound to have a spot on the menu of every Italian restaurant worldwide.
By the standards of “red,” “fat,” and “learned,” oddly, I feel that I’m less Bolgnese, after having lived here for four months, than I was before I arrived. I’m not red; I’m probably pale. I have lost, rather than gained weight while here, much to the dismay of the plump lady from the trattoria who promised my parents she would fatten me before my return home. And, in an effort to immerse myself in the Italian language, I have stuck to the Italian newspapers, which I don’t always understand, so I feel more uninformed than usual.
But, now I’m informed in other ways, having learned to be independent in a foreign city, which I have gotten to know well. I walk everywhere, and I enjoy it. In order to get to where my classes meet, and to nearly every other destination, I must walk the 13-mile length of Via Zamboni. Via Zamboni is famous because most of the university buildings are located there, giving it an exciting hustle-bustle of students during the day. They walk in every direction; underneath the porticos, across the narrow street and then into piazza Verdi as the street opens up in front of Bologna’s opera house, the Teatro Comunale.
I’d like to stop at the Teatro Comunale to share an interesting experience I had inside. The relatively bland exterior doesn’t draw much attention to itself, but the inside is magnificent. My desire to see the ornate 18th century interior prompted me to buy a ticket for “Hair,” which was the first musical to be performed on this stage.
Basically, I thought the show was just a bunch of kids screaming about LSD and cunnilingus, often incoherently. I didn’t understand how any of the Italians could have enjoyed this performance because the overhead screen with Italian translation malfunctioned several times, while translating English slang, which I could hardly understand. I did recognize, however, the gravity of the issues addressed in “Hair,” including the tragedies of the Vietnam War and the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement. In this sense, the show had a certain substance, and the audience members attached themselves to this aspect as a very timely celebration of peace and a denouncement of war.
At the end of the show, the cast came out again, to re-perform every single song, including the solos, for nearly 35 minutes. I didn’t know whether this was part of the show or whether the cast was simply demanding a standing ovation. I found it hysterical, nonetheless—every song all over again, even the ones you couldn’t stand.
There is one song from “Hair” that I rather like and that is “Let the Sun Shine,” perhaps, the show’s most famous song. This was the final song, and if the goal of the cast members was to get the audience to their feet, they surely succeeded. Not only did the whole audience rise, they were clapping to the beat and flinging their arms as if they were at a rock concert in some modern stadium.
But we weren’t in a modern stadium—we were in an elegant Italian opera house, and the sight from my balcony-box seat of this raucous crowd in such a setting was incredibly incongruous. But it was also very exciting. As I was clapping with the rest of the audience, I started singing loudly with the cast, probably with the wrong lyrics, but it was still exhilarating. This was the closest I’ve come to being “red” in Bologna, in the political sense. There was a feeling of revolution in the air that wasn’t hostile, and that energy was thrilling for me.
So, we’re still on Via Zamboni, but it’s getting late and my “Notes from Abroad” are getting long, so I’ll finish by noting that yesterday was a beautiful day. It was sunny, and when the sun comes out, even in the colder months, some of the cafes on the great Piazza Maggiore put out their outdoor tables and chairs, evoking the memory of warmer weather. Now, beautiful Christmas lights arch over the streets, and the store-window displays glitter with festive decorations. It’s “Natale,” which means Christmas. I don’t think the politically correct “holiday time” has reached Italy yet, but the concept of celebration is the same for all.
Italians are well-known for placing a very high value on family. In fact, it is common for young Italians to live with their parents until marriage. In general, and particularly during this holday season, I desire to be close to my family. And so, this Italian tradition of family togetherness, encourages my departure. I look forward to returning home soon.
Leave a Reply