Carnival in Italy

By Patricia Winton

Christmas decorations—always on display in Italy until at least January 6—have barely been packed away. Babbo Natale (Santa Claus) still hangs by his rope ladder from a few balconies. Twinkling lights linger on lampposts here and there, but Italians, adults and children alike, are already preparing for the next celebration—Carnevale. 

Pope Benedict figure at 2008 Viarregio Parade

This pre-Lenten ritual offers adults ample opportunities to carouse in Venice or Viareggio. In Venice, adults dress in elaborate costumes and parade among the canals wearing hand-crafted masks. Venetian mask-makers enjoy a rarefied status, and their products are sold year round in alluring shops that invite residents and tourists alike to spend money. In Viareggio, parade floats mirror the artistry of Venetian masks. Originating in 1873, the Viareggio parade, which snakes along the sea, features giant caricatures of politicians, entertainers, and other famous people. No one is immune to being targeted. In both cities, adults party, dance, and drink.

That goes for other cities as well, but across lo stivale, the boot, children reign at carnival time. Until recently, Halloween didn’t figure in Italian celebrations, so Carnevale provided children a chance to dress up. Shops catering to children display elaborate costumes, and searching for just the right one is as intensive as shopping for the first day of school. But these costumes are not held for just one day. For the next couple of weeks, principesse (princesses) and pirati (pirates), Cappucetto Rosso (Little Red Riding Hood) and Ragno (Spiderman) will make their way to school, walk along the sidewalk, and play in the piazzas. Even babies get into the act as bumblebees and Teletubbies, though Tinky-Winky is known here as “Twinkle.”

Photo by pierofix via Photopin

Shops have stocked up on bags of confetti (called coriandoli, “coriander”) which little costumed creatures cast at passersby as they charge down the street. That’s the most innocuous of their weapons. Packs of festoni (streamers) hail from almost every shop. Children fling these tightly rolled paper strands along the pavement, too. It’s not uncommon to encounter Tinker Bell, or other characters, with these paper ribbons in her hair. The gutters are full of them on the festival wanes. Streamers are not only the realm of children, however; adults play with them, too. A couple of years ago, I went to a relatively staid event at a restaurant just before Martedì Grasso. While we waited for desert, the hostess distributed festoni, and we tossed them around the room like children—and we weren’t even in costume!

Carnevale in Venice

But the most nefarious weapon in the children’s carnival arsenal is Silly String. When little tykes are given a can by doting parents, they run around giggling with glee, squirting at anything that moves. It wouldn’t be so bad it they just targeted each other, but they often choose to ambush unsuspecting me. The stuff sticks to the sidewalks, and as Easter approaches, hapless doorkeepers are out with brooms trying to get the stuff up. During the solemn Lenten period, the colored tendrils clinging to the sidewalk gradually wear away from the footsteps grinding them. By the time Spring is in full swing, they have been forgotten. Fortunately, Silly String disappears with Lent, not to reappear until the following year.

Even on Palm Sunday, the week before Easter, children appear in their Carnevale finery, usually swathed in scarves and woolen hats to stave off the cold. And underneath those costumes, they’ll be bundled in sweaters and undervests. They carry their favorite weapons and battle it out in the piazzas after church.

I’m looking forward to watching the children in costume again this year. It’s a rite that proves Spring is indeed on the way.


Be sure to follow me at Novel Adventurers on alternate Thursdays. Next week I'm writing about shopping. 

Zuppa di Zucca

By Patricia Winton

We’ve been having gray, rainy days of late here in Rome, and my thoughts center on warming soup (zuppa). One of my favorites, pumpkin (zucca) and chick pea (ceci) soup, comes with many variations. It’s one of those dishes that can be made from scratch or cobbled together from canned ingredients. Either way, a little careful seasoning perks up the flavors, and the soup can warm you to your toes.

Traditionally, the soup begins the day before when the ceci are put in a bowl of water to soak. After about twelve hours, they’ve absorbed enough moisture to ensure fairly rapid cooking. Here in Rome another soup reigns on Friday, and market stalls offer bags of pre-soaked ceci each week. Those provide a great short-cut. The ceci go into a pot along with a couple of cloves of garlic, chopped carrot, chopped celery, and a sprig of rosemary. These are simmered until the ceci are almost soft.

In Italy, you buy pumpkin by the slice. The canned variety is never available except at a tony shop at Thanksgiving; you need a second mortgage to buy a can, too. The fresh slice is quite hard to peel, so I usually nuke it a few minutes and scoop out the pulp. The pumpkin joins the ceci, and the simmering resumes until all the veggies are soft. At this point, many people add rice or pasta, but I prefer it plain. I do like a dash of hot pepper, however. At this point, I remove the rosemary and puree the soup with the stick blender or food processor. I serve it forth with a bit of grated Parmesan.

Try this simplified version.

ZUPPA DI ZUCCA E CECI

2 cloves garlic

1 rib of celery

1 carrot

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cans chick peas

1 1/2 cups water

1 sprig of fresh rosemary

1 can pumpkin

pinch of ground red pepper

salt and pepper to taste

grated Parmesan

1. Chop together the garlic, celery, and rosemary.

2. Heat the olive oil in a pot, and add the vegetables. Cook until soft, but not brown.

3. Drain and rinse the chick peas and add them to the vegetables. Pour in the water, cook for about 10 minutes over slow flame.

4. Stir in the pumpkin. Add a bit more water if the mixture seems too thick. Simmer another 5 minutes.

5. Remove the rosemary, and add the red pepper. Taste for seasoning. Since the canned vegetables will contain salt, you may not need more.

6. Serve with grated Parmesan.

NOTE: You can dress this up by adding small pasta, rice, or even tiny shrimp. It’s also good with bits of sausage.

The Christmas Witch

I'm still recovering from the holiday blahs, so I'm reprinting here a post that appeared at Novel Adventurers on December 29, 2011. It's a story worth repeating.

The Befana at St. Peter's

Who flies across the world on a cold winter night filling children’s stockings with presents? Santa Claus? Well, yes, but not on the night of January 5. That’s the Befana, a good witch adored by Italian adults and children alike.

January 6 is Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas, marking the arrival of the three Wise Men at the manger with gifts for the baby Jesus. It’s also a national holiday in Italy, marking the last day of the Christmas season.

According to an Italian legend, the Magi stopped at an old woman’s hut on the night of January 5, asking for directions to the Christ child. The old woman didn’t know, so they asked her to join them. She told them that she was too busy cleaning her house.

Later, when she saw the bright star, she changed her mind and went in search of the manger bearing gifts but didn’t find it. In one version of the legend, she became so distraught at being unable to find the child that she cried. Her tears fell onto her broom, which in her haste she had brought along. The purity of her tears gave magical powers to the broom, allowing her to fly on it.

In another version, she has lost a child, perhaps killed by Herod's men who were charged with destroying all newborns to prevent a Savior coming into the world. In her quest, she found the Christ child and thought it was her baby. The baby Jesus was so sympathetic that he gave her broom its magical powers and allowed her to be the mother of all children for one night each year.

Candy Coal

Since then, every year on the night of January 5, the Befana flies all over the world, filling good children’s stockings with presents and candy and leaving lumps of coal for bad ones. Because she is a good housekeeper, she may also sweep a bit.



The Befana tradition has existed on the Italian peninsula for centuries, and it may have its origin in an ancient Roman celebration called Saturnalia, which began around winter solstice and lasted for about ten days. At the end of the festival, Romans went to the Capitoline hill to have their augurs (fortunes) read, perhaps by an old woman.



The Befana is dressed in old, tattered clothing with a shawl on her shoulders and a scarf on her head. She carries her gifts in a bundle on her back. She’s smudged with soot because she comes through the chimney like Santa Claus (how does his beard stay so white?).



Before the children go to bed on January 5, they put out treats for the Befana, including a small glass of wine. Tradition has it that if you see the Befana, she thumps you with her broom. That may have been an inducement created by parents to get the children off to bed early!

 

The Regatta in Venice

Today, there are celebrations throughout Italy both on the evening of the fifth and on Epiphany itself with processions, fireworks, and more. In Vatican City, people in medieval dress march to St. Peter’s with gifts for the Pope; in Venice, the Regatta della Befana is raced on the Grand Canal; in Florence, a medieval parade marches from the Pitti Palace across the Ponte Vecchio to the cathedral.



When I’m asked what we do for Befana in America and I say we don’t have Befana, people—old and young alike—are stunned. They shake their heads in wonder. No Befana! How can that be?

I hope you'll join me next Thursday for Novel Adventurers. Next week, we're writing about "Bodies of Water."

Watch Your Wallet!

The most common crimes in Italy are theft, burglary, and pocket picking. Pickpockets are such a big problem here that all public transportation carries warning signs. Unlike most public notices, which are routinely announced in Italian and English, the pickpocket warnings are posted in Italian, English, German, French and Spanish. The Asians are left to fend for themselves!

I’ve witnessed many pickpocket incidents and have myself been the victim three times. The first successful event occurred when I visited Rome in March 2002 before I actually moved here. On a crowded tram, someone lifted a small black zippered bag from my purse. I still delight in the look I imagine on the face of the pickpocket when he—or she—found only my asthma inhaler and lipstick while my money stayed safely close to my heart!

The second time, I stood on a crowded bus. I answered my cell phone, and when the call ended, I put the phone in a zippered compartment of my backpack. At the next stop, a man of great politeness edged past me to exit. I later discovered my phone was missing. I’m certain that gentle man took it. As luck would have it, the phone was on its last gasp, so the thief who took it actually did me a favor by compelling me to buy a new one.

The third time, I got off a metro train—not an especially crowded one—and strolled to my destination only to discover that my wallet had been lifted from my backpack. I had had that wallet for about four hours, having purchased it earlier that day. Fortunately, I didn’t lose much money. What I did lose was my American driver’s license and getting that replaced proved to be very difficult.

Do you see a pattern here? Every theft involved a backpack. I learned my lesson. If I use a backpack now, I wear it in front if I’m in a crowd or I use a lock.

I’ve also had a couple of near misses. Once I was walking along in mid-afternoon when I heard, rather than felt, the zipper on my backpack move. I turned to find two young gypsy girls, about 12. When I yelled at them, they looked up at me without fear and blew smoke in my face! The other instance happened on a crowded metro platform. I tried to board a train, but it was too full. As I tried to turn, I discovered a woman’s hand in my purse. My purse hung on a short strap under my arm, clamped close to my body with my elbow. She had still managed to get her hand inside, expecting the crowd to shield her. It’s highly likely that she would have taken something—though probably not my money—had I not striven to turn at that moment.

Crowds are the pickpockets’ best friend. Once I waited for a tram around 8:30 p.m. at a stop near the station. It was raining, and lots of people waited, many with luggage. When the tram finally arrived, the crowd jostled to enter, juggling suitcases and umbrellas.  As I stepped onto the tram, the man in front of me courteously excused himself and stepped off. Ahead of me a woman struggled with the above mentioned accoutrements, an open purse dangling under her arm. She caught my eye, reached into the bag, and discovered her wallet gone. She left the tram and began chasing the thief—something I would never do.

Another time, I was one of the last to board a very crowded bus, the 64 which is notorious for pickpockets. Three people climbed up behind me, trying to push onto the bus. A woman outside began shouting, “Watch out; they’re pickpockets.” She yelled and yelled. They were on the steps and the bus door couldn’t close.  Finally, the three realized that there was no room and stepped off the bus, which closed its doors and departed.

A woman standing nearby then began acting strangely, wriggling past me and into a crouch. I thought, “Aha, here’s the pickpocket,” and grasped my purse with both hands. She then pushed herself upright, holding a wallet aloft, having retrieved it from the floor where the pickpocket had dropped it. A man nearby (British) claimed it. And we all sighed.

The stories of things I’ve witnessed go on and on: a young guy (again British) discovering that his back pocket had been neatly Xed with a knife and his wallet extracted; a crowd of people pulling a woman back onto the train as she tried to exit because they suspected her of pocket picking (I didn’t see the outcome of this one).

One day, on an uncrowded train, two scruffy guys sitting near me suddenly jumped from their seats and lurched for a man sitting across from them (and me). I thought I was witnessing a mugging until one of them pulled out handcuffs and shackled the guy who had deftly picked the pocket of a woman nearby. These undercover cops ride the rails in search of pickpockets, it seems.

 

In the ten years I’ve been here, I’ve learned to take precautions, and I haven’t had my pocket picked in a long time. My first piece of advice to anyone visiting Rome is to be aware of the likelihood of pickpockets and to take precautions.

I blog on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. I hope you’ll stop by and join the conversation. Next week, I’m writing about an unusual Italian festival.