👉 Italiano
2020: last Rift in Chiaroscuro (II part)
In this article, I do not intend to advise anyone to travel, nor I want to convince people to stay at home. Simply and generally, I will tell my experiences and share my thoughts, without the presumption of wanting to influence those of other people. I firmly believe that everyone can decide for themselves, through their own evaluation parameters. In addition, during my travels, I always respected all local restrictions and rules, on which I constantly tried to inquire beforehand.
INTERLUDE
It seems that, as I write this, it is Christmas outside. There should be the silence of the closures imposed by law, but to me it seems the usual silence of this day. The one that recurs from year to year in this period. Resuming typing on the keys, at the moment I am cracking this moment of stillness. It's okay, sooner or later it would have been interrupted anyway.
Whether you are currently alone or not, reader, I give you my (belated) best wishes.
ACT III
The decision is made: we will go to the Marche and spend a few days in that region. I check the timetables again on my smartphone and I realize that we have time to arrive in Ancona on the same evening. Thus, in the height of improvisation.
In reality we would have liked to visit Urbino first, but I realized that I risked repeating what happened with Ravenna, that is, I would have found practically everything closed. Traveling in December 2020 also leads to redefining destinations. It is necessary to give preference to what can be admired from the outside. Or, alternatively, you can visit the places of worship, those are open. Ancona is not a very well-known city for tourism, but for me it represented a novelty. And it is easily reachable from Rimini, even with one of those slow trains that this year have suddenly become so dear to me: cheap and without the need for reservations.
I arrive with a good margin before curfew, but I have just enough time to go and buy some street food, as the restaurants are already closed by law. We do not have the opportunity to visit the city for the evening, so we decide to go and recharge our batteries for the next day.
The morning proceeds without special thrills: it is one of my classic walks. We go out of the center to the famous Passetto. Once again, the sky is overcast, but the proximity of the sea somehow softens the gray tones, mixing them with the reflections of the water. Somehow, it manages to speed up the breath of the soul. And at the same time it confines it in a space that extends only in depth, towards the horizon.
The tour of the city continues, skirting the port and climbing up to the duomo. But it is here, in the early afternoon, that something unexpected happens. Suddenly, fatigue sets in. It would certainly not be the first time that I feel fatigued after walking for several kilometers. But this is not only physical exhaustion, it is above all mental.
What am I doing? Why do I force myself to move incessantly? Is this really what I want?
Yes, because on the one hand I feel that I cannot, I must not stop. On the other hand, I ask myself what sense does it make to insist, to go on, when the whole world around you weaves a web of legal and psychological obstacles. We stop for a coffee break. I have the bad idea: checking the news. Yet another threat, another percussion: this time there is also the "English strain" of COVID-19. Logic says I could have it ten meters away, the variant. However, the message is passed on as something distant, looming and that must be tried to avert.
I raise my head, I'm in the center. It's about to get dark, people are pouring into the streets for the Sunday stroll. The Christmas lights, even here in Ancona, turn on once again. The solution is obvious: don't think about it and carry on. Dance, dance on the world, Stray friend. Do it as you like best, because here everyone follows his music. Stunned, anesthetized, we feel like two graceful zombies. Remote controlled, perhaps. Perhaps driven by the drafts of our most unspeakable thoughts.
The city is already looking forward to 2021, pleading for an impossible, early arrival. My wife and I exchange a knowing look. And we go through it too. It's useless, it's just a date. But doing it is fun, it represents a timid act of rebellion towards the present. And in the same direction, we take the way to our hotel. Again, where will we be tomorrow at this time?
I have an idea: we could go to Loreto to visit the sanctuary (Open! Open!) And the city. And then maybe to Recanati to review the places sung by one of the greatest Italian poets: Giacomo Leopardi. For me it would have the same function as Fellini in Rimini: to send me back to my adolescence through his memories, a parallelism I will never tire of indulging in.
We go to Loreto, with the weight of our backpacks, not having any hotel reservations. We stop for breakfast at a cafe, as it is still quite early, we visit the sanctuary, chat with the locals. They too speak of the dreaded "English strain". Ironically: a few days later it will be discovered that a case of this variant from the United Kingdom was found in the town of Loreto. Only it would appear that this person had no connection with the United Kingdom. My logic did not deceive me when I thought I had this variant around me. Indeed, I have also unwittingly approached it.
There would be plenty of time to go to Recanati, but we have a better idea: to go directly home. A surrender? Far from it. Simply my wife too (after more than ten years of living in Rome) became Romanized. Yes, she has become like one of those "unbearable" Romans (and other Italians, mostly from the south), who start complaining when they haven't seen the sun for more than two days. Even if she comes from Taipei, a place surrounded by mountains that does not lavish sunny days. But the comparison is merciless: clouds over the Adriatic, even for the following days; sun in Rome and over much of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
We resume that slow train, which with the same industriousness rolls home, a destination that the law allows me to reach. Goodbye, Marche. I will be back soon.
ACT IV
I'm home, but I treat it like a hotel. I arrive and I don't even bother to unpack my backpack. I lighten it up a bit, taking off the clothes already worn, yes. But otherwise I leave everything as it is. I still have a couple of days left and I intend to use them. Again by law, I can only move freely within my region: Lazio. This is how I go to sleep in my bed, but with a sensation never felt before. I truly feel like I am in a hotel room, almost a suite. Which I know perfectly and where I have everything available. But mentally I'm still traveling, with the same timing, the same organizational needs.
I know I can't go very far, but I have to choose a destination. Once again, I let myself be ensnared by the promise of sun, which seems to want to kiss the coast south of Rome. To the south, then. I depart to San Felice Circeo, which combines a beautiful village with the sea and the mountains. I still don't know if I'll stop and sleep for one night or if I'll go back to my home used as a hotel. But the important thing is to go, to be on the move again, not to stop.
So, even the bus station cafe, with a view of buses and asphalt, becomes a very pleasant place to have a cappuccino.
This journey is also slow, I gorge myself with more or less interesting views from the window. I feel almost like an RPG character who has to explore the map as the goal of some quest. As soon as we arrive we head towards the village. It is not the ideal place to go to the sea, but it is perfectly fine to observe it from above. It is not even an easy starting point for the Circeo National Park, but it caresses the mountain and its vegetation.
The backpack is heavy, I don't deny it. Even following roads or paths uphill is a bit tiring. But the landscape below pays off the effort. Heaven greets me too and rewards me for my choice. For a few minutes the anxieties of the period melt away, they are shipwrecked in the infinite sea down there.
The sky... With the sun is a different thing. I'm spoiled with azure.
I go home for the evening, but I have another arrow to shoot before the Christmas rest. I conclude with a classic outing for the inhabitants of the capital of Italy: I take a tour of the Castelli Romani. It is not an ordinary timing to go out, because from the following day the restaurants in Italy must be closed for a couple of weeks, except for take-out and home delivery service. So much so that many will prefer to close entirely for 2020, including the one I went to.
I take advantage of the last lunch in Ariccia, a place famous above all for porchetta. It's an ordinary working day, yet there are quite a few people in the restaurant. Many people wanted to indulge in one last whim before having to spend the holidays with a certain social restraint. I do not want to be naive, I realize that many haven't done so, but this is the indication that has been given to residents in Italy.
Maybe it will make you smile, but it was the first time I ate in Ariccia with my wife, despite the proximity to Rome. What for many is a custom, for me it was a peculiarity. And I lived it with the relaxation of custom, in a certainly peculiar period. I'm a bit twisted, I know.
Me, me again. I am still myself and have not become a better person. Me, me again. I don't know if this year has taught me anything. Maybe yes, maybe what I think now is something I've always thought, maybe this year's events have only acted as maieutics.
And I still don't believe that serenity is a choice, but I'm beginning to think that we can decide to pursue it. In spite of everything. Instead, I am convinced that happiness is not proportional to the duration of existence.
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