👉 Italiano Italy Flag

Italy 11-2020: my Sounds

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. Finally, this article is partially written in an ironic way: I advise those who find it inappropriate in a pandemic context to end the reading here.

Okay, I know what the reader is thinking: “Stray, you started with the colors, and now you continue with the sounds. Are you keeping going with all the five senses!?" No, it's not in my plans. Fine for the colors (I told about them here), but I won't talk about smells, because I perceive them with difficulty. Who knows, maybe I've had COVID-19 my whole life, maybe it turns out I'm patient zero. Nor will I talk about tactile sensations, since I don't go to fondle the world here and there. And the taste? It is the only sense that has been left intact to us in this 2020: it seems superfluous to me to talk about it, hoping that everyone is spoiling the palate a little. In a non-convivial way, huh. Of course.

So what are these sounds? Well, lately the auditory stimuli have become quite repetitive, albeit sometimes unexpected. For example, I hear the noises of the shutters that first open, then close. Then they lift up just enough to let a little light in, but no... Then they lower again. Sometimes, they don't even open anymore. Strange, huh. Who would have thought that? And then there are the messages conveyed publicly: a single communication strategy for the whole population. In such a diverse world, it is a guarantee of effectiveness. "Stay home, responsibility." This is the summary. Those who don't do it surely must not have understood the situation well. Then perhaps it is appropriate to repeat it. Same words, same strategy. It's going to work, right?

It is well known that I am not very smart. I get to things a little later than the average individual. I had noticed that every time I put my nose outside the house (on the terrace, huh, not on the street), I always heard the same messages. And if I tried to read up on some news, even updating the various pages, I always read the same things since March. In short, I thought that in my area there was some widespread malfunction and that I was surrounded by broken records. So I said to myself: “let's try a little to see if in Sardinia, an island, the various communication systems are still functioning”.

And that's how I got to hear some different sounds. The first, that of a departing plane. Does anyone remember it? An angry engine, ready to project you elsewhere. When the destination hardly matters. I had missed it a little. My wife and I, still together. Without other contacts, may it never be.

A little I had also forgotten the sound of the sea, of the waves that assemb... um... that follow each other several meters apart, giving the example to all those distracted humans. But it is the timbre of perseverance, of immutability, above the troubles of men. It warns and reconciles at the same time.

On the other hand, it had never happened to me to be woken up by birds in an almost trumpeting way. When men are practically locked up inside a house, it also happens that the center of Cagliari is subjugated in the stillness. And it is here that nature tries to reclaim its spaces. There are many voices, which chase and overlap. Perhaps recalled by the proximity of the sea, perhaps encouraged to fill disused silences. Who knows.

Speaking of animals, are imaginary ones also valid? I think I could have heard a vegetal dinosaur (see photo). He whistled cheerfully, but sharply. Fresh were the vibrations it emanated, tenuous was the fading of their intensity.

And then the varieties in human tones. In Sardinia one would expect to hear Italian spoken with a Sardinian accent. And so it happens, in fact. But not only. While I was prepared for the Catalan variant of Alghero, I was surprised by the Tabarchino of Calasetta, a variant of the Ligurian. In fact, when I asked for information to a guy, I initially thought I had met another tourist like me. But then I found these traditions written on the city plaques. And I tried to reread them in my mind, certainly with the wrong pronunciation.

In Bosa I entered a church. In Italy I never miss a chance to take a look when they are open. Gentle music welcomes me, as befits a place of worship. But without that hieratic component, without the usual distance that is proposed to believers or guests. As an agnostic, I'm not much of a church-goer. But this is one of the few times I've felt encouraged to stay. Or maybe to return in the future.

But the voices that gave me the most pleasure, I confess, were the human ones. Yes, I know that various means of distance communication have been invented. But that's not the same thing. At least it isn't after so many months. And in any case, I always remained at a distance. The one held with the waiter of a place that at that moment had only us as customers. At four, perhaps five meters, in the temporary silence we were able to chat: yes, he told me a little about the difficulties of the period, but without complaining too much. Two guys, who have crossed their paths for a very short time.

And the one with the driver of a usually frequented route. But on the ride it was just us and a couple of foreign tourists who holed up at the back of the bus. Masks and distances, as it is due. We had to be loud in order to talk for a while, but we both wanted to. I listened to a man who, with his work, has hardly known the lockdown. But he met the immense sadness of it. Because it is easier to work with an empty bus, he confessed to me. But it still has a certain effect, the world is no longer recognizable. Especially now that winter is approaching and the days are getting shorter. The night proposes too cruel curtains.

Thank you for your words, my friends.

To conclude, the sea has re-proposed itself. Even from the elevated position of the Capo Caccia promontory, its bustle has broken through the too recurrent silence. Persevering, unchanging. Again. Like yesterday, like tomorrow.