Lovely, Stacey. Your ever-articulate piece took me back to several noise-focused memories of some contrast.
We were living in Parioli (Roma) in 1970. Our apartment overlooked the Olympic Village and the Corso di Francia, a busy, four-lane divided stradale that stretched from the base of our hill across the Tevere. During the legendary final match between Italia and Brasil in the World Cup, we listened to the entire game sitting on our terrazzo. There was no need for radio or television. We could clearly follow the progress of the match based on the cheers or groans (a-ooooo! ma-dai!) rising up from the apartment blocks below. It was noisy, but what fun! At the end of the game, when there was no doubt that Brasil had bested the Italian national squad, there was absolute silence... for about five minutes... then, the neighborhood erupted with horns, fireworks, joyous shouting and many flag-waving celebrants racing back and forth across the Corso di Francia on their "macchine" (the two-stroke Japanese bikes with their ear-splitting whines were particularly annoying). Rather than quietly suffer a national defeat on the world stage, all of Rome decided to celebrate second place. The citywide party lasted until the wee hours.
Some 49 years later, living in Richmond 30 miles southwest of Houston, after 24 hours of Hurricane Harvey's howling wind and horizontal deluge, the storm passed through leaving us gasping and stranded. The Brazos River had flooded into the ranch and farmland between us and the southwesternmost suburbs of the city. The flood plains of west Houston spilled over into the low-lying neighborhoods all along Buffalo Bayou. Freeways and surface streets were under water. We were totally cut off from everywhere and everything. After the initial chainsaw symphony of clearing driveways and yards of downed trees, our town fell into an uneasy silence that underscored how isolated we truly were. No cars on the roads, no sirens, no trains rumbling across the trestles. No power for radios or televisions or air conditioners. Our herd of cats, once allowed outside after the violence of the storm, skittered around the patio, bellies to the ground, ears twitching with "something's not right" demeanor. Even birdsong and the hiss of insect life was missing. I'd always thought that the phrase "a deafening silence" was a silly oxymoron and the height of hyperbole.
Although I prefer to work in quiet (no music, no radio or tv blathering in the background), I find the complete absence of sound threatening... as if the world around me is holding its collective breath... waiting for the other cataclysmic shoe to drop. I now equate total silence with impending doom.
Considering what we've been through, that's no surprise. At all. But may I just say how every post of yours is a joy to read, and that I get excited when I see your name because I know I'm in for a treat?
There is noise and there is rhythm - noise jangles because it doesn't fit your mood; rhythm is something that fits, that you join. You've captured the rhythm of Italian life perfectly - that rhythm is culture, something that our polyglot, multi-cultural mish mash doesn't really have.
But having said that, there are a couple of components of Italian life we experienced, albeit in the province of Campania -- and each town and region has their own unique cultural characteristics -- that we could never get used to.
First, the fireworks -- PTSD inducing explosions that occur at any time of the day or night accompanied by huge clouds of smoke celebrating births or chasing away demons.
The other more serious issue was open burning of (mostly) agricultural waste - our town was surrounded by vineyards, chestnut and hazelnut groves which were kept in pristine condition by raking and burning leaves, branches, etc. If it was one isolated pillar of smoke, it wouldn't be an issue but for several months of each year, roads were obscured, and mountain sides looked like wildfires which is hard for someone who grew up in the western USA to see. Forget about breathing, if you had any kind of respiratory issue, it was exacerbated to the nth degree.
We assimilated and became family to our Italian friends but our dog never got over the fireworks and we make sure we don't visit during burn season -- the only (for the most part) discordant notes in our Italian life's symphony.
It's the critters that suffer, for sure. Poor things. It must sound like Armageddon to them. And Campagnia is Italy in steroids. Everything I just described, you experienced tenfold. All of it.
The burning of trash I'll never get used to. It's sooooooo verboten in the U.S. Wild, isn't it?
My ability to cope with other people's noise is definitely limited.
When I was first stationed in Germany, there were folks a room or two down who thought everyone should hear their music at 2AM, and the supposed hall "watch" wouldn't do shit about it. But he had this converter for bringing the standard European/German 220 volts down to 110 that had shorted out. Thus, whenever it was plugged in, it popped the circuit breaker for our side of the hall. Which included Mr MusicLover as well. A couple other times I've gone to an apartment above or below me and confronted people with a much higher capacity for violence than I ever possessed with their actions. I'm still here. (People have told me at times that I could actually be quite intimidating; I'm hard pressed to actually believe it.)
These days, I live in my own little trailer on property that is detached from all others. The noise I here is the noise I make. I am reminded, however, that when I first moved in, there was a freight train that came through not a block and a half east of me, that rattled the trailer so hard it like to bounce the thing off of its chalk-blocks. Somewhere in there, I got so used to it that I never noticed it again. Indeed, I was so used to it that it was years later, during the passage of a daylight freight, that I realized they'd repaired that particular crossing so that the trains simply weren't shaking the neighborhood like they had been.
The way you describe your place is hardly without charm. I know it's inconvenient, but ... it seems quiet and peaceful. Quiet and peaceful are highly desirable things.
I suspect that you, when properly provoked, are a terror. It's good to be a terror sometimes. If you do it well enough, you get more of that lovely peace and quiet ;-)
What a wonderful article you wrote! Thank you so much for sharing all of that! It was a delight to read. I can't afford to fly to Italy but if I could I would because it sounds delightful.
For sure -- we are just coming out of the summer vacation hiatus -- one that inspires billboards to pet owners that their "pets are family" and to not leave them behind to fend for themselves while their human family is away. And yet our canne was welcome at restaurants all over Italy -- so like most things, there are multiple shades of gray.
Trash is an interesting story -- do you have trash strikes in your area? We used to have strikes almost every year - trash would pile up for weeks with all of the attendant "issues".
I think the thing I love best about Italia are the contrasts... You truly learn the beauty inherent in imperfection -- as a result, we are able to see and understand more beauty in our lives.
Lovely, Stacey. Your ever-articulate piece took me back to several noise-focused memories of some contrast.
We were living in Parioli (Roma) in 1970. Our apartment overlooked the Olympic Village and the Corso di Francia, a busy, four-lane divided stradale that stretched from the base of our hill across the Tevere. During the legendary final match between Italia and Brasil in the World Cup, we listened to the entire game sitting on our terrazzo. There was no need for radio or television. We could clearly follow the progress of the match based on the cheers or groans (a-ooooo! ma-dai!) rising up from the apartment blocks below. It was noisy, but what fun! At the end of the game, when there was no doubt that Brasil had bested the Italian national squad, there was absolute silence... for about five minutes... then, the neighborhood erupted with horns, fireworks, joyous shouting and many flag-waving celebrants racing back and forth across the Corso di Francia on their "macchine" (the two-stroke Japanese bikes with their ear-splitting whines were particularly annoying). Rather than quietly suffer a national defeat on the world stage, all of Rome decided to celebrate second place. The citywide party lasted until the wee hours.
Some 49 years later, living in Richmond 30 miles southwest of Houston, after 24 hours of Hurricane Harvey's howling wind and horizontal deluge, the storm passed through leaving us gasping and stranded. The Brazos River had flooded into the ranch and farmland between us and the southwesternmost suburbs of the city. The flood plains of west Houston spilled over into the low-lying neighborhoods all along Buffalo Bayou. Freeways and surface streets were under water. We were totally cut off from everywhere and everything. After the initial chainsaw symphony of clearing driveways and yards of downed trees, our town fell into an uneasy silence that underscored how isolated we truly were. No cars on the roads, no sirens, no trains rumbling across the trestles. No power for radios or televisions or air conditioners. Our herd of cats, once allowed outside after the violence of the storm, skittered around the patio, bellies to the ground, ears twitching with "something's not right" demeanor. Even birdsong and the hiss of insect life was missing. I'd always thought that the phrase "a deafening silence" was a silly oxymoron and the height of hyperbole.
Although I prefer to work in quiet (no music, no radio or tv blathering in the background), I find the complete absence of sound threatening... as if the world around me is holding its collective breath... waiting for the other cataclysmic shoe to drop. I now equate total silence with impending doom.
Considering what we've been through, that's no surprise. At all. But may I just say how every post of yours is a joy to read, and that I get excited when I see your name because I know I'm in for a treat?
There is noise and there is rhythm - noise jangles because it doesn't fit your mood; rhythm is something that fits, that you join. You've captured the rhythm of Italian life perfectly - that rhythm is culture, something that our polyglot, multi-cultural mish mash doesn't really have.
But having said that, there are a couple of components of Italian life we experienced, albeit in the province of Campania -- and each town and region has their own unique cultural characteristics -- that we could never get used to.
First, the fireworks -- PTSD inducing explosions that occur at any time of the day or night accompanied by huge clouds of smoke celebrating births or chasing away demons.
The other more serious issue was open burning of (mostly) agricultural waste - our town was surrounded by vineyards, chestnut and hazelnut groves which were kept in pristine condition by raking and burning leaves, branches, etc. If it was one isolated pillar of smoke, it wouldn't be an issue but for several months of each year, roads were obscured, and mountain sides looked like wildfires which is hard for someone who grew up in the western USA to see. Forget about breathing, if you had any kind of respiratory issue, it was exacerbated to the nth degree.
We assimilated and became family to our Italian friends but our dog never got over the fireworks and we make sure we don't visit during burn season -- the only (for the most part) discordant notes in our Italian life's symphony.
It's the critters that suffer, for sure. Poor things. It must sound like Armageddon to them. And Campagnia is Italy in steroids. Everything I just described, you experienced tenfold. All of it.
The burning of trash I'll never get used to. It's sooooooo verboten in the U.S. Wild, isn't it?
So we'll written and sooo absolutely true. Thank you.
You totally get it ;-)
You can adapt or let it drive you fucking nuts, amiright?? 😝
Sometimes both at the same time.
My ability to cope with other people's noise is definitely limited.
When I was first stationed in Germany, there were folks a room or two down who thought everyone should hear their music at 2AM, and the supposed hall "watch" wouldn't do shit about it. But he had this converter for bringing the standard European/German 220 volts down to 110 that had shorted out. Thus, whenever it was plugged in, it popped the circuit breaker for our side of the hall. Which included Mr MusicLover as well. A couple other times I've gone to an apartment above or below me and confronted people with a much higher capacity for violence than I ever possessed with their actions. I'm still here. (People have told me at times that I could actually be quite intimidating; I'm hard pressed to actually believe it.)
These days, I live in my own little trailer on property that is detached from all others. The noise I here is the noise I make. I am reminded, however, that when I first moved in, there was a freight train that came through not a block and a half east of me, that rattled the trailer so hard it like to bounce the thing off of its chalk-blocks. Somewhere in there, I got so used to it that I never noticed it again. Indeed, I was so used to it that it was years later, during the passage of a daylight freight, that I realized they'd repaired that particular crossing so that the trains simply weren't shaking the neighborhood like they had been.
The way you describe your place is hardly without charm. I know it's inconvenient, but ... it seems quiet and peaceful. Quiet and peaceful are highly desirable things.
I suspect that you, when properly provoked, are a terror. It's good to be a terror sometimes. If you do it well enough, you get more of that lovely peace and quiet ;-)
What a wonderful article you wrote! Thank you so much for sharing all of that! It was a delight to read. I can't afford to fly to Italy but if I could I would because it sounds delightful.
Critters?
For sure -- we are just coming out of the summer vacation hiatus -- one that inspires billboards to pet owners that their "pets are family" and to not leave them behind to fend for themselves while their human family is away. And yet our canne was welcome at restaurants all over Italy -- so like most things, there are multiple shades of gray.
Trash is an interesting story -- do you have trash strikes in your area? We used to have strikes almost every year - trash would pile up for weeks with all of the attendant "issues".
I think the thing I love best about Italia are the contrasts... You truly learn the beauty inherent in imperfection -- as a result, we are able to see and understand more beauty in our lives.
Some of the best parts of being here are the old religious traditions. I adore them, and I know you do, too.