(The following pictures are Charlene's - you get the idea of the partying that goes on all night. I'm kind of glad I passed on it.)
(in the Rialto)
(somebody lost their costume, hope they have on clean underwear.)
He grabbed his suitcase and we headed out the door at 4:30, walking the back streets to the Piazzale Roma bus station. I have made this trek numerous times, and it was always a quiet walk; the only sound being my feet on the pavements and my luggage wheels bumping along. If I saw one person on the way to the station it was odd. Not this time. There were still lots of youngsters out on the streets, on the bridges, in the campos, in alcoves and doorways. Around every corner there were three or four people. I saw three pizza and kebab houses were actually still open for these people up all night. A lot of them were still drinking as well. There were a few occasions when walking past groups there was some passionate and heated conversation, the kinds that arise when too much alcohol is involved. Yay drunks!
(Campo Santa Margherita at night)
We made it up to the station through the fog, to find a scene reminiscent of Night of the Living Dead. There had to be over one hundred people across the parking lot, but most were doing the zombie shuffle of various stages of drunkenness. And of course there’s always the one poor person in the group that isn’t drunk, or has sobered up and are acting as guide for the rest of the fools along, keep them from destroying things or themselves. There was plenty of that going on as well. Sizing up the situation, there were going to be a lot of besotted folks taking the buses off the island to various points on the mainland. The most sobered up group seemed to be ours, those that were waiting for the airport bus, but there were a few I was looking at sideways. Luke seemed to be pretty sober at this point as well. The bus arrived and we hugged goodbye. And Luke was off to the airport!
I walked back to the house the same way we had come. One thing that struck me was that I was on edge with every group of people I passed. It’s the same feeling I have when walking through the Tenderloin in San Francisco, in that you just are not entirely sure of the sketchy characters. This was the first time I was remotely concerned with safety in this city, ever. I realize now it was unfounded, but being alone in the dark moving among people hanging about after having been up to no good for the past few hours once the bars closed did instill a heightened awareness of my surroundings. As I approached the alley where the apartment is I had three guys holler after me from across the campo, asking me to use the bathroom. Mmm, no. I just wanted to get inside and away from it all.
(bottles, go-cups and confetti)
The biggest crappy by-product of the celebrating throughout the night is all of the trash. The city is pretty clean at all times. Seeing the beer and wine bottles stacked up by any available garbage can make me give a mental “A for Effort” to the urchins, but there were many more areas without receptacles that had bottles, a lot of them broken. Plus the trash. Just piles of it. I’m definitely not used to the garbage piling up. To their credit the garbage men diligently pick up trash six days a week here in all neighborhoods, but there are many more helpers at work at this time, apparently. Confetti pieces are all over the city in all nooks and crannies, as part of the celebrating people toss a lot of it. Bags are sold everywhere and the tiny circles and squares of brightly colored paper are hard to escape. In church there were people with it caught in their hair. Interesting sight at mass. Also, silly string is still a big deal here – fluorescent pieces are everywhere. I’ve been walking through the streets and curling my lip at the garbage and confetti everywhere, but in the morning it is almost entirely gone, save for a few errant pieces of confetti. Walking back from the parking lot, I saw a number of sweepers getting their start on the street cleanup. It will be over soon.Back at the house Charlene was sleeping. Smart girl – get a few hours in before getting in that plane. We left the house a little after eight and went to the vaporetto, and sat in the warmth of the cabin for 25 minutes before emerging into the blast freezer outside. Once the bus arrived I walked over to the Co-op grocery store and did some shopping. Time to stock back up and get my cooking groove back on. I got everything I needed for a few days of meals (soup, soup and soup) but not too many fresh vegetables at this time. I like to buy my fruits and veggies at the Rialto market or from the local greengrocer on the boat near the apartment, but since it was Sunday, I got the minimum to get by for Sunday dinner. I started a pot of minestrone at the apartment, did my laundry and mopped the floors. Pretty glamorous on vacation, I know! It was going to be a lazy day.
Charlene left me the Magic Jack to use for the remaining week, but I needed a cord to plug into the phone. In the afternoon I walked over to the hardware store but he didn’t have one for sale. Shops are so compartmentalized in Italy. You have to go to a phone store for a phone cord, unlike in the US where you can pick one up at Longs, Safeway or Ace hardware with ease. I even went to the Vodafone store, but since they deal almost exclusively with cellular phones the shop clerks had no idea what I was talking about. The streets were still a crush of people, with the cops doing traffic control on the bridges to prevent people from stopping. I darted in and out of the main drags using the side passages I know, thank goodness. I made it to “the Consulate” to pop in for a coffee and to see Aldo. After telling Giorgio and Aldo about my unsuccessful hunt for a phone card, Aldo reached into a drawer under the bar and smiling, produced a cord for me. It was like magic! I want one of those drawers at home.
I made my way back to the apartment, tested the Magic Jack by calling home, but Mark wasn’t answering. I called my mother and checked in with her. I got a text message from Marco that he would be by to pick me up to go have dinner at his house with Mama. He arrived about twenty minutes later, swearing under his breath and apologizing. He got inside and made a call to his mother and spoke animatedly for a few minutes, apologizing to her as well. In the time between him leaving his work and getting to the apartment he received a call from his association manager (like a union steward) telling him he needed to fill in at another location for someone who was a no-show for the night shift. Carnevale strikes again. He explained this happens with every holiday and festival, and he is the one who always answers the phone to fill in. He didn’t have enough time to get back to the Guidecca for dinner with Mama before he needed to be there, and he offered to go get a pizza for us instead. I told him I had soup ready and some chicken breasts, so I could whip something up. Fifteen minutes later we were having a delicious chicken involtini that was a makeshift saltimbocca. Mmm!
I watched some tv after he took off, but not before calling his Mama to see that she was okay and verify when I would be coming over. Since he was going to be working most of the time, she asked me to come keep her company on Tuesday and Wednesday. Sure thing! We watch television, she gives me cooking lessons and tried to each me lace making, but I can’t figure that one out yet. Since his father passed away at Christmas 2007 she doesn’t have as much to do nor as many people to fuss over. I’m happy to fill that void for a few days at a time. She reminds me a lot of my grandma Norma who passed away when I was sixteen. Anamaria is about 4’11”, round, soft and white-haired like Grandma. She watches stories on tv in the afternoon and wildly gesticulates while talking with knives in her hand in the kitchen, just like Grandma.
I’m looking forward to seeing her.
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